White Supremacy and Black Comedy
I heard a story that a Chicago judge who handled a case involving a white supremacist came home to find her husband and mother murdered in her own home. My question is: how many black comedians will use this as material?
The judge was white, but I say a good couple hundred black comedians are already preparing their bits, or are about to. I say that half the jokes will be about "you don't want to fuck with a white supremacist!" and the other half will be about "you know what they ought to do to these fucking white supremacists?
My prediction is that about 4-5% of these jokes will be funny. Nevertheless, comedy clubs usually serve alcohol, so who's complaining?
The Solution to Annoying Cell Phone Rings
Given that the cell-phone jammer will probably always be illegal (and detectable), we need another solution to ending annoying cell phone rings.
Once mobile phone technology can be produced cheaply and small enough, here's the idea that will end them all for good. All we need is a phone that's worn as a watch, which vibrates instead of rings, and comes with a detachable, wireless ear piece.
That's it, no more ringing. Plus, you won't have to go digging for your phone while everyone on the bus is considering the ways in which they might lift you off your seat and chuck you face-first through the closed window.
But I didn't invent the wrist phone, or even the watch phone. Besides in the spy and sci-fi movies, I saw a wrist phone in an HCI (human-computer interaction) journal around 2000. The phone was so cool that the researchers' dilemma was how to overcome the stigma of talking with one's finger in one's ear. They had actually designed the phone so that the sound was transferred through the bones in the user's wrist and finger into the ear.
That's what people need. A goddamn wrist phone. Now if I can just figure out how to shut these people's mouths once they answer it.
The Closest I Ever Got to a Threesome
Two attractive, young women, one Middle-Eastern and the other Asian, were standing over me today taking turns putting their hands on my private parts. While I laid on my back, one of them first drizzled a lubricant over my scrotum. Next, they each rubbed me with a smooth, metallic device. The device generated high-frequency sound waves as they rubbed it back and forth. Ah, yes, the classic ultrasound of the nutsack.
Fortunately, I'm fine and there's no need for amputation.
Sure, I'm relieved, and even thankful for the expertise of these two chicks (one of whom was a doctor, by the way). But can I at least ask one thing? Would it really kill you to warm up the end of that goddamn transducer?
I'm sure your own Ob-Gyns have come up with a solution for cold metal, haven't they? And if they haven't, then you should be even more aware how this shit feels. How about a little creative radiology, for fuck's sake?
Nevertheless, there's only so much complaining you can do when you're in your first semi-threesome. And I must say that I'm pleasantly surprised they didn't make me use one of these.
