M. Giant's
Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Monday, January 17, 2005
As is now a tradition, I (Trash) am breaking into Velcrometer on M. Giant's birthday. However, unlike years past, I don’t have any funny poems, or terrible puns, or comments by friends. The lack of organization can, I think, be attributed to a number of issues (and one rather large one by the name of M. Tiny), but perhaps you – his readers – might be willing to step in where I have failed.
M. Giant loves nothing more than a good pun – and by good, I mean bad. He also loves terrible poetry. Should you feel so inspired, perhaps his readership might feel led to make use of the comments section in this blog, to leave the gift of bad writing. If you are looking for inspiration, please check out last year’s poems
Finally, a private message for the man himself – so I will, of course, post it here. I love you, darling. Thank you for so many wonderful, wonderful years, and for remaining the most coolio man on the planet. Also, thanks for not sucking as a dad.
Love,
Trash, M. Tiny, Strat, Phantom. Turtle, and Orca.
posted by M. Giant
11:26 PM
24 comments
24 Comments:
Ahh, happy b-day M. Giant. I suck at puns, but I hope that you have a great birthday!
Happy birthday M Giant! The first time I read your blog I laughed so hard some Sprite ended up on top of my head. I don't know any bad puns, so I found this for you at badpuns.com
Once while at Television Without Pity While looking for some X-Files miscellany, I noticed a link For Damn Hell Ass Kings, And the rest, as they say, is history.
But, wait - since i have space to proselytize About Velcometer as the blog to prize, I'll praise M. Giant - His humor as reliant As Minnesota's icy winter skies.
And the stolen bad pun -
I know a farmer who has 200 head of cattle. He thought there were only 196 until he rounded them up.
Happy Birthday. M. Giant! Hope it's a wonderful one!
Tammy - who was too lazy to open an actual account.
These aren't mine, because I'm not funny and have been hit with Insomnia Jack.
Why I don’t take advice.
“On the one hand,” she said, “maybe she’s playing hard-to-get. But on the other hand, maybe she just doesn’t realize you’re interested. Then again, on the other hand, maybe she likes locks more than keys. Or, maybe, on the other hand, she has a long-distance boyfriend in Virginia, no wait, on the other hand, maybe it’s Germany. Hmm, but on the other hand, maybe she’s just not interested. No, on the other hand, make that slighly repulsed. Umm, positively disgusted. On the other hand...” “Thanks for nothing,” I replied.
I knew I shouldn’t have got love advice from an octopus.
(from the heuristic squelch, which is somewhere)
Back when I was a young lad We made our own oxygen by bashing hydrogen and oxygen together.
And Dorothy woke up. "I just had a crazy dream with little people, flying monkeys, a crazy old green lady in a hat, and drug-induced hallucinations. And you were, and you and you and you! Auntie, you were there, too, but you were much, much bigger. From now on, I'm going to call you Auntie Em Giant."
Two birds were sitting on a perch. One looked at the other and said, "Do you smell fish?" Sorry, that's all I got. Happy Birthday! -An anonymous non-blogger accounted reader
You know how hard this is, in a year with... all THAT, plus a Joke Show?
Still...
He is the very model of the modern blog celebrity, His prose makes up in wit what sometimes it might lack in brevity. In cataloguing his adventures, epic and quotidian, He never fails to get the news (yea, even when it's shitty) in.
He got a kid, he lost a job, he had a scrambled temp'ral lobe. He lost a cat, he got two more, and sort of had a year like Job, But through it all, he kept us up-to-date on more-or-less the key Events, and thus he is the model of a blog celebrity.
We learned that it's a gas (and yet a pain) to work at Prairie Home; That stepping in his poo will tickle Tiny's little funny bone; That publishing is possible when writing plays iambic'lly, When you're the very model of a modern blog celebrity.
Ooooooooooooohhhhhhh,
Wednesday is the Hump-Blog, and at end-of-month, it's Reader Mail, And in between there's something odd occuring, almost without fail. He keeps us all abreast of friends with secretive identities, He is the very model of the modern blog celebrity!
...
Happy Birthday, big guy! I'm down with M-dot-G (yeah, you know me).
Q: What do the Irish sit on outside? A: Paddy O'Furniture
A frog goes into a bank, and hops up to the loan officer.
The loan officer says, "My name is John Paddywack. Can I help you?"
The frog says, "Yeah, I'd like to borrow some money."
The loan officer finds this a little odd, but gets out a form. He says, "Okay, what's your name?"
The frog says, "Kermit Jagger."
The loan officer says, "Really? Any relation to Mick Jagger?"
The frog says, "Yeah, he's my dad."
The loan officer says, "Okay. Ummm...do you have any collateral?"
The frog hands the loan officer a pink ceramic elephant and says, "Will this do?"
The loan officer says, "Hmmm...I'm not sure. Let me go check with the bank manager."
The frog says, "Oh, tell him I said hi. He knows me."
The loan officer goes back to the manager and says, "Excuse me, but there's this frog out there named Kermit Jagger who wants to borrow some money. All he has for collateral is this pink elephant thing, I'm not ever sure what it is."
The manager says, "It's a knick-knack, Paddywack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone."
Q: What do you call a bunch of Irish chairs sitting outside? A: Paddy O'Furniture
A frog goes into a bank, and hops up to the loan officer.
The loan officer says, "My name is John Paddywack. Can I help you?"
The frog says, "Yeah, I'd like to borrow some money."
The loan officer finds this a little odd, but gets out a form. He says, "Okay, what's your name?"
The frog says, "Kermit Jagger."
The loan officer says, "Really? Any relation to Mick Jagger?"
The frog says, "Yeah, he's my dad."
The loan officer says, "Okay. Ummm...do you have any collateral?"
The frog hands the loan officer a pink ceramic elephant and says, "Will this do?"
The loan officer says, "Hmmm...I'm not sure. Let me go check with the bank manager."
The frog says, "Oh, tell him I said hi. He knows me." The loan officer goes back to the manager and says, "Excuse me, but there's this frog out there named Kermit Jagger who wants to borrow some money. All he has for collateral is this pink elephant thing, I'm not ever sure what it is."
The manager says, "It's a knick-knack, Paddywack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone."
Here's a long, shaggy-dog story with a pun at the end that I will attempt to condense in the spirit of natal felicitations:
A famous tea expert was ready to retire when he heard of a tea that he had not yet tried, an Australian tea made from koalas. Of course he decided he could not rest until he had sampled this koala tea. After much travel and trial and tribulation, he arrived in the town of Mercy, where finally he was served a mug of the steaming brew. He sipped, then grimaced and spit it out. "There is fur in this!" he complained. "Of course," came the response, "for the koala tea of mercy is not strained."
Sorry this is late, but here's my attempt at bad poetry: *** M. Giant, what a year for you has past (I read all your exploits eagerly) Experiences that are unsurpassed For you things turn out most peculiarly
"I write for Garrison Keillor," oh! what luck- The perfect place your writing craft to hone. But then the old heave-ho, the schmucks I guess you'll have to leave your Prairie Home.
The dawning of the Pub Quiz! What a lark! Your music knowledge is your secret weapon. Don't let your teammates throw you off the mark, And once again "Third Place Dick" will threaten.
Orca's departure happened far too soon And left your readers weeping at their desks So get two more—a little kitty boon! The crazy of your house leaves me impressed.
"We're having a baby" oh! what joy! "In two more months M.Tiny will be here." Two scant weeks later (that clever little boy) Your baby came, and how we did all cheer.
I've lurked and laughed, I've chuckled, cried, and cheered While reading all the exploits of your life. (I hope you like this rhymed recap of your year.) Here's to you and Trash—and your 2005! *** Happy birthday, and thanks for sharing with us!
A ship of marine biologists, out on an expedition, came across a pod of whales. Unable to identify the species by sight alone, the biologists dropped microphones into the water and recorded the whales' calls.
Eventually they recognized a pattern: two-hour blocks of "conversation" and laughter-like noises interspersed with whale songs. At the end of each block, one of the older male whales would call with sounds that described an isolated northern region of the sea.
Upon deciphering the pattern, the head biologist cried, "Aha!" "What species are they?" asked her amazed assistants. "Isn't it obvious?" she replied. "They're Keillor whales."
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