David Raffin

David Raffin is a postHumorist, poet, & metaphysicist.

Coffee gives gas the musical

The day you could no longer buy leaded gasoline was the saddest day for every waiter in America who was dependent upon the “leaded” or “unleaded” joke whenever approaching a table to offer caffeinated or decaf coffee.

Now the coffee service was a hollow gesture. A mechanistic gruel.

But Broadway beckoned. And

“Leaded or unleaded the musical”

opened to pour box office. Which, trivially, was a joke in the first act.


During the intermission, the songwriter,

he used to be a waiter,

but that was back in the days when a man could get a cup of Joe,

without a lot of song and dance,

and brother that was a long time ago, he was jittery. Caffeinated. Like.


His name was Joe. Joe the waiter. Now Joe the songbird. And the play was full of double entendres and tongue twisters and, to tell you the truth, it was a little risqué. Which is French for right dirty, sister. So it did boffo box office.

BOFFO
“Insert two bits for a cup of Joe” was the third song in the first act.

The bits in question were old vaudeville sets, Marked up.
It hasn’t aged well.
For one thing young people today don’t understand they used to put lead in gasoline. To knock out the knocks, if one can believe.

Baked or Fried, fit to be tied

How many donuts are in a dozen is not variable. Every donut past the mark is a bonus. At sleazy donut shops you can arrange to receive bottomless donuts. But then you have to eat them all, including the holes.
Stand-up comedy dressed like a doughnut. A talking doughnut. Jelly filled. Sugarcoated. Donut laugh.
The donut stripper left sprinkles everywhere.
In states where it is legal to do so, donuts are commonly fried.
The donut guru smiled and said I, dough-nut, know.

Donut proceed with caution

My new children’s book “the happiest cornflake” will be serialized on the back of… let’s fill our bowls with imagination. Visualize. Stay puffed. Donut be a marshmallow in the resistance. Donut sugarcoat things. Donut go soft. I am General Mills. This is a dry cereal outpost.

Fresh Laugh Tracks

Play

This podcast is so important I recorded it on my phone.

My apologies to those I have yet to offend.

No apologies to those I have re-offended.

To those I have pre-arranged a future offense for, I await payment.

“Someone Else’s Memories” from the album “The Politics of Desire” by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.

Winner Winner! by Kevin MacLeod
Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/4630-winner-winner-
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Fuzzball Parade by Kevin MacLeod
Link: https://incompetech.filmmusic.io/song/5044-fuzzball-parade
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Grateful acknowledgment thereof.

A notice from Mr Raffin regarding his availability at this time

Let’s face it if you’re here it means only one thing you were caught in a filter. And yes those filters are only there because we are surrounded by highway bandits. I know they don’t look like what you’re thinking of when you think about bandits. For one thing they don’t wear bandannas. Nobody transports money by train anymore. And bullion is just a soup. Like lentil vegetable. Or peanut brittle. Melted. And they don’t wear hats because hats went out of style my friend. Wide brim. Narrow brim. Stove top. Pork pie. Headband. Beanie. We’re in too deep.

Beep.

Remember, I am available to entertain at gala balls, union rallies, and nudist resorts. My material, as always, is high class, proletariat, and without shame. You will laugh so hard you tinkle in your pants. If that is appropriate attire in venue.

Give Me a Ring Sometime, Whydontcha?

Got married once at the 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. A coin operated operation. Store Front. Up the Alley.
Rings provided, nestled in a little plastic egg, vending machine trinket, were 100% cheap plastic. There was no jewel on them, they were only semi-precious, instead they simply stated on the face: “MaDE in CHINa” sloppily engraved. Lasting longer than the marriage. Probably have not decomposed to this day, wherever they have happened off too. I hope they are very happy.
I now pronounce you COWBOY and PRINCESS. 25 cents and you may Kiss Off together.

About a year later I stole that sign. The one out front. Sandwich board. Said: 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. Thank you very much. I had accomplices. The owner of the Church was a lawyer. The statute having expired.
It was around the block from the X-Ray Cafe. Wasn’t even my idea. No. This was the initiative of a Vietnam Vet Poet. Who, on the stage of the X-Ray Cafe one Monday night, about 2:35 AM, After spending 40 minutes telling us about the night he had to retrieve bodies from a muddy ditch, and he kept sliding back down, suddenly said, “Brothers and Sisters, Let’s steal the sign from the @$# 24 HOUR CHURCH OF ELVIS.”

So five of us went around the block (including the aforementioned poet; Trey, who owned the place, and now owns Voodoo Doughnut (and certainly doesn’t remember this, for legal reasons); A middle-aged transsexual who had been raised in the Ku Klux Klan down south, grandson of the grand dragon. Grandson of the grand dragon. Disowned. Said she lived the first 40 years as a man. And intended to live the next 40 as a woman, and a couple others). To swipe the thing. Only to find it weighed about 800 pounds. And we stole it anyway. Found a shopping cart. Unused. On the street. What are the odds. Got it in the shopping cart. Brute force. Wheeled it around the block. Put it on the stage of the X-ray. So bands could play with it. Left a note for the 24 HOUR CHURCH of ELVIS. That IF they want it back…
Thank you very much, as the king said. With this ring I thee wed.