Toilet humor is older than toilets

I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.
— Woody Allen
One thing that all humans share is a body. They usually come one to a customer.
And all bodies, at least those that are living, have bodily functions.
Most of which are gross.
What was God thinking when He included waste disposal in the design of mankind?
Then again, perhaps God has a sense of humor. And just knew that humans would find bodily functions to be a real scream.
Toilet humor spans generations that begat generations that begat generations until we plumb run out of begats.
The world’s oldest joke dates back to 1900 BC when those laugh-a-minute Sumerians gave birth to toilet humor with this supposed rib-tickler:
“Something which has never occurred since time immemorial; a young woman did not fart in her husband’s lap.”
Kind of makes you appreciate Jay Leno and David Letterman, doesn’t it?
George Carlin must be rolling over in his grave.

Shaken by earthquakes and rattled by cell phones

If we all lived forever, do you realize how difficult it would be to get a decent tee time or dinner reservations at a reasonable hour?
Not to mention that the traffic gridlock would be ungodly.
Which is why the Grim Reaper is always lurking somewhere, gleefully waiting to thin the herd.
Apparently the dark angel in black soon may be working considerable overtime, especially in California.
As you know, sooner or later the “Big One” is going to shake, rattle and roll California more violently than an entire invasion of heavy metal bands.
There was a magnitude-5.4-earthquake near Los Angeles yesterday. And Las Vegas oddsmakers who double as scientists on weekends calculate that California faces a 99.7 percent chance of a magnitude-6.7 quake or larger in the next 30 years.
Hope those folks have good life insurance.
Especially if they use cell phones. An international group of prominent doctors and health officials warns that cell phones may cause brain cancer.
And a healthy brain is a good thing to have unless you’re in telemarketing.
So if you live in LA with a cell phone glued to your ear, you damn well may die in LA sooner than you would like.

"The Dark Knight" is so dark you can't see what happened to The Joker

I caught the Batman flick “The Dark Knight” over the weekend and I’m not surprised the Caped Crusader is kicking all-time butt at the box office.
The movie is awash with violence and action as The Joker’s MO is using anarchy as a gunpowder to blow up civilized society.
And, yes, the movie is so dark that I felt as if I was watching it through the black sockets of a skull. Which sort of left me with cold, clammy fingers.
Two complaints, however.
One, Batman’s voice sounds like a bird trapped inside a tenement building.
Two, what the hell happened to The Joker? There is no visual evidence that he was taken into custody after Batman saves him from plunging to his well-deserved death.
What I didn’t see was what Andrew Klavan of The Wall Street Journal saw. He thinks the movie is a tribute to the fortitude and moral courage of George W. Bush in a time of terror and war.
I’m not sure even Dick Cheney would buy that.

A bit premature to hear the whoosh of the Eagles' balloon emptying over Samuel's latest hammy injury

The hamstring injury Asante Samuel, the Eagles’ $57 million cornerback who was their prize offseason free-agent acquisition, suffered Saturday during the first practice in full pads at Lehigh hasn’t ratcheted up Andy Reid to the screaming point.
Yet.
Samuel had an MRI this morning and was diagnosed with a mild strain of his right hamstring. He is listed as day-to-day, but then again, aren’t we all? Samuel missed a chunk of time during the team workouts last month with a strained left hamstring.
Apparently, Samuel doesn’t have a history of trouble with his hammys. But if he does experience chronic problems with them this year, it could open a huge can of hurt. It’s tough to play cornerback in the NFL with cranky hamstrings. And the Birds ain’t paying him all that money to play croquet.
So it’s a good thing that the Eagles couldn’t find a team willing to trade for defrocked and disgruntled cornerback Lito Sheppard in the offseason. Sheppard, who wants the Birds to show him more money and more playing time, now is at back at left corner with Samuel out. Upon the latter’s return, Sheppard presumably with resume rotating with Sheldon Brown at right corner and all three will be on the field when the Eagles go nickel.
Reid and team president Joe Banner met Saturday with Sheppard and his new agent, the infamous Drew Rosenhaus of T.O. and “Next Question” fame. Reid described the meeting as very positive.
We shall see just how steeped in serenity Sheppard and Rosenhaus will be. Of course, Samuel’s aching hamstrings now give Sheppard more of a leg to stand on during his impassioned pleas with the two-headed franchise deity of Reid and Banner.

Chihuahuas make great pets

I don’t think I’m barking up the wrong tree when I say that nobody should have a pit bull for a pet.
I know there are some folks who claim if you raise pit bulls properly or neuter them they will have all the fight and bite of goldfish.
Yeah, right.
The other day a pit bull attacked his owner in Amity Township and wouldn’t stop chomping on him even when hit on the head with a shovel, stabbed in the neck and back with a kitchen knife, and shot several times with a stun gun.
The damn dog wouldn’t stop munching on the guy until a cop shot the pit bull dead with a rifle.
Trust me, there ain’t a poodle in the world who bleeds that much aggression. This dog could have been useful in Iraq or Afghanistan.
Anybody who owns a pit bull and also has kids at home is simply breeding trouble.
So chew on that!

Before gas prices kill us, we need to hire his butt

With the prospects of a harsh winter on the horizon and exploding oil and gas prices, we need a new American hero to save the day.
Of course, with John Wayne dead, Arnold in the governator’s office, Stallone now older than the original Chinese fireworks and Batman preoccupied at a movie theater near you, we may have to import our latest hero from Scotland.
Let me introduce you to Mr Methane, the world’s only full-time professional performing flatulist.
We as a nation need to employ his services as a human renewable energy source.
Apparently this guy’s sphincter, to be polite, can launch nuclear rockets upon demand.
While he may not leave any carbon footprints behind, his behind likely will stain the landscape in another way. Of course, a little fertilizer never hurts.

Camp Happy dawns for the Eagles

It’s always nice when they’re happy campers, whether they’re Boy Scouts or NFL players.
Except for Brian Westbrook and Lito Sheppard, money being the root of all evil, the Philadelphia Eagles should be happy campers this year at Lehigh. Even if it’s a perfectly lovely place to melt to death.
The real camp actually starts Thursday when all the vets are supposed to be there, and apparently that will include Westbrook and Sheppard.
But the rookies, young backups and the quarterbacks got to camp last night and Andy Reid was in a mellow mood, especially with all his draft picks signed, sealed and delivered.
Reid, whose campers do more hitting than the Phillies do in batting practice, is giving his thirtysomethings a break this summer and will give them every third morning off during two-a-days.
Reid’s blissful state of mind may unravel just a tad after the first ACL pops like a violin string. Especially if one of them belongs to Westbrook or Donovan McNabb or new wealthy cornerback Asante Samuel. Nothing like a major injury to a marquee player to screw up a head coach’s serenity beyond repair.
By the way, I always love the eve of training camp when Reid, in tribute to the “Can You Beat Zeke?” contest that I quarterback, sports a Hawaiian shirt. In that outfit, the porcine head coach looks more like a vacationing CPA of casual opulence than the guy you would send out to kill James Bond.
Or dethrone the New York Giants.

Greg Norman still is the leader in the clubhouse of life

I have no idea why the wheels always fall off of Greg Norman during final rounds of majors. I guess Never On Sunday is the story of his otherwise stellar golf career.
Norman’s fight to make a liar out of Father Time came unglued yesterday when his improbable run at the British Open proved impossible after all.
He finished in a tie for third behind Padraig — what kind of name is that, by the way? — Harrington and thus now has 30 top-10 finishes in the majors. But only two titles — the British Open in 1986 and 1993 — despite holding the 54-hole lead eight times.
Does Norman choke? That is a difficult question to answer, much like why is navy bean soup seldom on the menu?
I don’t think he choked this time, since at age 53 he is older than some of the dirt in the Southport rough. And because he now is a zillionaire walking conglomerate who merely dabbles with his golf clubs because he’s preoccupied playing tennis with new bride Chrissie Evert.
Difficult to feel sorry for the guy, I would say.

Will the Reading School Board's arithmetic on its $100 million loan add up?

The Reading School Board voted Tuesday night to borrow $100 million to add seven new schools and make infrastructure upgrades to existing schools in the district.

Usually taking out a loan of that magnitude when the economy is nastier than Amy Winehouse would unleash the cry of the damned, not to mention city taxpayers.

But the board claims it can pay the $5 million annual debt service on the bond without having to raise taxes.

Apparently the district’s horizon encompasses a geographic wonderland known as Harrisburg.
The Reading School District evidently is going to receive $10 million more from the state than anticipated. This year the district will receive an estimated $102.4 million in basic education funding from the state.
The district’s total cost on the 30-year bonds will be $181 million. The state will pay back another $35.8 million. Of course — if past is prologue — financial storm clouds still could trespass upon the sun seemingly shining on the dawn of a new era in the district.
After all, there is no such thing as fixed costs in major construction. Hence the financials usually are rooted merely in topsoil.

The time to call it a night had long passed

When the eerie early hours of the morning settle over a party like a shroud, it’s time to turn out the lights — the party should be over.
As my mother once told me, nothing good happens after midnight. Not at least until you wake up and eat breakfast.
There was a party over the weekend in Muhlenberg Township. About 4:50 a.m., a 22-year-old man was fatally stabbed with a steak knife. A 24-year-old man has been charged with his murder.
You don’t have to be carrying around a sack of hate to suddenly do something grotesquely violent if the hour is too late and the revelry is too long.
And now the potential and promise of two young men suddenly have been kicked over a cliff.