Laughin' ain't what it used ter be

Q. What do you get when you cross an insomniac with a dyslexic agnostic?
A. Someone who lies awake wondering if there really is a Dog.

Mah friend sent that ter me fer fun.

An' I did laugh.

Really.

She noted how ya' couldn't make no fun any more of injuns, polacks, crackers (well, I doan mind akshully) dagos, darkies, fat folks, skinny folks or short folks. Comedy routines is on hard times.

Wait! There is God---ya' can still make fun o' God.

An' thas' the last laugh I had yesterday.

Cause next, another lady comes ter book club wif nervous twittery laugh an' a clippin' from a a northeast newspaper what ran a review of a movie called Zoo...er, a ducmentary "the culture of zoophiles, people with an erotic attraction to animals." Time magazine coos, "it is more atmospheric than graphic, more romantic than journalistic." An' the director "avoids judging the men in his film, depicting them as regular guys who hold down regular jobs and attend regular parties."

"Is this a joke do ya' think?" she asked?

None of us were laughin'. We's in stunned mute horror.

Whar' is PETA when ya need 'em? Whar's their outrage?

This duckumentary was based on the real life story of some demented fella in Washington state who died despite his buddies rushin' him to the hospital after somehtin' "atmospheric and romantic" happened wif' a horse and the man's colon was perforated. The horror here ain't the demented man, but Time and other media bigwigs whose shameless prostitution for a buck means they'd smirk over such a movie and describe it as "romantic."






When the Wahabbi's bomb Sundance I'se gonna cheer.









An if ya' ain't had yore fill of gruesome insanity,
and yore belly ain't full of somethin' unpleasant to upchuck,
then rent Last King of Scotland...see Forest Whitaker play a masterful Idi Amin..the butcher of Uganda. See what a real dictator does..jes' by way of knowin' truth from hyperbole in the American press.


Well...as I say, laughin' ain't what it used to be.