Symmetric System

Come along and play the "Geez, I'm unemployed again" game. It's fun and easy: all you need to play is unemployment. You can do that, can't you? The HumorSmith is really good at this game, which is called "Disjobberment". Each time you are disjobbed, you do not pass go, and you do not collect $200. You pretty much land on stop and collect unemployment.

It's simple, and it comes with its own job bored, which is probably why you quit in the first place.

Why you quit at the second and third place, I have no idea; that's between you and your counselor. The object of this game is of course to see how quickly you can find the next job you want to lose. I keep losing them, but sadly, I keep finding them again. I have decided it's almost impossible to lose them entirely. It's uncanny how they can track you down.

I like idle hands myself. I have put up a sign at the playground entrance that says, "No devils allowed", and I while away the time sin and guilt free. I may make a career out of nothing. So far, that's what I've done with my life, so why not maintain the symmetry, which is where we all end up eventually anyway. I want a nice symmetry plot under an oak tree, please.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

Devil May Care

I don't know what possessed me to marry her.



Just what the world needs is more guys in dresses. Or did I misunderstand the manager when he said we should all be cross-trained? Figures...I'm frocked again.


See? I knew I should've had a script tonight. This is the danger of free thinking. I wish I could claim to have a hidden agenda, but sadly, my agenda is right out there for all to see. Perhaps agenda reassignment surgery is necessary?

Not that the HumorSmith has ever been confused. Nope, ask me sometime and I will show you the picture of me trying to kiss the neighbor girl when I was 6. She was too, by the way; nobody's that precocious. I was always fully cocious from the start, no easing into it.

True, the urge to be a humor writer wasn't there from the beginning; there was that period after I discovered the joys of self-touching where most other things got ignored for, oh, 50 years or so.

But humor writing was right there behind the sex thing. Then there was the horrific wailing, the severed limbs, the flying furniture and shattered drywall, but a divorce took care of all that. I was going to call an exorcist, but do you have any idea how much those guys charge? Not to mention the difficulty of getting holy water stains out of the sheets. What? You didn't know that stuff stains? It does. What would you expect from something that burns the skin?

Does anybody have Regan MacNeil's number? Now that I'm fully cross-trained, I figure I should put it to good use.

Deus succurro mihi

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

He Who Laughs

Some of the humor impaired searching for me at my last address



Does laughing inside my head count? I often wonder if you are amused at the Chronicle as I am most days. I guess the fact you keep dropping by is enough. Of course, on the off chance some of you are angry malcontents who take huge offense at my ramblings and puns, well, you should know the city listed on my profile is nowhere near my actual location.

That's right, due to the criminally funny nature of my posts, I have been taken into BOOB: blogger official obfuscation bureau. There used to be two such programs for protecting the hapless bloggers trying to bring a smile who ended up being persecuted by the humor challenged, but the feds decided they didn't need a pair of BOOBs, so they cut it down to one.

I move every year, and occasionally the bureau puts me in a place without internet service, but I'm sure that's just an honest mistake on their part. Rest assured, I and many others nothing like me, (for each humor blogger is unique and special), are well taken care of at the taxpayer's expense. Erm, never mind that last part. I mean, the bureau provides a healthy stipend.

So, next time you see a boob, you'll think of me, and grin to yourself knowing I am safe and will always be here, or somewhere, reaching into my crowded mind to bring you a chortle.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

It's Fine, Except For The Splinters

Someone who can produce this much wood should never be lonely.



Celibacy is overrated. Also in my case, unwelcome. It is not by choice. I truly can't believe my utterly stunning self has been alone for 4 years. WTF?? Or, WT no F. At all. I fear my libido has atrophied, and that all would be well if I could snare a trophie wife or girlfriend. Or a woman with a pulse.

Even someone who regularly faked orgasms would be welcome. I have been faking them for the past 4 years, but I find I am getting more inclined to believe my moans as time goes on. Unfortunately they have a strict no release policy at work, so I don't get to practice as often as I might wish, and my hand is losing interest.

If the rule that what you don't use you lose is true, I am about 5 weeks away from becoming a eunuch. As if my no nookie status isn't bad enough, I am increasingly susceptible to inappropriate physical responses. I got an erection watching The Golden Girls last night. Now I'm afraid to watch Animal Planet.

I have been trying to channel my sex drive into other areas. Last week,I whittled a Metro commuter bus, passengers and a driver. The neighbors noticed the lifelike figures, and came over to tell me their firewood had mysteriously disappeared. Then they asked me where I got so much wood. I said I watch a lot of TV. They stared at me without blinking for several minutes, then quickly backed off my porch and went home.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

Wi Bother

WiFi? Wi not? I can remember when hi-fi was a big thing. Those of you in the back saying, "Hi-fi? What the hell's that?"can go home now. Technology marches on, with or without us. While I'm not a technophobe, I do wonder if just because we can do something, it's a good idea. I can remember when we used to go to coffee shops to *gasp* talk to each other rather than surf the web.

Hell, I can remember when we used to surf the Jack Webb, and they had to put out a dragnet for him. I know, back of the room people. Old TV show; guy used to be married to Julie London. J-U-L-I-E L-.....oh, forget it.

Why don't you clowns go home and Google this stuff?

Honestly, if I have to explain everything to you, we'll never get out of here.

I recall a time, (yeah, I am reminiscing...okay with you?) when folks got disappointed because there were no empty tables at the coffee shop. Now they pitch a bitch if there are no available outlets for their laptops. Why do we feel compelled to take our stuff with us wherever we go? I thought the point of getting out of the house was to get away from everything that demanded your attention at home and relax, carefree and peaceful with the knowledge that you and your significant other could spend some quality time together.

Why...oh, sorry. That's my cell phone. BRB.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

Chalk It Up To Experience

Damn you, Andy Warhol!


It's no longer imperative to make a living in the classic sense of the term. I have had the same job for the last 35 years and I am done. I have changed cages repeatedly, but the result has been the same. Bleah! I am finally going to do exactly what I was put here to do. Chalk sidewalk drawings. That's it. What better thing could there be for me to do than paint pretty pictures and watch them disappear immediately in the Seattle rain?

Okay, so I can't draw, and I don't have a great visual imagination. So what? Lots of famous people have no talent. That's what makes this such a great country. I am every bit as talentless as Paris Hilton, and the only reason everyone hasn't heard of me is because I have the good taste to keep my untalented ass a secret.

Well, no more. I am going to claim my fifteen minutes and several other unsuspecting people's as well. Hah! I knew my uncanny ability to use a stopwatch would come in handy. I will know to the second when my fifteen minutes are up, and I will make sure I have more on standby at the crucial instant.

Chalk it up to clear thinking. And some blank sidewalks.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle

Hidden Truths

"Hey, I wonder if I can sneak up on that guy and take his camera?"



Are the Olympics still on? Not having cable, I am generally pretty much unaware.

In any event, I'm sure some medals were given, and there were some losers.

Speaking of losers....

I'm not sure where the white guy in the camo jacket and wearing the dreadlocks came from, but he seems to have adopted my music department as a homeless away from homeless. He is harmless, and except for the long conversations he carries on with the cd covers, I am not too worried. I consider him a bag lady without the bags or the vagina. So, you know, pretty similar. And also, dude, despite the camo, I can sill see you.

That's one fashion trend I have never quite understood. Is the person proudly proclaiming he shops in a military surplus store? In the jungle or the forest, camouflage is useful. In the city, less so. If the object is to blend in and perhaps carry out a surprise attack, I don't think that's an option. As far as taking advantage of natural cover, that's why there are telephone poles and streetlights. Apply judiciously, wear baggy ass denim shorts twelve sizes too large, a t-shirt, a baseball cap backward, and Nikes and there is little chance you'll be detected by your prey. I once would have thought there was little chance of you getting laid, but I'm no longer so sure about that.

Let's face it, in the city there is little chance you'll even be noticed by pedestrians. The goal is to avoid eye contact, and we're fairly successful at that. Now, if you guys can just stop talking to the invisible, the whole world will become your toy.

Copyright © 2010 thehumorsmithchronicle