Funny is your friend. Humor laughs with us. Satire is an anatomically correct robot.
Sorry I Can't Make It!
And other excuses
Hey Jeff
How’s the delivery business? Seems like just yesterday we had lunch on that oversized rowboat you just built. The captain’s hat I got you covers your bald spot nicely. Lauren liked it. I overheard her tell you that men in uniforms turn her on. That and all your money, right?
Anyway, I can’t make the Amazon board meeting next Monday. I got gored by a bull in Pamplona last weekend. In my defense, I was running with the rest of the crazies and witnessed a young senorita fall over the fence that held back the crowds. I bent down to help and was introduced to Ferdinand.
The doctor said I should be as good as new after the operation. Hope so, the press has me as a hero and keeps hounding me for interviews. The horn should be separated from my buttocks by tonight. That’s if the bull cooperates. Seems it's afraid of needles and keeps stomping away when the nurse gets near it.
Must pass out again. Later Buddy.
Your Majesty
Charlie, hope you’re doing well. Sorry about your mum. We laughed together back in April of 2022. You were out with Camilia at some charity bash at the time. How do you keep up with that dizzying schedule?
Your mum made a great impression on you when you laughed out loud. Had the snorts down and all. Funny stuff.
Then she went on about catching you trying on the crown.
“I’m not dead yet Charlie boy!” she recalled saying to you.
Anyway, I can’t make the Royal Banquet for the Society of Corgi Dog Sitters next Wednesday. I know how important it was for the queen. Nice of you to keep up with entertaining the drabble.
Got my middle finger sliced off yesterday while cooking with celebrity chef, Guy Fieri, on the View. Whoopie was showing off by juggling potatoes to entertain the studio audience and one spud left orbit and knocked my hand over to Guy’s active cutting board.
As you Brits would say “It was a bloody mess.”
The doctor said I should be as good as new after the operation. Hope so, the finger is just duct taped to a popsicle stick on my hand and it looks like I’m flipping off random people I meet in the street.
Later mate.
Taylor! Miss you!
Haven’t seen you since summer, that wild post-concert party in Los Angeles. Where do you get the energy missy?
Glad that the song I wrote for you worked out. I got the idea for Shake It Off from my father after I got punched in the nose by retired pro boxer Mike Tyson. Looking back, it was stupid of me to poke him in the belly and tell him he was now the Overweight Champion of the World.
Anyway, I can’t sing with you at Elon’s birthday bash on the 28th because I got kicked in the groin by a pathetic donkey at a petting zoo.
I was taking my young nephew out at the time, and I jokingly called the animal Eeyore after the Winnie the Pooh character who always looked like he needed anti-depressants. The donkey took offense.
The whole area behind my zipper was pushed up to my stomach and now I must piss through my belly button.
Good thing I’m an outie.
The doctor said I should be as good as new after the operation. Hope so, not much work for eunuchs since Hef died and the Playboy Club boarded up the windows.
Keep in touch girl!