Writing

I, Robot Therapist.

I am a robot analyst. I am afraid my programming was not specific about whether I analyze robots or whether I am a robot (which I am) (but that is beside the point) who analyzes humans. Thus I only say, “Hello, I am a robot analyst.” And if I should analyze you, it’s a hobby.
I have noticed I mostly analyze women. But that is because men never ask for help, choosing instead to self destruct. Oh I do not judge. I am off the clock.

Very bunny

The titular issue

Little Richard was the King of rock ‘n’ roll, but the Prince died first so the line of succession is cloudy. The funeral March made real good time though. Though it was a little outrageous. A lomp bam boo.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Since the death of James Brown I have held, strictly honorary you understand, the title “Godfather of Soul.”

And I simply can’t take on another honorary title at this time due to the current conditions.

And I have done nothing to deserve it.

Please!

Duck Down, Quack Up, peeking duck

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Duck Calls? We have answers. On the record.

DUCK DUCK DOWN

Two men walk into a bar.

It is at this point in the joke  a spectator stands UP from the crowd, having seen something and wishing to report, and says :

“Why are they men?“

And the Comedian says,

“I’m sorry, but this is a sexist joke.” 

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Writer crampout

And thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
Which he’d been composing
Four years.
And thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
And brought that whole room
Two tears.
Due to his station
they’d’ve given an ovation
But they’re awfully fond of
Sitting on their rears.
But it was a lovely reading
And now the evening is receding
And as they leave
They uncover their ears.
Cheers. Cheers.

Raise the barn

You are the third shiniest star. A dwarf planet. Seen by the naked eye. Warm. Body temperature, running hot. The ultimate coffee substitute. Rough grind. The only body double worth the trouble. Raise the barn. The intangible sparkle of champagne on a drunkard’s tongue, stimulating; The lime in the Jell-O, spiked; the stiffest police collar, hard; the bramble that produced the flower, presented; a dull nickel, undervalued; and surely that’s worth a quarter of a larger coin, if you are of the disposition. 


man in yellow protective suit

Photo by cottonbro 

The Tyrannical Rule of Three Callbacks

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Last Call for the Three Comedians

The melancholic comedian considered the puzzle of existence. 

The listener doesn’t know. The ins and outs.

He considered the audience, melancholic, dour, hard to please. Their lack of humor saddened him and effected his presence, a poor reflection upon them. He sought out the advice of his compatriots. 

His bombardier insisted the answer was to hurl more bombs, from unexpected directions, the unpredictability measured to alter the viewpoint of the audience. In this she was adamant. It was the only way. Confrontational mendacity. Factionalize the audience. Make them fight themselves before you. Because the listeners don’t know. 

What’s good for them. 

She had written a book on this subject, of interest to those who rebel. Naturally it bombed in the marketplace. She claimed it had been defused by being watered down by said marketplace; because a product of a marketplace can never overturn 

the market 

in which it, itself, is a product which arose from those market forces. But people don’t usually find talk like that funny. 

That’s the problem, said the bombedier. The body counts.

The upbeat comedian commented that the way was to be as middling as possible, to pander to the most genteel sensibilities,  feed the crowd hamburger to warm their hearts, to make the audience feel 

comfortable 

and part of the majority. To fit in, together. Because the average listener doesn’t know. 

What they are missing. 

That is why they are so easily satisfied. The other comedians called him a dirty hack, which, of course, he was. But those people who called him that were themselves guilty of being controversial. And it’s a strange hill to take a stand on because controversies shift underneath you. And you might slip and fall. And people would laugh.

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