Posts Tagged ‘ Fun ’
BYE-BYE TO ONE SWEET GOBBLER
Holiday turkey,
you’re such a culinary delight.
With your meat so tender,
we shall gobble you tonight.
And when our tummies are stuffed with you,
you may wind up as a tasty stew.
If by chance you turn greenish-blue,
we’ll have to trash what’s left of you.
— Boots LeBaron —
Click the link below and get Boots’s Black Friday Holiday Deal Starting Friday !!! And the Rest of the month !! Happy Turkey Day !!
BYE-BYE TO ONE SWEET GOBBLER
Holiday turkey,
you’re such a culinary delight.
With your meat so tender,
we shall gobble you tonight.
And when our tummies are stuffed with you,
you may wind up as a tasty stew.
If by chance you turn greenish-blue,
we’ll have to trash what’s left of you.
By
— Boots LeBaron —
Click the link below and get Boots’s Black Friday Holiday Deal Starting Friday !!! And the Rest of the month !! Happy Turkey Day !!
THE HUMAN RACE
WILDEBEESTS NEED RECOGNITION, TOO!
As we trudge along the wild uncharted
trails of civilization, there’s nothing
more refreshing than recognition
from another Earthling.
You know, a little eye talk, a smile,
a nod, a wink, a pinch, a salute,
or simply a pleasant, “Hi.”
It’s invigorating to encounter a
stranger smitten with acute benevolence.
After all, our journey is quite brief.
It can end abruptly, or painfully
last far longer than expected.
So what’s the sense of traipsing
through life as sour-faced
scaredy-cats or pompous schmucks?
The laws of civilized-jungle-survival
are obvious: Steer clear of
grizzly bears in dark alleys.
Don’t tweak a werewolf’s snout.
Even at safe havens like
the Coffee Bean or Starbucks,
never fall for a line delivered by
an amorous silverback sporting a Rolex.
That beast wants nothing more than
to drag you off into the brush.
Predatory creatures definitely exist.
But that’s no reason to curl up
like a porcupine trying to hide your
very essence from pass’ers-by’.
If you bump into a wildebeest,
try not to be intimidated
by his scraggly demeanor.
Pounding beneath that gruff exterior,
you might discover a caring heart.
As those mousy mortals with
their deadpan pusses parade by,
startle them with a harsh, “Boooo!”
While they’re scurrying away,
eyes cast downward and
tail tucked between their legs,
howl after them, “Hey!
I’m just a fellow traveler
in search of a kind word…
I don’t even bite!”
— Boots LeBaron —
THE HUMAN RACE
WHO ARE WE?
Lovers can be friends.
Friends can be enemies.
Enemies can be teachers.
Teachers can be preachers.
Preachers can be hypocrites.
Hypocrites can be gigolos.
Gigolos can be heart breakers.
Heart breakers can be liars.
Liars can be users.
Users can be abusers.
Abusers can be cowards.
Cowards can be heroes.
Heroes can be brutes.
Brutes can be romanticists.
Romanticists can be manipulators.
Manipulators can be politicians.
Politicians can be swindlers.
Swindlers can be believers.
Believers can be dreamers.
Dreamers can be schemers.
Schemers can be tycoons.
Tycoons can be ignoramuses.
Ignoramuses can be patsies.
Patsies can be voters.
Voters can be celebrities.
Celebrities can be impostors.
Impostors can be charmers.
Charmers can be shysters.
Shysters can be lovers.
— Boots LeBaron —
THE HUMAN RACE
MEET SUZIE, A HORNY SPINOSAURUS FROM EGYPT
My name is Suzie. I’m bigger and more voluptuous
than a Greyhound bus. Paleontologists gave
me the name Spinosaurus aegyptiacus. I prefer
Suzie. Some 90 million years ago, during
the Cretaceous period, I hung out in the
river beds of Egypt in northern Africa.
And that’s where they dug me up in 1912.
Interested in my measurements? I’m 50-feet
long. That adds up to a statuesque 6-to-7
tons of girlishness. Scientists say that
I was the largest of predatory dinosaurs and
the only one of my kind who thrived in water.
Problem with having webbed feet is I could
never wear stilettos. My favorite tidbits
were huge fish, alligators and turtles.
You might say that among dinosaurs, I was one
primeval cutie who didn’t need eyelashes to
flutter or pouting lips to entice boys.
It was my glistening seven-inch fangs and
flirtatious glances that turned them on.
My fashion plate was my six-foot sail-
like fin that sprouted from my back.
Girls envied it. Guys adored it!
Surprisingly, I don’t miss the days of my
youth when my species were struggling for
survival. It didn’t come close to what you
power-hungry, self-righteous Homo sapiens
must cope with in today’s troubled world.
Don’t take my word for it. Just read the
news or watch the talking heads on TV.
There were no mortals anywhere when this
horny Spinosaurus was on the prowl. What
does that tell you about your superiority as
Earth creatures? Evolution might be fascinating
to ponder. But it doesn’t guarantee perfection.
— Boots LeBaron —
http://www.amazon.com/The-Human-Race-Boots-LeBaron/dp/1494218526
Roar Roar Roar… Friends for Evermore!
JUNGLE WILDERNESS
‘ROAR-ROAR-ROAR!’ SAYS THIS LEOPARD CUB
Roar Roar Roar… Friends for Evermore!
There once was a little Leopard Cub
Who lived back in the wood.
He went growl, growl! Roar-roar-roar!
Whenever he felt he should.
He chased beetles in the tall grass,
Romped and frolicked all alone.
He skipped and jumped and rambled
‘Till his mommy dragged him home.
He loved to snap at butterflies
That perched on his fluffy tail.
He’d run in circles chasing them
Until his tongue turned pale.
Then he’d sit upon his little rump
And look up at the branches.
If he saw a mouse or squirrel,
He’d start his stalking dances.
Growl, growl! Roar-roar-roar!
He’d call out in his tiny voice.
The animals would scamper away.
They felt they had no choice.
He’d find a shady place to nap,
And close his big blue eyes.
He’d snore and whistle in his sleep,
Which of course was a surprise.
And when he would awaken,
Bouncing up like a lively spring,
He’d let out with a ferocious snarl,
The cuddly little thing.
Growl, growl! Roar-roar-roar!
He’d bellow wildly to the wind.
Telling all the little animals
He just wanted to be their friend.
— Boots LeBaron —
http://www.amazon.com/The-Human-Race-Boots-LeBaron/dp/1494218526#
MUST HUMANS DESTROY EVERYTHING WE TOUCH?
Tarzan would have been impressed with Chris Chambers.
The petite green-eyed blonde animal activist
was exhausted and covered with mud after six-hours
climbing up the side of a steep volcanic mountain in
what is now known as Central Africa’s Republic of
the Congo. Like her five fellow safari members,
Chris’ mission was to experience up close
the kind of endangered primates that the
legendary Diane Fossey had spent a lifetime
studying and protecting. The jungle was so dense
that a guide with a machete had to hack the way.
Finally, they encountered a group of 28 gorillas
including a dominant “silverback”. “I had a feeling,”
she said joking, “that he didn’t appreciate blondes.
The British Airways customer-service agent
recalled that “It was the most incredible experience of my
life. I feel so proud that I was with mountain
gorillas. Just to be with them and touch them was an
amazing experience. They were so much like humans. You
look at them and wonder if they share the same kind of
thoughts that we have.” (The gorilla I drew nuzzling
Chris was based on photos she gave me.)
“Being with those animals was so intense.
My favorite was a young adult. When he grabbed
the strap to my backpack, we played
tug of war,” she said laughing. “He was so powerful.
I thought he was going to drag me off into the brush.
He held on until the guide shouted, ‘No!’
Like he understood, my playmate dropped the strap and
swaggered away. After he left, I sat there crying
realizing that these wild animals were so much like us.”
Here’s the philosophy Chris brought back to
civilization: “The problems we create
for ourselves seem almost ridiculous.
So Illogical! Life can be so beautiful and simple.
Yet we’re guilty of introducing deceit,
violence and greed into the World.
Animals have just as much right as humans to exist on Earth.
Why must we destroy or tarnish everything we touch,
including our own species?”
— Boots LeBaron —
THE HUMAN RACE
HEY, GUYS… IS IT TIME TO TIE THE KNOT?
Never marry a woman who plays the flute
and raises cobras for the hell of it.
Never marry a woman who refuses
to play catch with you.
Never marry a woman whose ex-husbands are muscle-
bound cage fighters or NFL defensive linemen.
Never marry a woman who believes that
motherhood must come with a nanny.
Never marry a woman who expects 3-karats,
new wheels and a Visa card before nuptials.
Never marry a woman who continually
beats you at checkers.
Never marry a woman who’s
mesmerized by her beauty.
Never marry a woman who’s been widowed
three times and is under indictment for ADW.
Never marry a woman who constantly
fusses with her ankle-length hair.
Never marry a woman whose mother prefers
nothing less than a kiss-ass son-in-law.
Never marry a woman who doubles down with a pair
of sevens while the blackjack dealer’s showing a King.
Never marry a woman who’s repulsed at
the thought of changing diapers.
Never marry a woman with thick chest hairs
who can bench press three-hundred pounds.
Never marry a woman who’s bent on turning
you into her mealy-mouthed daddy’s clone.
Never marry a woman who spends more than
three-hours a week at the beauty parlor.
Never marry a woman whose father expects
you to take over his house-plumbing chores.
Never marry a woman who downs a vodka
Martini for an eye-opener every morning.
Never marry a woman whose eyeteeth grow
into fangs when the moon rises.
Never marry a woman who relishes her job
as bouncer at a saloon for longshoremen.
Never marry a woman who cackles and
flies on a broomstick.
— Boots LeBaron —
THE HUMAN RACE
NEVER MARRY THESE MEN
Never marry a man who drives a Mercedes,
wears a Rolex and lives in a hovel.
Never marry a man whose work tools include
a blackjack, a .38 Special and a silencer.
Never marry a man who allows his nostril
hairs to grow long enough to braid.
Never marry a dude who sees Viagra’s four
hour erection warning as a manly frivolity.
Never marry a man who insists on selecting
your bridesmaids from a Victoria’s Secret catalog.
Never marry a NRA enthusiast whose
favorite sport is fortune hunting.
Never marry a man who’s obsessed
with your bank account and his profile.
Never marry a man who asks you to
strip at his bachelor party.
Never marry a man who’s an alcoholic
posing as a workaholic.
Never marry a man who proposes as
you’re pole-dancing at Bada-Bing Bada-Boom.
Never marry a man who has the names of
five ex-lovers tattooed on his buttocks.
Never marry a man who blows his nose on
your grandma’s embroidered dinner napkin.
Never marry a man who twits a close-up
of his crotch on the Internet.
Never marry a man you catch
peddling your thongs on eBay.
Never marry a man who’d rather watch
a Star Trek rerun than you in a nightie.
Never marry a man whose last wife took
him for everything but an empty jewelry box.
Never marry a man who thinks he’s
too masculine to clean the toilet bowl.
Never marry a man who sees a girl’s
night out as a shameless act of feminism.
Never marry a man who goes for a Hickey while
standing in line at the supermarket.
Never marry a bank robber unless you
can drive the getaway car.
— Boots LeBaron —
PUTTING A FACE ON THE HUMAN RACE
EXPERIENCING SELF PITY? TRY TAP-DANCING
IT AWAY ON THE STAGE OF LIFE!
We are all starring in The Theater of the
Absurd. Look into the mirror. See yourself?
Even at your saddest moment of
wretchedness, study the character gawking
back at you. Notice the bloodshot eyes, the
twitch, the frown etched in deep furrows.
Pretty pathetic, huh? Now look deeper. There’s
a gladiator hiding behind that gloomy
facade. I don’t care how you’ve failed
or how your spirit was damaged. Give your
memory sack a good shake and there’ll be
an assortment of memorable moments spilling
out. Guaranteed, you’re gonna find something
to howl, growl or smile about. I know, I know.
You’re uncomfortable. But don’t hide. You’re
tap-dancing under the glare of the spotlight,
sharing the stage with billions whose tragedies
would dwarf the grief you’re experiencing.
You’re suffering an ego attack. Maybe a broken
heart? Everybody gets them. So stop fretting!
Even in the midst of catastrophic sadness,
there is humor. When my childhood friend,
Dick (Bumbo) Channon died at 52, I had his mother
and sister laughing. I dropped a handful of
bubble gum into his open casket. Memories are
made of happiness. Fun, never dies easy.
When my Irish pal, Frank Francis O’Leary
recently kicked the bucket, I wrote a
story turning the portly aerospace
physicist into a leprechaun stuck in a
tree. Death might be an emotional disaster for
many, but beyond those woe-be-gone tears lurks
the soul of truth that’s ready to spring forth
and bite you on the buttocks, infecting your
solemnness with happy memories. Truth harbors
a helluva sense of humor. You just gotta remember
the good times. So, if you want to temporarily
overcome those doldrums, here’s my suggestion:
Go into the bathroom and lock the door. As I
suggested earlier, find the mirror. You’re all
alone, right? Now bend over and give yourself
a kick in the ass. If you’re not double-
jointed, pull down your pants or panties and
“moon” the mirror. That act, I suspect, will give
you good reason to rise above self pity. You might even
realize what a pathetic looking asshole you are.
Remember: Laughter beats tears.
— Boots LeBaron —
Click to buy The Human Race by Boots LeBaron avail at Amazon and Kindle.
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