All of May’s prompts in one handy place — Are you as lazy as I am? Clickety-clacking “Christopher Robin 12-word May prompt” takes wayyyyy too much thought. And digit strain. And I need those fingers primed and ready. To wrap around my morning mug ‘o’ java. You thought I was going to say something else, didn’t you? You Perve! …

Cattle, Crap and Climax — The Kinsey Institute has uncovered a disturbing sexual trend. “This alarming occurrence seems to be mounting mainly in the state of Illinois,” explains researcher Aphrodite Diddler. “But with the involvement of TikTok these trends are sure to become a worldwide phenomenon.” “And that terrifies us,” reveals her lab partner, who…

Who would have thunk cheaters cheat? — “You’re such a naive little Pollyanna,” my slightly pissed-off cerebrum spits out. She’s probably still in slight shock. “You actually believed that someone who was cheating on his wife wouldn’t cheat on you, too?” Yes, I’m a little Forrest Gump-ish. Naive. Too trusting. “We have enough lies in the rest…

Even if you can pick YOUR friends and YOUR bum — “Go wash your hands, lil Doogie!” It’s unbelievable, really, what teachers verbally spew. “I saw you wigglin’ those dirt-encrusted digits all down and around your buttcrack!” In a public school classroom, there are always nose pickers. And then, around the time Santa is making out with your mom, grade 1…

According to the crapper, Doctor Funny is cutting edge — “Mullets are bad and beards are rad,” my friend’s teen sang as he danced through their living room with a roll of toilet paper. “What the…?” I began. She cut me off to explain. “Mullets are when the toilet paper comes out the back. Underneath. …

It may be hard to believe that it’s not all about sex for me — Sex sells, unless you’re dehydrated in which case you’d be much more likely to purchase water. Dov Davidoff We all know that sex sells. So not surprisingly, my articles about hanky panky rake in the most cash. Sure, I enjoy making you gasp, moan and shake your head in disbelief…

It makes no sense — Two days ago my friend and colleague was killed. His vehicle t-boned a school bus. Some of the students in his class had to kick out the emergency door. And watch as paramedics pulled their small town educator from his mangled SUV. Already deceased. “What’s the point of this?” shouts…

I want in on the action but I’m so very, very confused — Boner Brigade…How do I join the fun? What does it even mean? These are the life questions I currently ponder. When I’m lathering my fuschia locks. Stirring collagen into my coffee like a true middle-ager. Or taking a pneumatic sandslinger to my corns. I wonder: Doesn’t everyone want to slide…