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Wednesday 31 July 2013

Earlier I surmised that automating the process of extracting my old jokes from the ancient braverman.org site would take less time than hand-copying them. Well, duh. It only took two hours to write the script, lint the very few entries that needed it, and push the lot up to The Daily Parker.

So, for those of you who have missed all the jokes—there are just under 200 of them, all published from May 1998 to November 2004—start here, then skip to here, and then keep clicking the calendar control.

I'll call out my favorites once I re-acquaint myself with them. This one goes at the top of the list.

Now, programming trance ended, I am off to bed.

Wednesday 31 July 2013 00:13:49 CDT (UTC-05:00)  |  | Jokes | Readings | Blogs#
Sunday 1 June 2003

Waiting at a restaurant bar
To meet my wife for dinner
And this woman walks in
Can’t help staring at her
I mean, this girl is hot
Rounded and tight, wicked curves
When she turns, I hold my breath
My god, she has incredible curves
She’s a little short, but whatever
A body like that, who cares about height?
She’d be tall enough in my bed
On her back or on all fours
It’s all good, all she’s got
Hair pulled back in a ponytail
Skin-tight T-shirt, cut low and high
Bright orange short shorts, and tight
Ah, yes, she wears French cut…
And across her ass, the word “midfielder”
I get to see that several times
Don’t know what it means, don’t care
And I’m thinking, just go away
I don’t need this right now
You’re too hot and I’m too tempted
Just keep walking and I’ll be okay
But look at that ass, those tits, those lips
She’s built to play and I’m feeling frisky
Imagination and temptation rising
Just look at that body
Just think what I could do with that
No baggage, no waiting, just raw
She’s so ripe and I’m so ready
No, no, stop that – I’m married
And I’m waiting here for my wife
Keep it cool, this is not a problem

So then she sits down next to me
Oh great, like I needed this
Too distracting, too tempting, too much
Maybe if I don’t look, it’ll be easier
Like maybe I’ll forget she’s there
Yeah, right
Eyes on my drink, aren’t ice cubes fascinating?
I could just stare at ’em for hours…
Why is she looking at me?
Uh-oh, she’s going to talk; not good
Hi.
Uh, hello, how are you?
Now why the hell did I ask that? Too late…
I’m good, she says, and I believe her
Stop that, this is just small talk
I’m not a teenager, no pickup lines here
Just two strangers talking in a bar
Passing the time in anonymous social…
I’m Alicia, she says with a smile
Uh-oh…
I’m Brad, I lie; can she tell?
Hi, Brad. Guess not
Maybe she doesn’t care
Maybe she doesn’t know any better
I mean, she looks pretty young
Late teens, early 20s
How much experience could she possibly have?
Does she even think to look for a ring?
Would she care if she saw one?
Hi, Alicia. You waiting for someone, too?
Yeah. I guess I should call her, huh?
Yeah, probably.
And then she laughs, and touches me
I heard this great joke today…
She tells me and it’s funny
She’s still touching me
Why don’t I pull away?
Then I hear myself saying,
Hey, that reminds me of a joke…
She laughs when I tell it
Head back, eyes bright, mouth wide open
She really liked my joke, no faking

So now we’re trading jokes
Laughter comes easily, and more touching
I hardly notice now – but I do notice
I don’t stop her, I don’t mention I’m married
Maybe this is just harmless fun
My wife could show up any moment now
Oops, gotta run, thanks for the laughs
But not yet, and I’m sweating now
She keeps touching me, subtle but repeated
She’s so sexy and I’m so tempted
Why can’t she just go away?
The jokes and stories are quite raunchy now
We’re deep in hard-core thoughts
I need to resist, I need to walk away
I can’t, I just can’t
I’m so ashamed
Might as well get something for my pain, then…

She leans forward, another private dirty joke
What a view she gives me
(Hey Alicia…nice rack!)
I mean, look at those tits
Look at them – big, round, firm, delicious
She knows I’m looking
She wants me to look
She’s got me hooked, we both know it
The question is, what will I do?
First, I laugh at her joke
It’s really funny and really nasty
Yeah, she knows what she’s doing
Then I look at her, just look
My eyes say what my lips can’t
She looks away, suddenly overwhelmed
The rules of the game have changed
But have they really?
She pulls out her cell phone:
Maybe I’d better call my friend.
Her eyes are dancing with mine
Her lips are telling lies
Her body is being honest
My reaction is a reflex, no thought
No, Alicia, and I take her hand
I’ve got a much better idea.
She smiles
That sounds like a great idea, Brad.
And then we’re both gone…

©2003 Sean Pearson

Saturday 31 May 2003 19:00:00 CDT (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#

The Buddha did not drive his car at 7:45am
He never faced the corporate hierarchy
No student loans weighed on his shoulders
He walked away from his marriage
The Buddha had the freedom to choose, to explore
He taught us to accept the inevitability of change
He told us that letting go = serenity
And this path lies between asceticism and opulence

Well, I try to walk the Middle Way
I try to accept that change happens
But I slip a little in rush hour traffic
A little more working in my cubicle
A little more in the grocery store at 5:30pm
A little more in conversation at the dinner table
It adds up, little by little, to a lot of dissatisfaction
So much frustration and disappointment

And I get to try again tomorrow?

©2003 Sean Pearson

Submitted by reader S.P.

Saturday 31 May 2003 19:00:00 CDT (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#
Friday 8 November 2002

My job involves driving a van around neighborhoods looking for customers. You see, most people are too embarrassed to call for help, even when the problem gets so bad that they have trouble living in their house. So I cruise around areas, looking for certain signs that might indicate a problem, sometimes calling into the dispatcher in case someone has the courage to admit they need help. It's a decent job, somewhat humbling for me with all my degrees and experience. Still, it pays well and the work isn't hard, just a little dull. And, of course, just a touch surreal. All this is going through my head as I drive through the affluent suburbs around Syracuse.

One sunny Saturday morning, the dispatcher sends me to a nice neighborhood in Manlius. As I pull into the driveway, I see the signs. Oh yeah. They're pretty clear: This house has a problem. A big one. But maybe it's just on the outside. I've got solutions for external problems. It's when they go inside that things get much more tricky. I'd better go in, take a look around, let them know the professional has arrived, see how bad the problem really is.

"Thank God you're here!" the obviously relieved woman of the house says, letting me in. "We weren't sure what to do. I mean, they're everywhere, and we thought maybe they'd just leave after a few days. But…"

"They didn't. They just kept spreading, and more showed up, and you thought 'This can't be happening'. But it was, and it is. Right?" I keep a straight face, knowing she's really upset and she needs me to be a Professional about this.

"Yes, exactly. And then I remembered…" She tells me a long story about how she knows someone who knows someone who had this problem last year, and they called my company, and we took care of it. Quickly, discreetly, efficiently.

"Ma'am, I'm glad you called." I look into the living room. There's one on the TV, several nesting on the couch, one sitting on a lamp, a family walking into the bathroom—must be time to train the little ones about water. And then the clincher: A young boy walks by, looking sad and defeated. There's a white duck on his head, looking quite self-assured and in charge.

"Yep, you've got a duck problem here. Fortunately, I'm a professional; I can help you. Just take your family out for a few hours and I'll take care of everything." And she leaves, so relieved, and I head out to the van to get the tools I'll need.

Yeah, this is my job, and I'm not proud of it, but when I can see how much I'm needed by people, I don't feel quite so silly. I feel powerful, useful, needed.

My name is Glenn Hamilton, and I'm a professional duck exterminator.

Submitted by reader S.P.

Friday 8 November 2002 10:00:00 CST (UTC-06:00)  |  | Readings#
Friday 20 September 2002

On 9/11/02, I defied the terrorists.
Just little old me.
I went to work [in public service].
Rode the subway.
During the moment of silence at 8:46AM—
The two ladies next to me crossed themselves.

Boston police at every turn,
I went into a court of law.
Smiled sadly at everyone I could.
And sang, "happy birthday" to my aunt.

Today I heard planes taking off.
Opened my mail.
Chose what I wanted to watch on TV.
Listened to music on the radio.

I tried my best—
To honor the memories of those who were taken
and the people who gave their lives,
attempting to help others;
during the violence one year ago.
On 9/11/02 I defied the terrorists,
like on each and every day.

—On the Blue Line & Winthrop, Mass., 11 September 2002. Copyright ©2002 Dena Barisano.

Submitted by reader D.B.

Friday 20 September 2002 12:00:00 CDT (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#
Sunday 17 June 2001

Many years ago, there was a man in Bathsheba who asked his servant to go to market. His servant had served faithfully for many years; though his hair was white, he stood as tall as a young date tree in the autumn whose leaves are beginning to fall while the fruit of abundance draws to an end about it.

The servant went to market, and among the throng he saw Death, dressed in black and as pale as the moon that grows thin. Death made a gesture, and the servant grew frightened; for, although there were many people in the marketplace, who crowded to buy the things that would bring them joy while they lived, none of them heeded the lonely pair.

And he ran home to his master, and he said, "Master, today I saw Death in the market amid the throng. And he made a threatening gesture to me. Master, I shall make haste and I shall ride like the wind to Samarra, for Samarra is many miles from here, and Death will not find me there."

So the servant rode away to Samarra, and his master was sorely troubled, as is the traveler in the desert who is called to the side of his dying father and his long journey draws to an end. And he went to the market and he sought out Death, whose dress was dark as the sea at night when the fisherman is lost, and his face was as pale as a grave on a frosty night.

And the master said to Death, "Why did you make a threatening gesture at my servant? He has done me good service, and is old in years."

And Death replied, "I made no threatening gesture at your servant. That was a start of surprise. For I saw him this morning in Bathsheba, but this night I was to meet him many miles away in Samarra."

Submitted by reader S.P.

Sunday 17 June 2001 10:30:00 CDT (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#
Monday 14 February 2000

When I close my eyes
And dream of times we shared
I hear the angels weep
Heaven knows you never cared
Every sun that rises
Brings another lonely day
We used to soar on angels' wings
Now I plod on feet of clay

Stare into the flame
Burning like my shame
I can only blame
You who played the game
Stare into the flame

Wish I'd known when times got tough
You'd throw it all away
So much for 'ever after'
I can't even face today
Whispered promises of love
Down many years will echo
A future life I do not want
A future you made hollow

Stare into the flame
Burning like my shame
I can only blame
You who played the game
Stare into the flame

A bitter friend thought long lost
Here comes the pain again
This is not how life should be
This happens much too often
Eighteen months of agony
Nights filled with desperation
Is this what you wanted?
From pure to desecration?

Stare into the flame
Burning like my shame
I can only blame
You who played the game
Stare into the flame...

Then suddenly you reappear
Pretending nothing's changed
But your smiles cannot erase
The dreams you smashed and rearranged
When I close my eyes
I wish with all my might
I wish I'd never met you
And pray I'll feel all right

Stare into the flame
Burning like my shame
I can only blame
You who played the game
Stare into the flame...
Stare into the flame...

Copyright ©2000 Sean Pearson

Submitted by reader S.P.

Monday 14 February 2000 11:00:00 EST (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#

I met her at a bar on a rainy summer night
She was sitting in a crowd that she wouldn’t call her friends
When I took the seat before her with a smile and my first name
She smiled back, took a sip of wine, and said, "I like this game."

I realized that in her eyes a storm was coming fast
How was I to know I would sit helpless in its path?
Just her name rolled off her lips as seconds slipped by
Diana stole my night with seduction in her eye.

Savage mistress of the moon
Can I know who’s hunting whom?
Keeper of the mystery
You’re coming for me, coming for me

Minutes turned to hours till the witching hour had come
We’d traded barbs and anecdotes and now our brains were numb
Then she stood so suddenly; shadows hid her face
Diana took my hand and slid it way below her waist

Savage mistress of the moon
Do I know who’s hunting whom?
Keeper of the mystery
You’re coming for me, coming for me

Woke up as the sun baked me in a stranger’s bed
Cool breeze coming from the porch—or from the words I read?
"Help yourself to breakfast while I take my morning run
And lock the door when you leave; our one–night stand is done.
Have a nice life."

Copyright ©1999 Sean Pearson

Monday 14 February 2000 11:00:00 EST (UTC-05:00)  |  | Readings#
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David Braverman is the Chief Technology Officer of Holden International in Chicago, and the creator of Weather Now. Parker is the most adorable dog on the planet, 80% of the time.
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