Season 1, Episode 12: “He Shall, from Time to Time…”
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Too Late, Trotsky is part blog, part journal, and completely pointless.Following
“Dick Cheney Accidentally Shoots Friend in Face while Hunting Quayle.”
I look forward to working for you, The Onion.
Maybe you’ve been following the story about Enrico Ponzo, the Idaho rancher who after more than a decade of incompetent cattle breeding was exposed as a wanted gangster from Boston. Federal marshals tracked him down and busted him last month. The March 10 Times story paraphrased one of his Idaho buddies, Kelly Verceles, as saying that he was determined to view Ponzo only as the person he knew in Idaho. Well, fasten your seatbelts, because Verceles was just arrested for jackhammering through the foundation in Ponzo’s Idaho home, using a blowtorch to open a safe and stealing more than $100,000 in cash. The plot thickens.
Incompetent cattle breeding? Sounds like a Ponzo scheme.
April is National Poetry Month! Introduced in 1996 by the Academy of American Poets (and established by Presidential Proclamation by Bill Clinton, as seen above), National Poetry Month is an annual occurrence designed to encourage awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States.
Is there particular poem that you enjoy? Tweet your favorites to @TheAtlantic with the hashtag #NationalPoetryMonth.
This is why April is the best month ever. It starts off with jokes and baseball and then it’s all about poetry.
My dad told me this joke when I called him earlier:
Jim is at dinner with his new girlfriend and her family.
About halfway through the meal, he has to fart. He leans over onto one ass-cheek and squeaks one out. The father looks at the dog and says, “Rusty! Come here!”
Good, He thinks, they think the dog did it. I’m in the clear.
He squeaks another one out, and the father looks at the dog again.
“Rusty! Get over here!”
Jim lets one more fly, and this time, it’s a little noisier than he expected.
“Rusty!” The father says, “Get out of the way! That man’s going to shit on you!”
I feel like the irony of trash bags are that the minute you unwrap the trash bags, you have something to throw out.
If a man says “make me a sandwich” and you say “fuck you, make it yourself,” you’re not a real woman.
If a man says “make me a sandwich” and you say “yes, dear,” you’re still not a real woman.
If a man says “make me a sandwich” and you say “yes, dear,” poison the meat, then serve it to him smiling, you’re a real woman.
Originally Posted 5/14/2009.
Right now, it’s 2:51 AM and I’m watching Lewis Black on Comedy Central Presents…
He’s on a tirade about the Monica Lewinsky scandal, and he’s chillin’ on the prop couch yelling at the audience.
And I thought to myself…
if I were to ever do stand-up comedy, that’s exactly how I’d want to do it.
Sitting down.
Originally Posted 1/21/2009. ![]()
Want to know what the name of this painting is?
The Castration of Uranus.
Heh.
I also wanted to share with you a couple jokes -
Q: How many Obama Cabinet Members does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Who cares? They’re gonna change a bunch of other shit, too.
Q: How many Obama supporters does it take to change a-
A: WOO! CHANGE! FUCK YEAH!
Q: How many epic poets does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Lo, good sir, thine heart be true,
and thy soul is illuminated;
but thine body is shrouded in darkness.
I shall present ye with a great treasure,
bestowed upon me by my great ancestors
and perhaps, ye will pass this honor on
to thine own kin.
This great bulb of light shall protect ye
from the spirits who wish to do ye harm.
But now, ye shall hand me my blade
and I shall replenish the sun.