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Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

The strangeness of days. The lopsided magic that elbows you from the sidelines. You hold your ribs, shaking your head. It happens. “Did that really happen?” You’ll say,cued up, but you’ll know. YES.
Eye-rubber, head-scratcher days. Where synchronicities pip, pop, pap and you watch. You know something is right- for you at least- in some way- but what an unorthodox display.
When moments and days segue and transcend perfectly into the next. The foreshadowing-of-strange-life-events feature revving.
As we grow, we become more aware- hopefully of the simple one door closed/ another opened equation. It’s genuine application. It’s mystery promise.
Go on, slap your normativity across the face with a wind up and see what comes. It might be giant. A slow giant, with watchful eye’s yet sloth-like timing. Like a continental drift. Before you know it you’re on the other side of the equator. Eating the same cereal all the while.
It’s moves like this that occur when you were sleeping. Be it literally or physically. Suddenly you might be 35 years old, in a kitchen that’s giving up the battle of white walls, a long and scratchy-floored corridor, old mouldings, access to the roof where you’ll take in first-of-morning moments, big ol’ bay windows at your head where you do your best to rest under your prized Pendleton.
Maybe you’ll have gone to a show 2 nights ago that you were looking forward to. One who’s performer you had seen before, who’s lyrics inspired and tickled you; a voice so soft you wanted to make slippers out of it. And maybe that show turned out to be an absolute flop- mimicking a pitiful freshmen art school project on staccato affects on the audience, and an undeterminable counterpart person on stage to remain turning potentially purposeless knobs and staring, full face into the eyes of your singing sweety who would soon melt before you as a bore. And maybe they would remain, staring and staring some more into each other’s eyes, ignoring the crowd at large, and whispering near the microphone; said counterpart looking plain Jane, but when the light hit her just right somehow Alice Cooper would emerge. Sans light tricks. Just a disco ball 20 some odd feet above. Let’s just say. And you told your friends. And the Alice Cooper thing was just undeniable and so-fucking-trippy and it kept happening. A devil woman!
And then you’re in this place, devising a get away plan, when the show ends early anyway, and you decide “Oh how nice, I shall ride my bike home and retire to bed quite early, making up for lack of sleep. How divine”, or something to that effect.
Home you go. Sleep you do. Until 3:37am when bullets ring out. Maybe 6 maybe 7 you can’t be sure because waking up with jolts and orientation isn’t your strong suit. And then a man wailing begins. And you call the police, and you go to the living room and you watch the man writhing on the sidewalk, 1 story below and about 7 yards from your building and punctured with bullets, and you; helpless in your robe, holding your mouth and wishing for a hug. Reevaluating the definition of loneliness.
Cops come after not too long and your eyes won’t budge until you forcibly pull yourself back to bed with silver brown black red sparks jittering your spinal column, heavying the pit of your back and lay there as the police commence taking witness testimonies right below your bedroom window until 6:50am.
And then your day has begun with sleep being a lost design, and you are nothing more than shot with rubber-band-brain thoughts continually slinging back to the sounds of what is to be a man the most alone in the world when consolation is the most important. And-oh-the-humanity.
And big baby, suck it up because you’re in the city now and it’s time to get tough and cut the gasps.
And then the day passes until the moment where you return home from the long-ass work day, to unwind with your pup-beast-filthy-love-animal-dog, and you go a walkin’ and a talkin'(on the phone), and as you round the dark corner, you emit a silent scream because… a gun! On the pavement. Too much. Your friend awaits on the other side of the phone afraid and waiting to be informed, as you realize- it’s not so much a gun as an abnormally large and angular shaped, 90 degree turd, in the perfect shape of a big big revolver. And you release in laughter and your friend remarks “I don’t know which is worse”, as your dog has begun to help himself to perimeterless snack, so you tell her what’s worse. And you know you have discovered a whole new level of turd burglar.
The continuous line, having been so for a while now; curious, unpredictable, colorful, undeniable. It’s the strangeness of days, when you as the observer skirt harm, eyes alert and concerned, yet an energy of still and constant, if not necessarily detached- lightness of being. Atypical stage. The comedy, the tragedy, roller coaster magic, continuos turn. Wheel gears gripping and moving forward as we ride. It’s all happening.
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Don’t look at me. I’m hideous. That picture that I posted- don’t you dare take a peek. It is to serve as a disciplinary tool for when someone tells you “don’t look”, you actually won’t. It’s for practicing purposes. It’s to fortify you. Because I love you. I do. But I’m still embarassed about my state of affairs, facially speaking.

It began yesterday morning, Monday the 3rd. I awoke shortly after 6am to find that I had a major shiner. Ok, not like a baseball walloped me, but as far as a “spontaneous contusion” (my deceptivley professional sounding self-diagnosis) goes, it’s pretty savage.

I went to sleep Sunday nice, like an innocent lamb. I woke up with a fucking busted-ass black eye.

And now I am privy to the world through the eyes (genuinely, not a pun in sight, just clever phrasing) of an abuse victim. I am seeing somewhat of how it is to look, and be responded to, in a manner of a woman who has seen the ugly side of a fist. It. is. a. trip.

The last two days have involved people shifting uncomfortably around me. A stirred mix of sorrow, discomfort, and concern emanate from stranger’s gazes.

No eyeliner, tacky wallpaper. Don't judge me.

No eyeliner, tacky wallpaper. Don’t judge me.

As for my friends, I have been making up deliciously elaborate bullshit stories of what happened.

-There was an old woman, laying in the middle of the road, in the rain, naked, and it looked like she was crying and confused. She was holding a baby, naked, crying, you could tell the baby was hungry. In the arms of the baby was a puppy, furless, crying too somehow. So very vulnerable. I heroically approached and the puppy popped me one. This story was BELIEVED by two of my friends. I need new friends.

-I was at a bar and told some Billy Joel looking mother f%^&* to kick rocks because he was bugging me. He got a mouth on him and his girlfriend was on my jock and he didn’t like it and so he took me on the whiskey train to Fist City. Then it all went up in the air and became a straight up barroom brawl.                                                   My friend asked me if his girlfriend jumped in too. I let it run for a bit longer, because I was having too much fun to bring truth into the equation. I still can’t believe how gullible my people are. (Grumbles something about West coasters). I told him Billy Joel would NEVER do my like that. Please.

I guess that’s about it for my spontaneous tides of baloney.

I still haven’t gotten to the bottom of the bruise and it is somewhat unsettling, but the doctor said she thinks that it was mysterious trauma or possibly a spider attack. Bananas. It looks a lot worse in person, for the record. It totally merits it’s own blog posting as such. I’m serious.

I suppose if there is a moral, for the sake of a proper wrap up here, it would be that if you ever get busted up, make up a good reason and see how far it takes you. Aren’t we here to have a good time?

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Mom told me never

trust a man in a trench coat-

bunch of pervs out there

*****

Because every day

I see you outside, first thing.

Neighbor, get a life

*****

I pee way more than

the average person or

is 30 normal?

*****

My best friend’s brothers

tortured him when he was young-

hair clippings in pants

*****

What an unlucky

incarnation to be a

dung beetle. no thanks

*****

*****

I might have sex with

my iphone if there was an

app that could please me

*****

I am a poet

I know it. Don’t question me

obvs. you’re just jealous

*****

Whenever it’s hot

outside- I am so thankful

that I don’t have balls

*****

Inconvenience is

dandruff with a preference for

wearing mostly black

*****

I am not alone

in painting just the toes that

show through my peeps-shoes

*****

*****

I’d rather not go

if it means that I have to

see your stupid face

*****

You could be so cute,

so here’s a razor; a gift!

bye bye to mustache

*****

When riding bikes it

is ill advised to blow

a snot rocket up wind

*****

Little kids are cute

but made of germs and rubber

fall and sneeze often

*****

His shoes smelled like sex.

How did he do that? Had me

grossly confounded

*****

 

*****

A more respectful

way to say it would be “Bros

before Does!” I’m good.

*****

Mr. Face Tattoo

“upstanding citizen”

holy commitment

*****

Penny for your thoughts

I’d surely get a nickel

ignorance is bliss

*****

Feel the magic beat

Shake what your mama gave ya

don’t step on no toes!

*****

Just cause we made out

doesn’t mean I like you. Blame

it on the whiskey

*****

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The inception of any fantastical idea is a considerably fair cause for celebration, if not immediate action. In fact, I believe every first should be celebrated in one way or another. Minor victories. Like say you decide last minute to conduct some interviews on a test group, and have some particularly suiting and saucy curiosities to work with, and you are bold enough to make up who you work for in order to support your strange desires. Pill Box, is the moniker that was freshly devised; the moniker that represents a faux-blog. It will somehow serve the public, eliciting the info that only bullshit artists can possibly get! My good friend and I (pictured below in our official hats) set out to the public to conduct random, wayward interviews. This experience was the warmer. This is just the beginning. The aforementioned blog exists not, but will be moonlighting under this here (lovely! (ahem)) Pigeon Heart Ponderings business. Verrrry exciting.

It is amazing what the written word does. Writing “Press” on a piece of scrap paper and safety-pinning it to trucker hats can (and did!) grant surprising credibility.

Every summer we have the Soap Box Derby races here in Portland, Oregon. Everyone hangs out on this dormant volcano, drinking and enjoying the amazing, crazy, and often ridiculous creations that teams of people unite over to make and zip down hill on. The rest of us go for the beer, views, hilarity, shock, aw, and sunny days with friends and strangers. It’s a fantastic scene with some wild and creative folks. What better place to ask questions? I just don’t know.

So what up with the questions, girl? I heard that. Let me premise that I was feeling frisky when I thought up what I was going to be asking. I thought, in that moment, that there’s probably lots of freaky people that would do this type of event, so might as well ask them sexy stuff. I also figured there oughtta be some rebels up in there so might as well milk it. Right? Who’s been in handcuffs, party people?

The first noteworthy interview was with Brian Taylor of “Los Locos Bambaderos”

1. Is this your first derby? “Yes, my 1st!”

2. What’s the inspiration behind your soap box mobile? “The Deviants challenged us. They said they would smoke us. They never even showed up, so we already win by default.”

3. What else inspires you? “Good times.”

4. Who is the hottest contestant here? “The Lone Shark.”

5. If you had to pick a soap box to have sex in which would it be? “The bath tub.” This was the most common answer. Mind you, there were both a hot tub and a bath tub soap box car. The only shot I have of it is behind this crazy fish box car thang.

 

6. Where’s the craziest place you ever knocked boots? “On a picnic table. In the park. In the middle of the day.” Oww!

7. Have you ever been busted for anything? “Never.” ((Snicker))

8. Are you high right now? “I wish.”

9. Aren’t you afraid of the Mt. Tabor Mangler?! “No.” * This question cracked me up because it was absolutely fictitious; we just wanted to see the responses. I gotta say that pretty much everyone seemed unfazed and unconcerned.

10. If you had to pick a political figure to compete in this race against who would it be and why? Without skipping a beat he says: “Palin. Because she would lose and I would cream her ass!” Zing!

Next contestant interview: Erin of The Mile High Club. Check her out above with the press! This woman is actually in the Mile High Club. I had to shake her hand. That is pretty damn crafty. Unfortunately we didn’t get a flic of her ride, but check out what she had to say:

1. “This is my 5th year at the Soap Box Derby races. Every  year I do a different car. I do it with my friends and it is a lot of fun because usually we a re really busy in the summer. This is our down time.”

2. “I’m inspired to take time out for creativity, and also the fact that this is a non profit event.”

3. Sexiest contestants? “The Beauticians.”                                                            Boy do I wish I had a better picture! They were getting perms for crying out loud!

4. “I would choose to have sex in the Thomas the Tank soap box car for the irony of it.” A photo is hardly necessary. This replica was pretty spot-on.

5. She was not high.

6. Totally unperturbed by the Mount Tabor Mangler.

7. Would chose to race “Benjamin Franklin because his box car would inevitably be a pretty sweet invention. He would also probably have a really cool costume.” Ha!

Many interviewees had similar responses when it came to inspiration: women and substances. Several contenders were racing for their 1st time, others their 2nd, and some their 5th. Most people have a record, likely involving “youthful indiscretion”. Not one person feared the Mount Tabor Mangler.

There were lots of other incredible mobile creations. This was just intended to share the derby with you and wet your whistles for the good things to come.

So if you fantasize about asking public opinion, but just lack the platform- we’ve gotcha covered. Speak out here to me and if it sounds fun it may very likely be included it in one of our days out, talking with townies… Let’s share the dream! -Making the most out of hitting the streets-

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This is the official launching of publicity and requests for my new collection. Get ready for it… I am requesting- ANONYMOUSLY- your MosT embarrassing stories. I want the juiciest of details. I want the funny, the savage, the outrageous, the tormented, the moments inducing the barrage of curse words. GIVE. IT. TO. ME.

Write it out in the comment area if you want- though obviously that would not be anonymous. ORrrr- send them to me here:

Lisita Lawless

3333 NE Morris St.

Portland, OR. 97212

I will collect and post them. Oh boy!!!

Don’t put your name. Just put your truth.

The idea for this came to me when I was watching a TED Talk about a man who went out onto the streets of NYC, handed out 1,000 self-addressed (to his abode) postcards with the simple question on the back: “What is your biggest secret?” Needless to say it caught like wild fire and a website exists now that you simply must check out at www.postsecret.com

His wife and himself receive unruly amounts of people’s dirty laundry from silly, to scandalous, to simply heartbreaking. I gift you with the TED talk that I watched that inspired my brilliant, comparable idea you see today. I am excited!

http://www.postsecret.com/2012/04/postsecret-ted-talk.html

So, in order to get the juices flowing- I suppose it’s only fair that I give you a good admission. Fine. Fair enough. (Deep breath) … Well, the truth of the matter is that a lady like myself runs into things a good bit on the often tip- that are pretty ridic. I have a bit of a penchant for it. That being said, the first things that come to mind have to do with peeing. Either a devil lives inside my bladder and takes up all the room, I have a premie one, or I only have a year and some months left on my bladder before it gives out completely… so yeah, you’re about to get a good pee story. And the answer is yes, for the record; I do fear incontinence.

Setting: The mountains of Mexico, on a a janky, rickety, music-blaring bus with those little hanging fabric balls (bolitas pequeñas??) for proper decor. And dashboard-Jesus too. It was mostly campesinos on this piece. And there’s me. Chilling. Actually, that is a huge lie. I was not chilling. I had to take a wiz like nobody’s business. No one else seemed phased by the fact that we would only stop for long enough to pick people up, and if you dare disboard and were not on the bus by the time the (crazy f*%^ing drive-like-a-death-wish) driver was ready to bounce, sucked for you. So I was under silent torture. Everyone around me was settled in on those crazy roads- perhaps the best way to deal was to catch some rest, but nope, I wasn’t that lucky. I had to go. And to make matters worse, I was surrounded by strangers. A friend that was traveling with me was one row across and one seat up, so they could do me no solids (not a foreshadowing pun). Finally I asked her if she had a plastic bag. She knew right away why. Bitch! She liked it too much. No bag though. I fumbled through my belongings until I found a beautiful, gorgeous, thin, blessed plastic bag. I blew it up to check for wholes because I am very smart like that. Safe. Now again, I will remind you- everyone around me was sleeping. Accept my pal, of course, and that was fine. I squat down off my seat and pulled my pants down and ahhhhhh. Relief. Pants up, bag hanging, BUT suddenly- a river. The bag had deceived me and had a terrible whole. A very bad whole! And the river- there she was, twisting rivulets down the isle and around, and into people’s belongings, and all over the floor. And here is the craziest part- people began waking up. This will never make sense to me. Liquid is silent. Things spill on the bus. Those 2 facts put together do not sensibly equate to waking up the sleeping. How? Was this something they were hyper aware of due to others going through the same thing? Well people started to get very excited and upset. Before the people next to me woke up I managed to chuck my rapidly deflating bag-of-pee out of the window (which is part of the (fairly generous) list of the reasons for why I am going to hell) and look relatively innocent. My friend on the other hand, had completely lost her shit. She was out of her body laughing. She could not get it together. There was nothing to be done.

All in all, I was never burned at the stake, or got found out about for that matter, but still the experience with terrible and embarrassing, and I am sure that there was at least one other person that saw the entire ordeal unravel. Yup, pretty embarrassing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Your turn! Hooray!

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“They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions”. I hear Lauryn Hill in my head singing this one loud, on repeat, echoing behind me when I am being attacked and tormented by the Ironic Jukebox that lives deep inside my cerebral cortex.  Haven’t you experienced this? Like when you (I) offer the lady your seat on the bus because she is pregnant and it seems too obvious that there is no way she is not carrying? But she is not, and now you biffed big time? Because you got up cheerfully, telling her that she needs it more because of the baby inside?… This is about good deeds gone bad. This is not to disuade anyone ever from doing something kind, but is to draw on the comical, the ironic, and the ridiculous boomerang effect that takes place every now and again when you have nothing but good thoughts in mind. I think it just might the devil on dial. Somehow he temporarily dislodged from the hot gates of hell and he’s at the control board and the mo-fo has got some dark-ass-humor. Kiiiinda dig it.

That being said, I’ve been feeling rather spritely lately. I’m thinking the spring has shaken something loose.  Makes we wanna do something nice for the sake of nothing in particular. I wanna skip but I don’t because I want my lady-swagger, so I move cat-walk style on the streets and around town, and skip a bunch on the inside. Despite it raining like a maniac today (I think Mother Nature is PMSing or something), people out here are starting to stir and be over-the-top sweet to each other. Anyone else out there take notice of this?

Ex: People stop when I try to cross the street. Don’t matta if there are a bunch of cars behind them and I could have just as easily taken the cross walk. Or there are no cars behind them and they could have gone at regular speed and not made such a grand gesture of an event by slowing down and stopping unnecessarily. It’s dumb. I’m partially grateful because of the intention, but the rest of me actually prefers that people obey the rules of the road and get on with it. It’s simply more efficient. Don’t tell anyone that I said that I appreciate a rule. Please. Ok.

Today I was walking my (radical) dog in the rain and decided to cross the street. I was waiting on the curb for the cars to go by (and no, I wasn’t standing in the street) and a car stops out of nowhere for me to cross~ creating a pile up. For fucks sake. Nice one.

It’s the thought that counts?

Several years ago, in my hippy-nouveau days, I took this yogic workshop that focused on Ujjayi breathing. (I was the youngest person there and it blew my (not so) baby mind to be mixing with all of these middle-age, innocuously-strange, middle-class, workers -something rare in Portland as we are a town of retired 30-somethings.) It was a week-long workshop consisting of homework and practice routines and everything. Very involved. One of our assignments was to perform a random act of kindness. I was determined to be as unique and creative as possible. I talked to my roommate at length about ideas which he shot down repeatedly with the caveat of my actions being misinterpreted. Finally he left for work and I was left to my own devices. I wanted to do something that would reach completely stray people. I wanted to encourage them and have them think somebody out there really cared. I settled on the idea of writing anonymous love letters to strangers. Yes I sure did! Phone book in my lap, I pointed slapdash, at where ever my finger landed, wrote down their names and addresses, and mustered up some genuine sentiment for each person. I really tried to meditate on who they were and what kind of message they might have been needing. I felt the vibes. And really- who knows? Maybe the universe brought it. Either way, I did. And I did it 10x. I made ten different personalized and pretty envelopes. I wrote things along the lines of acting like I was someone from their past or someone on the periphery who had noticed big and beautiful changes and growth in them, and I wanted to acknowledge and applaud them in that… This likely took several hours. I do not recall. It sure felt good though! Off to the depths of the mailbox they went, and when my roommate got home and inquired about my project, acted slightly horrified. “What if you cause a fight between couples?” “What if someone thinks their man is cheating with you (but of course I hadn’t included a return address)?” “What if they get scared that they are being watched?!” Well shit. The god-damn flip side. Buzzzzz kill. Good intentions gone awry? I may never know.

One other example I will give you is as follows. It was a couple of summers ago, on a particularly hot day. I was walking passed a highly foot-trafficked intersection where this dude was laying, passed-out on the ground. I swear I watched a bus pull up, people get out, and walk around the guy. Nobody stopped. Now granted, dude was gnarly looking. Crusty street kid, probably in his late twenties/ early thirties. He was shirtless, black pants, tattoos all around, and homey was frying there on the sidewalk. For really red. Zoinks! So up I go to see if I can help. I whisper gently to him and rouse him from his drug induced sleep. His eyes rolled slowly from the back of his head as he looked around trying to get his bearings. I informed him that he was passed out in the middle of the sidewalk and that he better go find some shade if he needs to sleep because he was burning baby burning. He got up, dazed and confused (no really! I get it now!) and stumbled into the street, nearly causing a few accidents, and smashing hard into this old man. He thinks the old man pushed him, so he pushes the poor old guy into the street! Luckily there were no cars there at the moment! I had created a monster. I truly considered calling the police. Eesh.

Anyways, those are two of my tales of the flip side of things. I have no moral to this story. Shit happens. Moral enough for ya?

I would love to hear your experiences along these lines. Entertain me por fa!

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How about some lawful entertainment? …I’m following the rules today! Well- with my eyes, that is. Fingers too. By proxy. Aaaand that’s about it- but you gotta start somewhere. And I am transferring some  still on record legal stipulations that could and in some cases did/ do(?!) land folks in hot water, complete with some commentary by yours truly. Easy entertainment, babes.

As you’re reading this I encourage you to think about the scenarios behind the makings of these laws.  I mean come on- for something to get passed from a bill through the house and make it all the way to a shiny law is a big to-do. There are some wing-nuts out there for sheezy. But you already knew that… Ju ready?

Alabama: It is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church. They might distract from the hilarity of toupees.

Alaska: Whispering in someone’s ear while he’s moose hunting is prohibited. Save the sexy, primal, hunter/ gatherer build up for the campsite fellas’.

Arizona: Cutting down a cactus may earn you a twenty-five-year prison term. Cacti advocates unite.

Arkansas: It’s illegal to mispronounce the name of the state of Arkansas. Someone’s sensitive.

California: You may not eat an orange in your bathtub. See?? They don’t have all the fun!

Colorado: It is unlawful to lend your vacuum cleaner to you next-door neighbor (Denver).  One can only begin to imagine what they tried to clean up.

Connecticut: A pickle cannot be a pickle unless it bounces. 5 second rule?

Delaware: It’s illegal to get married on a dare. Clearly they had this law in place before the days of double-dog-dares ever came into existence.

Washington, D.C: It’s against the law to post a public notice calling someone a coward for refusing to accept a challenge to a duel. Are signs on telephone polls considered public notices? How official are we talking? Ads in the Five and Dime? Is gossip a safe, lawful form of information spreading?

Florida: If you tie an elephant to a parking meter, you must pay the same parking fee as you would for a vehicle. This is a very good reason for road rage. So unfair when they park an elephant in prime locations!

Georgia: It’s illegal to change the clothes on a storefront mannequin unless you draw the shades first. Guess you gotta go pay for porn.

Hawaii: All residents may be fined for not owning a boat. Yes! Tax the poor!

Idaho: A man must not give his sweetheart a box of candy weighing fewer than fifty pounds. Hmmm… some insight into the obesity problem maybe? Competitive gift giving and chocolate eating. What a match.

Illinois: It’s illegal to take a French poodle to the opera (Chicago). I can just imagine the pair that tried to bring their snooty, snotty dog into the place. Muffy and Chaz.

Indiana: The value of pi is 4, and not 3.1415. You know, that is what is so great about math. It’s so flexible.

Iowa: One-armed piano players must perform for free. Damn, not even half price? No love. This does make perfect sense, as mastery of any instrument with one hand verses two requires no skill. No skill= no pay.

Kansas: It’s illegal to throw knives at men wearing striped suits. Polka dots make much better targets.

Kentucky: Every citizen is required to take a shower once a year. If only they would make this law in Portland for people on the bus. And in NY for people on the subway. And multiply it by 12. Ok 24. Fine 48.

Louisiana: Biting someone with your natural teeth constitutes simple assault, but biting someone with your false teeth classifies as aggravated assault. Man’s law.

Maine: If you keep your Christmas decorations on display after January 14, you’ll be fined. Like it’s gonna pull the snow away or something?

Maryland: It’s against the law to wash or scrub a sink, no matter how dirty it is (Baltimore). Umm ew?

Massachusetts: No gorilla is allowed in the backseat of any car. Clearly they’re fine at least w/ them driving there. Zing! And I’m thinking maybe that’s who was in charge of putting all those one-way streets everywhere inconvenient. Eh? Eh?

Michigan: A woman may not cut her own hair without her husband’s permission. Michigan: Home of the wuzbands. 

Minnesota: It is illegal to paint a sparrow with the intent of selling it as a parakeet. Hahahahaha.

Mississippi: Walking a dog without dressing it in diapers is forbidden (Temperance). I have a solution. Yes- this really exists! And there are choices!! Rear gear

Missouri: Children may buy shotguns in Kansas City, but not toy cap guns. Somethings just make sense.

Montana: It’s a felony for a wife to open her husband’s mail. As it should be.

Nebraska: Bar owners may not sell beer unless they brew a kettle of soup simultaneously. Beer soup anybody? Or is it just borsht by default? Safe guesses.

Nevada: It’s illegal for men with mustaches to kiss women. Finally the government is on my side.

New Hampshire: It’s forbidden to sell clothes you’re wearing to pay off a gambling debt. You KNOW this was a Very Sad Night for dude. Oof.

New Jersey: It’s against the law for a man to knit during the fishing season. Really pissed off the fish community.

New Mexico: Females may not appear unshaven in public. Did Santa Fe secede? 

New York: While riding in an elevator, you must talk to no one, fold your hands, and look toward the door. I fantasize about performing social experiments in elevators all the time. Like: “So! How are you? What’s the best thing about today? Are you comfortable talking to strangers? What’s the craziest thing you ever did with a stranger? What’s the craziest thing you would do with a stranger? Have you ever heard Love in an Elevator? You ever made love in an elevator? Would you?” etc. The tip of the iceberg.

North Carolina: It’s against the law to sing off-key. Meanies. Hey! Wait! Are there any famous singers that came out of this place?! So discouraging! Look what happened. Poor singingless suckers. 

North Dakota: It’s illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on. Or wake up with no eyebrows and cocks drawn all over your face? O wait, that’s party town rule, not U.S. wide…

Ohio: You must honk the horn whenever you pass another car, according to the state’s driver’s education. That’s just annoying. Nothing cheeky for you, Ohio.

Oklahoma: It’s forbidden to take a bite out of another person’s hamburger. Good, no one wanted your boring, middle of nowhere burger anyway, fatty.

Oregon: State law requires the dishes to be drip-dried. What. the. hell.

Pennsylvania: It’s illegal to sleep on top of a refrigerator outdoors. I am NEVER moving there. Settled. 

Rhode Island: You may not bite off another person’s leg. Yes it really is their law. But what is striking to me is it seems to imply that the leg may not be bitten off with one swift munch, right? What about slow or even tender, calculated nibbles? Fork and knife? So civil.

South Carolina: If a man promises to marry an unmarried woman, he is required by law to keep his promise. Did anyone else just get Meatloaf in their heads? No? How about now? 

South Dakota: It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep in a cheese factory. Concluding the fact that the moon is NOT made out of cheese. 

Tennessee: Selling hollow logs is strictly forbidden. Walkin’ on the wild side.

Texas: You may not shoot a buffalo from the second story of a hotel. In Texas you face a buffalo like a real man. Mano a mano. Buffalo ain’t got nothing if you’re a real cowboy.

Utah: It is illegal not to drink milk. I am a total rebel in Utah! Yes!

Vermont: Women must obtain written permission from their husbands to wear false teeth. Haaaaaaaaa! “Only when we go out, baby.” Ah! Too. many. jokes. Bottlenecking!!

Virginia: Ticking a woman is unlawful. L is for Lame. At least amend it so that you can’t tickle a chica until she pees, but not a tickle? Not even one? Oh wait- I don’t care.

Washington: It’s illegal to pretend that one’s parents are wealthy. Do you think that some sucka rich babe of ripe dating age got conned by some slickster chap who brought it like it wasn’t? Parents didn’t ‘ppreciate that one, no sir.

West Virginia: If you make fun of someone who does not accept a challenge, you risk a six-month prison sentence. Wow. Touchy.

Wisconsin: Unless a customer specifically requests it, margarine may not be substituted for butter in a restaurant. Well, it is safer with butter it seems. I remember hearing about a test where two bowls were left in a rat infested warehouse. Butter went gone. Margarine went untouched. Supposedly. A la yuck.

Wyoming: Unless you have an official permit, you may not take a picture of a rabbit from January to April. They are more fit in the Spring? Bashful bunnies! New band name?

And I’m out. Hope you enjoyed. See you in Canada (;

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