Tag Archive for funny story

Travis Tells Jokes – past me

When I think about past me, I think ‘that guys an idiot, he doesn’t know a fraction of what I know now.’

I’ve come so far. Even in a week. Week ago me, that guys fucking stupid.

Month ago me, that guys a moron. He believed things would be looking up by now.

Year ago me, he was probably eating rocks and hiding from ladders.

10 years ago me, that guy must have been too stupid to function. Between humping board games and throwing poop, it’s a miracle he survived.

Past me, you’re nothing compared to present me. Present me, you’re laughable compared to future me. Things are looking up for future me..

Pregnant?

Asking a girl if she is pregnant is like playing Russian roulette, it never ends well. Either she flips out on you for a false assumption based off weight gain. Or she flips out on you for not remembering that it’s yours, it was planned, and that you’re married..

Party Bus

Me on a party bus

Boards the bus.
“Oh, this will be fun”

5 seconds later.
“Yep, I’m jumping out the window.”

2 hours later in hospital bed.
“Ahhh, much better”

Mar 30 – Jon Kong Santa Claus

Nobody likes a bad waiter, that’s why I quit after one day. The year was 1988, this is not my waiter story, it’s a different one. The great wind had arrived from the north. It was a terrible cold outside. The family and I all bundled in as we had no heat – my parents were 80’s hipsters, and the trend then was that heat was un-cool – no pun intended, or if there was, it went over my head back then. We watched a documentary on penguins to learn their survival skills of not being eaten by orca whales. Then the doorbell rang, it was Santa Claus, we all knew it was actually our drunk neighbor Jon Kong coming over to get in the huddle, he had a thing for my mom. Drunken Santa told my dad there was some beef jerky in the bottom of his large sack, my dad crawled in to look. That’s when Santa made his move. He pulled off his breakaway Santa pants to reveal a lovely set of grapes tucked into his thong (in case he got hungry). He then squeezed my moms butt, threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared into the night never to be seen again.

I tell this story because Jon Kong appeared to me on a broken TV I passed on the street the other day. He told me I should buy this TV as it will guide my life down the proper path. I listened to him as I listen to all visions and as I sit here watching a broken television I realize his true message – TV is a waste of time.. oh wait, here comes a message, maybe the TV does work. Nope, it’s just another message from god about non-believers and the streets flowing red.. Boooooooooring.

Mar 27 – Mufasa apparition

This morning I was walking my two legged dog when Mufasa appeared to me again in the clouds. He gave me his usual advice of remembering who I am. I once again explain to him that I remember nothing before trying to assassinate that African leader and falling off his boat, and that I am really good at karate and super spy stuff. He goes on to tell me an old Swahili proverb in Swahili. I pretend to follow along and nod in agreement; having no idea what he’s saying. At this point it starts to rain, so he disappears and I have to tell my dog to figure it out as I hastily skedaddle out of there. I had just read that skedaddling was the new exercise fad and it’s working wonders very quickly. I’ve already lost my two legged dog. What a nuisance he was – getting all the attention at my parties.

Mar 3 – why try

I’m not good at most things – I realized this very early on in life and that realization has saved me a lot of wasted time. Why try what you can’t already do says Ben Franklin, the local drifter I buy groceries from. There are two things I do well, having sex is not one of them. I’m not basing this off the ladies’ reactions, for I do not judge performance as such. I base it off my reaction, which is never as strong as the ladies.

Feb 25 – the ruined orgy

I once ran for mayor, I lost. My opponent played a dirty campaign. He drugged me and dropped me off at a music festival where I proceeded to party hard and ruin an orgy with a little vomit. He had a spy to document the whole thing.

Jokes on him, he has to be mayor now; and I ruined his wife’s orgy, she was probably in a bad mood for days! It’s the little things that make you smile – that’s what she said?

Jan 27 – the quitter

I just quit the music business. I am not a musician, or a manager. I’m the guy who takes credit for others work, a very important position in life. My problem was the people, I didn’t know anyone good enough to steal ideas from, well ‘borrow’ as my mentor trained me. He’s dead now, by choice, pro choice. There was a contract on his head, and the best professional in the business took him out. He always said hire the best, and that is just what he did. No way was he going to let the competition get to him first.

Now once again I find myself without a career, I hate sticking to things. Maybe Denny’s is hiring. Or I could call on the professional that took out my mentor. I need a new mentor and I’ve always thought I could make a great killer, it’s so easy! But this guy’s hard to track down, this is too hard before I even start. Oh well, Denny’s for now. You can kill to your heart’s content there. Pretty sure that’s why people go to Denny’s, in hopes their life will at least end memorably.

Jan 21 – the piccolo attack

Today I was at the park with my son Jordan, or Gregor, or whatever he calls himself. Not quite sure as I had only just found him. He had been just wandering around the volleyball court where I was re-enacting the volleyball scene that was cut from the Hunger Games. I’ve always found that lost kids are the best kids, until they’re maniacally screaming parents show up. Gregor and I are playing with fireworks when one unexpectedly shoots off sideways towards a parade. We laugh as it heads into a French horn before exploding loudly. At this point Gregor lets me know that his parents are musicians and that he’s always wanted to experience the exact moment we just had. I explain to Gregor that dreams can come true if you do whatever you want to do all the time. At this point, his mom breaks loose of the parade and heads right at me swinging her piccolo wildly. Having been trained in piccolo defense, I easily subdue her before we embrace in a kiss. I further explain to Gregor that I have an incredibly strong Stockholm syndrome effect on women. He calls me daddy and that makes me run faster than I ever have before. I arrive safely at my favorite deli only to find that piccolo wedged between my two extra ribs. Haha, jokes on her, earlier that day I had been shopping for a piccolo. Now to spend the rest of the day putting off the practicing of my new instrument before giving up completely on learning to play it.

Ahh love, it’s like music – good music, with fireworks hidden in the instruments.

President finds half eaten sandwich, eats it; Biden pissed

The Daily Paper News
July 9, 2014 | T. Doeringer
http://www.thededucers.com/

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President Obama committed the ultimate faux pas by eating Joe Biden’s leftover sandwich.

“He didn’t even check to see who’s it was, he just ate the damn thing.” said Biden, teeth clenched. He continued “I’d been looking forward to that sandwich all day. This is so typical of him, gawd.”

Reports indicate that Biden has been giving Obama the cold shoulder and is not sure if he wants to remain the presidents number two.

“I don’t like being number two.” Biden later clarified.

July 2

I broke my arm once to prove how tough I was, I cried – tough tears. I impressed a couple girls and this one dude who always had a sandwich. They all offered themselves to me, but I had to go see a doctor. Doctor said broken arm, I said I want a second opinion. He sent me to a Chinese healer who was located in the back of a Japanese restaurant, those two did not get along, always fighting (internally). The healer took one look at my arm and cursed western medicine. She gave me some herbal tea and instructed me to put the tea bags on my arm and let them steep there until my arm heals. Two weeks later it was still broken and my arm had tea stains so I went back to this healer. She was gone, so was the building, vanished, or torn down as the homeless man outside told me. I asked him if he knew anything about broken arms, he vomited cat urine, apparently we use the same healer. I went back to my original doctor, he was in the exact position I had left him. I demanded a cast, so he handed me one. I took it home and affixed it to my arm. They say broken bones heal stronger than they originally were, I’m about to find out. Travis out – the window

May 1

On my deathbed, I want to say something poetic for my last words. My best friend Dan however prefers to groan incoherently. I ask Dan if he would like me to speak on his behalf, he begins convulsing. Sheesh, he’s always been a bit dramatic. I ask the nurse how much longer this will take as I have a hot date tonight. “How long will what take” she replies in a bad accent. “Death” I retort with perfect enunciation. She informs me that he is not dying, just having an allergic reaction. What a shitty friend, I dropped everything to rush him over here for this.. I leave the room and go to find a new best friend, one who is actually on the way out. An old black man is across the hall, he has a trumpet next to his bed, perfect. I go in and sit down next to him, he turns towards me and gives me a look that divulges his whole life story, one of hope, love lost and found, overcoming obstacles, and a lifelong search for a best friend. I tell him he has found a best friend and ask him to tell me something wise. “I hate white people” he utters before slipping into the beyond. Wow, some last words. I realize that I am the only one here and therefore I can steal those last words and use them as my own on my deathbed. Awesome, one less thing on the to do list. Wisdom is not easy to come by, unless you know where to look – hospitals.

Apr 30

Three times a lady is how often I’ve been one. The first time was for dress as the opposite gender day in school. The second time was during a grueling game of truth or dare. But the third time, the third time was for me. A very attractive lady that I have been repeatedly buying coffee from recently told me she only dates girls. I didn’t ask, she just handed me my change and blurted that out. I think she has tourette’s, which makes her even hotter. The next day I walked in dressed in full drag. She noticed me right off. Who wouldn’t notice a 6’ tall woman with no boobs in a spandex body suit on rollerblades. I roll right up and ask her out on a date. She says “nice try Travis.” Oh, spotted, I knew I should have tucked it, especially since I chose to wear spandex. She gives me an ‘A’ for effort, I was hoping she would give more. Oh well, she would have eventually caught on, saved us from some shenanigans, and some hot lesbian action.

Apr 29

I was chasing a model through the streets of Paris for a photo shoot when the photographer punched me in the face and told me to stop scaring his models. Fashion is confusing, most of it goes over my head, not Franska Bloyodich’s punch, that landed dead on.

I tried starting my own fashion line once, nobody bought it – that I would start a line, so I gave up while I was ahead.

From Battling Lions to Battling the Mind

The mind is the most deceptive beast of all, wild at heart, impossible to tame, unseen to any. Fighting the mind is like fighting a ghost, punch all you want, you’re only hitting air. I recently had the ultimate battle with my mind, and it did not end well.

It all started several months ago when I received a letter to join a dinner party of fascinating guests, I had another such party that night, in fact most of my free nights are filled with such parties, so I declined. Several weeks later, while organizing a tiger fight for impoverished children, I received a package marked urgent. I opened the package to find a rotten severed head. Inside the mouth was my declining RSVP to the dinner party, below it was a poorly handwritten note in blood asking me to reconsider. Well, anyone who goes to these lengths probably knows how to throw the superior dinner party on that particular Thursday evening, so I RSVP yes and throw an old eyeball in the envelope to further the theatrics. I chuckled to myself as I imagined the organizer trying to find the meaning of the eyeball. I just had one laying around, glad I had not thrown it away.

When the night arrived, I was exhausted returning from a stampede gone wrong in the Serengeti. I thought for a moment about bailing, but then I remembered, I only bail from damaged aircraft and parties that are clearly lame. I put on my best Maori warrior ceremonial robe and called my carriage around. After waiting nearly 18 minutes, I remembered that my carriage was destroyed by the Garulli brothers in a daring chase a few weeks back and that I shall have to take my war era motorcycle. Luckily it has a side car in case there is a lady of interest at the party. I put a large wheel of cheese in the sidecar as it will look funny when I pull up. Also makes a great gift, and I’m not going to eat all that cheese.

I arrive at precisely the right moment. The princess of Monaco is walking in frustrated with her date for not being a gentlemen. I swoop in and offer my services as an escort for the night. She accepts and her former beau is taken out back… The house is exquisite, solid marble interior with the bones of many great beasts adorning the walls. The butler takes us through the grand foyer into the waiting room. We are all offered a choice between three treats; a Rhodesian truffle, a blood red gelatin, or a hibiscus tea, then we are warned that one of the treats is a very strong hallucinogenic. Mmm, my kind of party. I suspect the tea, but that is the obvious choice, what sort of mad man are we dealing with. My first choice is blood as usual, but being a gentlemen, I let the lady pick for both of us. She chooses the blood gelatin, my kind of girl. We slurp it back like classless 10th graders and enter the dining room. Most of the guest have arrived and the butler tells us to choose our seats, but warns us to choose wisely. Each seat has in front of it a salad plate, a set of silver, two goblets, and a weapon of sorts. We see two seats open in the dark corner with a flintlock pirate pistol and a flail with excellent spikings on the ball. The princess sits at the seat with the flail leaving me with the pistol. There is mild chatter amongst the guests, mostly curiosity about the weapons and what treat all had chosen. Most went for the trifle, this should be interesting.

Finally, the host enters the room and explains why he gathered us all here. He went into some long complicated story which quickly lost my interest. The only intel I picked up on was that all of the treats were spiked. Things were quickly heating up between the princess and I and as the hosts story looked to be nowhere near completion, I excused the both of us to break away for some wild lovemaking in an strange place. I could tell you about the sex, but that would require a whole new story, suffice to say, it was grand. We returned to the dining hall to find all had left except for the two who had died right off, typical at these things, part of the reason I excused us. Sure I missed the explanation for the night, and any ground rules, but I find it’s more fun to figure those out for yourself. Most likely it’s a challenge to survive the night.

Do I regret attaching myself to this lovely women that I will now have to protect for the rest of the evening, of course not. Surviving one of these is easy, I’ve done so countless times and I appreciate the extra challenge. Also, my father taught me to never pass up the opportunity to have sex with a princess.

We take our weapons and make our way out through a side door as the foyer is certainly a death trap. We find ourselves in a long hallway with many doors, you would think they would have a little more creativity with these things. No, I’m pretty sure this party was set up by the same guy who plans all of these. He’s hard to get because he’s the best murder night party planner, but after a while, his stuff becomes cliché. Still, it’s better than the second rate guys – boooooooring.

Just then, I feel that all too familiar situation, the hallucinogenics are kicking in. I check in with the princess who is now grinning ear to ear and saying thumbs up to a painting on the wall. I tell her we must keep moving right as she decides to smash the paintings head with her flail, claiming it was speaking in tongues to her. Whatever they put in the blood gelatin was strong.

Now the floors begin to move and I am not sure if it is the drugs or a hydraulic floor system, but when a wall shoots up between the princess and myself, I’m pretty sure this house is rigged. I attempt to kick through the wall, but it is impossible. I hear a scream from the other side and fear that the world has lost a great woman, but the scream is followed by the Moroccan war cry and the sound of a body hitting the floor. All is well for now as that was clearly a man’s body. This princess may be a keeper. I take the only path I can and enter a room filled with toy baby dolls – nice and creepy. Then one of the dolls begins to speak to me. No big deal, I had my own version of a Teddy Ruxpin as a child. It was a real bear that my father had tied a tape player to, similar concept. The doll told me that I was more than what I had become. Clearly this was an open ended message intended for anyone else, for it would be very difficult for me to be much more that what I have become – I’m not the world’s second foremost preeminent professional adventurer. I used my one pistol shot to take out the doll for insulting me, and to add to the challenge. I now go forth weaponless.

There is no exit door to this room, only a mirror that they clearly want me to look into. I do so and say Candyman three times just to add to the fun, and in the off chance that Candyman is real, should I die in here, at least I know he’ll avenge me. Feel bad for the princess though, because no one survives the Candyman. In the mirror, I see the usual site, a rugged handsome man with a twinkle of insecurity in his eye, but then, that image disappears and the mirror is now blank. What is the message here, is it to look inside myself to see the emptiness, or is it that the whole world is an illusion just like this mirror.. oh wait, someone is now standing on the other side mirroring me. No message, just waiting for the guy to switch out. This man is an excellent replica of me, and he is very good at trying to mimic my movements. I touch my nose, he does the same with impeccable timing, I scratch my ear, he is right there. I perform my favorite Japanese kata, he knows it well. I touch my nose then mouth rapidly, he’s still there. So I jab my own eye, he fakes it, you can’t fake tears. He tells me enough charades and goes into his spiel. I am to believe that he is in fact me and that I am the reflection in the mirror. My entire life is just waiting on the other side of a mirror for him to look into. He tells me facts about my life that I have long forgotten. The drugs are in full effect, my mind is starting to accept his story, I am slowly losing my grasp on reality. This man is very convincing, but I know one event the internet cannot have told him about me. I ask him what was the princesses finishing move, he knows he’s caught and does his best to make up an answer.

“The Crab” he says.

How did he know, is my entire life an illusion, am I not the world’s foremost preeminent professional adventurer. I can see behind me that the room is slowly melting away, the man in front of me now has an unnerving grin across his face. He has raised my former pistol and has it trained on me. There is an ominous laughter coming from every direction. My grasp on reality is nearing the end. It has been a great life, I have been in far more harrowing of ordeals, but I cannot fight the mind like a pack of lions, no, because I only fight to kill, and it’s against my religion to kill myself – the religion of survival. I am trapped in a conundrum. I curl up into a ball and begin to weep uncontrollably. I scream out “make it stop” to no prevail. I have lost all hope.

Just then, I hear an all too familiar war cry. My daring princess smashes through the wall like a ravenous Kool-Aid Man, she has abandoned the flail and now carries a scythe which she quickly uses to decapitate the head of my imposter. His blood splatters everywhere, adding to her already blood soaked body. She takes the head and adds it to her belt collection – five kills, she’s been busy. She scoops me up and carries me out kicking through an onslaught of attack hounds that had been released. She makes her way to a third story window that looks out over a cliff. She tells me that I must jump and try to avoid the rocks below. I ask her if she will join me.

“No” she replies, “I must find another way out so it’s not all awkward later.”

With that, she gives me a memorable goodbye kiss then pushes me on my way. It’s a long fall to the icy water below, but I am entranced by her kiss and only remember in the last moments to make way for the rocks, there were a lot of them.

I swam over and commandeered a nearby boat. As I sailed off, I could hear her war cry in the distance. In the end it was she who protected me through the night, perhaps if she hadn’t found me crying of the floor, she would be sailing off with me. Oh well, she may be too much woman for me, besides, she has royal duties to attend to, me, I have surviving to do, and these, these are shark waters. Bring me a storm God.