"Ugh," my brother said to me, "I logged onto the Souderton Independent page and guess whose gigantic, grinning face I saw?"
Since my retirement in the Fall, the menace known as Michael Morsch has been relatively silent. He would regurgitate concert promos every once in a while, but in general he remained the unamusing, uninspired hack he had become by late 2011.
Until I followed my brother's lead and found this:
OUTTA LEFTFIELD: Perfect banquet - Short speeches, great dessert, lots of yuks
Published: Thursday, January 26, 2012
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Laughter described as "yuks" in the headline? How could I resist?
As a veteran of the rubber chicken circuit, I can tell you that the three things one needs most for a successful banquet experience are short speeches, good dessert and someone at the table with whom you can yuk it up for the entire evening.
Now, I didn't go to school for journalism like Borsch did. But isn't it poor form to repeat your headline practically word-for-word in the first paragraph? Borsch goes on to describe how he got to "yuk it up" with a guy at his table named Bob.
I had never met Bob and his wife, Ellen — a perfectly lovely couple — before the banquet. I promised that if I wrote about them, I wouldn’t use their last name. Besides, everyone in the Indian Valley probably knows Bob and Ellen, which lets me off the hook because I forgot to ask them what their last name was anyway. Some reporter I am.
See, that's a problem. He's not a reporter anymore - he's the executive editor and self-aggrandizing columnist. He has (one would assume) a decent number of real reporters in his employ. Why isn't he sending these people out to interview celebrities, review concerts, etc? Especially since he's just as bad at reporting as he is at editing and writing?
But I knew right away that Bob and I were going to hit it off when I saw him dipping his napkin in his water glass, then dabbing at his shirt.
That’s right, good old Bob is a spiller, just like me.
He's returning to true form here, people. Spilling things! Hilarious!
“I spill something on myself every time I eat,” said Bob.
“Me too,” I said. “My wife carries one of those Tide sticks in her purse and I have to use it at every meal we eat out.”
Remember that episode of The Simpsons where former President Gerald Ford moves in, and he and Homer get along really well because they're both clumsy and dumb? This is sort of like that, but a lot less amusing.
Oddly enough, and what I didn’t tell Bob because I didn’t want to spoil the illusion that I was a Major League spiller, was that I rarely, if ever, spill anything on myself when we eat dinner at home.
Major League = Unnecessary Baseball Reference. He's jumped right back in the saddle.
So at banquets and restaurants, I’ve taken to just tucking my napkin up into my collar like a bib to cover my front. I am way past the point of worrying whether anyone thinks that looks goofy in favor of a more reasonable dry cleaning bill.
True to form, Borsch will now drive this "I spill things on myself" bit (which - hard to believe, I know - he HAS mentioned before) as far into the ground as possible.
Bob decided, after spilling some of the fruit cup on his shirt, that tucking his napkin up under his chin was a good strategy for the rest of the meal, so he willingly followed my lead.
“I’ll bet we’re the only two in here tonight who have our napkins tucked into our collars,” he said.
Is it any wonder this man is reviled? Here he is, attending the Indian Valley Chamber of Commerce banquet at a country club, and he's wearing a bib and blundering about with some moron next to him.
As we chit-chatted, Bob would spill something and I would drop my napkin. Then we’d hardy-har-har about it. Then I would spill something and he’d drop his napkin. And then we’d hardy-har-har some more.
Dropping napkins: an endless source of amusement. How exactly did their napkins get dropped in the first place? Shouldn't their elephantine double chins have wedged those things firmly in place?
We discovered that we both like baseball and that Bob still plays in an over-60 softball league.
Apparently it took him longer to mention baseball in conversation than it did to mention it in this column. Wonders will never cease.
I only got into trouble with Bob a few times during the course of the evening. One was when I told him that I went to school at the University of Iowa. Bob, a college wrestling fan, apparently is not a big fan of Iowa and its string of NCAA national wrestling championships in the 1980s under legendary Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable. So we went round and round about that.
Got that? The school was "Iowa," and the coach was "Iowa wrestling coach Dan Gable." Good writing.
Har-har-hardy-har-har, guffaw-guffaw and snicker-snicker.
What is funny about this? "Hey, I attended the University of Iowa." "I don't like them, nor do I like their coach, Iowa's Dan Gable." I assume the side-splitting comedy is contained somewhere in the phrase "we went round and round about that." Too bad we, the audience, will never know what it was. Bob then asks Borsch if he fishes:
“No, I’m not a fisherman,” I said. “I don’t mind sitting in a boat with a line in the water, but I really don’t like baiting the hook.”
“Wussie,” said Bob.
Giggle-giggle, hardy-har-har (accompanied by elbow nudges and a back slap or two).
First of all, in real life, nobody does the elbow nudge thing. Second, outside of Beavis and Butthead, nobody would laugh this much just because the word "wussie" was utilized.
I certainly don’t agree with him on his Iowa approach, but since my official stance on worms has always been that they’re “yucky,” he’s probably right about the fishing thing.
Tee-hee, ho-ho-ha-ha-ha.
Hey Borsch - remember when you talked about the wrestling thing and the fishing thing in the previous paragraphs? Yeah. You don't have to repeat that in THIS paragraph. It was even less funny the second time around.
The evening was delightful — due in large part to Bob and Ellen —
Wait - what did Ellen spill on herself?
and was made even more special because the Souderton Independent was named the 2011 Cornerstone Award winner as the small business of the year by the chamber. Congratulations to my hard-working colleagues at the Souderton Independent and thanks to my friend Sharon Minninger, executive director of the chamber, and the group’s board for the honor and for putting on a superb banquet. I will be happy to spill something on myself at any of the chamber’s future events.
As long as I get to sit next to Bob.
Sharon Minninger needs to cultivate better friends. In true Borsch fashion, he does an excellent job of TELLING us that things are funny, but a horrible job of SHOWING us that they are. Imagine the following exchange:
Morsch: Hey, I went to this great banquet. The speeches were short, the food was great, and I sat next to this hilarious guy.
You: Oh yeah? What were the speeches about?
Morsch: Never mind about that.
You: How was the food?
Morsch: Good cake. But this guy Bob, he was great. We both spill things on ourselves.
You: You don't say so.
Mosrch: Yeah! We dropped our napkins and stuff. It was hilarious.
You: Oh?
Morsch: Then we went round and round about college wrestling. I thought I was gonna bust a gut.
You: Sounds... great.
Morsch: And THEN we talked about fishing! Bob called me a 'wussie.'
You: Do people even use that word anymore?
Morsch: Yeah, so did I mention we talked about wrestling and fishing?
You: You did mention that, yes.
Morsch: Oh. So anyway, it was just amazing.
Welcome back, Borsch. You're just as terrible as you always have been.
Showing posts with label Yuks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yuks. Show all posts
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Saturday, August 13, 2011
New "Outta Leftfield" Subject: Baseball
Friday, August 12, 2011
Kruk, Williams solidify 'character' personas
We may have discussed how to swing a bat, we may have discussed going to a Yankess game, and we may have discussed Hunter Pence... but I never would have guessed that Borsch would pull this topic out of his hat! BASEBALL!
Remember those two old guy muppets on “The Muppet Show” — their names are Statler and Waldorf — who heckled the rest of the cast from the balcony, then yukked it up at their own jokes?
"Yukked." We're off to a roaring start.
Well, meet the modern-day Statler and Waldorf — Mitch Williams and John Kruk, mainstays of the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies squad that lost the World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays when Williams gave up a series-ending home run to Joe Carter. (Boo-boo, hiss-hiss.)
This is an idiotic statement in several ways. First off, Statler and Waldorf watched someone else's act and mocked it. So unless Williams and Kruk are watching a game and making fun of the players, the comparison doesn't even work. Second, they're making a Muppets movie right now. I'm pretty sure Statler and Waldorf will be in it. Statler and Waldorf are the modern-day Statler and Waldorf, not two untalented talking heads.
Put microphones in front of these two, sit back and prepare to be entertained.
Well hey, they're not Dennis Miller, after all. What is it, Borsch, no remarks about how much fatter Kruk is than you would expect? Maybe you could say they weren't quite as amusing as you had hoped?
They’ve known each other for a long time. Both talk baseball for a living now — Kruk for ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight” and Williams for MLB Network — and both are real characters.
What does one sentence have to do with the other? "These guys are old friends. Here are their jobs."
Kruk in particular has that “grumpy old guy” thing down, even though he’s only 50 years old. You expect him to shout, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” at any moment.
Ah, that's the first time we've heard that joke! Really, Borsch, if you're going to call yourself a "humor columnist," you should really have more than one joke per subject. "Old guys? Reference 'getting off lawn' joke." Comedy gold!
During their playing careers, neither Kruk nor Williams was all that fond of answering questions from reporters. But I happened to be standing next to former Phillies pitcher Tommy Greene while Kruk and Williams answered questions from the audience during that part of the festivities.
Again, how do these two sentences relate??? "They don't like answering questions. But I stood next to some guy." Is he writing this column on morphine or something?
Here's an example of the absolutely side-splitting riffs that these two comedic geniuses go off on. Move over, Don Rickles!
“Joe Carter is one of those rare right-handed hitters who likes the ball down and in,” Williams told the crowd. “I knew that, so that pitch was supposed to be up and away.”
“Missed by just a little bit, huh?” Kruk added.
"Added" really isn't the appropriate verb, there. And I'm sure they haven't had that exact same exchange 6,578 other times during public appearances.
Har-har-hardy-har-har. These guys should add a drummer to their act just for the rim shots.
Why, because they had one "funny" exchange? I love how we're supposed to buy their modern-day Statler and Waldorf credentials based on this one quote.
Blue collar guys for a blue collar city. They should never have to buy another beer in this town for as long as they live.
Aaaaaand slam on the breaks! Post's over. He goes from saying how hilarious they are, to providing one example of said hilarity, to saying that they should get free beers for life. Mr. Borsch, as always, is earning his pay.
Kruk, Williams solidify 'character' personas
We may have discussed how to swing a bat, we may have discussed going to a Yankess game, and we may have discussed Hunter Pence... but I never would have guessed that Borsch would pull this topic out of his hat! BASEBALL!
Remember those two old guy muppets on “The Muppet Show” — their names are Statler and Waldorf — who heckled the rest of the cast from the balcony, then yukked it up at their own jokes?
"Yukked." We're off to a roaring start.
Well, meet the modern-day Statler and Waldorf — Mitch Williams and John Kruk, mainstays of the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies squad that lost the World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays when Williams gave up a series-ending home run to Joe Carter. (Boo-boo, hiss-hiss.)
This is an idiotic statement in several ways. First off, Statler and Waldorf watched someone else's act and mocked it. So unless Williams and Kruk are watching a game and making fun of the players, the comparison doesn't even work. Second, they're making a Muppets movie right now. I'm pretty sure Statler and Waldorf will be in it. Statler and Waldorf are the modern-day Statler and Waldorf, not two untalented talking heads.
Put microphones in front of these two, sit back and prepare to be entertained.
Well hey, they're not Dennis Miller, after all. What is it, Borsch, no remarks about how much fatter Kruk is than you would expect? Maybe you could say they weren't quite as amusing as you had hoped?
They’ve known each other for a long time. Both talk baseball for a living now — Kruk for ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight” and Williams for MLB Network — and both are real characters.
What does one sentence have to do with the other? "These guys are old friends. Here are their jobs."
Kruk in particular has that “grumpy old guy” thing down, even though he’s only 50 years old. You expect him to shout, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn!” at any moment.
Ah, that's the first time we've heard that joke! Really, Borsch, if you're going to call yourself a "humor columnist," you should really have more than one joke per subject. "Old guys? Reference 'getting off lawn' joke." Comedy gold!
During their playing careers, neither Kruk nor Williams was all that fond of answering questions from reporters. But I happened to be standing next to former Phillies pitcher Tommy Greene while Kruk and Williams answered questions from the audience during that part of the festivities.
Again, how do these two sentences relate??? "They don't like answering questions. But I stood next to some guy." Is he writing this column on morphine or something?
Here's an example of the absolutely side-splitting riffs that these two comedic geniuses go off on. Move over, Don Rickles!
“Joe Carter is one of those rare right-handed hitters who likes the ball down and in,” Williams told the crowd. “I knew that, so that pitch was supposed to be up and away.”
“Missed by just a little bit, huh?” Kruk added.
"Added" really isn't the appropriate verb, there. And I'm sure they haven't had that exact same exchange 6,578 other times during public appearances.
Har-har-hardy-har-har. These guys should add a drummer to their act just for the rim shots.
Why, because they had one "funny" exchange? I love how we're supposed to buy their modern-day Statler and Waldorf credentials based on this one quote.
Blue collar guys for a blue collar city. They should never have to buy another beer in this town for as long as they live.
Aaaaaand slam on the breaks! Post's over. He goes from saying how hilarious they are, to providing one example of said hilarity, to saying that they should get free beers for life. Mr. Borsch, as always, is earning his pay.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
A Plea for Help
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Bobblehead immortality
Having read nothing but the title, I'm guessing that this hilarious entry in the Borsch canon will be an add for a contest that gets your face on a bobblehead.
Whenever I get a hankering for some home cooking, I can usually count on my boyhood friend Greg Batton to help me out.
Ah, a little walk down the "growing up in Illinois" pathway, eh? Greg is notorious for being slightly more amusing that his boyhood friend Mike.
Greg and his partner Dan Diorio are morning radio personalities at 1470 WMBD radio in Peoria. I’ve had the pleasure of being on their show a few times over the years when I’m back in Illinois visiting family.
Wow! Why, that practically makes you a celebrity!
And every once in a while — usually when it snows two feet at a time here in Philly — they’ll call me at some ridiculously early hour of the morning and put me on the air to tell the people of Peoria that, yes, it does indeed snow a whole bunch in Philly sometimes. I’m not sure how useful that information is to folks in central Illinois, but we yuk it up and have a good time with it.
Woo-hoo! Only a truly zany morning radio host would think to discuss the weather - always a topic that provides plentiful "yuks."
One time a few years ago, Greg offered his listeners a “What Can I Do For You” campaign on his Facebook page. Essentially, he wanted to do something nice for someone. It was no surprise, he’s been a nice guy his entire life.
That comma should be a semicolon.
It so happened that the day after that Facebook posting, I was headed to Yankee Stadium for a ballgame, so I posted on his Facebook that evening, “You can buy me a hotdog tomorrow at Yankee Stadium.”
Heading to Yankee Stadium for a ballgame... that's a new one on me. And Greg can't be a very nice guy if the thing he does for someone is buy a hotdog for Borsch to ram down his gullet.
I knew that would get him. Greg loves a goofy challenge like that. Radio guys are that way when it comes to goofy stuff.
Well, the guy tried and tried, utilizing every connection he had between Peoria and New York, to get that hotdog to me, but to no avail. Not to be deterred, a few days later, a dozen hotdogs were delivered to my office from a restaurant in Fort Washington.
Because if there's anything he needs, it's more hot dogs. Is this really "funny" material? Is this an "amusing" story?
They weren’t Yankee Stadium hotdogs, but they were even better because Greg had gone to such trouble from halfway across the country to fulfill my request.
Recently, I wanted something else that can only be found in Peoria — it’s called a gondola, which is sort of the central Illinois version of a hoagie, only better. It’s made at a Peoria eatery called Avanti’s and I’ve been going there since I was a kid for that sandwich.
This would be a terribly boring story even if you were just telling it to a friend at the office. Does he really think that the rest of the world cares what kind of sandwiches he got as a kid?
And once again, Greg is on top of this request. But this time, I can do something for him in return.
The Peoria Chiefs, the Chicago Cubs’ Class A minor league baseball team, is running an online “media bobblehead contest.” Personalities from several different media in the Peoria area are involved. The one who gets the most online votes will eventually have his/her likeness on a bobblehead produced by the team.
How cool is that?
The title of the post is "Bobblehead Immortality." We are 2/3 of the way through the post before the first bobblehead reference is made. Thank goodness we got that hilarious hot dog story though!
Greg says that if he and Dan win the promotion and end up being immortalized with their own bobblehead, (since they are a team, they have to “share” one head of the bobble, and I’m not sure how that’s going to work) then he’ll make good on my Avanti’s gondolas request.
I don’t know how he’ll get them out here to Philly in edible condition, but believe me when I say these sammiches are good enough for this kind of effort, and I’m confident that he’ll find a way.
"Sammich." I hate this man.
So I’m calling for Philly for be the difference maker here by voting for Greg and Dan to win this promotion and for me to get my gondolas. Go to www.peoriachiefs.com/mediabobblehead and vote often.
If anything - anything - counts as a "Blatant Promotion Alert," this is it. He has two points to this column:
1.) Help personal friend win contest
2.) Obtain sandwiches
He's not even bothering to be funny about it. Someone, please, take away this man's keyboard.
If the gondolas do actually make their way to Philly, I’ll invite a handful of you over to share a taste of the Midwest.
They really are that good.
We all know he'd never share food with anyone.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Does he understand what a "label" is? And fine, if he wants to label his own blog with his own name and the blog title, fine... but how are ANY of these related to Montgomery Newspapers?
Bobblehead immortality
Having read nothing but the title, I'm guessing that this hilarious entry in the Borsch canon will be an add for a contest that gets your face on a bobblehead.
Whenever I get a hankering for some home cooking, I can usually count on my boyhood friend Greg Batton to help me out.
Ah, a little walk down the "growing up in Illinois" pathway, eh? Greg is notorious for being slightly more amusing that his boyhood friend Mike.
Greg and his partner Dan Diorio are morning radio personalities at 1470 WMBD radio in Peoria. I’ve had the pleasure of being on their show a few times over the years when I’m back in Illinois visiting family.
Wow! Why, that practically makes you a celebrity!
And every once in a while — usually when it snows two feet at a time here in Philly — they’ll call me at some ridiculously early hour of the morning and put me on the air to tell the people of Peoria that, yes, it does indeed snow a whole bunch in Philly sometimes. I’m not sure how useful that information is to folks in central Illinois, but we yuk it up and have a good time with it.
Woo-hoo! Only a truly zany morning radio host would think to discuss the weather - always a topic that provides plentiful "yuks."
One time a few years ago, Greg offered his listeners a “What Can I Do For You” campaign on his Facebook page. Essentially, he wanted to do something nice for someone. It was no surprise, he’s been a nice guy his entire life.
That comma should be a semicolon.
It so happened that the day after that Facebook posting, I was headed to Yankee Stadium for a ballgame, so I posted on his Facebook that evening, “You can buy me a hotdog tomorrow at Yankee Stadium.”
Heading to Yankee Stadium for a ballgame... that's a new one on me. And Greg can't be a very nice guy if the thing he does for someone is buy a hotdog for Borsch to ram down his gullet.
I knew that would get him. Greg loves a goofy challenge like that. Radio guys are that way when it comes to goofy stuff.
Well, the guy tried and tried, utilizing every connection he had between Peoria and New York, to get that hotdog to me, but to no avail. Not to be deterred, a few days later, a dozen hotdogs were delivered to my office from a restaurant in Fort Washington.
Because if there's anything he needs, it's more hot dogs. Is this really "funny" material? Is this an "amusing" story?
They weren’t Yankee Stadium hotdogs, but they were even better because Greg had gone to such trouble from halfway across the country to fulfill my request.
Recently, I wanted something else that can only be found in Peoria — it’s called a gondola, which is sort of the central Illinois version of a hoagie, only better. It’s made at a Peoria eatery called Avanti’s and I’ve been going there since I was a kid for that sandwich.
This would be a terribly boring story even if you were just telling it to a friend at the office. Does he really think that the rest of the world cares what kind of sandwiches he got as a kid?
And once again, Greg is on top of this request. But this time, I can do something for him in return.
The Peoria Chiefs, the Chicago Cubs’ Class A minor league baseball team, is running an online “media bobblehead contest.” Personalities from several different media in the Peoria area are involved. The one who gets the most online votes will eventually have his/her likeness on a bobblehead produced by the team.
How cool is that?
The title of the post is "Bobblehead Immortality." We are 2/3 of the way through the post before the first bobblehead reference is made. Thank goodness we got that hilarious hot dog story though!
Greg says that if he and Dan win the promotion and end up being immortalized with their own bobblehead, (since they are a team, they have to “share” one head of the bobble, and I’m not sure how that’s going to work) then he’ll make good on my Avanti’s gondolas request.
I don’t know how he’ll get them out here to Philly in edible condition, but believe me when I say these sammiches are good enough for this kind of effort, and I’m confident that he’ll find a way.
"Sammich." I hate this man.
So I’m calling for Philly for be the difference maker here by voting for Greg and Dan to win this promotion and for me to get my gondolas. Go to www.peoriachiefs.com/mediabobblehead and vote often.
If anything - anything - counts as a "Blatant Promotion Alert," this is it. He has two points to this column:
1.) Help personal friend win contest
2.) Obtain sandwiches
He's not even bothering to be funny about it. Someone, please, take away this man's keyboard.
If the gondolas do actually make their way to Philly, I’ll invite a handful of you over to share a taste of the Midwest.
They really are that good.
We all know he'd never share food with anyone.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Does he understand what a "label" is? And fine, if he wants to label his own blog with his own name and the blog title, fine... but how are ANY of these related to Montgomery Newspapers?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Summaries Are Not Funny
Not-so-classic Christmas songs short on cheer, big on yuks
Published: Tuesday, December 07, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Stop saying "yuks." And "nyuks." Neither is particularly clever.
We all have our favorite Christmas songs. I like “Deck the Halls” because the words are easy to remember — every other line is “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Even a bad singer like me — I make Barney Fife sound like Pavarotti — can fake the fa-la-la-la-las.
Hey, he's a bad singer, too! Who would have thought?
Another favorite is “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives, a fellow Illinois native, folk singer and actor who everyone knows as the voice of Sam the Snowman, the narrator in the TV classic “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” (I’ve always loved how the snowman character was created to resemble the real-life Ives, including mustache and goatee).
File that little aside under "pathetically common knowledge."
And “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” by Vince Vance and the Valiants, as sung by Lisa Layne, always puts me in the holiday mood. Vince Vance isn’t from Illinois, but he does have one of the coolest haircuts in show business history, if one subscribes to the Don King School of Hairstyling philosophy.
But among all the classics we hear this time of year, there are a few that, well . . . aren’t so classic. Some of them are just downright silly, which admittedly can be appealing after six or seven eggnogs.
It's painful enough seeing Morsch try to be funny. How much more painful will it be to see him try and describe something he finds funny?
Songs like “Yellow Snow,” “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” and “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia” have a bit of a sideways slant on the holiday season. You can check them out on YouTube to see if they are appropriate for the office party.
"Yellow Snow"... how typical that this involves a pee joke. [Editor's note: Multiple pee jokes, actually.]
A portion of the lyrics of “Yellow Snow” — sung to the tune of “Let It Snow” — go like this (feel free to sing along):
It's "A portion of the lyrics GOES," not "go." He puts virtually the entire song here, which I cut to keep things at a reasonable length.
What wonderful holiday sentiments, huh? Nothing promotes holiday cheer quite like taking a classic Christmas song and changing the words to include the dog’s business. You will want to make sure you have one of those hard, scratchy doormats out in front of your house to give Santa ample opportunity to clean off his shoes before he delivers gifts to your house.
I thought he found this song amusing. Why is he busting on it?
Fortunately, “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” doesn’t have anything to do with negotiating the dog’s front-yard obstacle course. It’s sung by Yogi Yorgesson, the Scandinavian Swami (real name Harry Stewart). It’s a fun song sung by a guy with a great stage name. Some of the lyrics include:
Yet again, he feels the need to include a lengthy section of the song, courtesy of the apparently legendary Mr. Yorgesson. One thing I note - the song contains the word "knucklehead," a Morsch favorite.
Working yust, yolly and yerk — as well as other “Y” words throughout the rest of the song — tickles me.
Truly, the creativity it takes to put "Y" at the beginning of various words surpasses even Morsch's formidable comedic skills.
And I applaud the fact that a Christmas song includes the word “knucklehead.” It would be a perfect holiday song for the Swedish Chef character from the Muppets to sing to The Three Stooges.
Way to work in a Three Stooges reference. That's something we've never seen before.
As for “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia,” it starts out as a bit of a sad and pathetic Christmas tale:
More lyrics here. None of these sound particularly amusing in print.
Well, that certainly is sad. As the song progresses, though, Percy is saved by a poor little girl, who takes him home and sets him beside the Christmas tree, where he is “as proud as a flower can be.” It’s not a particularly cheerful holiday song, but it does have a happy ending, a kind of a Charlie-Brown’s-sorry-Christmas-tree feel.
I agree! That's why "Percy, The Puny Poinsettia" is such a perrenial Christmas favorite. Radio stations practically play it to death, don't they?
So if you ever get tired of listening to the old standards, give a listen to some of these more obscure titles. At the very least, the creative songwriting ought to be good for a giggle or two.
Just like the creative writing contained in this column! Right? ... Right? (Crickets)
The only shortcomings these offbeat Christmas songs have is that there don’t seem to be any “Fa la-la-la-la, la-la la-la” lines, which is probably just as well. Why, my high-pitched warbling will only annoy the dogs to the point that they’ll create more yellow snow.
You heard it hear first, folks - Morsch's singing is so bad that it makes dogs lose control of their bladders. Question: does a summary of three purportedly amusing Christmas songs count as humor? Maybe if you toss a few pee jokes in it does.
Published: Tuesday, December 07, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Stop saying "yuks." And "nyuks." Neither is particularly clever.
We all have our favorite Christmas songs. I like “Deck the Halls” because the words are easy to remember — every other line is “Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Even a bad singer like me — I make Barney Fife sound like Pavarotti — can fake the fa-la-la-la-las.
Hey, he's a bad singer, too! Who would have thought?
Another favorite is “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Burl Ives, a fellow Illinois native, folk singer and actor who everyone knows as the voice of Sam the Snowman, the narrator in the TV classic “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” (I’ve always loved how the snowman character was created to resemble the real-life Ives, including mustache and goatee).
File that little aside under "pathetically common knowledge."
And “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” by Vince Vance and the Valiants, as sung by Lisa Layne, always puts me in the holiday mood. Vince Vance isn’t from Illinois, but he does have one of the coolest haircuts in show business history, if one subscribes to the Don King School of Hairstyling philosophy.
But among all the classics we hear this time of year, there are a few that, well . . . aren’t so classic. Some of them are just downright silly, which admittedly can be appealing after six or seven eggnogs.
It's painful enough seeing Morsch try to be funny. How much more painful will it be to see him try and describe something he finds funny?
Songs like “Yellow Snow,” “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” and “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia” have a bit of a sideways slant on the holiday season. You can check them out on YouTube to see if they are appropriate for the office party.
"Yellow Snow"... how typical that this involves a pee joke. [Editor's note: Multiple pee jokes, actually.]
A portion of the lyrics of “Yellow Snow” — sung to the tune of “Let It Snow” — go like this (feel free to sing along):
It's "A portion of the lyrics GOES," not "go." He puts virtually the entire song here, which I cut to keep things at a reasonable length.
What wonderful holiday sentiments, huh? Nothing promotes holiday cheer quite like taking a classic Christmas song and changing the words to include the dog’s business. You will want to make sure you have one of those hard, scratchy doormats out in front of your house to give Santa ample opportunity to clean off his shoes before he delivers gifts to your house.
I thought he found this song amusing. Why is he busting on it?
Fortunately, “I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas” doesn’t have anything to do with negotiating the dog’s front-yard obstacle course. It’s sung by Yogi Yorgesson, the Scandinavian Swami (real name Harry Stewart). It’s a fun song sung by a guy with a great stage name. Some of the lyrics include:
Yet again, he feels the need to include a lengthy section of the song, courtesy of the apparently legendary Mr. Yorgesson. One thing I note - the song contains the word "knucklehead," a Morsch favorite.
Working yust, yolly and yerk — as well as other “Y” words throughout the rest of the song — tickles me.
Truly, the creativity it takes to put "Y" at the beginning of various words surpasses even Morsch's formidable comedic skills.
And I applaud the fact that a Christmas song includes the word “knucklehead.” It would be a perfect holiday song for the Swedish Chef character from the Muppets to sing to The Three Stooges.
Way to work in a Three Stooges reference. That's something we've never seen before.
As for “Percy, The Puny Poinsettia,” it starts out as a bit of a sad and pathetic Christmas tale:
More lyrics here. None of these sound particularly amusing in print.
Well, that certainly is sad. As the song progresses, though, Percy is saved by a poor little girl, who takes him home and sets him beside the Christmas tree, where he is “as proud as a flower can be.” It’s not a particularly cheerful holiday song, but it does have a happy ending, a kind of a Charlie-Brown’s-sorry-Christmas-tree feel.
I agree! That's why "Percy, The Puny Poinsettia" is such a perrenial Christmas favorite. Radio stations practically play it to death, don't they?
So if you ever get tired of listening to the old standards, give a listen to some of these more obscure titles. At the very least, the creative songwriting ought to be good for a giggle or two.
Just like the creative writing contained in this column! Right? ... Right? (Crickets)
The only shortcomings these offbeat Christmas songs have is that there don’t seem to be any “Fa la-la-la-la, la-la la-la” lines, which is probably just as well. Why, my high-pitched warbling will only annoy the dogs to the point that they’ll create more yellow snow.
You heard it hear first, folks - Morsch's singing is so bad that it makes dogs lose control of their bladders. Question: does a summary of three purportedly amusing Christmas songs count as humor? Maybe if you toss a few pee jokes in it does.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The "Hey Kids Get Off My Lawn" Joke Post
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Hurtling toward the 'Age of Grumpiness'
Back in May, Morsch posted a column about the "grump bone," a rather vague term that had something to do with his recent knee surgery. Dare we expect shades of that classic here?
If a new study is any indication, it appears that I don’t have too much longer until I start down the path to “The Age of Grumpiness.”
Ah, talented is the writer who repeats his column title in the first paragraph.
It’s not that I don’t do my share of grumping. I’m already at an age where I do a pretty decent job of being cranky at times, especially when there are no ballgames to watch, which is not the case right now as the Phillies continue to play October baseball.
What else would the Philles play? October badminton?
But according to a wire service story,
Formula for a Morsch column: make joke in first paragraph, than summarize boring news article. Print.
a cable television survey out of London shows that in a study of 2,000 Britons, those over the age of 50 yukked it up far less than younger people. Not only that, the over 50 crowd complained a lot more.
This doesn't seem like a study with a whole lot of scientific merit. If Morsch owns a thesaurus, I hope he opens it one day to find a synonym for "laughter" other than "yukked."
This would be the place to insert the standard Old Guy’s Lament: “Hey you British kids get off my lawn!”
Yeah, because I ALWAYS hear people yell that in real life!
The survey showed that infants laughed up to 300 times a day (little kids will laugh at anything, like putting lipstick on the dog); teenagers laughed only six times a day (you wouldn’t have much time to laugh either if you spent most your time whining about all the homework you had to do);
The Big Morsch Cliche Express rolls on, folks.
and folks over age 60 laughed only 2.5 times a day (because it’s not funny when one pulls a hamstring getting out of a recliner).
This actually happened to him. Guaranteed.
By the way, men were found to be grumpier than women. This should come as no surprise whatsoever because it is the men in general who are in charge of lawn enforcement rules.
I really need to go back and find how often he's used the "get off my lawn" thing. It's a frighteningly high number.
So, when I get to age 52, I’ll be grumpy. And I thought I was just going to be sleepy.
Why did he think that? Why does he reference age 52 instead of age 50 (the one mentioned in the survey)? What was the point of any of this?
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Hurtling toward the 'Age of Grumpiness'
Back in May, Morsch posted a column about the "grump bone," a rather vague term that had something to do with his recent knee surgery. Dare we expect shades of that classic here?
If a new study is any indication, it appears that I don’t have too much longer until I start down the path to “The Age of Grumpiness.”
Ah, talented is the writer who repeats his column title in the first paragraph.
It’s not that I don’t do my share of grumping. I’m already at an age where I do a pretty decent job of being cranky at times, especially when there are no ballgames to watch, which is not the case right now as the Phillies continue to play October baseball.
What else would the Philles play? October badminton?
But according to a wire service story,
Formula for a Morsch column: make joke in first paragraph, than summarize boring news article. Print.
a cable television survey out of London shows that in a study of 2,000 Britons, those over the age of 50 yukked it up far less than younger people. Not only that, the over 50 crowd complained a lot more.
This doesn't seem like a study with a whole lot of scientific merit. If Morsch owns a thesaurus, I hope he opens it one day to find a synonym for "laughter" other than "yukked."
This would be the place to insert the standard Old Guy’s Lament: “Hey you British kids get off my lawn!”
Yeah, because I ALWAYS hear people yell that in real life!
The survey showed that infants laughed up to 300 times a day (little kids will laugh at anything, like putting lipstick on the dog); teenagers laughed only six times a day (you wouldn’t have much time to laugh either if you spent most your time whining about all the homework you had to do);
The Big Morsch Cliche Express rolls on, folks.
and folks over age 60 laughed only 2.5 times a day (because it’s not funny when one pulls a hamstring getting out of a recliner).
This actually happened to him. Guaranteed.
By the way, men were found to be grumpier than women. This should come as no surprise whatsoever because it is the men in general who are in charge of lawn enforcement rules.
I really need to go back and find how often he's used the "get off my lawn" thing. It's a frighteningly high number.
So, when I get to age 52, I’ll be grumpy. And I thought I was just going to be sleepy.
Why did he think that? Why does he reference age 52 instead of age 50 (the one mentioned in the survey)? What was the point of any of this?
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A Grand Return
Outta Leftfield: Learning the secrets of ‘The Bra Whisperer’ an uplifting experience
Published: Tuesday, September 21, 2010
He's back, folks! A full column (something not seen for months) AND a blog entry on the same day. And this promises to be a gem. Morsch talking about bras, presumably breasts, and presumably women? I'm in.
When it comes to basic bra knowledge, men are at a disadvantage. What we do know can be broken down into three simple categories: (1) Uh. (2) Well. (3) Hmmm.
Oh, it's so TRUE! Men know nothing. That's what I appreciate most about this column - it's frank (yet amusing) honesty on the facts of life. The facts of life according to "Sit-Com Writing for Dummies," yes, but facts nonetheless.
Fortunately, I am now more of an expert on bras after having spent some time last week in King of Prussia with nationally known bra fitter Susan Nethero — also known as “The Bra Whisperer” — who really knows her stuff having been trained by Queen of England’s royal bra fitter.
This is a terrible sentence. Terrible. Try reading it out loud in one breath - you can't do it. What a life this man leads. A bra-fitting seminar one week, a rodeo the next.
Which begs the question, “The Queen has a royal bra fitter?”
The real question here is why Morsch was there. Other than the fact that he's a lusty perv, of course.
Still, there are worse ways to kill an hour on a Wednesday afternoon than sitting around and talking about bras, and um … other things that fall into that category.
Wait, mystery solved - Morsch was there to be fitted for his OWN bra, a.k.a. "bro," a.k.a. "manzier."
“Hey, what’s your bra size?” I said to The Blonde Accountant on the phone when I called to tell her about my appointment to talk with Susan.
As usual with these hilarious husband/wife conversations, I'm quite sure that this one never took place.
“Why do you need to know that?” she asked.
“Because I’m going to interview ‘The Bra Whisperer’ and your bra size might be information I need to have for that conversation,” I said.
“You … are … NOT … going … to put … my bra size … in the paper,” she shot back.
Now I've never been married. But wouldn't a spouse's bra size be easy to obtain? They're in the laundry, they're in drawers, they're in the hamper... it seems like that's the kind of information that a husband would have.
I bet she’d tell the Queen’s royal bra fitter her cup size if she had the chance.
Gross.
Still, I understand the need for discretion with this subject matter, especially if the information is given to the Royal Knuckleheaded Husband who would think it was funny if that information were revealed to the public … at least for as long as it took him to set up a cot in the garage.
Dumb husband joke staple: being forced to sleep in a remote area by an angry wife. How often does this actually happen?
Susan was in town for the opening of a new store {intimacy} in the King of Prussia Mall, her 12th such women’s fancy underwear store across the country. (By the way, the little brackets around {intimacy} and the lowercase “i” on the word are how it’s supposed to be spelled.)
Shameless Promotion Alert! Or, at least, it should be. Some day I'd like an explanation of what qualifies as "shameless."
And when it comes to bras, Susan really likes to hold up her end of the conversation. You may have seen her on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” “The Tyra Banks Show,” “The Today Show,” “What Not to Wear” and “How To Look Good Naked” with Carson Kressley, that guy from “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy.”
This is at least the second time that Mr. Kressley has been referred to as "that guy from 'QEFTSG'." Again, doesn't really help narrow it down.
In fact, it was Kressley that gave her the moniker “The Bra Whisperer.”
Gay people are legendarily witty.
For the record — and I asked — she doesn’t really whisper to the bras. If she did, I would hope that she would say, “Psssst. Did you know that the Queen has a royal bra fitter? Can you believe that?”
Only Morsch can blend two jokes so lame into one steamy, bubbly crap cocktail.
But she does whisper to her clients.
“What I whisper is, ‘You can feel confident and feel good about yourself, that some of the issues and problems that you had with being able to wear certain styles and certain shapes … that’s all gone away.’ It’s all about confidence,” she said.
That’s the whole theory behind the {intimacy} brand, that Susan and her staff — who don’t use tape measures to determine bust sizes — want to advise women on how to get the right comfort, shape and style of bra, which leads to confidence.
So this isn't so much a humor column as it is a commercial for this woman's stores. Surprise!
Fortunately, Susan has a fabulous sense of humor when it comes to her chosen profession. And she likes to yuk it up a bit when talking about it. (You can go to www.myintimacy.com for all the non-yukable information.)
Two things must end - the constant promotion of artists, restaurants, musicians, etc; and the phrase "yuk it up." There are a million ways to say "laugh about" without saying that.
“Women can have great bras that give them great support and do their job and they can enjoy looking and feeling their best every day,” said Susan. “So that’s why we enjoy what we do. And we do laugh and giggle about it.”
Among the many things I didn’t know about bras — including the size worn by The Blonde Accountant — is that in the United States, bra sizes range from A, B, C, D, DD, Triple-D and even Quad-D. But in Europe — and for all I know there are royal bra fitters running around all over that continent — the sizes are D, E, F, G, H, I, J and K.
That's a lot of dashes. Morsch seems particularly enamored with the "royal bra fitter" joke. He keeps going back to the well on that one, and it never seems to run dry.
Susan grabbed a size 40K bra out of a drawer in the store and showed it to me. From my limited knowledge of England’s royal family, the 40K looked to be a big too big for the diminutive Queen Elizabeth II. But it would have made a dandy parachute.
Oh, sick! Who thinks about the Queen's bra size?
“Breasts can weigh anywhere from 10 ounces to 10 pounds each. That’s a lot of volume,” said Susan.
Feel free to insert your own “cup runneth over” joke there. All of the ones I could think of couldn’t really be printed in a family newspaper.
The obscene lack of comedy here shouldn't be fit for print. But I digress. Morsch makes a good point - where are all the lame boob-related puns he should be making?
Until I met Susan, the only thing I knew about bras was that Playtex made something called a Cross Your Heart bra back in the 1960s when I was a kid. According to Susan, that bra has been around for four decades and is still one of the Top 10 bras in America.
There is another thing I didn’t know, that there were actually nine other bra brands in America.
This seems like a random bit of information to stick at the end of the column, doesn't it? Maybe he couldn't find a way to slip it in where it would actually make sense.
All in all, I enjoyed talking with Susan. She’s a good sport and has a delightful approach to her life’s work.
I am dead serious when I say that Morsch could interview Ted Bundy and come away with something nice to say about him. "He may have slain numerous women with his bare hands, but he slayed me with his lighthearted quips and delightful approach to death row."
And I now know a little bit more about bras than I used to, which means the next time the topic comes up in casual conversation, I won’t feel like … such a boob.
I love the ellipsis before the "boob" pun, as though Morsch thinks we will savor that extra anticipation of his knee-slapper.
Published: Tuesday, September 21, 2010
He's back, folks! A full column (something not seen for months) AND a blog entry on the same day. And this promises to be a gem. Morsch talking about bras, presumably breasts, and presumably women? I'm in.
When it comes to basic bra knowledge, men are at a disadvantage. What we do know can be broken down into three simple categories: (1) Uh. (2) Well. (3) Hmmm.
Oh, it's so TRUE! Men know nothing. That's what I appreciate most about this column - it's frank (yet amusing) honesty on the facts of life. The facts of life according to "Sit-Com Writing for Dummies," yes, but facts nonetheless.
Fortunately, I am now more of an expert on bras after having spent some time last week in King of Prussia with nationally known bra fitter Susan Nethero — also known as “The Bra Whisperer” — who really knows her stuff having been trained by Queen of England’s royal bra fitter.
This is a terrible sentence. Terrible. Try reading it out loud in one breath - you can't do it. What a life this man leads. A bra-fitting seminar one week, a rodeo the next.
Which begs the question, “The Queen has a royal bra fitter?”
The real question here is why Morsch was there. Other than the fact that he's a lusty perv, of course.
Still, there are worse ways to kill an hour on a Wednesday afternoon than sitting around and talking about bras, and um … other things that fall into that category.
Wait, mystery solved - Morsch was there to be fitted for his OWN bra, a.k.a. "bro," a.k.a. "manzier."
“Hey, what’s your bra size?” I said to The Blonde Accountant on the phone when I called to tell her about my appointment to talk with Susan.
As usual with these hilarious husband/wife conversations, I'm quite sure that this one never took place.
“Why do you need to know that?” she asked.
“Because I’m going to interview ‘The Bra Whisperer’ and your bra size might be information I need to have for that conversation,” I said.
“You … are … NOT … going … to put … my bra size … in the paper,” she shot back.
Now I've never been married. But wouldn't a spouse's bra size be easy to obtain? They're in the laundry, they're in drawers, they're in the hamper... it seems like that's the kind of information that a husband would have.
I bet she’d tell the Queen’s royal bra fitter her cup size if she had the chance.
Gross.
Still, I understand the need for discretion with this subject matter, especially if the information is given to the Royal Knuckleheaded Husband who would think it was funny if that information were revealed to the public … at least for as long as it took him to set up a cot in the garage.
Dumb husband joke staple: being forced to sleep in a remote area by an angry wife. How often does this actually happen?
Susan was in town for the opening of a new store {intimacy} in the King of Prussia Mall, her 12th such women’s fancy underwear store across the country. (By the way, the little brackets around {intimacy} and the lowercase “i” on the word are how it’s supposed to be spelled.)
Shameless Promotion Alert! Or, at least, it should be. Some day I'd like an explanation of what qualifies as "shameless."
And when it comes to bras, Susan really likes to hold up her end of the conversation. You may have seen her on “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” “The Tyra Banks Show,” “The Today Show,” “What Not to Wear” and “How To Look Good Naked” with Carson Kressley, that guy from “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy.”
This is at least the second time that Mr. Kressley has been referred to as "that guy from 'QEFTSG'." Again, doesn't really help narrow it down.
In fact, it was Kressley that gave her the moniker “The Bra Whisperer.”
Gay people are legendarily witty.
For the record — and I asked — she doesn’t really whisper to the bras. If she did, I would hope that she would say, “Psssst. Did you know that the Queen has a royal bra fitter? Can you believe that?”
Only Morsch can blend two jokes so lame into one steamy, bubbly crap cocktail.
But she does whisper to her clients.
“What I whisper is, ‘You can feel confident and feel good about yourself, that some of the issues and problems that you had with being able to wear certain styles and certain shapes … that’s all gone away.’ It’s all about confidence,” she said.
That’s the whole theory behind the {intimacy} brand, that Susan and her staff — who don’t use tape measures to determine bust sizes — want to advise women on how to get the right comfort, shape and style of bra, which leads to confidence.
So this isn't so much a humor column as it is a commercial for this woman's stores. Surprise!
Fortunately, Susan has a fabulous sense of humor when it comes to her chosen profession. And she likes to yuk it up a bit when talking about it. (You can go to www.myintimacy.com for all the non-yukable information.)
Two things must end - the constant promotion of artists, restaurants, musicians, etc; and the phrase "yuk it up." There are a million ways to say "laugh about" without saying that.
“Women can have great bras that give them great support and do their job and they can enjoy looking and feeling their best every day,” said Susan. “So that’s why we enjoy what we do. And we do laugh and giggle about it.”
Among the many things I didn’t know about bras — including the size worn by The Blonde Accountant — is that in the United States, bra sizes range from A, B, C, D, DD, Triple-D and even Quad-D. But in Europe — and for all I know there are royal bra fitters running around all over that continent — the sizes are D, E, F, G, H, I, J and K.
That's a lot of dashes. Morsch seems particularly enamored with the "royal bra fitter" joke. He keeps going back to the well on that one, and it never seems to run dry.
Susan grabbed a size 40K bra out of a drawer in the store and showed it to me. From my limited knowledge of England’s royal family, the 40K looked to be a big too big for the diminutive Queen Elizabeth II. But it would have made a dandy parachute.
Oh, sick! Who thinks about the Queen's bra size?
“Breasts can weigh anywhere from 10 ounces to 10 pounds each. That’s a lot of volume,” said Susan.
Feel free to insert your own “cup runneth over” joke there. All of the ones I could think of couldn’t really be printed in a family newspaper.
The obscene lack of comedy here shouldn't be fit for print. But I digress. Morsch makes a good point - where are all the lame boob-related puns he should be making?
Until I met Susan, the only thing I knew about bras was that Playtex made something called a Cross Your Heart bra back in the 1960s when I was a kid. According to Susan, that bra has been around for four decades and is still one of the Top 10 bras in America.
There is another thing I didn’t know, that there were actually nine other bra brands in America.
This seems like a random bit of information to stick at the end of the column, doesn't it? Maybe he couldn't find a way to slip it in where it would actually make sense.
All in all, I enjoyed talking with Susan. She’s a good sport and has a delightful approach to her life’s work.
I am dead serious when I say that Morsch could interview Ted Bundy and come away with something nice to say about him. "He may have slain numerous women with his bare hands, but he slayed me with his lighthearted quips and delightful approach to death row."
And I now know a little bit more about bras than I used to, which means the next time the topic comes up in casual conversation, I won’t feel like … such a boob.
I love the ellipsis before the "boob" pun, as though Morsch thinks we will savor that extra anticipation of his knee-slapper.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I Missed the "Humor" Part
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Laughing and singing for a cure
Question: is it even valid for Morsch to advertise this as a "humor column" anymore? The man has not written about a "funny" topic for months. Out of his nine last posts, Morsch has dwelled on a purely fanciful topic once. The other eight topics?
Morsch goes to a show in Perkasie
Morsch goes to an art show
Morsch goes to an amusement park
Morsch goes to a concert
Morsch interviews a baseball player
Morsch goes to another concert
Morsch goes to a Phillies game
Morsch watches the Three Stooges
If the column was advertised as "a boring travelogue by a humorless dope," I wouldn't have such a problem. I'm guessing that this column will consist of Morsch attending a charity show to which he urges his readers to contribute. He will make one "joke" to keep up the charade.
Bill Apter is one my favorite people in the world. I grew up reading his articles in professional wrestling magazines as a kid back in the 1970s while hanging around my central Illinois town’s news stand. I never knew then that I’d meet him some day, which I did when I moved to this area in 2003.
This could be worse than I thought. This guy was a writer for pro wrestling in the 1970's, when people had special moves like "bearhug" and "abdominal stretch"? I think we should keep track of how many people Morsch "never knew" he'd meet.
I love characters, and Bill is a character. If you’re a fan of professional “rasslin,”
Also, keep a tally of how many times Morsch thinks the word "rasslin" is amusing.
you may remember Bill’s onscreen persona, that of befuddled interviewer and announcer. The one question I always wished he would have asked the wrestlers: Why is it that you’re yelling and spitting into the television camera? I guess maybe that fit right in with the befuddled character he played.
VOOM. "What was that?" "That was the joke, mate." "Oh, that was quick. Do I get another?" "Sorry mate, that's your lot."
So the entertainment value should be high when Bill, a Dresher resident, emcees a night of singing and comedy to find a cure for breast cancer at 7 p.m. Thursday, Aug. 26, at Poco’s in Doylestown.
Shameless Promotion Alert? I mean, Morsch is using his newspaper blog to promote a show that provides a tangible benefit to someone.
Comedians Chris Rich and Chris Morris will be making guest appearances. And Bill will be yukking it up and doing a little singing himself.
So Bill will be laughing in the audience? Or do you mean he'll be making jokes and such? I believe there's some confusion over what the phrase "yukking it up" actually means.
Tickets are $15 and all proceeds from the evening will be donated to The Susan G. Komen Foundation. For tickets and more information, contact Joe Bainbridge at
610-564-9598 or Debbie Knight at 215-512-0992 or you can purchase tickets in advance at Poco's, 625 North Main St., by calling 215-348-3424.
Time to hang it up, Morsch. You're embarassing yourself.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
"Hey, I want to find that hilarious post Morsch made about the cancer charity! How do I find it?" "Check the labels for 'cancer' or 'Bill Apter' or 'Susan G. Komen Foundation' or 'Poco's in Doylestown'." "...Nope, none of those things are tagged." "Okay... well then look through every single 'Outta Leftfield' post until you find it."
Laughing and singing for a cure
Question: is it even valid for Morsch to advertise this as a "humor column" anymore? The man has not written about a "funny" topic for months. Out of his nine last posts, Morsch has dwelled on a purely fanciful topic once. The other eight topics?
Morsch goes to a show in Perkasie
Morsch goes to an art show
Morsch goes to an amusement park
Morsch goes to a concert
Morsch interviews a baseball player
Morsch goes to another concert
Morsch goes to a Phillies game
Morsch watches the Three Stooges
If the column was advertised as "a boring travelogue by a humorless dope," I wouldn't have such a problem. I'm guessing that this column will consist of Morsch attending a charity show to which he urges his readers to contribute. He will make one "joke" to keep up the charade.
Bill Apter is one my favorite people in the world. I grew up reading his articles in professional wrestling magazines as a kid back in the 1970s while hanging around my central Illinois town’s news stand. I never knew then that I’d meet him some day, which I did when I moved to this area in 2003.
This could be worse than I thought. This guy was a writer for pro wrestling in the 1970's, when people had special moves like "bearhug" and "abdominal stretch"? I think we should keep track of how many people Morsch "never knew" he'd meet.
I love characters, and Bill is a character. If you’re a fan of professional “rasslin,”
Also, keep a tally of how many times Morsch thinks the word "rasslin" is amusing.
you may remember Bill’s onscreen persona, that of befuddled interviewer and announcer. The one question I always wished he would have asked the wrestlers: Why is it that you’re yelling and spitting into the television camera? I guess maybe that fit right in with the befuddled character he played.
VOOM. "What was that?" "That was the joke, mate." "Oh, that was quick. Do I get another?" "Sorry mate, that's your lot."
So the entertainment value should be high when Bill, a Dresher resident, emcees a night of singing and comedy to find a cure for breast cancer at 7 p.m. Thursday, Aug. 26, at Poco’s in Doylestown.
Shameless Promotion Alert? I mean, Morsch is using his newspaper blog to promote a show that provides a tangible benefit to someone.
Comedians Chris Rich and Chris Morris will be making guest appearances. And Bill will be yukking it up and doing a little singing himself.
So Bill will be laughing in the audience? Or do you mean he'll be making jokes and such? I believe there's some confusion over what the phrase "yukking it up" actually means.
Tickets are $15 and all proceeds from the evening will be donated to The Susan G. Komen Foundation. For tickets and more information, contact Joe Bainbridge at
610-564-9598 or Debbie Knight at 215-512-0992 or you can purchase tickets in advance at Poco's, 625 North Main St., by calling 215-348-3424.
Time to hang it up, Morsch. You're embarassing yourself.
Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Outta Leftfield
"Hey, I want to find that hilarious post Morsch made about the cancer charity! How do I find it?" "Check the labels for 'cancer' or 'Bill Apter' or 'Susan G. Komen Foundation' or 'Poco's in Doylestown'." "...Nope, none of those things are tagged." "Okay... well then look through every single 'Outta Leftfield' post until you find it."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Surprise! Morsch Steals from Other Articles
Outta Leftfield
Published: Wednesday, June 16, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Roam on the range: Wandering yaks go from yuks to yuck
Right off the bat, I'll say that this is unacceptable. We didn't get a blog entry at all yesterday. What's up with you, Morsch? Too busy posting Twitter links to boring articles from your own newspaper?
I'm guessing Morsch has never seen a live yak outside of a zoo, so this must be about something he read or saw on TV. At first he will find how big and dumb they are amusing ("yuks") and will maybe compare them to himself; then they'll poop, or roll in the dirt, and it will turn to "yuck." Mark my words. [Editor's Note: Do not mark any of my words after "At first."]
If you’re planning a trip to Wyoming’s Big Horn Mountains anytime soon, you may consider delaying it for a bit because, well … the yaks are roaming.
He read about this on the Internet. Guaranteed.
That’s right, roaming yaks. And they’re just wandering around eating everybody’s grass and mating with the cows. No telling what could happen to your car if you’re out roaming around Wyoming gawking at the yaks.
Has he ever watched "Wild America," or even seen a nature show before? He's acting like dinosaurs are roaming the earth once again. They're just yaks.
According to a wire service story, John and Laura DeMatteis of Buffalo, Wyo., raise the yaks and sell them for their meat and wool on their 300-acre ranch called the “Yak Daddy Ranch.” They must be NBA fans.
Why? Sorry, I don't watch basketball. Is the phrase "Mac Daddy" exclusive to that sport or something? I'm guessing that's what he's referencing...
Yaks (Latin name: Bos grunniens)
Right away, I knew Morsch was looking this information up somewhere.
are long-haired animals of the bovine family usually found in the Himalayan region of South Central Asia. Herd animals, they are among the largest and wildest bovines
Hey, you know what you find when you type "yak" into Wikipedia?
The yak, Bos grunniens, is a long-haired bovine found throughout the Himalayan region of south Central Asia... Yaks are herd animals. They are among the largest wild bovids.
Wow. Morsch, you immense sack of yak crap. Do this in a college paper, and you get an "F". For the class. We'll return to the issue of rampant plagiarism later.
roaming around Wyoming during those times when former Vice President Dick Cheney (Latin name: Grumpius oldguyus) is not in the state.
Wow, Morsch hates Dick Cheney. This is the second disparaging reference to him in Outta Leftfield.
The wire service story reveals that local rancher Scott Rogers was at first yukking it up over the yaks. But now his grass is taking a beating and he worries that his cows will have to sleep with one eye open, so he has become unhappy with the situation.
Alright, we'll address the rampant plagiarism right now. Per the wire service story:
Cattle ranchers in the foothills of Wyoming's Big Horn Mountains are no longer yukking over a herd of yaks that keeps getting loose.
Morsch has used that "yukking" joke twice now - in the headline and in this paragraph. Not only is it incredibly lame, but he didn't even think of it himself. This disgusts me. Other than the Dick Cheney joke, there's not a sentence in this "column" that hasn't been stolen from somewhere else.
Local officials, of course, are doing what elected and appointed officials do, which in most cases consists of going out to the ranch, shaking their fists at the yaks and yelling, “Hey, you darn yaks, get off my lawn!”
Really? Normally such a joke would end with "which in most cases consists of raising taxes" or "which in most cases consists of passing a 2,000 page piece of legislation." Not "which in most cases consists of (insert something nobody would ever, ever do, ever)."
Elected officials also are considering an ordinance against “yaks at large.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I went to the local newspaper website, the Caspar Star-Tribune, for more information.
Okay, stop. Just stop. So now, after getting quotes from another news story and Wikipedia, we're looking up yet another news story to quote from.
At first, I did not find any additional information on what local officials meant by “yaks at large,” but I did find out that a community called Glenrock has an annual “Yak About Annual Fleece Crafts, Festival and Trade Show” that includes a barn dance and a barbecue, all for $14. Really, though, that type of entertainment is a bargain at any price.
Even better! We've stumbled upon an article that has absolutely nothing to do with anything!
The festival features alpacas, yaks and mini-donkeys on display as well as an antique tractor display. I am mildly disappointed to learn that there apparently is no “Yak Gawking” competition at this festival.
Why? Because those are "funny" words? And please, can we stick to the topic of the article, which is... what again?
Having spent a fair of amount of time in Iowa and rural Illinois as a lad, I am well familiar with barn dances and tractor displays and I quite enjoy both.
Does "well familiar" make sense?
In fact, there was a time in my life when I was the “Stomp Dance Champion of Wayne County” as determined by local American Legion officials. (I wish I was making that up.) As I recall, the dance competition was in conjunction with a Legion chili supper and I found myself a particularly inspired dancer after dinner, which enabled me and my dance partner to take the title.
I've written my own article: "I was reading the Bible. One verse said 'Jesus wept.' I wondered what he was crying about. Reading the rest of the chapter, I discovered he was crying about Lazarus. I cried one time, back in 1st grade, when we lost a kickball game. Turns out I was pretty good at kickball, but we lost anyway." Cut! Print!
Further research, though, indicates that the “yaks at large” dust-up between the DeMatteis and Mr. Rogers (Latin name: Nottheguyus withthesweatersus)
This "Latin name" thing is just a bottomless mine of comedic gold.
has political implications that go beyond the roaming yaks. It just so happens that Laura DeMatteis is a candidate for a state office.
Apparently Rogers and a couple of his rancher pals approached the county commissioners about the wandering yaks problem and the “yaks at large” ordinance passed, only to be overturned as the state statute cited applies only to dogs and cats.
Fairly interesting. But, at the same time, fairly boring.
Johnson County Commissioner Smokey Wildeman (Latin name: Dontmessius withthisguyus)
Morsch is just going to keep rolling with this, isn't he? Bonus points for actually making me smile with that one.
— who just sounds like a guy who should be in politics in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming —
I thought he sounded like a guy you don't want to mess with. Bonus points subtracted for being redundant.
said hold on thar pardner, the board cited the wrong statute because of a typographical error, and he thinks the commissioners are going to consider a revised “yaks at large” ordinance.
Ah, there's nothing more hilarious than the workings of local government!
Despite their tendency to yak, yak, yak without really saying anything at times, I cannot imagine any county commissioners in Southeastern Pennsylvania having to contend with the words “revised yaks at large ordinance.” I could be wrong about that, though, as we do have some rural areas here in Montgomery County and I believe I may have actually seen an alpaca or two on a farm out in the western part of the county.
Can he really expect anyone to laugh at "yak, yak, yak"?
We have a buffalo farm and an ostrich farm near my old home base of Souderton. I like how he says "out in the western part of the county," like he wants credit for being a great traveler or something.
As for the yaks themselves, they remain hungry and frisky but mostly silent on their roaming issue. They are not yakety yaks and as such, they don’t talk back.
Ah, and when you absolutely positively can't think of anything else... make a "clever" song reference to wrap it all up.
Published: Wednesday, June 16, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Roam on the range: Wandering yaks go from yuks to yuck
Right off the bat, I'll say that this is unacceptable. We didn't get a blog entry at all yesterday. What's up with you, Morsch? Too busy posting Twitter links to boring articles from your own newspaper?
I'm guessing Morsch has never seen a live yak outside of a zoo, so this must be about something he read or saw on TV. At first he will find how big and dumb they are amusing ("yuks") and will maybe compare them to himself; then they'll poop, or roll in the dirt, and it will turn to "yuck." Mark my words. [Editor's Note: Do not mark any of my words after "At first."]
If you’re planning a trip to Wyoming’s Big Horn Mountains anytime soon, you may consider delaying it for a bit because, well … the yaks are roaming.
He read about this on the Internet. Guaranteed.
That’s right, roaming yaks. And they’re just wandering around eating everybody’s grass and mating with the cows. No telling what could happen to your car if you’re out roaming around Wyoming gawking at the yaks.
Has he ever watched "Wild America," or even seen a nature show before? He's acting like dinosaurs are roaming the earth once again. They're just yaks.
According to a wire service story, John and Laura DeMatteis of Buffalo, Wyo., raise the yaks and sell them for their meat and wool on their 300-acre ranch called the “Yak Daddy Ranch.” They must be NBA fans.
Why? Sorry, I don't watch basketball. Is the phrase "Mac Daddy" exclusive to that sport or something? I'm guessing that's what he's referencing...
Yaks (Latin name: Bos grunniens)
Right away, I knew Morsch was looking this information up somewhere.
are long-haired animals of the bovine family usually found in the Himalayan region of South Central Asia. Herd animals, they are among the largest and wildest bovines
Hey, you know what you find when you type "yak" into Wikipedia?
The yak, Bos grunniens, is a long-haired bovine found throughout the Himalayan region of south Central Asia... Yaks are herd animals. They are among the largest wild bovids.
Wow. Morsch, you immense sack of yak crap. Do this in a college paper, and you get an "F". For the class. We'll return to the issue of rampant plagiarism later.
roaming around Wyoming during those times when former Vice President Dick Cheney (Latin name: Grumpius oldguyus) is not in the state.
Wow, Morsch hates Dick Cheney. This is the second disparaging reference to him in Outta Leftfield.
The wire service story reveals that local rancher Scott Rogers was at first yukking it up over the yaks. But now his grass is taking a beating and he worries that his cows will have to sleep with one eye open, so he has become unhappy with the situation.
Alright, we'll address the rampant plagiarism right now. Per the wire service story:
Cattle ranchers in the foothills of Wyoming's Big Horn Mountains are no longer yukking over a herd of yaks that keeps getting loose.
Morsch has used that "yukking" joke twice now - in the headline and in this paragraph. Not only is it incredibly lame, but he didn't even think of it himself. This disgusts me. Other than the Dick Cheney joke, there's not a sentence in this "column" that hasn't been stolen from somewhere else.
Local officials, of course, are doing what elected and appointed officials do, which in most cases consists of going out to the ranch, shaking their fists at the yaks and yelling, “Hey, you darn yaks, get off my lawn!”
Really? Normally such a joke would end with "which in most cases consists of raising taxes" or "which in most cases consists of passing a 2,000 page piece of legislation." Not "which in most cases consists of (insert something nobody would ever, ever do, ever)."
Elected officials also are considering an ordinance against “yaks at large.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I went to the local newspaper website, the Caspar Star-Tribune, for more information.
Okay, stop. Just stop. So now, after getting quotes from another news story and Wikipedia, we're looking up yet another news story to quote from.
At first, I did not find any additional information on what local officials meant by “yaks at large,” but I did find out that a community called Glenrock has an annual “Yak About Annual Fleece Crafts, Festival and Trade Show” that includes a barn dance and a barbecue, all for $14. Really, though, that type of entertainment is a bargain at any price.
Even better! We've stumbled upon an article that has absolutely nothing to do with anything!
The festival features alpacas, yaks and mini-donkeys on display as well as an antique tractor display. I am mildly disappointed to learn that there apparently is no “Yak Gawking” competition at this festival.
Why? Because those are "funny" words? And please, can we stick to the topic of the article, which is... what again?
Having spent a fair of amount of time in Iowa and rural Illinois as a lad, I am well familiar with barn dances and tractor displays and I quite enjoy both.
Does "well familiar" make sense?
In fact, there was a time in my life when I was the “Stomp Dance Champion of Wayne County” as determined by local American Legion officials. (I wish I was making that up.) As I recall, the dance competition was in conjunction with a Legion chili supper and I found myself a particularly inspired dancer after dinner, which enabled me and my dance partner to take the title.
I've written my own article: "I was reading the Bible. One verse said 'Jesus wept.' I wondered what he was crying about. Reading the rest of the chapter, I discovered he was crying about Lazarus. I cried one time, back in 1st grade, when we lost a kickball game. Turns out I was pretty good at kickball, but we lost anyway." Cut! Print!
Further research, though, indicates that the “yaks at large” dust-up between the DeMatteis and Mr. Rogers (Latin name: Nottheguyus withthesweatersus)
This "Latin name" thing is just a bottomless mine of comedic gold.
has political implications that go beyond the roaming yaks. It just so happens that Laura DeMatteis is a candidate for a state office.
Apparently Rogers and a couple of his rancher pals approached the county commissioners about the wandering yaks problem and the “yaks at large” ordinance passed, only to be overturned as the state statute cited applies only to dogs and cats.
Fairly interesting. But, at the same time, fairly boring.
Johnson County Commissioner Smokey Wildeman (Latin name: Dontmessius withthisguyus)
Morsch is just going to keep rolling with this, isn't he? Bonus points for actually making me smile with that one.
— who just sounds like a guy who should be in politics in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming —
I thought he sounded like a guy you don't want to mess with. Bonus points subtracted for being redundant.
said hold on thar pardner, the board cited the wrong statute because of a typographical error, and he thinks the commissioners are going to consider a revised “yaks at large” ordinance.
Ah, there's nothing more hilarious than the workings of local government!
Despite their tendency to yak, yak, yak without really saying anything at times, I cannot imagine any county commissioners in Southeastern Pennsylvania having to contend with the words “revised yaks at large ordinance.” I could be wrong about that, though, as we do have some rural areas here in Montgomery County and I believe I may have actually seen an alpaca or two on a farm out in the western part of the county.
Can he really expect anyone to laugh at "yak, yak, yak"?
We have a buffalo farm and an ostrich farm near my old home base of Souderton. I like how he says "out in the western part of the county," like he wants credit for being a great traveler or something.
As for the yaks themselves, they remain hungry and frisky but mostly silent on their roaming issue. They are not yakety yaks and as such, they don’t talk back.
Ah, and when you absolutely positively can't think of anything else... make a "clever" song reference to wrap it all up.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Executive Editor Needs A Good Editor
Outta Leftfield
Published: Wednesday, April 21, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Scientific rat tickling a real tale of mice and men
I had a moment of panic this morning, because this column wasn't published on the Souderton Independent website. I had to do a little searching through Montgomery Newspapers to find it. I have high hopes that this hilarious topic (animal testing - always fertile ground for guffaws) will not produce any reference to baseball.
It appears that rats love to be tickled. Who knew?
Well, the scientists figured it out because among the many things scientists like to study, laughter is among them. Hey, if I had known that goosing rats until they wet themselves was a legitimate scientific endeavor, I would have paid more attention in high school science class rather than snapping the bra strap of the girl who sat in front of me.
Read that again, folks: "because AMONG the many things scientists like to study, laughter is AMONG them." Morsch is AMONG the worst writers in newspaper history. Furthermore, I don't think that "goosing" is the same as tickling.
Times sure have changed, huh? For instance, I can't even laugh at the idea of snapping a girl's bra strap in school. That would get you suspended today, and possibly slapped with a lawsuit. But thankfully old perverts like MM can still chuckle at those sweet, innocent memories of sexual harassment.
According to a wire service story, laughter is a serious scientific subject, so much so that a neuroscientist named Robert Provine, a professor at the University of Maryland, has studied laughter for decades. It impresses me that an educator has spent his life devoted to studying laughter. I hope he’s fun at a party because it would be a bummer if he wasn’t.
Something about the phrase "spent his life devoted to studying" stikes me as odd. Anyone else think so? I think it would be more of a bummer if he spent his life studying comedy and wasn't fun at a party.
“All language groups laugh ‘ha-ha-ha’ basically the same way,” said Provine in the wire service story.
According to the professor, each “ha” is about one-15th of a second, repeated every fifth of a second.
Far be it for me to disagree with a scientist who has spent decades studying laughter,
Please do.
but he hasn’t spent much time with my language group.
Really? I'm pretty sure he has, unless something in the phrase "All language groups" means otherwise.
While there are times where I will throw out a “ha-ha-ha” laugh, more often than not, I am a “har-har-hardy-har-har” kind of guy. And I slap my knee so much that I need knee surgery.
Nobody says "hardy" when they are laughing. I've never heard anyone actually laugh and make the noise "har-har." And according to his article on the flower show, isn't his knee surgery necessitated by walking on hard concrete floors?
In fact, I have been known to giggle, chortle, guffaw and snort when I find something funny, such as when I consider the notion of guys in white lab coats tickling rats. That actually falls into the category of “yukking it up quite a bit.” And my “yuks” last well more than one-15th of a second.
This is what is known as "missing the point."
In fact, when I’m watching The Three Stooges, my “yuks” turn into “nyuks” and those last me most of the afternoon.
Does anyone really watch The Three Stooges these days? The only references to them I can remember come from Morsch, as a matter of fact.
According to Provine, deaf people laugh without hearing, and people on cell phones laugh without seeing, illustrating that laughter isn’t dependent on a single sense but on social interactions. And he adds that laughter is mostly about social responses rather than reaction to a joke.
It’s just that scientists consider laughing primal. No one teaches another person how to laugh, we just do it.
You know when we never do it? While reading your column.
People laugh involuntarily, in a specific rhythm and in certain spots in a conversation.
For example, if you and I are having a conversation and you inadvertently belch, I will probably laugh at that. I have since the fifth grade and I still do to this day.
I don't understand how this man is married. I really don't.
Speaking of the rats, a scientist named Jaak Panksepp, a psychology professor at Bowling Green University, is the dude who is doing all the rat tickling, according to the wire service story.
I'm making a prediction - Morsch will make fun of this guy's name. It's foreign! HA!
Not only can one look up Panksepp’s research on this in a scientific journal, if one goes to YouTube and types in “rat tickling,” one can watch Professor Panksepp grab a rat, roll the varmint over onto its back, and just goochie the poo right out of the animal. It’s pretty funny. The rat reacts much like a dog would when you scratch its belly, although I have yet to see any visual evidence that a rat’s leg will involuntarily go crazy nuts like the dog’s leg does in that scenario. In fact, if you tickled me my leg would do the same thing if I didn’t already need the knee surgery.
First he says that a rat reacts the same as a dog would when you scratch its belly... but then he says that its leg doesn't twitch. So how exactly is their reaction similar?
Panksepp then developed a method of measuring the high-pitched sounds the rats make when they are being tickled and determined they are actually not only enjoying the ticklefest but they are laughing out loud because of it. In fact, the rats like being goochied so much they will follow the professor’s hand around their Rat Town cages looking for the good professor to give them another tickle.
Something about how he's saying "goochied" instead of "tickled" strikes me as really dirty. I'm getting a bad taste in my mouth from it. It smacks of a dirty old man (i.e. Morsch) offering to "goochie" little girls on a playground.
While the researchers consider the study of laughter a serious bit of work, apparently the folks who pass out money for research grants do not share that opinion. In other words, they smell a rat.
Who didn't see that one coming a mile away?
According to Northwestern University biomedical engineering professor Jeffrey Burgdorf, he avoids using the word “laughter” when applying for grant money. He instead calls it “positive emotional response.”
He must be applying for government research grants. When was the last time the U.S. government had a sense a humor about anything (see former Vice President Dick Cheney)?
The U.S. government didn't have a sense of humor about Dick Cheney?
I'm sure Cheney is a pretty funny guy when you get to know him. Remember that "shotgun blast to the face" gag? Priceless!
Professor Panksepp agrees. “There’s no funding in fun research.”
But by studying rats, the researchers hope they can figure out what’s going on in the human brain during laughter.
I already know the answer to this. Inadvertent belching is just plain funny. And that’s something that tickles me more than the rats.
So the answer to "what's going on in the human brain during laughter" is "inadvertent belching is just plan funny." I know what's NOT going on in the human brain during laughter: Outta Leftfield.
I love how clever Morsch thinks he is with his call-backs. Hey, remember the "belching" joke I made a few paragraphs ago? Well BAM! Here it is again! It's like meeting an old friend.
Published: Wednesday, April 21, 2010
By Mike Morsch
Executive Editor
Scientific rat tickling a real tale of mice and men
I had a moment of panic this morning, because this column wasn't published on the Souderton Independent website. I had to do a little searching through Montgomery Newspapers to find it. I have high hopes that this hilarious topic (animal testing - always fertile ground for guffaws) will not produce any reference to baseball.
It appears that rats love to be tickled. Who knew?
Well, the scientists figured it out because among the many things scientists like to study, laughter is among them. Hey, if I had known that goosing rats until they wet themselves was a legitimate scientific endeavor, I would have paid more attention in high school science class rather than snapping the bra strap of the girl who sat in front of me.
Read that again, folks: "because AMONG the many things scientists like to study, laughter is AMONG them." Morsch is AMONG the worst writers in newspaper history. Furthermore, I don't think that "goosing" is the same as tickling.
Times sure have changed, huh? For instance, I can't even laugh at the idea of snapping a girl's bra strap in school. That would get you suspended today, and possibly slapped with a lawsuit. But thankfully old perverts like MM can still chuckle at those sweet, innocent memories of sexual harassment.
According to a wire service story, laughter is a serious scientific subject, so much so that a neuroscientist named Robert Provine, a professor at the University of Maryland, has studied laughter for decades. It impresses me that an educator has spent his life devoted to studying laughter. I hope he’s fun at a party because it would be a bummer if he wasn’t.
Something about the phrase "spent his life devoted to studying" stikes me as odd. Anyone else think so? I think it would be more of a bummer if he spent his life studying comedy and wasn't fun at a party.
“All language groups laugh ‘ha-ha-ha’ basically the same way,” said Provine in the wire service story.
According to the professor, each “ha” is about one-15th of a second, repeated every fifth of a second.
Far be it for me to disagree with a scientist who has spent decades studying laughter,
Please do.
but he hasn’t spent much time with my language group.
Really? I'm pretty sure he has, unless something in the phrase "All language groups" means otherwise.
While there are times where I will throw out a “ha-ha-ha” laugh, more often than not, I am a “har-har-hardy-har-har” kind of guy. And I slap my knee so much that I need knee surgery.
Nobody says "hardy" when they are laughing. I've never heard anyone actually laugh and make the noise "har-har." And according to his article on the flower show, isn't his knee surgery necessitated by walking on hard concrete floors?
In fact, I have been known to giggle, chortle, guffaw and snort when I find something funny, such as when I consider the notion of guys in white lab coats tickling rats. That actually falls into the category of “yukking it up quite a bit.” And my “yuks” last well more than one-15th of a second.
This is what is known as "missing the point."
In fact, when I’m watching The Three Stooges, my “yuks” turn into “nyuks” and those last me most of the afternoon.
Does anyone really watch The Three Stooges these days? The only references to them I can remember come from Morsch, as a matter of fact.
According to Provine, deaf people laugh without hearing, and people on cell phones laugh without seeing, illustrating that laughter isn’t dependent on a single sense but on social interactions. And he adds that laughter is mostly about social responses rather than reaction to a joke.
It’s just that scientists consider laughing primal. No one teaches another person how to laugh, we just do it.
You know when we never do it? While reading your column.
People laugh involuntarily, in a specific rhythm and in certain spots in a conversation.
For example, if you and I are having a conversation and you inadvertently belch, I will probably laugh at that. I have since the fifth grade and I still do to this day.
I don't understand how this man is married. I really don't.
Speaking of the rats, a scientist named Jaak Panksepp, a psychology professor at Bowling Green University, is the dude who is doing all the rat tickling, according to the wire service story.
I'm making a prediction - Morsch will make fun of this guy's name. It's foreign! HA!
Not only can one look up Panksepp’s research on this in a scientific journal, if one goes to YouTube and types in “rat tickling,” one can watch Professor Panksepp grab a rat, roll the varmint over onto its back, and just goochie the poo right out of the animal. It’s pretty funny. The rat reacts much like a dog would when you scratch its belly, although I have yet to see any visual evidence that a rat’s leg will involuntarily go crazy nuts like the dog’s leg does in that scenario. In fact, if you tickled me my leg would do the same thing if I didn’t already need the knee surgery.
First he says that a rat reacts the same as a dog would when you scratch its belly... but then he says that its leg doesn't twitch. So how exactly is their reaction similar?
Panksepp then developed a method of measuring the high-pitched sounds the rats make when they are being tickled and determined they are actually not only enjoying the ticklefest but they are laughing out loud because of it. In fact, the rats like being goochied so much they will follow the professor’s hand around their Rat Town cages looking for the good professor to give them another tickle.
Something about how he's saying "goochied" instead of "tickled" strikes me as really dirty. I'm getting a bad taste in my mouth from it. It smacks of a dirty old man (i.e. Morsch) offering to "goochie" little girls on a playground.
While the researchers consider the study of laughter a serious bit of work, apparently the folks who pass out money for research grants do not share that opinion. In other words, they smell a rat.
Who didn't see that one coming a mile away?
According to Northwestern University biomedical engineering professor Jeffrey Burgdorf, he avoids using the word “laughter” when applying for grant money. He instead calls it “positive emotional response.”
He must be applying for government research grants. When was the last time the U.S. government had a sense a humor about anything (see former Vice President Dick Cheney)?
The U.S. government didn't have a sense of humor about Dick Cheney?
I'm sure Cheney is a pretty funny guy when you get to know him. Remember that "shotgun blast to the face" gag? Priceless!
Professor Panksepp agrees. “There’s no funding in fun research.”
But by studying rats, the researchers hope they can figure out what’s going on in the human brain during laughter.
I already know the answer to this. Inadvertent belching is just plain funny. And that’s something that tickles me more than the rats.
So the answer to "what's going on in the human brain during laughter" is "inadvertent belching is just plan funny." I know what's NOT going on in the human brain during laughter: Outta Leftfield.
I love how clever Morsch thinks he is with his call-backs. Hey, remember the "belching" joke I made a few paragraphs ago? Well BAM! Here it is again! It's like meeting an old friend.
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