The Magic of Laughter

My sense of humor is not for everyone. Some people have even gone so far as to label me “weird”. I am rather fond of that particular label as I love myself and my strangeness fully. On rare occasions, I find those special souls that march to the same beat as I. Bless them. They are fearless in their endeavors. There is something rather liberating about finding people who embrace who they truly are and do so without reservation.

This morning, I had the good fortune of engaging in a virtual snowball fight on Twitter with one such glorious individuals. I know what you are thinking. How can that be any fun? Think about it for a moment. You are sitting in the warmth of your home, having a snowball fight with people from all over the world. The best part, you don’t have to send pictures of people throwing snow. You can pretend you have been injured and send a picture of Snake Plissken. You can pretend to run away but fall down. All you need to play is your imagination and a sense of humor. Simple things like this can be a barrel of laughs with the right group of individuals who are in touch with their inner child and don’t mind letting it loose for a bit of fun. Besides, you never know where the fun will take you. Currently the snow ball fight has turned into a booty shaking contest. Didn’t see that coming, now did you?

I’m sure by now you are wondering what point I am trying to make here. Laughter, surrender to it. I don’t mean a chuckle or a giggle. I want you to surrender completely to it. Laugh until the back of your head hurts, snot bubbles are forming, and your eyes are running like the Nile river. Even better, if you can reach the nirvana of laughter where you are so fully consumed with glee that you make no noise at all because you have lost your breath and your face resembles a cherry tomato. Laughter like that is a better work out than any cardio regimen. Not only do you burn those pesky calories everyone is always going on about, but it cleanses the soul as well. If you will indulge me, I shall take you on a journey to find this elusive, soul cleansing laughter. Leave you inner cynic behind. Wake up the child inside of you. A bit of silliness never hurt anyone.


This is Ernestine Dolores Macadamia Nut, heiress of the Mr. Peanut fortune. Ms. Nut is currently on a cruise in the Bahamas to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. Her friends, Penelope Skidmarks, the heiress of the Hanes underwear fortune, and Tricia  Rubbersfield, the heiress of the Trojan Condom fortune, have decided to go all out for this trip as it has been ages since the trio got to hang loose and let their collective hair down.

As you can see, Ms. Nut is having the time of her life. This moment was captured while she was on an exclusive water adventure with the ever tan and gorgeous Victor del la Sexy. Mr. Sexy ensures that every one of his customers gets the ride of their life on his pleasure boat the Maidenhead. Most ladies would take offense to such a hard and fast ride, but judging by the look on her face, Ms. Nut is one, very happy customer. After all, the family motto is “Strut. Strut. Bust that nut.”


The in-laws will be here any minute. You have slaved all day to make the perfect dinner that you just know your mother-in-law will criticize until her false teeth fall into her wine glass. Wouldn’t you know it, but time has run out and you are a hot mess plus you forgot to heat up the bread. You frantically scramble around trying to finish up when the door bell rings. THEY ARE HERE! Your husband goes to answer the door while you run to your bedroom to make yourself presentable.

Blast the humidity. Your hair is in shambles. Nothing that a quick curl wouldn’t fix. Now where is that roll brush when you need it. There is no time to look for it as you hear the caw of your mother-in-law’s voice ring out. Damn that woman and her need to put you down at every turn. You think, screw it as you realize that you are still holding the bread for dinner. In a last ditch effort, you use it to curl your hair. With all the other food smells wafting through the house, surely no one will notice that you smell of bread.

You make it back in time to throw the now warm bread in its basket and place it on the table before the in-laws even notice you’re were gone. With everyone seated, the meal begins. Your husband gives you a strange look as you pass the bread to his mother with barely contained laughter in your eyes. You tip him a wink and watch with utter delight as the old bag gobbles up every crumb of bread. Score one for the home team.


Speaking of food, did you know that elbow macaroni is really called Cock macaroni? To think, all of these years we have been referring to this bent pasta by the wrong name. I must admit that I was taken aback by this discovery. I am not saying that I am an expert when it comes to the male fun parts, but I would be quite startled if I saw one shaped in this manner. It is a “U” for crying out loud. I wouldn’t know what to do with it. Do I use it to play horseshoes? Do I sing “Over the Rainbow” to it? If I throw it too hard will it come back like a boom-a-rang? Actually, that last bit would be fun. I wonder if I could do all three. Guys? Want to experiment with this one?

No volunteers, huh? Well, for the sake of the world, I shall rename this pasta myself. No longer will it be called elbow or cock macaroni. We will refer to it forever more as U noodles. That is what they are shaped like and it makes sense. Seriously, none of you gentlemen will let me try out the cock-a-rang? I heard from Ernestine Dolores Macadamia Nut that it is a great way to bust that nut. Oh well. Maybe next time. Moving along.


I am a sucker for romantic gestures. Hearing someone call me “my love” turns me into putty. It is also pretty good for my ego for my loved one to acknowledge my ability to sit upright. Posture is so important. At only five feet in height, I must be very careful to avoid developing an unsightly back hump. If I fail in this mission, by the time I start to shrink due to old age, I will be able to stand up straight and tie my shoes. It is a good thing I do not posses a set of large lady balloons as well. I am clumsy enough without tripping over them whilst trying to put on my bloomers. So no slouching for me. I am ever so grateful that my dearest one encourages me.

What I cannot stand is being treated like a potato. I may be round. I may have a tough outer skin. It is true that if I am warmed up through hardcore cuddling that I turn to mush. If you cover me in butter and sour cream I am rather tasty. I do go rather well with a nice steak. If you shoot me out of a potato gun, I will knock the holy dog snot out of something. You can cut me up and deep fry me. Like I already stated, I am rather tasty. Honestly, though, just because you can do something, doesn’t mean that you should. Okay, you can do the hardcore cuddling with me but that is all. Alright, I’ll admit it. I do like being covered in butter and sour cream too. You weren’t supposed to tell people that. Sheesh.


Have you ever had one of those dreams where you really, really have to go to the bathroom but no matter what you do, you can’t seem to find a normal one? Anyone? Oh, it is just me. Well then, ahem. Let’s move along to more pertinent concerns.

Who designed this bathroom? It is like the world’s strangest game show. Can you pick out who is the Turd Burglar before the timer runs out? I can see the bonus round being a rousing game of sniff that fart. Contestants could try to guess what the mystery person ate by the noises they make dropping a payload. Will mystery guest behind door number one stand up to wipe? Find out after the break.


“Dude, I think that house is flirting with me.”

“What? You’re crazy!”

“Nah, dude. Check her out. She is totally flirting with me.”

See, this is why we can’t have nice things people. All Tricia  Rubbersfield wanted  was to have a beautiful home to come to after a long day at the Trojan plant. When she met with the architect, she stated that she wanted something classy, but also feminine. This is what he came up with for her. At first, Tricia was delighted. This quickly turned sour as every teenage boy in the neighborhood started leaving love notes to her house.

Put out, Tricia decided to confront a pair that were debating on her front lawn to find out what all of the fuss was about. Little did she know that it was the shot of her home above that was driving teenage hormones into a feeding frenzy. None of them could pass up that coy little hidden smile. It invoked their need to fornicate with said structure. Fortunately for Tricia, unfortunately for her home’s suitors, they were all virgins that had no idea how coitus was performed with a lady much less a house.

Always one to be quick on her feet, Tricia came up with a solution that solved everyone’s needs. Since she was the heiress of the Trojan fortune, she set up a foundation in order to help these poor teens. The House of Wank was born. Here, young gentlemen could learn about safe sex and were taught that it occurs with humans, not buildings, no matter how seductive the bricks and mortar may be to their innocent eyes. Judging by the many standing ovations she receives at the end of her lectures, I say the entire project is a rather rousing success.


Your grandmother is a handful. Since she has gotten up in age, you don’t dare leave her alone for a solitary second. Last time you did, you found her with Old Man Jenkins down the street playing naked Twister with half the senior center. After that scaring experience, you had to seek out therapy to keep the night terrors at bay. So many wrinkly butts.

Unfortunately, nature does have a tendency to call when you least expect it. To keep a watchful eye on dear ole granny and take care of business, you set up her favorite chair. Now she spends her time telling you stories of yesteryear and knitting you yet another sweater. It is not ideal, but it beats the alternative. So many butts. Speaking of which, could you be a doll and pass the toilet paper, gran gran?


Meet Johnny One Drop. His interests include long hops by the river and singing in the moon light. His friends, Sluginton and Bob, hang out on his head. Don’t be afraid of them. They are two cool dudes. When the moon is high and the night is cranking up, these two came be found break dancing on the lily pads. Don’t believe me? Wait by the banks along the Rump Shaker River tonight. I hear there is one hell of a party planned. Johnny One Drop has promised to bring out the super sized lily pads and all the flies you can eat. You know you wanna come. Besides, who could say no to that winning smile?

There you have it folks. I do hope you had a giggle or two. For those special souls among you, I hope you made it to the cherry tomato face. Never give up on the magic of laughter. It is good for your soul. Now, if you will excuse me. I have to round up my gummy bears for I hear Mr. Sexy is gearing up for another wild ride. Would you be a dear and keep an eye on my granny? Oh and watch out for the cock-a-rang. She let one loose earlier and I’ll be damned if I know where it went. Now where did I put that butter?


4 thoughts on “The Magic of Laughter

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  1. I just bust a nut reading this. Pretty much certain it was an Ernestine Dolores Macadamia Nut. Gloriously goofy and wonderfully written, your ability to tickle pickles is vast and this is another example of just how far you have come in your short time as a scribe.

    Liked by 1 person

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