J: Ida (ed. – John’s wife) is a backgammon shark.
T: I used to play backgammon with my brother Tim on Yahoo, back in the day. My screenname was fuoneeye, for the old pirate joke.
J: ?
Fuoneeye? I don’t get it.
T: f-u, one eye.
J: Oh right, I know that one, the parrot joke. Cut out his tongue, did he?
T: It was a female parrot, you racist.
J: R- what? What does that have to do with cutting out hi- um, her tongue?
T: Always trying to silence the pastel-colored among us.
J: Well, they are lazy and they crap all over everything.
T: You’ve got a point, there. So does Ida play on Yahoo?
J: Yahoo? No, but she doesn’t drive a Stanley Steamer, either.
T: Touché, you little thug.
J: If she did, though, her screename would be something like “gimmeyerchipspunk”
T: Chipspunk?
J: Chipspunk.
T: Wtf is chipspunk?
J: I’ll take “Lousy Band Names” for $2,000, Alex.
T: Alex: “This band was formed when members of the Ramones joined forces with Alvin and the Chipmunks.”
J: “You got chipspunk? I HATE chipspunk!” – Ed Asner to Mary Tyler Moore.
T: “I know that. But what are those little green things?” – Ted Knight. Also, “Edeko Sowakaki.”
J: Wasn’t there a Generic Band out there back in the day?
They showed up in white pants and shirts that said “Band” on them?
T: I don’t know who you are talking about.
J: The Who was actually a pretty good band.
T: I liked some of their songs, but I hated Townshend. He was always a huge asshole, and he’s not as good as he thinks he is.
J: Townshend and Roger Daltrey should get together with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, call it Beatle-Whos.
T: Just Townshend. They can call it the Dung Beatles. Because Pete Townsend is a pile of dung.
J: You could make a pretty good band out of the dead guys from those groups… Lennon, Entwistle, Moon and Harrison.
T: Are you kidding? Dead bodies just lay there. You might as well call them “Hole,” because all they are is a place to put your stuff.
J: Courtney Love already has that gig, though.
T: The Courtney Hole: that’s the hole on the golf course where you take five strokes, overdose on heroin and shoot yourself in the face.
J: That sounds like something that would happen to you in prison, getting Courtneyholed.
T: A Courtney hole is made with a dirty needle.
J: LOL.
T: That’s a weird thing to laugh out loud about, heroin addiction.
J: Yes, that was an unfortunate acronym.
T: What are the worst uses of acronyms?
J: “Et tu, Brute? LOL.”
T: Sorry about your dog, LOL.
J: “Grandma’s dead, LOL”.
T: “I’m sorry; it’s butt cancer. You have three weeks to live. LMAO.”
J: MacArthur actually said “BRB” but the newspapermen made it more dramatic.
T: Mister Gorbechev, TEAR DOWN THAT WALL! (Smiley face)”
J: “Tranquillity Base here. The Eagle has landed. (Winky face) ”
T: Helen Keller: “Daddy, I can talk now!”
Daddy: “STFU”
J: Mission Control: “I’m trying to get a readout on the fuel level here and Armstrong just keeps sending me poop emojis.”
T: Helen Keller: LOL?
Daddy: URGAY
J: “We have 20 seconds of fuel left 💩”
T: Metaphorically speaking.
J: Smiley face.
T: Well, “like” is actually a simile, not a smiley.
J: Well, get your worthless carcass off my lawn, roflmao.
T: Here’s how I sort all the writing tricks out.
Metaphor: “Life is a bitch”.
Simile: “Life is like a bitch”.
Metasimaphor: “Your wife is a bitch.”
Also, an analsimphorism: Waving your hands to direct someone, only they’re looking in the rear-view mirror so they see you backwards and plow into a light pole. And they die, leaving 11 orphaned kids who – because they are Dutch – have to move to Mexico for some reason.
J: That was a lot of setup for not much joke.
T: How’s this? “I abhor the putrid swells of my wife’s rancid bosom. Death shall be a sweet release, often denied yet much anticipated”. Smiley face.
J: “Shakespeare, the Early Years”
T: “Shakespeare, the emoji years”
J: “Romeo! Where the hell art thou, Romeo?”
Next on “Shit Shakespeare’s Dad Said.”.
T: “Thoust hast failed thine yet again – thousst denieth thine birthright. Screwest thine. Bring me a beer. I mean, something something meade. Or something. Bourbon and coke. I dunno.”
J: “Bringeth me an ale that I might quaff it and belcheth hops in thy face.”
T: “Bringeth thine opium pipe, perchance to smoke thou fair.”
J: “Forsooth, thine wench is the last in the tavern, and no man wilt lie with her as her frock doth reeketh of sour milk and onions. Fetch me an ale, and I shall don my ale goggles and bringeth her to mine crib.”
T: “Aye, I’ll introduce ye. Lassie, this is Mr. Spunk. Chip Spunk.”
I’m not sure when I turned into a pirate.
J: Lassie was probably the one throwing little Timmy down the well.
T: “Aye, but she was a randy lass, that one. She could chip spunk with the best of them.”
J: Way to bring it around. Not that we got far. What were we talking about, anyway?
T: Beats me.
