I just love Dave Barry's Columns...

[Wedesdo]

I buy the Sunday paper for 3 things:

Comics
Circulars
Barry's Column.

I swear, it is the funniest thing on the planet. Today's had me laughing for 20 minutes striaght.

You can find today's at http://www.miamiherald.com/content/archive/living/barry/1999/docs/dec10.htm

or, the text is copied here for your convience.



<< Lizards, fruitcake and tumbleweeds ... it must be Christmas!

By DAVE BARRY

Here in Florida (Official State Motto: ``I voted for WHOM??'') we do not have what you would call a typical Christmas season. For one thing, it never snows, at least not in Miami. Down here, we don't sing, ``I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.'' We sing, ``I'm dreaming of a Christmas that is not so hot and humid that I need a coat hanger to un-bunch my underwear.'' Actually, it's a good thing we don't get snow: People down here already have enough trouble driving. For example, we have an inordinate number of accidents caused by people driving into buildings. And these are not buildings that have been carelessly left in the roadway: These are buildings carefully placed off to the side. Yet people drive into them! I suspect that somewhere in the official Florida driver's manual, there's a picture of a building, with the words: ``If you see one of these, aim straight for it!''

So if we ever had snow, it would be horrible. There would be cars on roofs, cars in the palm trees, cars in the Gulf Stream. The only safe place for a pedestrian to stand would be on an actual highway.

Since I've lived here, we did have one cold Christmas -- cold for us, anyway -- when the temperature briefly fell into the 30s. But snow did not fall from the sky. What fell from the sky was: lizards. Really. I went outside on Christmas morning, and lying on my lawn, looking stunned, were at least a dozen bright-green lizards that had fallen out of the trees. These were not small lizards. These things were the size of cocker spaniels, and they had TEETH. That is not a normal Christmas-morning sight. There is no Christmas carol that goes:


Good King Wenceslas looked out

On the feast of Stephen

Saw big green lizards all about

So he said, ``I'm leavin'!''

Nevertheless, even in Miami, we do have our Christmas traditions. Traditions are an important part of Christmas. For example, when I was a boy, my mom and I had a wonderful tradition that went on for nearly 10 years, called: The Fruitcake Slam. I am not making this tradition up. Every year, some people we knew thoughtfully sent us a fruitcake that was approximately the same density as the Hoover Dam. And every year, my mom -- who was, take my word for it, the funniest person who ever lived -- would declare, in her brightest June Cleaver voice: ``Look, Davey!'' (She called me Davey.) ``The fruitcake has arrived!''

And I'd say: ``Hurrah! I hope we don't accidentally leave it in the kitchen doorway, like last year!'' Then I'd open the kitchen door and place the fruitcake on the sill.

``UH-oh!'' my mom would say. ``It's getting drafty! I had best close the kitchen door!'' And she'd give the door a mighty slam. Usually the first slam would barely dent the fruitcake, so my mom would give it a few more, the two of us cackling like maniacs. This is still one of my fondest Christmas memories.

Anyway, here in South Florida, I have a new tradition, called: Try To Find A Christmas Tree That Was Actually Alive Within The Past Five Years. This is very difficult. Christmas trees are grown up north, and as the tree shipments travel south, all the good trees get taken along the way. By the time the trucks reach Miami, all that's left are these brown, scrawny things that appear to be members of the tumbleweed family.

And even those quickly get snapped up. By the week before Christmas, trees are scarce. Last year, on Dec. 23, my wife and I were driving around, desperately looking for a place that still had trees, when we spotted a guy selling some out of a pickup truck in a parking lot. This was not just any parking lot: This was, I swear, the parking lot of a strip club.

These were not choice trees. Each one had maybe five remaining needles, which was also the number of teeth possessed by the guy who was selling them. But at that point, we were glad to get anything. We picked out a tree, paid for it, and stood there for a moment, basking in our success. It was just getting dark, and the temperature was about 85 degrees. Our Christmas tree's naked branches were bathed in the bright pink glow given off by the sign above us that said, simply, ADULT ENTERTAINMENT. It was a special moment, a Christmas-in-Miami moment. And at that moment -- call me sentimental, if you want -- I felt a very special kind of feeling. It was my underwear bunching up. >>



funny, right?

 

[Isla]

No doubt. I have a few of his books... My favorite is Dave Barry's Greatest Hits. I also like Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.

The story about the dead beached whale never fails to make me LMAO.

You know which one I'm taking about? If someone can find it and post it here, that would be great!

 

[Linh]

entertaining read

 

[toph99]

he's in my sig

 

[Isla]

Here it is...

This is worth the bump!

The Infamous Exploding Whale

The Farside comes to life in Oregon.
I am absolutely not making this incident up; in fact I have it all on videotape. The tape is from a local TV news show in Oregon, which sent a reporter out to cover the removal of a 45-foot, eight-ton dead whale that washed up on the beach. The responsibility for getting rid of the carcass was placed on the Oregon State Highway Division, apparently on the theory that highways and whales are very similar in the sense of being large objects.

So anyway, the highway engineers hit upon the plan -- remember, I am not making this up -- of blowing up the whale with dynamite. The thinking is that the whale would be blown into small pieces, which would be eaten by seagulls, and that would be that. A textbook whale removal.

So they moved the spectators back up the beach, put a half-ton of dynamite next to the whale and set it off. I am probably not guilty of understatement when I say that what follows, on the videotape, is the most wonderful event in the history of the universe. First you see the whale carcass disappear in a huge blast of smoke and flame. Then you hear the happy spectators shouting &quot;Yayy!&quot; and &quot;Whee!&quot; Then, suddenly, the crowd's tone changes. You hear a new sound like &quot;splud.&quot; You hear a woman's voice shouting &quot;Here come pieces of...MY GOD!&quot; Something smears the camera lens.

Later, the reporter explains: &quot;The humor of the entire situation suddenly gave way to a run for survival as huge chunks of whale blubber fell everywhere.&quot; One piece caved in the roof of a car parked more than a quarter of a mile away. Remaining on the beach were several rotting whale sectors the size of condominium units. There was no sign of the seagulls who had no doubt permanently relocated to Brazil.

This is a very sobering videotape. Here at the institute we watch it often, especially at parties. But this is no time for gaiety. This is a time to get hold of the folks at the Oregon State Highway Division and ask them, when they get done cleaning up the beaches, to give us an estimate on the US Capitol.


Edit: Don't forget to watch the video!