One can only wonder what sorts of shenanigans ensued at the water fountain between a leather jacketed victim, a topless accomplice, and one fellow suffering from a damaged pinky.
These fellows seem pretty psyched to cast their votes for class president.
“Don’t forget to calculate the area of the trapezoids and rhombi, Ese.”
Sometimes you just want to strangle your typing teacher because she’s a controlling bruja.
Been there, my friend.
Mary Alice has been on hold for 37 minutes with her P.O.C. health insurance carrier, and has found herself entertaining unkind thoughts of shoving Joyce and Joanne’s heads through the spindly wrought iron bars.
This bespectacled fellow is giving me a French Stewart (from Third Rock From The Sun) vibe.
The year 1951 was a special time for hair. Behold.
What in the name of Lyle Lovett? Oh, let’s not be hasty in our judgment; perhaps it was covering a right-sided tumor.
This next series takes us from disdain to giddy jubilation in just four steps.
Not everyone can have fantastic hair like Snazzle Dazzle here.
Right, Leslie?
Pretty sure he turned out to be a psychopath.
Last night I had a dream that I was on The 25,000 Pyramid, and I’d gotten to the Winner’s Circle with Melissa Joan Hart as my celebrity, giving me clues. She kept yelling “ham sandwich, ham sandwich” and all I could think was “Things You Eat At A Picnic,” “Things Kids Pack For Lunch,” “Things Pigs Turn Into”…And then the buzzer went off and she shook her head despairingly and I discovered the category was, “Things Mama Cass Died Of.” Which didn’t seem fair, since you usually only die of one thing, and that one thing was choking on a ham sandwich–not things plural. But then I remembered that was just an urban myth, and Cass actually had a heart attack at the age of 32. And really, if she was going to die of any sandwich, it should have been in a Hardee’s, where the burgers are charco-broiled, as she sang in the 1973 jingle.
I tell you what–if this O’Dingle were a human being, he’d surely have a spot for him in the Blog of Funny Names tout de suite. However, he is only a stubby-legged dog, long dead and gone. Which would you prefer as your pet–the schnauzer or this chow chow? Don’t forget how ill-tempered chows can be.
This blowhard Dutchwoman is participating in an after-dinner sport called Eieren Blazen, or egg-blowing, the antidote for a meal rich in beef and potatoes. Amsterdam egg-blowers spent the evening, sitting on their hands and blowing toward the goal. Think you might fall into gluttonous sin tonight? No problem. We can burn off those calories. Simply fetch an empty eggshell, a billiard table with two goal nets, a dozen pals, and away we go.
I know it sounds farfetched, but could that be Morey Amsterdam actually IN AMSTERDAM, bug-eyed and diminutive in the cardigan?
I Don't Get It 