September 7, 2001
There’s this guy I see occasionally walking up and down the sidewalks. My wife calls him "Dancin’ Man", which is the most appropriate name he could have because that’s exactly what he does. He walks along waving his arms, singing, and sometimes even hops. This guy is amazing. He obviously lives somewhere because he’s always wearing clean clothes, looks showered, and besides, who wouldn’t want to be around this guy? Whether he’s dancing along or bowing and blowing kisses to the traffic while waiting for the light to change, he’s deliriously happy. He’s probably the happiest person in the world, even though his engine isn’t working on all cylinders, he doesn’t know a hawk from a handsaw, and his elevator doesn’t go to the top floor, if you catch my drift. There’s the rub: as this world goes, brains and happiness do not go together. Of course there are exceptions like Gandhi and the Dalai Llama, but take somebody like Nietzsche, the German philosopher. Normally German plus philosopher equals depression, but when Nietzsche got together with other German philosophers, even they would roll their eyes and say, "For crying out loud, Freddy, lighten up!" To make it even worse, toward the end of his life Nietzsche went into the tertiary stage of syphilis and suffered from complete paralysis. His sister – who’s rumored to be the one who gave him syphilis – would, on nice days, take him out in his wheelchair and roll him up and down the street. Nobody knows what, if anything, went on inside Nietzsche’s head while he was paralyzed, but I like to think that, out in the sunshine, being gently rolled along the cobblestone streets of Weimar, he was happy. But why settle for being happy only part of the time when it’s possible to be happy all the time?
That’s why I’ve decided to volunteer for a lobotomy. It’s the only way to guaranteed permanent happiness. So if you don’t hear from me next week, it’s because I’ll be out with Dancin’ Man.
Enjoy this week’s offerings.
80,000 blondes meet in the Kansas City Chiefs Stadium for a "Blondes Are Not Stupid" Convention. The leader says, "We are all here today to prove to the world that blondes are not stupid. Can I have a volunteer?" A blonde gingerly works her way through the crowd and steps up to the stage.
The leader asks her, "What is 15 plus 15?"
After 15 or 20 seconds she says, "Eighteen!"
Obviously everyone is a little disappointed.
Then 80,000 blondes start cheering, "Give her another chance! Give her another chance!"
The leader says, "Well since we’ve gone to the trouble of getting 80,000 of you in one place and we have the world-wide press and global broadcast media here, gee, uh, I guess we can give her another chance."
So he asks, "What is 5 plus 5?"
After nearly 30 seconds she eventually says, "Ninety?"
The leader is quite perplexed, looks down and just lets out a dejected sigh — everyone is disheartened – the blonde starts crying and the 80,000 girls begin to yell and wave their hands shouting,
GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"
The leader, unsure whether or not he is doing more harm than damage, eventually says, "Ok! Ok! Just one more chance —
What is 2 plus 2?"
The girl closes her eyes, and after a whole minute eventually says, "Four?". Throughout the stadium pandemonium breaks out as all 80,000 girls jump to their feet, wave their arms, stomp their feet and scream…
"GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"