Friday Funnies

[AdamSmith]

[AdamSmith]

[bigvalboy]

 

That made my day....

[Diverdan]

I agree, BVB... that is a great post... from Adam Smith.... A female member of the House of Representatives should get it posted in all the Men's Rooms in the Capital !!!

[AdamSmith]

A female member of the House of Representatives should get it posted in all the Men's Rooms in the Capital !!!

 

LOL Imagine how much bashful kidney would result from Rachel Maddow staring down over every Capitol urinal.

[Diverdan]

Yes, Adam... my fantasy is running wild with that image that you suggest !!!

[AdamSmith]

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Vfko2LVDprA/UdePtf5VEhI/AAAAAAAAAS4/QVZGmVvVTQM/s1600/doc+visit.jpg

[AdamSmith]

http://izquotes.com/quotes-pictures/quote-common-sense-and-a-sense-of-humor-are-the-same-thing-moving-at-different-speeds-a-sense-of-humor-william-james-93450.jpg

[TruHart1]

Hump day!

 

 

Truhart1

[TruHart1]

Unlike the "End of the World" this IS happening in three weeks!!! :eek:

 

 

TruHart1

[AdamSmith]

From a long-ago issue of National Lampoon.

 

THE LOVE SONG OF J. EDGAR HOOVER

By Sean Kelly, 1972

 

We'd better go quietly, you and I,

When the evening is smeared against the sky

Like a witness before a House committee.

 

We'd better tail each other through the streets

The undercover beats

Of stakeout nights in Mafia hotels

And restaurants that front for mob cartels;

Streets that follow like a DA's argument

Establishing intent

To overwhelm you with a leading question....

Oh, let's go and bust a traitor

We'll pick up the warrant later.

 

The agents call and call again

Talking of Daniel Berrigan.

 

And indeed they'll all do time,

That yellow mob that riots in the street,

Trashing the banks and breaking windowpanes;

They will do time, they will do time.

The mug shots are prepared, I'll know their faces when we meet;

They will do time for murder, crossing state

Lines with intent, their idle little hands

Will do time punching out my license plate;

Time for throwing and overthrowing,

And time for a hundred conspiracies,

And a hundred tricks and treacheries,

Plenty of time for that where they're going.

 

The agents call and call again

Talking of Daniel Berrigan.

 

Yes indeed, they'll all do time,

Those Commie symps who talk behind my back,

For every liberal sneer and dirty crack,

For every smear and bleeding heart attack

(They all say: "Look, his arse is getting fat")

They criticize my shapeless suits and snappy G-man hat,

My collar a size too small, -my simple string cravat

(They all say: "His neck is thick, his head is fat")

Do I dare

Wiretap the universe?

I look forward to a time

Of decisions and convictions the Supreme Court can't reverse.

 

For I know them all already, I have dossiers on them all:-

Have them cold for tax evasion, graft or rape,

I've spun out my life on little spools of tape;

I have their voices lying, have each spying call,

Have dates, names, places, everything I need.

Now shall I proceed?

 

And I have known the spies already, known them all-

They fix the courts, the CIA was formed by

Commie spies,

It has all been infiltrated, crawling with those reds,

I'll pin the buggers up against the wall.

Me and my trusty Feds

Will stick the butt-ends of our forty-fours between their thighs!

But how shall I proceed?

 

And I have known the arms already, known them all

Arms any moron has the right to bear

(But in the lab light, fingerprints are there!)

 

Thinking of a gun or rifle

Makes me digress a trifle.

Along with dope and marked bills, I'll plant pistols on them all.

And then should I proceed?

And when should I begin?

 

* * *

Shall I say, I have gone disguised through littered streets

And smelled the smoke that rises from the joints

Of long-haired party-members throwing rocks through windows? ...

I should have been a pair of rugged cuffs

Closing upon the wrists of Eldridge C.

 

* * *

My dreams of glory, my ambition, slipped from my hands

Smothered by long intrigue,

Plots ... subterfuges ... they fatigue

My old brain, codes, command and countermands.

Should I, after Dillinger, in my finest hour,

Have made my move, sought office, taken power?

Though I was supercop, and every reader of the Digest knew it,

Though I have seen my face (ferocious toad) on every cover and front page,

I never took the lead -- remained backstage;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen Life's cameraman focus on me, and snicker.

And in short, I blew it.

 

And after all, would it have been worthwhile,

Behind the pictures, underneath the rugs,

In every nook and cranny to have placed my little bugs,

To have them all, the victims and assailants,

In me they trust, one nation under surveillance;

To have squeezed the universe into a file

To open at my whim and/or discretion,

To say: "I am Jehovah, strict but fair,

My eye is on the sparrow, and on you!" --

If one, sticking a finger in the air,

Should say back to the microphone: "Fuck you!"

Should say: "Fuck you." And smile.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the shootouts and the setups and the incriminating leaks,

After the columns, after the speeches, after the trials

That dragged on for years --

The TV show on which the Chief appears? --

It's just impossible to say how mean I am!

But if I had the nerve to let them screen the truth about this sham:

Would you have been worthwhile

If all my agents, breaking cover, dropping their disguise,

Should suddenly surround me, and say to my surprise:

"There is a plot. What's more, we're, all

In on the plot, investigate us all!"

 

* * *

No! I am not Efrem Zimbalist, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant pig behind the arras,

Stupid, and so not easy to embarrass,

Useful for busting dealers at the borders,

Reading St. Paul to white congregations,

Arranging suitable defenestrations,

And casting demons out from demonstrations;

Sometimes I interrupt assassinations

Sometimes I give the orders.

 

I grow old ... I grow old ...

Some whom I sent up for life have been paroled.

Are my agents wearing sideburns? Who dared to say impeach?

I shall give communion breakfast my Commie-menace speech.

I have heard canaries singing, each to each.

 

I don't think any more will sing for me.

 

I have seen them burning draft cards in the park

Burning the files of bureaus and committees,

The wind is black with burning flags and cities.

 

We have played with fire, bringing down the heat

To smother reds and blacks in screens of smoke

Till human torches touch us, and we croak.

[+ glennnn]

You know, every time we have a disaster here in California (which is pretty much constant) the crazies in North and South Carolina proclaim that it is God's judgement on us for backing civil rights for the LGBT communities and our other wicked ways. They don't hesitate to gloat no matter how much suffering results.

 

Would I be a bad person to suggest that God doesn't appear to be real pleased with their small-minded, nasty, vile, mean, cousin-fucking, ignorant, squirrel-chomping, peckerwood selves right now, what with the flooding and all? Yes, I guess that would be wrong, so I won't bring it up.

Edited October 10, 2015 by glennnn

[Guy Fawkes]

Seems like just yesterday...

http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N0LQ4QN94PE/T8oCmSdlHpI/AAAAAAAAGIc/W3lgx6x3fDg/s1600/50_year_old_birthday_card-.jpg

[bigvalboy]

From a long-ago issue of National Lampoon.

 

THE LOVE SONG OF J. EDGAR HOOVER

By Sean Kelly, 1972

 

We'd better go quietly, you and I,

When the evening is smeared against the sky

Like a witness before a House committee.

 

We'd better tail each other through the streets

The undercover beats

Of stakeout nights in Mafia hotels

And restaurants that front for mob cartels;

Streets that follow like a DA's argument

Establishing intent

To overwhelm you with a leading question....

Oh, let's go and bust a traitor

We'll pick up the warrant later.

 

The agents call and call again

Talking of Daniel Berrigan.

 

And indeed they'll all do time,

That yellow mob that riots in the street,

Trashing the banks and breaking windowpanes;

They will do time, they will do time.

The mug shots are prepared, I'll know their faces when we meet;

They will do time for murder, crossing state

Lines with intent, their idle little hands

Will do time punching out my license plate;

Time for throwing and overthrowing,

And time for a hundred conspiracies,

And a hundred tricks and treacheries,

Plenty of time for that where they're going.

 

The agents call and call again

Talking of Daniel Berrigan.

 

Yes indeed, they'll all do time,

Those Commie symps who talk behind my back,

For every liberal sneer and dirty crack,

For every smear and bleeding heart attack

(They all say: "Look, his arse is getting fat")

They criticize my shapeless suits and snappy G-man hat,

My collar a size too small, -my simple string cravat

(They all say: "His neck is thick, his head is fat")

Do I dare

Wiretap the universe?

I look forward to a time

Of decisions and convictions the Supreme Court can't reverse.

 

For I know them all already, I have dossiers on them all:-

Have them cold for tax evasion, graft or rape,

I've spun out my life on little spools of tape;

I have their voices lying, have each spying call,

Have dates, names, places, everything I need.

Now shall I proceed?

 

And I have known the spies already, known them all-

They fix the courts, the CIA was formed by

Commie spies,

It has all been infiltrated, crawling with those reds,

I'll pin the buggers up against the wall.

Me and my trusty Feds

Will stick the butt-ends of our forty-fours between their thighs!

But how shall I proceed?

 

And I have known the arms already, known them all

Arms any moron has the right to bear

(But in the lab light, fingerprints are there!)

 

Thinking of a gun or rifle

Makes me digress a trifle.

Along with dope and marked bills, I'll plant pistols on them all.

And then should I proceed?

And when should I begin?

 

* * *

Shall I say, I have gone disguised through littered streets

And smelled the smoke that rises from the joints

Of long-haired party-members throwing rocks through windows? ...

I should have been a pair of rugged cuffs

Closing upon the wrists of Eldridge C.

 

* * *

My dreams of glory, my ambition, slipped from my hands

Smothered by long intrigue,

Plots ... subterfuges ... they fatigue

My old brain, codes, command and countermands.

Should I, after Dillinger, in my finest hour,

Have made my move, sought office, taken power?

Though I was supercop, and every reader of the Digest knew it,

Though I have seen my face (ferocious toad) on every cover and front page,

I never took the lead -- remained backstage;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen Life's cameraman focus on me, and snicker.

And in short, I blew it.

 

And after all, would it have been worthwhile,

Behind the pictures, underneath the rugs,

In every nook and cranny to have placed my little bugs,

To have them all, the victims and assailants,

In me they trust, one nation under surveillance;

To have squeezed the universe into a file

To open at my whim and/or discretion,

To say: "I am Jehovah, strict but fair,

My eye is on the sparrow, and on you!" --

If one, sticking a finger in the air,

Should say back to the microphone: "Fuck you!"

Should say: "Fuck you." And smile.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the shootouts and the setups and the incriminating leaks,

After the columns, after the speeches, after the trials

That dragged on for years --

The TV show on which the Chief appears? --

It's just impossible to say how mean I am!

But if I had the nerve to let them screen the truth about this sham:

Would you have been worthwhile

If all my agents, breaking cover, dropping their disguise,

Should suddenly surround me, and say to my surprise:

"There is a plot. What's more, we're, all

In on the plot, investigate us all!"

 

* * *

No! I am not Efrem Zimbalist, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant pig behind the arras,

Stupid, and so not easy to embarrass,

Useful for busting dealers at the borders,

Reading St. Paul to white congregations,

Arranging suitable defenestrations,

And casting demons out from demonstrations;

Sometimes I interrupt assassinations

Sometimes I give the orders.

 

I grow old ... I grow old ...

Some whom I sent up for life have been paroled.

Are my agents wearing sideburns? Who dared to say impeach?

I shall give communion breakfast my Commie-menace speech.

I have heard canaries singing, each to each.

 

I don't think any more will sing for me.

 

I have seen them burning draft cards in the park

Burning the files of bureaus and committees,

The wind is black with burning flags and cities.

 

We have played with fire, bringing down the heat

To smother reds and blacks in screens of smoke

Till human torches touch us, and we croak.

 

http://image2.findagrave.com/photos/2001/222/hooverj2.jpg

 

Some things are better left unsaid.

Edited October 11, 2015 by bigvalboy

[AdamSmith]

[Rod Hagen]

 

yes, but don't forget to sterilize first.

[AdamSmith]

[mike carey]

Less funny than a sad characterisation of 'oh, so I've accidentally outed myself'.

[AdamSmith]

[AdamSmith]

Who knew?

[AdamSmith]

http://imgc-cn.artprintimages.com/images/P-473-488-90/60/6079/WMUD100Z/posters/dana-fradon-miss-dugan-will-you-send-someone-in-here-who-can-distinguish-right-from-new-yorker-cartoon.jpg

[Kevin Slater]

 

Kevin Slater

[Kevin Slater]

 

Kevin Slater

[AdamSmith]

[AdamSmith]

http://www.boytoy.com/forums/uploads/monthly_10_2015/post-100116-0-27364100-1445062325.jpg