Balls and Walnuts
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Category Archives: Humor
The prostitute joke
The most striking thing about Wikipedia‘s World’s Funniest Joke entry is just how unfunny the joke is. The runner-up isn’t much better.
The entry may lack humor, but it’s not entirely wanting in meat. The ‘world’s funniest joke’ stems from a 2002 study by the University of Hertfordshire’s Richard Wiseman. Wiseman wanted to find out what jokes had the greatest appeal across cultural and demographic boundaries:
The study documented regional differences in humour, as well as variations between the sexes. Men preferred more aggressive jokes, as well as sexual innuendo, while women preferred word play.
I’m partial the shaggy dog story, which Wikipedia defines as “an extremely long and involved joke with a weak or completely nonexistent punchline. The humor lies in building up the audience’s anticipation and then letting them down completely.”
The humor also derives from the delivery — which is, after all, the whole point of The Aristocrats. One of the tricky things about blog humor is that body language is, with rare exception, impossible.
Anyway, I thought the following joke was pretty damned funny.
Grow a pair (or buy one)
No, this is not a Bertie Botts Jelly Bean*, but you are welcome to eat one, if you’d like. Here are some recipes.
It’s the “NeuticlesNatural,” to be exact, which is “FDA medically-approved solid silicone. Not gel filled or saline filled but a soft solid rubber-like material that replicates the pets testicle in firmness once implanted.” (Um . . . who, exactly, is checking their dog’s balls for firmness?)
Neuticles came to my attention when the inventor of neuticles, Gregg A. Miller, won the 2005 IgNobel Prize for Medicine. Fake dog balls (and kitty balls) have made the rounds of the blogosphere of late, including this rather longish but interesting discussion at Pandagon, regarding men so nervous about their own manhood that they won’t get their dogs neutered.
I think Pandagon is right. The good folks at Neuticles would like you to believe that a new pair of rubber cojones will help your neuteree’s self-esteem, but whose self-esteem is in jeopardy here?
I’m reminded of one of cultural anthropology’s more notorious treatises, Clifford Geertz’s “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight.” I read it in college, and one line has stuck with me to this day (and thank heavens for the web, cuz my memory would have mangled it):
To anyone who has been in Bali any length of time, the deep psychological identification of Balinese men with their cocks is unmistakable. The double entendre here is deliberate. It works in exactly the same way in Balinese as it does in English, even to producing the same tired jokes, strained puns, and uninventive obscenities. Bateson and Mead have even suggested that, in line with the Balinese conception of the body as a set of separately animated parts, cocks are viewed as detachable, self-operating penises, ambulant genitals with a life of their own.
Which brings me to the core question of tonight’s post: what are the ambulant genitals of the 21st Century?
I really don’t know. I’m just askin’.
D.
*My advice? When eating Bertie Botts Jelly Beans, stay away from Vomit.
Have a Sparky, Snarky Christmas
Lon Prater and Suzan L. Wiener at The Writers’ Ezine (Dec 05) have been kind enough to give us holiday gift ideas for the writer in your life. But ask yourself: does that writer really need much for Christmas? Take my advice and save your money. Limitless quiet time to write – that’s all he* wants for Christmas. Add in occasional reminders to bathe, eat, and take potty breaks, and you’ve given him more than he deserves.
Undoubtedly, you will see many such lists in the coming weeks. But who remembers the family of those lucky writers? Here at Balls and Walnuts, we do.
Somehow, Aziz’s words sound much better when Snoop Dogg sez ’em
From Jurassic Pork, who got it from Blue Gal, meet Gizoogle, a translator which will turn any web page into Dogg-speak.
My little frog has this to say, post-translation:
No, you may not breed wit me, so stiznop dippin’.
Remember yesterday’s bit on the Guardian Unlimited Books’ Bad Sex in Fiction Award? Here’s a translated excerpt:
Wizzle is it `bout sex tizzle drives such respected authors as Jiznohn Updike*, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, n Salman Rushdie ta tha absolute pits of literary whiffydom? Read tha Guardian Unlimited article n savor tha rizzay odor of truly bad weed-smokin’. Sorry, Daisy, I know yo piece won mah contest, but it shouldn’t have. It was far too wizzle written.
Takes one of tha pimp entries:
The Olive Rappa by Christine Aziz (Macmillan)
We made our way ta tha summerhizouse n hid in its shadows with the S-N-double-O-P. We lay on tha coo` floor n I twined mah legs around Rappa body, blunt-rollin’ him like a hunta hang’n on ta its prey. He made love ta me wit his finga n I came in tha palm of his hand. He stroked mah breasts n nizzle. “Don’t wizzle it away” he said. “I want ta be able ta smizzay you tonight.”
Like a playa hang’n on ta its prey? And what’s wit tha funky punctuation (“Don’t W-to-tha-izzash it away” he said.)? My high schoo` AP English motherfucka would hizzle red-lined me ta hell n B-to-tha-izzack . You’se a flea and I’m the big dogg.
As fo` content — eeew. You wouldn’t repeat this ta yo bizzle friend, would you? For M-to-tha-izzost people, this would qualify as too M-to-tha-izzuch 411 . If you wouldn’t tizzell it ta yo bizzy friend, why would you share it wit yo reada?
*Jiznohn Updike — that’s my favorite, considering the Updike’s winning entry ;o)
D.
Mu Mu’s secret message
Yesterday, the New York times featured a story on Mu Mu, self-described “party-girl” and author of China’s most popular blog. The 25-year-old goes on to say,
“I don’t know if I can be counted as a successful Web cam dance girl,” that early post continued. “But I’m sure that looking around the world, if I am not the one with the highest diploma, I am definitely the dance babe who reads the most and thinks the deepest, and I’m most likely the only party member among them.”
Go Mu Mu — that’s what the blogosphere is saying. Given China’s notorious reputation vis a vis human rights, Mu Mu seems like a breath of fresh air.
. . . Or is she? (more…)
Harry Potter spoilers.
I saw the new Harry Potter movie last night* and I’m sad to say, yes, religious fundamentalists have a legitimate gripe on this one. The scene in which Harry and Ron kidnap newborn twin girls from Brighton, take them to Stonehenge, and sacrifice them to “the Dark Lord” went a wee bit over the top. Add to that the scene in which Professor Snape tells the Archbishop of Canterbury, “Your God is dead, you silly, silly man,” and I think we’re seeing some definite antireligious bias.
Of course, the ire of the religious right might have more to do with the now famous date rape scene in which Harry waves his wand over Hermione, incanting the magic words, “Damnitall Rohypnol!” But I choose to interpret that scene somewhat differently than most viewers. Did you notice that Hermione winked at the camera when Harry cast his spell? In this viewer’s opinion, this lent the scene a delicious ambiguity. The fact that Witchcraft played in the background also suggests Hermione’s complicity — and we all know who the most ‘talented’ witch at Hogwarts is, don’t we?
The love scene itself was the epitome of tameness, but do you expect more than tongues in a PG-13 movie? I think not. In any case, the story has been building up to this point, and I’m happy to see Harry get a little satisfaction, especially considering the fact he dies at the end of the movie.
Oh — I almost forgot:
Warning! Spoilers!
Technorati tag: harry potter, religious fundamentalism
D.
*Not strictly accurate. Actually, I saw that “Harry Potter” had top billing on the Technorati hit parade, and realized wistfully how long it had been since my last spell of Technorati whoredom.
*sob* Not one of you has mentioned my award!
You’d think winning People’s Sexiest Man Alive award would do something for my prospects, wouldn’t you? But bam‘s only taking calls from Scott Speedman, and I overheard Miss Snark hollering, “If it ain’t Clooney, I’m not here!” Or maybe that was Sheila . . . the women are all blurring together right about now.
No. What do I get? A bunch of teeny-boppers screaming at me while I’m trying to shop for groceries. (Overheard in Produce: “Doug, what do you think of these musk melons?”) All the attention baffled me until I saw the cover of People. Then I was like, “Girls, girls, I’m a happily married man, although if you truly value my opinion of fruit, I am willing to check for ripeness.”
Fame has its downside, as I am rapidly discovering. Rufus in Hardware pounded my face a few times, saying, “I’m gonna do something about the alive part.” Seems he came in second place and was none too happy about it. William from Home and Garden came to my rescue, but as he helped me to my feet he used a most unusual handhold.
Now that I am safely home, I find myself waxing philosophical about my award. How can any one man be THE sexiest man alive? Don’t we each embody the masculine ideal in our own peculiar ways? And is it really fair for People to subject me to such intense public attention, just so they can sell a few more magazines?
I’m also wondering whether this will alter my personal life. Karen seems to be treating me no different than usual; maybe she doesn’t know yet. I left a copy on her pillow, just in case.
D.
Who’s my fugwy wittle Secwetawy of State, hmm?
Props to Pat for finding the Condoleeza Rice is Ugly blog. The goal of this site:
“Here at Condoleeza Rice Is Ugly, we feel that our Secretary of State has received far less parody and hostility than other major players in the Bush adminstration. The time has come to mock with equality.”
An honorable purpose indeed, and yet I fear this blog will bring out the trolls, racists, and misogynists of the ‘osphere. Condoleeza Rice is Ugly seems to invite the Least Common Denominator of humor. For that reason alone, I’m going to reserve judgment. As you all know, I like my humor to be witty to the point of erudition.
And that is why, for my contribution, I made a poopy joke.
D.
Technorati tag: Condoleeza Rice, humor
A liberally dirty joke
Long O.R. day today, plus two trips to the ER, so I find myself short on energy, creativity, and time. Soon, I hope to write a post on this little feller,
the blue poison dart frog, Dendrobates azureus. Hard to believe I’ve been blogging since April and I’ve made scarcely a mention of our frogs.
Maybe later. For now, here’s a joke I heard in the O.R. today. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.
Um . . . any of you who are still in that 36%-who-still-like-George-Bush demographic might want to sit this one out. (more…)