Author, Computer Scientist, Musician, and Photographer
You wanted to pick the strawberry moon,
In a sky painted with a starburst sunset.
You tasted its sweetness, then kissed me—
Your lips were even sweeter than the fruit.
Coyotes howled through the hills like wind,
As fireflies danced, courting the stars.
By the bay that thirsted for our reflection,
I guard that moment, timeless, in my heart.
People often say, “And no funny business.” But what if funny business is exactly what you’re in? I’ve always thought it would be a riot to own one of those old-fashioned gag gift shops—the kind where the shelves are stocked with whoopee cushions, fake vomit, and cans with spring-loaded snakes. I’d call it Jest Laugh & Beyond, with a slogan that practically dares you to get silly: “Fill your bag with gags at Jest Laugh & Beyond. You’d be an April Fool not to take advantage of these deals. You’ll prank me later.”
But maybe I need to embrace the digital age and go virtual. I could launch an online store for all the digital jokers out there. I’d call it Gagabytes, the site for all your dot comedy needs. You can also do a search for us on Giggle. Our homepage would proudly declare, “We’re always pun-line!”
And if neither of those ideas fly, why not go down to earth—literally—and start a funny farm? Picture this: a sprawling ranch filled with a laughing stock of livestock. I’d raise dreadlocked donkeys, earless goats, naked neck chickens, and miniature cows that look like they belong in a Fisher-Price barnyard playset. The farm would grow square watermelons and rainbow corn, and every weekend, we’d host performances by the Llama Drama Club. This troupe of llamas, complete with costumes and props, would reenact Shakespeare’s greatest hits out in the pasture—think Hamlet, A Midsummer Night’s Cream, King Steer, and Much A-moo About Nothing. Of course, the concession stand would sell rainbow popcorn and miniature milkshakes made from the milk of our tiny cows. We would call it a Milkshakespeare.
So, I say, “Yes to funny business!” In fact, I’d fully embrace it. Who wouldn’t want to start their day with a hearty laugh courtesy of a dreadlocked donkey? Or end it watching llamas give their best Shakespearean soliloquies? And let’s not forget the joy of biting into a piece of rainbow popcorn while sipping a miniature milkshake—both as colorful and quirky as the farm itself.
The funny farm would be more than just a place to chuckle—it would be a sanctuary of silliness, where every corner is designed to make you smile. From the pasture to the produce, it’s a world where the ridiculous reigns supreme and every day is a festival of fun. So, whether it’s Jest Laugh & Beyond, Gagabytes, or my down-to-earth funny farm, I’m all in on the business of bringing joy. After all, the world could always use a little more laughter, and I’m just the person to deliver it—one prank, giggle, and moo at a time.
I’ve never been great at thinking on my feet—or on my head, for that matter. My specialty seems to be thinking on my back, because it’s only when I’m lying in bed that the perfect comeback finally pops into my mind. By then, of course, the moment’s long gone, and all I can do is sigh and think, “Man, I wish I’d said that.”
I just don’t know when to quip. I’m so hopeless at quipping that I’ve considered booking a stay at one of those “retort resorts.” They offer a course called “Jesting While Fencing,” which sounds promising. After all, some of the best wordplay happens during swordplay, right? My wisecracks aren’t just cracked—they’re completely shattered. Every time someone gives me lip, I wish I could respond with something clever and tongue-in-cheek. Instead, it’s more like teeth-in-tongue because I always end up biting my tongue after something dumb slips out.
I’ve even thought about hiring someone to write my comebacks for me. You know, a little quip pro quo. But alas, I’m always late to the repartee, and I’ve accepted that I’ll never master the art of the taunt. My “bon mot” is more like “bon not.” The only thing I know how to roast is potatoes, and even those don’t always turn out right.
Honestly, I make a mockery out of mockery. But as I look back on what I’ve written, I realize this whole thing is just one big self-roast. Maybe that’s been the secret all along—insulting myself before anyone else gets the chance. And when they look at me in bewilderment, I’ll just shrug and quip, “Hey, I’m only kidding myself.”
Once, my spirit wandered free and bold,
Pine-scented winds wove through the trees,
The Rockies stood, silent and old,
A fresh snow kissed each peak.
In the stillness, on that lofty throne,
I sat, a pilgrim to realms unseen,
Cross-legged in lotus, the world’s voice a drone,
While my soul floated like a lily, serene.
I feasted off the land, its purest green,
And drank from the stream where time is slow,
Each drop a memory, each leaf a buried dream,
In a world that’s both familiar and unknown.
We joined hands as the light began to fade,
Sang our hopes to the darkening sky,
But our prayers scattered like whispers in the shade,
Lost somewhere between the earth and the sigh.
The elm trees sway under August’s breath,
The sun, a lion with its mane ablaze,
Watches over Summer and Autumn—
Two sisters meeting in the garden’s quiet dusk.
They sip on rosé, tasting memories in each drop,
While crickets play their twilight song.
Their words, soft and fleeting, drift like shadows,
As they wait for their brother, Winter,
Who will soon lay his frost across the earth.
Daffodils now solemnly bow their heads,
As leaves, in their silent fall,
Take on the colors of change.
A chill slips through what has come to pass,
As the elder sky wraps itself in black,
Preparing for the long night ahead.
In the quiet twilight, dreams take their flight,
A stealthy owl, guiding through the darkest night.
With wings that whisper secrets of the skies,
He soars in silence, ever so wise.
He brings to life what our hearts confide,
Turning wishes into a radiant light.
A lantern glowing in the shadowed times,
Illuminating paths where hope still climbs.
Towards a world of dreams intertwined,
Where aspirations grow, pure and divine.
Like fruit on the vine, ripe and sweet,
From the seeds in our minds, we proudly reap.
They say time is money, so why am I poor? I mean, that can’t be good, right? Maybe it’s because I tend to be late. And by late, I don’t mean fashionably late; I have no fashion sense. My style is like boho-chic meets business casual. It’s as if I’m trying to make a statement that I’m against conformity while simultaneously wanting to fit in. It’s very confusing. I think I’m more of a trendsitter than a trendsetter, meaning I sit and wait on a trend until it’s no longer trendy anymore. I’m always late jumping on the bandwagon, and then everyone is like, “Dude, that was so last year.”
One thing I’m not late for is a party. I swear my internal clock is set to party time. However, I do tend to stay too late, especially when it’s a birthday party. I’ve found that sometimes they’ll give me leftover food and cake just to get me to leave. It’s like they’ve figured out my kryptonite: the promise of free cake.
I wish I wasn’t late for the early bird special at restaurants. Although, given the old adage, “the early bird catches the worm,” I have to wonder: do they serve spaghetti made out of worms? I wouldn’t know because I’ve never made it to an early bird special. It’s probably a good thing because I would probably open a can of worms with the restaurant if I told everyone their ‘early bird special’ might just involve actual worms. That would definitely complicate my chances of getting a free dessert! Knowing my luck, the dessert would be mud pie. Speaking of worms though, I’m not in any hurry to become worm food myself.
Sometimes, I think I’ll even be late for my own funeral, but who really wants to be on time for that? When the time comes, I want to call the undertaker and say, “You know I’m going to be just a few years late, right?” I’m sure the undertaker will understand. In fact, he’ll probably expect it, considering my track record.
And speaking of track records, I think my personal best is showing up a solid 45 minutes late to a meeting because I got lost in the black hole of the internet, reading about the history of the spork. Fascinating stuff, but not exactly time well spent. No wonder I’m poor.
Often in the morning, I find myself sneezing up a storm. Let me tell you from experience that you never want a sneeze storm loose in your home. Suddenly, it gets very dark, despite your bright but energy-efficient lighting. Papers start scattering around and blowing out the window. So long, shopping list. I guess I didn’t need those Cool Ranch Buffalo Cheetos, anyway.
Next comes the heavy rains. Good luck filing an insurance claim for water damage; they will only tell you they don’t protect against sneeze storms. Too bad the wind also took the overdue bill for the insurance company.
Don’t even get me started about the thunder and the angry neighbors banging at your door because they think you’re testing a new pair of subwoofers with one of those bass mix albums. You know the one: Gesundheit Bass Vol. 5.
Then comes the lightning. The lights begin to flicker before leaving you in the dark completely. I know I paid that bill! Also, contrary to popular belief, those “energy-saving” lightbulbs don’t actually save up energy to use at a later time.
Once the sneeze storm finally clears and your power is restored, you might discover a redheaded girl in ruby slippers and her pet Cairn Terrier mysteriously standing in your living room. She might be asking to meet the Wizard of Schnoz. You try explaining to her you’re not some powerful wizard, you just have powerful allergies. Anyway, I told her, “You’re more than welcome to look and if you do happen to find him, ask if he has some antihistamines for me.”
I regretted extending the welcome because she really overstayed it. When she invited some scary-looking scarecrow guy over, that was the last straw. I don’t know what made her think I was having some kind of party, other than the Gesundheit Bass music. Even if I was having a party, you don’t just invite any old scarecrow over without asking. I mean, it’s kind of a no-brainer.
If that wasn’t bad enough, then a group of people burst through my door claiming to be storm chasers right in the middle of the game of Twister we were playing. I really need to pick up some Benadryl. I would hate to see what happens next allergy season if I could see anything at all with red, itchy swollen eyes. Also, does anyone know how much a one-way bus ticket to Kansas is? Apparently, that girl, Dorothy, asked the dog to fetch her slippers and I’m sure you can piece together the rest.
I feel another sneeze coming on if these people don’t get out of my place. I try suppressing it, but I sneeze so hard that this time a cloud of glitter bursts out of my nose, showering everyone in the vicinity. For a moment, there’s stunned silence as everyone processes what just happened. Then, once my uninvited guests start finding glitter in their drinks, on their clothes, and even in their hair, the novelty quickly wears off. Amidst the laughter, someone jokes, “Well, I guess this is a party favor we didn’t ask for!” But as the glitter continues to spread like a relentless sparkly plague, they start heading for the door, not wanting to take home any more of my glittery sneeze souvenirs.
The Rhinestone Cowboy has lost a stud,
His stallion left him stranded in the mud.
Houdini made his greatest escape,
The magic vanished with him that day.
No more Blockbusters or RadioShacks,
Elvis has left the building, no turning back.
Gone are the days of CDs and iPods,
Michael moonwalked to the stars, against all odds.
You can’t find payphones or call collect,
Good luck watching movies on VHS.
Muhammad floated like a butterfly,
But his sting has been put to rest.
What happened to Teddy Ruxpin,
Ever since Toys ‘R’ Us went bankrupt?
Doves cried when Prince’s purple reign ended,
He’s now dancing in a purple heaven.
Ziggy Stardust now “Ashes to Ashes,”
I don’t even know what’s the new fashion.
Icons fade, but memories are everlasting,
Never forget, it all goes so fast.
I didn’t write the book on love, but a romance novel—that’s an entirely different story. I totally feel like that’s something I could do, but in my case, it would definitely need to be a romantic comedy. Let’s see if I can come up with a meet cute and a rough outline for one. It obviously needs to be something far-fetched, you know, for comedic value. Here’s what I have so far:
“Everybody Loves a Clown”
Sir Charles “Chuckles” McJester, the Duke of Merriment and Laughter, is a clown for a traveling circus. He makes children merry with his hilarious antics, but behind the painted-on face, he is truly sad. He longs for a woman to marry and have his children. Someone who can bring him merriment for a change. All that changes when he meets Violet Bliss, an animal rights activist set on shutting down his circus.
It’s love at first sight when he sees her passing out flyers in the fairgrounds. He works up the courage to approach her, his oversized shoes make a flopping sound as he walks. Chuckles hands Violet Bliss a flower. As she bends over to take a whiff, he squirts her in the nose with water. At this point, she is pretty displeased, but he quips, “Hey, it’s just a splash of affection!” In an attempt to redeem himself, he makes her a balloon animal, which she then pops. He jokes, “Guess that relationship was full of hot air!”
Any kind of romantic future for these two seems bleak until Chuckles starts helping her sabotage the circus. Violet Bliss starts opening up to the possibility of romance. Things are going great until Chuckles’ ex-girlfriend, The Bearded Lady, gets jealous and decides to do some sabotaging of her own. One night, after Violet Bliss sees Chuckles and The Bearded Lady in the kissing booth, she decides to break off the affair.
As their big-top love seems to have hit rock bottom, Chuckles discovers Violet Bliss has been kidnapped. He soon learns it was Barnaby Barnum, the circus owner, fed up with Violet’s attempts at shutting him down. Chuckles, with the help of The World’s Strongest Man, a trapeze artist, and a miniature horse, comes to her rescue. He explains what she had seen was another clown meant to look like him kissing The Bearded Lady. “It was all smoke and mirrors, and a lot of beard wax!”
He then tells her that when they first met, she popped his balloon animal; now it was his turn to pop something. He gets down on one knee and proposes, saying, “Will you be the ringmaster of my heart?” They get married at the fairgrounds where they first met, with a bear on roller skates as the ring bearer. Together they change the circus, removing all the live animal acts. As they ride off into the sunset on a unicycle built for two, Chuckles can’t resist one last joke: “I guess you could say we’re the main attraction now!”
So, what do you think? I realize this might not exactly be romantic comedy gold and is a little fruity, but at least it wasn’t about fruits or vegetables this time. Am I right?
