Tragic Rabbit

Steve Irwin walks into a bar with his pet crocodile by his side. He puts the croc up on the bar. He then turns to the astonished patrons and says: "I'll make you a deal. I'll open this croc's mouth and place my genitalia inside. Then the croc will close his mouth for one minute. Then he'll open his mouth and I'll remove my genitalia unscathed. In return for witnessing this spectacle, each of you will buy me a drink." The crowd murmured in unanimous approval. Steve stood up on the bar, dropped his trousers, and placed his privates in the crocodile's open mouth. The croc closed his mouth as the crowd gasped. After a minute, Irwin grabbed a beer bottle and smacked the croc hard on the top of its head. The croc opened his mouth and he removed his genitals, unscathed as promised. The crowd cheered and the first of his free drinks were delivered. Steve stood up again and made another offer. "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try." A hush fell over the crowd. After a while, a hand went up in the back of the bar. A blonde woman timidly spoke up..."I'll try it! Just don't hit me so hard with the beer bottle." *

Why Can't Anyone Tell I'm Wearing This Business Suit Ironically? November 30, 2005 | Issue 41?48 Is it my fault none of you stupid conformists can understand how hilarious and ironic my cutting-edge fashion sense is? In 1986, I was the first kid in the neighborhood to wear a Mr. Bubble iron-on T-shirt from the '70s. I was only 10, but I was soaring over people's heads. In high school, I was the only guy to wear Adam And The Ants war paint to the senior prom?even though it was the early '90s. Those fools looked at me like I was 10 or 12 years behind! In college, the trucker-hat concept was my masterstroke. Within a few years, everybody was doing it, but by that time, I had so moved on. Well, now I'm 25, and I'm still leaving all you idiots in mysteriously tongue-in-cheek fashion dust. About five years ago, I was growing bored with the whole neo-'80s electroclash look that I had mastered years earlier. I figured, why not go all out and take the concept of ironic fashion to the extreme? Just do something so risky and completely out there that it would blow people's minds. So I dreamed up the suit idea. It was like, just create the squarest possible look and run with it. And I was hardcore about it, too. A lesser man might have just snagged a cheap suit at Goodwill, but I went all out, choosing a conservative, gray three-button suit and having it fitted by the best tailor in town. I even had my hair cut in a short, non-descript style parted to the side. I mean, who the hell does that? I looked like a fucking senator! Fresh from the tailor's in my new suit, I hit all the hippest spots, just waiting for the scenesters' jaws to drop at my sheer audacity. To make sure the irony was pitch-perfect, I got the matching shoes, the cuff links, everything?I even matched my silk socks to my eye color and the accents in my tie! I could barely keep a straight face! But in every single bar, club, and after-hours house party I went to, I got the same reaction?everybody just treated me like some kind of lame-o. They looked at me like I wasn't supposed to be there. I initially thought maybe they were jealous, but then it dawned on me?they literally thought I was dressed like that for real! Ha! Couldn't these morons get a simple joke? It's like, "Hel-lo... If you have to explain it..." I resolved then and there to stick it to the mainstream and adopt this bullshit suit as my signature look. If I knuckled under and went back to my drainpipe trousers and Chucks, I'd just be selling out. Nope. If anything, I was gonna take it further. I perfected the look until it was as hilarious as it could possibly be. No expense was spared?if I cut corners, I wouldn't be doing the joke justice. So I got a leather Hermes attach? case, and I filled it with? you guessed it?actual legal briefs! And my watch? Lame-ass TAG Heuer. Most expensive one I could find. Is that the avant-garde of hipness, or what? But people still didn't get it. Nobody cracked up when they saw me at Yeah Yeah Yeahs shows. If anything, they seemed to avoid me. One of my now ex-friends even called me a sellout. WTF? He worked for a fucking graphics design firm. I was standing right there in my goddamn suit, for Christ's sake. It's not my fault if some jerks can't handle the extreme and total "fuck you" of my next-level fashion statement. I took it further. I moved out of my Williamsburg loft (so 10 years ago anyway) and put a down-payment on an Upper East Side co-op. Uniformed black doorman and everything. Hilarious! Then, on a lark, I applied for a job at this hysterical corporate law firm called Gorman, Gorman, Hensler, and Stein, and?this is the kicker?I actually got the job! I figured I'd fake the law gag long enough to get my first paycheck, then totally blow off these cheese-asses and frame my uncashed check as an irony trophy. Well, I did that... But then, when people still failed to pick up the joke and more and more weeks went buy without me getting fired, the paychecks started to pile up and I figured, "What the hell? Might as well cash these extra ones." I had to, really, to pay for all this expensive ironic shit. But what good is all this hilarity if there's no one else hip enough to appreciate it? On the 8:12 a.m. commuter train, everybody just assumes I'm one of them. So does my secretary, my assistant, and every single one of my colleagues at the law firm, where I'm now a partner. I even married this clueless girl from Connecticut?loves shopping and everything?and we have two ironic kids. I swear, they look like something out of a creepy 1950s Dick And Jane reader?I even have these hilarious silver-framed pictures of them in my cheesy corner office. But still, the humor is lost on everybody but me. I'm probably the most fashionable guy on the planet at this point, but no one understands. God! Do you have any idea how difficult it is being so far ahead of your time? Some days, it's enough to make me want to embrace conformity like all the other sheep. But who am I kidding? Living on the cutting edge of irony is in my blood, man! I couldn't go straight if I tried! *

That comment got me thinking and today I wrote Exothermic Reaction in response. It involves heat in a high school Chem class. And thanks for the nice things you said about Gravity in Gardens. Not too many people seem to have read it...or else it was just lousy. It did express my coming out feelings, at least one aspect of them; my coming into awareness (and pulling away from Mother). This other one, the Chem lab one, is a lot more playful and less serious. Kisses... TR

READ EXOTHERMIC REACTION by TR TR's second original contribution to AD's new Drawn From Life section is this short story chemistry confession, Exothermic Reaction. What is an 'exothermic reaction'? Definition: A chemical reaction that produces heat. And Chemistry's heat is what this playful true story is all about. Honors chem class, lab safety rules, an absentminded teacher and a roomful of horny sophmores-what could possibly go wrong? Read Exothermic Reaction to find out. From Exothermic Reaction: Exhibit A: Terry. Who is now following me into the storage room, where Gregg and Wurtz reaction have sent me. My cup runneth over. My list is in my hand. My eyes are on the shelves: bottles, jars and beakers, all neatly ordered, tidily tagged. He speaks my name but I?m busy with titration calculation. No one else is in the storeroom. He sidles up, crabwise, to stand behind me. My body, not fully recovered from his last assault (dry Chem notes and Gregg notwithstanding) reacts unwisely. I am sure my shudder is a secret. I reread my list, forgetting my sequence of events. To wit, I am distracted. Allow me to explain. Terry is not precisely unattractive. Terry is slim, about my size and height, his brown hair is long and his skin is pale. He has a vagueness to him that is disconcerting, a dreamy look to his deep green eyes. He wears tight blue jeans, day after day, year after year, varying only his tee shirt slogans. He has a thong around his neck from which dangles a twisty little golden shape that, he says, is a symbol of masculine fertility. *

http://www.awesomedude.com/drawn_from_life...ly_snippets.htm Hallmark, Norman Rockwall and The Waltons ain't got nuthin' on our very own Graeme as he bares all in this series of endearing, adorable family tidbits: Family Snippets. Kids, parents, chess horsies, bike lessons, anniversaries; silly moments and happy times fill these small stories. Read one, read several, read them all. He adds little shorts onto them regularly, so check back if you enjoy them and be sure to drop the author a line. He's writing from the heart, and for the Drawn From Life section of AD. From Family Snippets 'A Special Day': So, when Andrew suggested getting Janine a train engine for Mother?s Day, I suspected he really just wanted another one for himself. I decided to test this theory: ?I don?t think Mummy would like a train engine. How about we get her some chocolates, instead?? ?But I don?t like chocolate!? he whined. Now this was a complete lie but, relative to a new train engine, I could accept it as being the truth. Rather than discussing it at that time, I elected to wait until we were actually at the shops before trying to get him to choose a suitable present. *

Tommy O'Connor went to confession and said, "Forgive me Father for I have sinned"..... "What have you done Tommy O'Connor" said the Priest. "I had sex with a girl" "Who was it Tommy?" "I cannot tell you Father, please forgive me for my sin." "Was it Mary Margaret Sullivan?" "No Father, please forgive me for my sin." "Was it Catherine Mary McKenzie?" "No Father, I cannot tell you, please forgive me." "Well then, was it Sarah Martha O'Keefe?" "No Father, I cannot tell you who it was." "Okay Tommy, go say 5 Hail Marys and 4 Our Fathers and you will be forgiven." So Tommy walked out to the pew where his friend Joseph was waiting... "What did you get?" asked Joseph. "Well," said Tommy, "I got 5 Hail Marys, 4 Our Fathers, and 3 good leads!" *

The humour section of course. Sez you. :twisted: TR

http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/MOTOW/m...wilde_title.htm On the California Zephyr there is a car that is, informally and perhaps uncharitably, known as the Oscar Wilde. A Pullman, a sleeper, it is known (among those in the know) as the place to go for mysterious assignations and tete a tete. When a privacy-loving PI boards in Burlington, he's looking for escape from his profession, a temporary reprieve from snooping and detection, but he will not, on this run, get his wish. When a body is found, a murder uncovered, he is forced to ply his trade, to solve the case and save a grieving man, but he must work fast and find the killer quick, before the train pulls into the Reno station. Multiple characters, webs of deceit, too many motives and alibi lies, all conspire to make the solution of this case nothing short of miraculous. If six people can legitimately want you dead, should anyone really care that you were murdered? Gentleman friends, long time companions, old school chums and conniving women make up the cast of this 1950 period noir piece by TR, Murder on the Oscar Wilde. Chapters will follow weekly or sooner, as we race to the conclusion (and solution) of this Murder on the Oscar Wilde. From Murder on the Oscar Wilde : I have always enjoyed train travel. The leisurely progression; the rhythmic reverberation that soon fades from your awareness; the stately service performed against all odds in confined spaces; the endless panorama Americana outside the glass; the deference of porters, waiters and other staff, mostly well-spoken Negroes, offered up in a kind of ironic theater, paean to a past long gone and perhaps mythic, when white men must have felt born to such compliance and respect. ... But that, of course, was precisely what I was dodging here in my roomette?s tiny bed, with my amorous, but fortuitously fictional, escape. With only the small reading light on above my head, and in my comfortable cotton pajamas, I turned the pages, curious about, but not too terribly engaged in, my lovelorn heroine?s florid miseries. I prefer to keep my distance when I?m not being paid to be a snoop. I am not, by nature, a man who pries into the affairs of others. Quite frankly, this makes my chosen profession as much a mystery to me as anything I have been called upon to solve. I was therefore relishing my privacy, my cloistered room, small as it was, and my book of purple prose, when, drowsy, I finally fell into sleep. The knocking at my door, a rapid hard hammering so unlike the porter?s usual diffident tapping, startled me awake. *

http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/a_chris...istmas_Wish.htm Billy was small for his age, looking more like six than nearly ten, but that was the least of his problems. This Christmastime, though, he finds a few solutions. This is Codey's second story and is tender, gently told, sweet and charmingly written. A holiday tale that will make you smile, even if it is through tears. Seven short chapters and an epilogue, almost a novella and very much worth your time. Come, read, meet little Billy and, believe it or not, meet a few Scrooges and other traditional harbingers of Christmas. From A Christmas Wish : ?Hello?is this Mrs. Munro?? ?Yes it is. May I help you?? ? I believe so. My name is Paul Thornton of the law firm of Thornton and Thornton. I?m calling in regards to an accident on your property that injured a minor child named Robert Jefferson. We have been asked to represent this minor child in a recovery of damages suit against you and your husband.? ?Against us? We had nothing to do with his accident.? ?I?m afraid the law disagrees, Mrs. Munro. The accident occurred on your property and was caused by your negligence in allowing the ice to build up on your sidewalk.? ?It wasn?t our negligence. The boy had been told earlier to clear the walk. It?s not our fault he didn?t do it and hurt himself after it got worse.? *

American Cupcake This short offering, dessert on a plate, is from the author of Fifteen, T. Scott Faulkner, and is entitled American Cupcake. A beautifully written work, artfully arranged, it will disturb you, arouse you, confuse you. What is perversity when it's at home, who does it look like in the mirror? This erotically charged tale will entice you, but you'll be sorry, you'll wish you'd never wanted a taste of... AMERICAN CUPCAKE by T. Scott Faulkner From American Cupcake : You're thinking to yourself that this is your lucky day. You've wanted a boy just like me for the longest time, someone you know won't go screaming to the authorities. Your smile tells me all I need to know for the moment: you know it's terribly wrong, but you need me. You've pegged me as sweet, innocent, curious, the perfect candidate for your delicate tutorial. It's like I've walked whole cloth out of some boylove website, my freckled face toasted by long afternoons in the sun, my corn silk hair studiously uncombed. My eyes are aquamarines under glass. You want to tell me I've walked out of a Norman Rockwell painting, but you sigh because you know I've never heard of the dude, and the allusion would be lost, and then you wouldn't be cool at all. You're mistaken, of course. Utterly and completely...I wasn't lost. I certainly didn't need a ride ? my Audi is parked four rows over. But you were lost, Mr. Smith, and I knew just how to find you. I always know where to find you. *

Trab, I mistyped, the word is 'distracting'. Don't tempt folks, there is a reason for your fate in A Funny Thing. Mother as Goddess is not my invention, though it was my experience. No one is required to read anything at all here at AD. Including this post. TR

A man and a woman are riding next to each other in first class. The man sneezes, pulls out his penis and wipes the tip off. The woman can't believe what she just saw and decides she is hallucinating. A few minutes pass. The man sneezes again. He pulls out his penis and wipes the tip off. The woman is about to go nuts. She can't believe that such a rude person exists. A few more minutes pass. The man sneezes yet again. He takes his penis out and wipes the tip off. The woman has finally had enough. She turns to the man and says, "Three times you've sneezed, and three times you've removed your penis from your pants to wipe it off! What the hell kind of degenerate are you?" The man replies, "I am sorry to have disturbed you, ma'am. I have a very rare condition such that when I sneeze, I have an orgasm." The woman, now feeling badly, says, "Oh, I'm sorry. What are you taking for it?" The man looks at her and says, "Pepper." *

I wish I had a working camera, my digital died last year and I've not replaced it. Sigh. TR

I want to mention, for those who aren't aware of it, that I have previously spoofed my own Drama Club and Josh's The Least of These. I believe both are available at AD, the former title is Drama Club: The Farewell Tour and the latter is The Worst Of These. Both shorter than A Funny Thing is intended and have more specific targets. In Farewell Tour, I make fun not only of my own beloved Drama Club but my own, that is TR's, writing talents, personality, intelligence and even personal hygiene, as well as seriously mocking (read:thrashing without mercy) all the characters DC readers hold dear. Farewell is like A Funny Thing, Angel is the main character in a smartass 'real life' version of himself and he comments ceaselessly on TR, the other real-life versions of DC kids, the decor, TR again, Nifty-style stories, TR's hack writing so-called talents...well,you get the idea. I don't make TR out to be anything wonderful in A Funny Thing either, btw. The Worst of These is much milder and of a different type, I spoofed TLOT by writing in Josh's own style and stealing his exact, and very beautiful, scenes, line by line. So TWOT is a sort of Evil mirror image of that first chapter of TLOT, and purports to show the true relationship between Davey and Mickey, my favorite online romantic duo. Josh was thrilled, he laughed till he was sick, then complained that I'd stolen his best sequel title. So, if anyone has the idea that I just have it in for AD, or for anyone in particular, say, poor wee Brit Josiah or whomever, that is simply not the case. I only spoof what I love. If you get heavy treatment, it's because TR, or the Dude, love you a lot. If you get just a mention in A Funny Thing , we still love you but maybe you just aren't joke material. (you wish) No, seriously, and the disclaimer attached to The Worst of These states this pretty well: Dear Reader: Just so that there is no confusion on the subject, I want to say that The Least of These is my absolute favorite teen romance. I love it very much and love the characters, especially Davey. The spoof represents that affection and is not intended to demean the beauty of the original in any fashion. Making jokes is a great way to show your love but it may also explain why I'm single. To wit, I tease only because I love ya. Much love to all of you, Tragic Rabbit

Can we just use this thread? If anyone has comments, I'd be interested. Feels weird talking more directly about my own life, though I guess I've gotten more used to it with poetry. Still, the stories that are, in parts, about me are a lot more disguised. TR

You're just interested in the fellows' members. And much on that subject, too, will be revealed in future chapters of the noble Adventures contained within A Funny Thing... Attn denizens of AD: Avoid a worse fate and send in your actual photos and stats, lest TR resort to lies and USPS Wanted pix. Wibby's kindergarten photo (top of part two) is so cute, it just goes to show, don't it? And what is that big stick he's clutching so tightly? I do appreciate everyone being a good sport, most especially Josiah whose virtue and honor are so thoroughly thrashed in each chapter. He's a sweet guy and I like him very much. I like Gabe a whole lot, too, but he doesn't show up until Angel reaches the Poetry Forum. Actually, I'm far more likely to spend time spoofing something I like than something/someone I dislike (eg. my spoof of The Least of These). I don't know whether I'm on any Icarian hitlists, but I've really, really wanted to spoof Scrolls since I first read it. The Dude always said I should, but liked the site spoof idea even better. And thus it was, El Jefe's wish is my command. Kisses... TR

A new fantasy there Trab???? :) No, probably just his, ah, daily grind. What price success? (Besides, how else can he pay for his PS3?) :-({|= Kisses... TR

And TR is ever so grateful. [see: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forums, parts one and two, for more on this idea.] Kisses... TR :hiding:

:evil3: :evil4:

http://www.awesomedude.com/drawn_from_life..._in_gardens.htm The second story written for our Drawn From Life section is this coming out story from Tragic Rabbit, Gravity in Gardens. He mixes theories of gravitation with memories of childhood to explain, to himself if not the reader, how he came to know, beginning at age six, of the differences in his nature. Apples, mothers, fruits, gardens, plantings, harvests, hearts in boxes, a falling down and a rising up, these images tell his tale in an oblique manner that might manage to be distracting, but don't let him get away with it. This is a poetic mood piece set to prose standard and perhaps more from the heart than first glance might indicate. Give Gravity in Gardens a read...and then let us know what you really think. Listen, and let me tell you... From Gravity in Gardens: And the look on Mother?s face, ever when I brought my boxes, those awful offerings, my questions. A hardness behind her eyes, like onyx. My God, she was, in truth, and so I brought to her, asked of her, sacrificed to her, longing for surcease. Tell me, tell me, answer me true. Save me all unknowing. But she was not a god, she was my mother, and she could never understand my boxes, could never know that thing inside, that thing I brought to her, my silent self. My own indifferent goddess, who daily raised up the sun to only slay him. Magna Mater. Green Man running, dying, arrow in his side. Cybele Triumphant. And to think, I brought my heart in boxes. I was nine before I realized. Empirical observation. After that, I kept my counsel; small diplomat, I learned to lie. *

http://www.awesomedude.com/drawn_from_life/bonds.htm The inaugural story for the new AD section, Drawn From Life, is this true confession from our own Rustic Monk, BONDS , centering on the search for his birth mother. As he struggles to discover who and what he is, he fights against the many bonds that restrict him-legal, societal and familial. His prose is at its best: clean, clear and a str8 shot to the heart. Gritty, real and unapologetic, BONDS will touch you, will make you think. A perfect offering for Thanksgiving, the traditional time to reunite with family, whether in person or thought. Read BONDS and let us know what you learn. From BONDS : You're probably wondering how it feels. You want to know. You want to experience it. So I'm sure you want to ask me more questions. You'll want to know what it was like, if was I excited, was I scared, how my parents reacted. Shut up. I'm writing this so you won't ask me again. *

In that case, I'm sure there's a 15th way. TR

Oh, my GOD! That was SO funny! That was excellent, thanks for sharing! TR

A lady goes to her priest one day and tells him. "Father, I have a problem. I have two female parrots, but they only know how to say one thing." "What do they say?" the priest inquired. They say, "Hi, we're hookers! Do you want to have some fun?" "That's obscene!" the priest exclaimed, Then he thought for a moment. "You know," he said, "I may have a solution to your problem. I have two male talking parrots, which I have taught to pray and read the Bible. Bring your two parrots over to my house, and we'll put them in the cage with Francis and Peter. My parrots can teach your parrots to praise and worship." "Thank you," the woman responded, "this may very well be the solution." The next day, she brought her female parrots to the priest's house. As he ushered her in, she saw that his two male parrots were inside their cage holding rosary beads and praying. Impressed, she walked over and placed her parrots in with them. After a few minutes, the female parrots cried out in unison: "Hi, we're hookers! Do you want to have some fun?" There was stunned silence. Shocked, one male parrot looked over at the other male parrot and exclaimed: -"Put the beads away, Frank. Our prayers have been answered!" *

Fear not. Part Two reveals much of the Truth, and much of the flesh, of those Winged Ones. And WBMS' above threat of 'class' action will be shown to be baseless, as he, without a doubt, has none. James, a true son of Dixie, will unwittingly (some would say, witlessly) cause a rift between loyal servants of His Dudeness. Josiah faints. Angel stomps his foot. Someone sips a Mai Tai. And the Adventure continues... Part Two will be posted on Wednesday, a holiday turkey for all you feather-brains, sez El Jefe. Part Three to follow, more's the pity. Kissey-poo... TR P.S. Just to show that stupidity is, as the story shows, a true TR hallmark, I accidentally removed 90% of Blue's above post. As James might say, "Dayum."