MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 178 AUGUST 2013

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 178
AUGUST  2013
Copyright 2013 Francis DiMenno
http://dimenno.gather.com
dimenno@gmail.com

https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

AND NOW…MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS:
1. EVERY WISH BECOMES A FUTURE NIGHTMARE
2. THINGS THAT JUST AREN’T SO
3. BATHROOM FACES
4. NO, NO, I DON’T CARE
5. THE LOVE INTEREST
6. REACTION FORMATION
7. CHICKEN TOMORROW
8. ADOXOGRAPHY
9. AUTISTIC BLACK, BOY CRIMINAL
10. THE SELECT MASTER
11. GLYFFY THE HIEROGLYPH
12. STUFFY MCTOUGHGUY
13. ANCIENT LIBERTY
14. GOOFBALL CHRISTIANITY
15. SVOBODA
16. ABSURDITY IS BETTER THAN NOTHING
17. THRILLS BY NARCOTICS
18. KNOWING WHEN TO STOP
19. THE JOY OF SKEPTICISM
20. RASCALS SHOT IN THE BACK BY ATTRACTO

21. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES: EIGHTH SERIES

701. The whole world doesn’t stop for an investigation. But yours does.
702. Your friends are like one big family–the Manson family.
703. The innocent must also suffer–starting with you.
704. Problem? Simply ask yourself–What Would Satan Do?
705. You are not a “boulevardier” but merely a filthy-minded creep.
706. Your High School guidance counselor is a junkie, like you.
707. Everyone can hear you scream; nobody gives a damn.
708. Spanish is the loving tongue; yours is the lying tongue.
709. Curb your paranoia or something terrible will happen.
710. Very soon the FBI will subpoena your library records.
711. You are condemned to ceaselessly lament the unchangeable past.
712. You are the reincarnation of a filthy Egyptian slave.
713. You will waste your remaining existence tilting at windmills.
714. You’re a disease for which the police have found a cure.
715. Your schizophrenia proves Two can live as cheaply as One.
716. Their appeals to reason are merely a prelude to thuggery.
717. Everything you do falls under the heading ‘Stupid Alcoholic Tricks’.
718. You’re God’s little joke–and he has billions of them.
719. You are not only literally, but figuratively, a Garbage Man.
720. Your life has been a slaughterhouse of moral integrity.
721. Now that you mention it, No, You Haven’t Suffered Enough.
722. You’ve nothing to write home about–because you’re Nothing.
723. The black helicopters ARE following you–just for fun.
724. When they call you ‘Sir’, what they really mean is ‘Fatso’.
725. Your life: You Broke It; Now You Pay For It.
726. They can see right through your insincere politeness.
727. You have nothing on your mind–what’s left of it.
728. God DOES make trash, and you’re the living proof.
729. You are a slave to errors you shall never escape.
730. They will discuss your humiliation until the end of time.
731. Your strong pimp hand will soon be paralyzed.
732. You will step up and be beat down for all eternity.
733. Growing opium poppies in your back yard was a big mistake.
734. Don’t bother saving for retirement–you won’t live that long.
735. You showed your secret hideout to the wrong “friends”.
736. That innocent-looking hotel bellboy is a baby-faced detective.
737. You’ll finally finish that ship in the bottle–in jail.
738. You’ll fight molestation charges until you begin to doubt yourself.
739. That jewelry you stole from Grandma is mostly paste.
740. They will discover human remains near your vacation home.
741. You just couldn’t turn down that little snort of heroin.
742. Your new prison pen pal, “Cindy,” is a man.
743. Those strange flashing lights are not UFOs, but policemen.
744. They hate you for being Jewish, even though you’re not.
745. You’ll have your first vacation in five years–in jail.
746. Your boss will search your desk and find planted narcotics.
747. That swampland you sold for pennies will gush oil.
748. Your new gun moll belongs to a sinister cult.
749. Local children terrorize your son–but he’s 30 years old.
750. Your spurned secretary is spreading evil rumors about you.
751. The Big Boss is not amused by your candid jokes.
752. Police know you’re the last one who saw the missing girl.
753. Your stolen car alarm was worth far more than your car.
754. Your neighbor shoots at life-size targets which resemble you.
755. The Feds will investigate your so-called “modeling agency”.
756. Anonymous emails accuse you of hideous crimes.
757. You’ll beg them for your life, then you’ll wish you hadn’t.
758. People will find your broken face offensive.
759. You found out new photocopiers are rigged to detect counterfeiting.
760. They’ll arrest you for breaking into your own home.
761. That gun your neighbor’s child is pointing is no toy.
762. Your pension plan–dusty cases of empty soda bottles.
763. Your neighbor’s meth lab is killing all the songbirds.
764. You have the heart of a small boy–the police arrest you.
765. That dark tavern you frequent isn’t nearly dark enough.
766. You hated leaving her arms, so you cut them off.
767. Investigative reporters will rummage through your garbage.
768. One of your personalities will rat out all the other ones.
769. Clever Hobos will stumble across your cache of hidden loot.
770. You shouldn’t have drunkenly pissed on that policeman.
771. That hitchhiker you’ll stop to pick up is a giggling maniac.
772. You shouldn’t have listened to that barking dog’s lies.
773. The insulted carnival freaks are plotting a ghastly revenge.
774. Everybody in the neighborhood has got it in for you.
775. You are compelled to announce your grandiose plans to passerby.
776. The neighborhood kiddies call you “Uncle Weirdo.”
777. Your estranged wife will post your tax returns on the internet.
778. You’ll get into a gun battle with a man named ‘Deadeye’.
779. Your wife will learn about your other family in Bermuda.
780. They’ll never believe your lookalike committed all the crimes.
781. Your brilliant idea is beginning to yield diminishing returns.
782. Even hipsters will jeer at your faded leather jacket.
783. Your hairless child’s school was built on contaminated soil.
784. You will fail the drug test–too many poppy-seed rolls.
785. New sword cane? You will stab your own foot.
786. Your drunken antics offend a spiteful county judge.
787. Your youngest daughter’s newest job? “Erotic massage”.
788. Your ex-wife bribes your kids to lie to the police.
789. Health inspectors close down your child’s lemonade stand.
790. Your kids will learn the facts of life from drunken hobos.
791. Extortion by ethnic gangs will eat up all your profits.
792. That new identity you adopted will soon be exposed.
793. Forget going to the cops–you’re already in way too deep.
794. Milestone! Soon you will be wanted in all 50 states.
795. Your teenage son is going to need two high-priced lawyers.
796. Your stolen demo tape’s a hit–no credit for you.
797. You’ll wake up in a bathtub with a missing kidney.
798. Your new girlfriend is the wrong side of barely legal.
799. The police offered you a deal; the D.A. won’t buy it.
800. Your bravado with the loan shark will soon prove fatal.

22. ELEVEN STORIES IN UNDER FIFTY WORDS

1.THE DOG HATER
Yeah–so you’re a dog lover. I can tell. You love acting all big and shit. So. You can be a big man to a filthy cur. Great. Big f’n man. Well–I hate dogs, see! I don’t like them around and uh…nice boy! No! Get back! YAAARGH!

2. MONSIEUR MORT
First you shed your hair. Then out fall your teeth. Your aging cells will die a thousand deaths–and yet, you shall continue to live. Until I say different. People say that I am cruel. But I am only God’s Messenger. You can call me…Monsieur Mort.

3. THE RED AND WHITE HORROR
Whiteness–everywhere! And red–was it his own blood? His vision was blurred as he wandered his way through the trackless waste. He lost his balance and stumbled. To sleep–such blessed relief! So warm…so warm! They later found him, dead drunk, at the Mall Christmasland display.

4. THE GOLDEN OWL
Mix one private dick, one art collector, one lonely widower and a dame. Stir in murder, madness, mayhem, adultery, a bus terminal, an impoverished nobleman, and a police chief who’s desperate for a big pay-off. They all want one thing–a statuette of a Golden Owl. Why? Who cares?

5. THE IRONIC ONES
First they came for the ironic ones, and I was silent because I figured they deserved it. Then the sarcastic ones, and I said “Big whoop.” Then the snarky ones, and I figured, “Hey, they’re stupid.” Then finally they came for me, and nobody spoke up. Which is typical!

6. I WAS SAD BECAUSE I HAD NO SHOES
Until I saw a man who had no feet. So I kicked him…good and hard! And it felt…good! Because, actually, I did have shoes. Moral: Basically, I just like to kick people. Do you have a problem with that, Stranger? Because my kickin’ toe is getting itchy….

7. A FUNNY CARTOON
I think a funny cartoon would be a fly, seated in a restaurant, holding a knife and fork, and wearing a bib with a picture of a garbage can. But what would be even funnier would be a hobo in back of the same restaurant, wearing the same bib.

7A. ANOTHER FUNNY CARTOON
OK…how about: A garbageman wearing a bib with a garbage can on it? A fly wearing a bib with a garbage can on it? Or–get this–A garbageman wearing a bib with a fly on it and a gigantic fly wearing a bib with a garbage can on it–with the fly staring belligerently at the garbage man and v.v.?

8. I LOVE YOU, JESS
I spy you at the gas station in your silver Ford Focus reading a mag with your black lipstick and your red leatherette purse and when I catch your eye, you see my orange jumpsuit and you frown. But in a previous incarnation you and I were pure…white…soulmates…!

9. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, BABY
So much that every day I use Post Alpha-Bits cereal to spell out your name in milk and I keep the cereal bowl in my freezer–which is also a shrine and every day I empty out and refill the bowl and WHY ARE THEY KNOCKING AT MY DOOR–?!

10. TO WHOEVER READS THIS: I LOVE YOU
So if I come running up to you while gobbling strange endearments and seek to hug you inappropriately, it’s not out of some creepy need to at long last make actual physical contact with another living human being but simply because I…love you. I DO!

23. FIVE NOTED IQ REDUCERS (DISCUSS)
Stephen King
Hunter S. Thompson
Bill O’ Reilly
Rush Limbaugh
Jack Kerouac

24. PREJUDICES
Graffiti is just philosophy with the world “fuck” thrown in.

The first word was very likely “Don’t”.

One is never sentimental about the future.

Every age is dominated by the genre that flatters it best.

I believe all life is sacred, unless I just don’t like you.

Every mother is like Dr. Frankenstein–and every father is like the
angry villagers.

After long study, I have reluctantly concluded that other peoples and
cultures are also valuable–in their own frightening and repulsive
way.

Feral animals need kindness and love, and, most of all. patience, and,
if that doesn’t work, then I guess we should just go ahead and kill
them.

I’m betting that good old Captain Hook must have scratched up a lot of
car doors in his day.

Forget about racism; let the class warfare begin.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk. In fact, if it’s soy milk, it
kind of makes me want to laugh.

My father said that if I work in a restaurant I’ll always have
something to eat. So I asked him, what if I took a job in a meth
lab—would I always be slappin’ away at the imaginary spiders?

Journalists are a lot like doctors. Only doctors try to CURE the cancer.

My Uncle Jack said, “I’m a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks.”
So I asked him, “What did you major in–cliches?”

I went to Mount Washington…and John Adams had me arrested for sedition.

My neighborhood was so tough, the Good Humor Man was Malcolm X.

A socialist is just a hobo with a PhD.

If a million chimps did manage to type Hamlet, I’ll bet there’d be
something in there about unicycles.

I think it would have been fun to replace Jesus’s usual vinegar sponge
with Folger’s crystals.

My opinions, yes; my beliefs, maybe; my prejudices, never.

25. ADVERTISEMENT: I urge all of my fans to consult on a regular basis my
self-acclaimed books in the award-nominated “Money” Series, including:
MONEY ON MY BACK; NOTHING’S MORE FUN THAN A BARREL OF MONEY; MONEY SEE, MONEY DO, and the (newly released) THE MONEY KING.

26. IN SEARCH OF THE NEXT BIG MUSICAL TREND
Toughguy Bubblegum.
Death Metal Klezmer.
Gangsta Balinese
Black Metal Broadway Musical
Garage Gamelan
Field Holler Electronica
Yodelling Funk
Melodic No-wave.
Appalachian Folk/80’s Synth Pop
Gangsta Emo
Progressive Oi!
Expressionist Verite.
Black Nationalist Minstrelsy.
Good Beat Poetry.
Prog Rock – Hiphop… or Prog-Hop
Industrial Bluegrass
Hardcore Skiffle
Gangsta Kinks
Humble Metal
Proto-Fascist Psychedelia
‘Eefin jazz
Gentle Ben Thug Rock
Thucidydes Rap
Thurston Howell III Funk Boogie
A Capella Satancore

27. SAD TRUTHS

Expecting a politician to be sincere is like expecting a midget to be tall–it’s not in their DNA.

We think WE CONTROL FACEBOOK, but basically, we are just the switching circuitry for their ad platform.

THE PRIMARY REASON the US got involved in Vietnam was not to stop the
spread of communism. No–it was to control their rice! THEIR VALUABLE
FUCKING RICE! NO! I WON’T SHUT UP! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!

I WAS WRONG.  I have started saying this out loud at least once, every
day. Even when I’m NOT wrong. ESPECIALLY when I’m NOT wrong. I WAS
WRONG. I find it to be the only means I have wherein to halter, tame
and mortify my overweening pride. (Ain’t I a spring dandy?)

LORD…GIVE ME PATIENCE. Humble my foolish pride–now! Or else!

MY FATHER is a meat and potatoes man. Literally. What is this
nightmare world you brought me into, Mother?

INTELLIGENCE HELPS YOU THROUGH LIFE. Even if you’re a junkie. Oil
burner drug habit is “under control”…never hooks up with connections
in a public place…no visible track marks…only mainlines on
weekends…always has a smile for the Croaker who writes his
scrip…keeps his mouth shut when the Bulls come snoopin’
around…laughs hysterically when he burns a straight with Sugar
Shit…. Passed a Yenshee Baby in stir…gave a battery acid hit to a
snitch…thought Alphabet City was OK before the meth monsters moved
in…broke into ’21’ and stole a pallet of steaks, and those he
couldn’t sell his junkie friends feasted on for days…. Got slapped
around by the Bulls and never made a peep…try to hang a snitch
jacket on him and he’ll clobber you…plays a cut-throat game of
backgammon…always tugging at his belt; sure sign of a jailbird….

PEOPLE SAY I have my father’s smile. That’s because I stole his dentures.

HA HA IT’S MY BIRTHDAY, so today I get to tell the President what to
do. Well, actually, that’s not strictly true. Actually, it’s not
really my birthday. Also, the man in the sunglasses with the earpiece
has told me to stop hanging around in front of the White House with my
home made sign. And also, that I spelled ‘President’ wrong. And
“Barack’. And ‘Hussein’. And ‘Obama’. And ‘Body Odor.’ And ‘Stinks’.

GREASY KID STUFF. The clean smart look of 1947. God help you if you work in one of the service industries and your boss is a Brylcreem man. He will constantly be asking himself why he employs such a young slob. Service work in general is a huge drag. You’re at the beck and call of crackpot customers who pull the same sort of trick I used to pull on my mother when I was ten years old: “I just want to see something.” On the other side of the equation, there’s the sales personnel who are expected by management to be always smiling and happy and thrilled to serve the customer–some are–but they are rare.
Of course, when you’re middle management, you are expected to always be on call, have to work long hours for no added pay, have to deal with policies and regulations, have to deal with disgruntled employees, and are the court of last resort for dealing with irate
customers. You can’t win! It’s my theory that adult children of alcoholics are drawn to middle management–specifically, the type known as “the hero child.” See Richard Wright’s Black Boy: Richard: “Shorty, how can you let them kick you for a quarter?” Shorty: “My ass is tough, and quarters is scarce.” Emerson said it best: “The horseman
serves the horse,/The neat-herd serves the neat,/The merchant serves
the purse,/The eater serves his meat;/‘Tis the day of the chattel,/Web
to weave, and corn to grind,/Things are in the saddle,/And ride
mankind.”

28 A HISTORY OF MY FAILED PROJECTS
My agent is still waiting to hear back from Hollywood about MUPPET
MISSILE CRISIS.

And, sad to say, my “1984: the Musical” (“Just an Old Fashioned Hate
Song”) never made it past rehearsals.

My porn revival of Tennessee Williams’ Streetcar (“Fucking Trolley
Sluts”) was also a no-go.

And don’t even get me started about my adult reinterpretation of A.A.
Milne: WINNIE THE SHIT.

Worst of all, I couldn’t attract so much as backer one for my
all-chimp version of Hamlet (“Hardly had the cigars and unicycles
grown cold upon the circus floor…than that my Uncle married my
mother…which makes him a Monkey’s Uncle. To be…or not to be? Or to
swing from a tree?”).

29. AND NOW…MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS…

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
IF YOUR HEAD IS MADE OF WAX–don’t walk in the sun.
Never beard the lion in his den while wearing a sushi fedora.
If your nickname is Kid Pantywaist, don’t get into a slapping contest with “Killer Fang.”
Avoid walking into a biker bar wearing a jacket made of crystal meth.
If your bladder is made of spun cotton candy don’t drink a gallon of coke syrup.
Never hobnob with potbellied pigs in a suit made of birthday cake.
If your nickname is Mr. Alcoholic, race-car driver is probably not the right profession for you.
Note: Voters tend get nervous when the President refers to the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as “the Commander Guy.”
And by the way: Nobody trusts a Bank President named Mr. Bubble.

30. THE MODERN WISDOM ALMANAC. ARCHIVE:
2007: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977004217
2008: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977221496
2009: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977565421
2010: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474977969402
2011: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474978851374
2012: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474980950364
2013: http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474981829985

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