Monthly Archives: March 2010

We Received Letters

Dear DM Refugees,

I take strong objection to your recent column suggesting that my Invicta Subaqua Noma III isn’t fashionable. I showed mine to my foreman at the smelting mill where I work, and he thinks it’s really sexy. It’s so big! Then I wore it to dart league and every member of my team said they wanted one, too. I have an official Dale Earnhardt #3 racing helmet and an official replica WWE World Championship belt, and when I walk down the street with all this stuff on, I really get looks. People actually stop walking and stare at me. I love Invicta!
Ralphy Tomkins
Inside His TV

Hey, hack writers,

You guys think you’re king shit because you’ve all had jobs writing for newspapers and magazines. Well, let me tell you, print is a thing of the past – that Mac doohickey is going to be what we all look at soon. Note I said look at, not read.
R. Murdoch
On An Island

Dear Editor,

I don’t like how dirty TV, movies, and magazines are these days. Sex isn’t everything.
Dick Johnson
Poon, AL

Dear DM,

I used to work with you guys back in the day, and frankly, I always thought you were a bunch of Kansas City frog jumpers.
Dale Dobkins
Kansas City, MO

Dear DM,

Thank God I got this second letter to you real quick like! I live in Kansas, not that crummy Missouri. Just wanted to make that clear. Have a happy and a holy day.
Dale Dobkins
Kansas City, MO

DM Refugees,

I’ve read your blog, I have looked at every page. Your problem is that you don’t spend enough time talking with our Lord. Heaven help those who aren’t walking with Jesus.
Rev. Samuel “High Tops” Barton
In Your Grandparents’ Wallet

Hey, I Haven’t Seen You In Weeks,

The other day I went to one of those places that both serves donuts and ice cream, right? So I went in and stared at the signs; I couldn’t really tell if I wanted soft serve or old-fashioned hand-dipped. I like all kinds of ice cream! I really didn’t like the flavors at the dipping area, so I wanted for one of those foreigners behind the counter to quit waiting on other people and get to me. So after a while, I get someone, and I ask for a vanilla cone. I’d be damned if the idiot didn’t make me a chocolate cone! So when the dummy brought it to me, I had to tell him I asked for vanilla, not chocolate. He probably doesn’t even speak English! So he had to throw out the chocolate cone, pick up another cone, and fill it with vanilla ice cream. Now, remember, it had been like, what, four minutes since I walked into the place. So I finally get my cone and I started to lick it, and I walk out, and guess what happens? I dribbled some vanilla right on my new Invicta Subaqua Noma III watch I bought off the TV! Do you know how sticky vanilla ice cream is? So, I turn around to get a napkin when I noticed the whole face of the watch was creamy with white ice cream. I hate that! So I had to go back in and ask for a wet nap, which naturally they didn’t have, you know how those people are. So finally I…
The Neighbor You Avoid
Watching HSN

Hey, Bob Smith,

I want you so bad, I’m aching.
Pamela Anderson
Not Talking To Our Bob Smith

Hey Bob Smith,

Get off me.
Mrs. Smith
In Her Bob-Made Hell

Dear Editors,

There’s a real problem in this country. People simply aren’t serious enough about the matters that really count. From war to taxes to our infrastructure to our environment, we must buckle down, swallow hard, and roll up our sleeves and systematically solve our problems one by one. Let’s get serious about these tough times.
Archie Poot
Making That Funny Armpit Noise

Dear DM Refugees,

Since that guy won’t do anything, I must ask: Is there a meat shortage? Everywhere I look, nothing. It’s epidemic, it’s terrible. No more running after things until there’s brisket. Good boy, my tight multi-colored ass.
Your Dog
On Strike

Dear DM Refugees,

Love your blog. Keep up the great work.
Nobody At All
This Is A Fake Letter

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Celebrities, Humor, Posts by Robert Smith

Expressions You’ll Never Hear

BY ROBERT SMITH

Words are  powerful things.

George Carlin once did an entire bit based on things you’ll never hear: One of the funniest was a guy running at top speed into a pharmacy, then screaming: “Are you open on Thursdays?”

We here at DMR are always on the lookout for meaningless wastes of time – most of us have based our careers on them – so here we present words that have never been uttered before and never will be in these combinations. Use ’em, trade ’em, collect ’em with your friends!

“My Republican colleague seems opposed to anything that has to do with this health care bill. My colleague is a moose Johnson.”

“Life is best when you’re refreshed, and 5 W20 refreshes you best.”

“Hi, Sarah, it’s so nice to meet you! Shall we skip the formalities and start a-ruttin’ and a-reamin’?”

“Back in my day, we’d walk seven miles each way just to get a halvah.”

“You guys go ahead. I’m not in the mood for steak; I’ve got some cold haggis in the fridge.”

“Mr. Skelton, you’re right on time for your quadruple bypass – I see you brought your coupon.”

“Sure, White Booty Worship #2 was a well-made DVD feature, but it lacked the taste and superior art direction of Phat Black Juicy Anal Booty #5.”

“And the best actor Oscar goes to Keanu Reeves.”

“No way! Bob Hastings as Lt. Carpenter in ‘McHale’s Navy Joins The Air Force’ was way funnier than Hermione Gingold as Lady Munster in ‘Munster, Go Home.’ You punk kids know nothing these days.”

“And the best actress Oscar goes to Jessica Alba.”

“We have to have a talk with little Jimmy. I found four Lane Bryant catalogs stuffed under his mattress.”

“No more…please. I’ll never do that again. Four skunk cabbages is definitely my limit.”

“What is it with teenagers and all these posters on your bedroom walls! You paid good allowance money for Richard Griffiths, and there’s not even enough room next to Sir Ben Kingsley and F. Murray Abraham. Enough is enough!”

“Best car I ever owned? I got 250,000 miles out of that Pinto – I bet it’s still on the road out there somewhere.”

“I’ll never buy another cheap piece of crap like that Breitling watch.”

“ABC has announced its new reality-based game show: Polka With The Stars.”

“I know he has bad breath, teeth like rotting picnic table benches, only four fingers, one eye, and a liver that’s literally outside his skin – but God, does Jerry’s pinky toe turn me on.”

“Man, that John Mayer is original.”

“Honey, next time you take a 20-minute dump like that, leave the bathroom door open – just for me?”

“We brought you cherry cola, vanilla cola, and crème soda, but wait till you taste rich cola flavor mixed with the natural goodness of real roast beef.”

“American League batting champion Nick Punto should command a huge multi-year contract on the free agent market.”

“I knew William Demarest, sir, and you’re no William Demarest.”

“Sure, she’s hot, but when she puts on that Jac-O-Net, I can’t take my eyes off her.”

“Okay, go to the deli and get me a half-pound of bologna, two pounds of American cheese, a half-pound of potato salad, and a pound of sperm whale blubber.”

“Sir, your conduct is unbecoming membership in the ASGWSTOFWCG. The American Society of Guys Who Scrape Their Own Faces With Cheese Graters will not accept such breaches of decorum.”

“I lost my job today, I’m so out of it. I need a drink … I need a smoke … somebody get me a Cadbury Crème Egg.”

“After two years of trying, Playboy finally has its big score and has landed the biggest star in Hollywood: Look for Betty White on the cover of the June issue.”

“Aspirin – and Sucrets?”

“When he kisses me and leaves those dandruff and scabies flakes all over my blouse, I’m just lost in passion.”

“Will you kids stop brushing your teeth and go finish watching Last Call With Carson Daly?”

“Mr. Harris, your quadruple bypass was a complete success. Good luck, and safe home – here’s a Swiss roll ice cream cake with our compliments.”

“Yeah, the music of the 70s was the best: Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods, Hamilton, Joe, Frank & Reynolds, Blue Swede, The DeFranco Family – they don’t make hits like that anymore.”

“That was an awful buffet. No deviled eggs.”

“You ganked my collection of 1980s TV Guides, you bastard, and you’ll pay for that. Trust me … you’ll pay.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit it: I dated Pamela Anderson, but I broke up with her because all she wanted to do was make love.”

“Damn it! Every time I go into that deli for a coffee, there’s always a fresh pot. Why can’t I get the stuff one inch from the bottom?”

“Man, I can’t wait for that tax audit. We’re gonna have a blast.”

“Why would I buy underwear from Macy’s when there’s a perfectly good Family Dollar right down the street. Stop wasting our money, Hollingsworth.”

“I’ve never been so offended. I go to the movies for a night of entertainment, and I have to sit through quasi-porn like The Blind Side. I don’t care what the critics say: It is filth!”

“I log on to The DM Refugees every day, hoping upon hope that Robert Smith left a new post. He’s dreamy.”

4 Comments

Filed under Humor, Posts by Robert Smith, Uncategorized

“Get the honey, Junior!”

by Jon Pine

In the hilarious 1980 film, “Fatso,” Dom DeLuise, as Dominick DiNapoli, is trying to lose weight. So he joins a group called the Chubby Checkers – sort of a cross between Alcoholics Anonymous and Weight Watchers. When Dom gets the urge to overindulge, he’s supposed to call his fellow Chubby Checkers, who will come over and talk him down.

Jon Pine

Dom has locked the refrigerator and all the cupboards with a chain and padlock, and has given the keys to his brother, Junior (Ron Carey), for safekeeping. Under no circumstances, no matter how hard he begs, is Junior to turn over the keys to Dom. That very night, however, Junior finds himself roused from his sleep by Dom, who is pointing a gun in his face. “Gimme those keys, Junior!” he growls.

A hilarious chase ensues, but Junior holds firm. He calms his brother down and convinces him to call his Chubby Checkers – two portly gents who rush right over. But the intervention soon turns to a discussion of their favorite foods. Sonny, one of the Chubbies, asks for a cup of hot water with lemon. Then he asks, “Did you ever suck the jelly out of a jelly doughnut and then fill it with chocolate swirl ice cream?”

Suddenly it becomes obvious that hot water with lemon is not going to satiate these particular Chubbies. Sonny asks Junior for another cup of hot water “with just a drop of honey in it this time.” “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asks Junior. “Besides, the honey’s locked up in the cupboard.”

His voice returning to a growl, Dom says, “Get the honey, Junior!” Intervention’s over. It turns into a chant: “Get the honey! Get the honey! Get the honey!” as Dom and the Chubbies converge on Junior, tear the doors off the cupboards and begin a food orgy that would choke even Monty Python’s Mr. Creosote.

Italians have, uhm, how shall I say it – a “special” relationship with food. And Anne Bancroft, the director of “Fatso” and an Italian-American herself, understood this relationship perfectly. No other culture takes its cuisine to such wild extremes. We take foods that are already decadent and way too fattening on their own, and then we smother them in cheese, or layer them together in casseroles, or stuff them inside each other, reaching gastronomic heights seldom reached in other cultures.

Even our salads – which we call “antipasti” – are loaded with cured meats and aged cheeses, drenched in pungent olive oil and sweet balsamic vinegar. We consider that a “light appetizer.”

What’s worse, we are literally weaned on these caloric conglomerations. In the opening credits of “Fatso,” a crying baby Dom is comforted not by a pacifier but by a cannoli. Later, as an adult, we see Dom gaze at a photograph of his mother and say, “How you loved to feed me! Look at your chubby baby now, ma. I’m a fat, fat man, a damn fatso.”

My own Italian mama, God love her, treated us kids pretty much the same way. Got a hangnail? “Here, eat this, you’ll feel better.” Stubbed your toe? “Have some chicken cacciatore.” Didn’t make the basketball team? “I’ll put on a pot of water for macaroni.” There was always a big pot of sauce either cooking on the stove or waiting in the fridge to be heated up.

Even if you were feeling fine, feeling great, like when you did make the basketball team, a fat slice of cheesecake would add to the celebration.

No one trusts a skinny Italian cook. It means he or she is doing something wrong in the kitchen. It’s no accident that my mom, the best cook of the four sisters in her family, is also the roundest. She didn’t serve just turkey at Thanksgiving – we also had a tray or two of lasagne. Same was true of Christmas and Easter. Even now, when I visit her, even before she says hello, my mother wants to know what she can make for me to eat.

Years ago, I sat my maternal grandmother down and, with pen and pad in hand, I grilled her for her recipes for some of my favorite dishes. I soon gave up in frustration. She gave me no specifics, because like all great cooks, she used no measuring devices whatsoever. “Add some fresh garlic,” she would say. “How much?” I asked. “Well, add some, then taste it, and if it tastes okay, that’s enough. If not, add some more.”

Or she’d say, “Cook the fettucine until it’s done.” “How long is that?” Same sort of answer: “Taste a piece every now and then, and you’ll know when it’s done.” I suspect that her caginess was more than just the sign of a good cook who measures ingredients by instinct and boils pasta with the help of an invisible timer in her head. Rather, I believe it’s a matter of Italian pride – no Italian woman ever admits that she is a better cook than her mother. And that is probably as it should be. It is certainly true of my own mother.

The maternal instinct to feed your children never really goes away, but my siblings will agree – our mother takes it to an extreme. And as a result, we have all struggled with weight issues on and off all our lives. Right now, I’ve got Dom’s body shape from “Fatso” – not quite obese, but certainly fatter than I’d like to be.

Becoming a quasi-vegetarian (I still eat seafood) didn’t help, and might actually have made things worse; pasta is a good fall-back as the main course when meats are no longer an option. There are plenty of meatless Italian dishes to tempt me – eggplant parmigiana, pizza, calzone, ravioli, risotto, stuffed shells, manicotti. I even created my own recipe for vegetarian meatball lasagne, which was good enough to fool my mother last Thanksgiving, believe it or not, if only for a little while.

But still my waistline grows. A few years ago, I bought a cookbook with low-fat alternative recipes for popular Italian dishes. I tried a few – but it’s just not the same. I even tried making cannolis with low-fat ricotta cheese. It can’t be done. They come out way too soupy and run all over the place. Besides, cutting corners on these dishes just seems so… sacrilegious. My Italian readers will understand what I mean.

Like Dom, on occasion I have turned to food for comfort. I tell myself it could be worse – I could be turning to alcohol or drugs. But it’s just as unhealthy, at least for me. I am on two medications for high blood pressure, and my joints strain and ache under the extra poundage. Not good.

So what to do?

My cousin Joe – we shared the same aforementioned Italian grandmother, and grew up surrounded by the same temptations – has hit upon a solution that is so simple it might actually work. He calls his system ELFS, which stands for (are you ready for this?) “Eat Less Food, Stupid!” Brilliant, huh? Basically, he’s come up with a computerized way to keep track of the calories and grams of fats, carbs, etc. in the foods you eat regularly. You enter your body mass index (BMI), and it helps you compute how much food you should be eating to achieve and maintain a healthy BMI.

Over time, as you enter your favorite foods into the database, you start to learn just how much we ALL overeat. Portion sizes – on packages, in restaurants and at home – have grown WAY out of proportion in our culture. It’s no wonder we are the fattest country on the planet.

So I’m gonna give Joe’s idea a try. I’ll keep you all posted here, on this blog, hopefully having some fun with it along the way. I know that at some point I will have to add an exercise component to this experiment, too.

That should be interesting…

© 2010 Jon Pine


12 Comments

Filed under Dieting, Entertainment, Humor, Posts by Jon Pine