Showing posts with label celebrities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label celebrities. Show all posts
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Why did the Chicken Cross the Road?
BARACK OBAMA:
The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a CHANGE! The chicken wanted CHANGE!
JOHN MC CAIN:
My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.
HILLARY CLINTON:
When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure -- right from Day One! -- that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.......
DR. PHIL:
The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on 'THIS' side of the road before it goes after the problem on the 'OTHER SIDE' of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his 'CURRENT' problems before adding 'NEW' problems.
OPRAH:
Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
GEORGE W. BUSH:
We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
COLIN POWELL:
Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road...
ANDERSON COOPER - CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
JOHN KERRY:
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
NANCY GRACE:
That chicken crossed the road because he's GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN:
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART:
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS:
Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY:
To die in the rain. Alone.
GRANDPA:
In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS:
Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life long dream of crossing the road.
ARISTOTLE:
It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
JOHN LENNON:
Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
BILL GATES:
I have just released eChicken2007, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of the Chicken. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra...#@&&^(C% ......... reboot.
ALBERT EINSTEIN:
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
BILL CLINTON:
I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?
AL GORE:
I invented the chicken!
COLONEL SANDERS:
Did I miss one?
DICK CHENEY:
Where's my gun?
AL SHARPTON:
Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens
The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a CHANGE! The chicken wanted CHANGE!
JOHN MC CAIN:
My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road.
HILLARY CLINTON:
When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure -- right from Day One! -- that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.......
DR. PHIL:
The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on 'THIS' side of the road before it goes after the problem on the 'OTHER SIDE' of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his 'CURRENT' problems before adding 'NEW' problems.
OPRAH:
Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
GEORGE W. BUSH:
We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
COLIN POWELL:
Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road...
ANDERSON COOPER - CNN:
We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
JOHN KERRY:
Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
NANCY GRACE:
That chicken crossed the road because he's GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN:
To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART:
No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS:
Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY:
To die in the rain. Alone.
GRANDPA:
In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS:
Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life long dream of crossing the road.
ARISTOTLE:
It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
JOHN LENNON:
Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
BILL GATES:
I have just released eChicken2007, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of the Chicken. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra...#@&&^(C% ......... reboot.
ALBERT EINSTEIN:
Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
BILL CLINTON:
I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?
AL GORE:
I invented the chicken!
COLONEL SANDERS:
Did I miss one?
DICK CHENEY:
Where's my gun?
AL SHARPTON:
Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens
Friday, January 04, 2008
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Paul Newman
A Michigan woman and her family were vacationing in a small new England town where Paul Newman and his family often visited.
One Sunday morning, the woman got up early to take a long walk. After a brisk five-mile hike, she decided to treat herself to a double-dip chocolate ice cream cone.
She hopped in the car, drove to the center of the village and went straight to the combination bakery/ice cream parlor.
There was only one other patron in the store, Paul Newman, sitting at the counter having a doughnut and coffee.
The woman's heart skipped a beat as her eyes made contact with those famous baby-blue eyes.
The actor nodded graciously and the star-struck woman smiled demurely.
Pull yourself together! She chides herself. You're a happily married woman with three children; you're forty-five years old, not a teenager!
The clerk filled her order and she took the double-dip chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and her change in the other. Then she went out the door, avoiding even a glance in Paul Newman's direction.
When she reached her car, she realized that she had a handful of change but her other hand was empty.
Where's my ice cream cone? Did I leave it in the store? Back into the shop she went, expecting to see the cone still in the clerk's hand or in a holder on the counter or something. No ice cream cone was in sight.
With that, she happened to look over at Paul Newman.
His face broke into his familiar warm friendly grin and he said to the woman,
"You put it in your purse."
One Sunday morning, the woman got up early to take a long walk. After a brisk five-mile hike, she decided to treat herself to a double-dip chocolate ice cream cone.
She hopped in the car, drove to the center of the village and went straight to the combination bakery/ice cream parlor.
There was only one other patron in the store, Paul Newman, sitting at the counter having a doughnut and coffee.
The woman's heart skipped a beat as her eyes made contact with those famous baby-blue eyes.
The actor nodded graciously and the star-struck woman smiled demurely.
Pull yourself together! She chides herself. You're a happily married woman with three children; you're forty-five years old, not a teenager!
The clerk filled her order and she took the double-dip chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and her change in the other. Then she went out the door, avoiding even a glance in Paul Newman's direction.
When she reached her car, she realized that she had a handful of change but her other hand was empty.
Where's my ice cream cone? Did I leave it in the store? Back into the shop she went, expecting to see the cone still in the clerk's hand or in a holder on the counter or something. No ice cream cone was in sight.
With that, she happened to look over at Paul Newman.
His face broke into his familiar warm friendly grin and he said to the woman,
"You put it in your purse."
Friday, November 09, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Ruminations #116
(for those of you who wonder what living in Los Angeles is like...)
RUMINATIONS
Aaron Karo’s world-famous email column
________________________________________________________________________
1997
"Celebrating ten years of writing what you’re thinking!"
2007
________________________________________________________________________
Issue #116 – "Manifest Destiny’s Child" – July 30th, 2007
Circulation: Over 50,000 subscribers worldwide
Subscribe or Read More @ www.AaronKaro.com
________________________________________________________________________
-One of the oldest running jokes in Los Angeles is that no one is actually born here, they’ve just moved here from someplace else. That’s why at parties, when asked how long they’ve lived in LA, people will often tell you their exact anniversary – like they’re an alcoholic telling you how long they’ve been sober. For instance, having left New York on July 31st, 2005, tomorrow marks two years since I arrived in California. The second-oldest running joke in LA is that people come out here only intending to stay temporarily, and then never leave. Considering my original lease was a five-month sublet, I can’t argue with that one either. Having long since resigned to the fact that my foreseeable future will be spent on the West Coast, I’ve tried my best to adapt. Like our forefathers, who believed that America was destined to reach the Pacific Ocean, I too have come here to follow my dreams. Though of course, back then, no one could have imagined that Manifest Destiny would eventually spawn the whacked-out freak show known as Los Angeles that I call home today.
-Whenever a celebrity enters a bar in LA, the paparazzi set up camp outside. Then, when you walk out of the bar wasted at 2am, they’ll look you up and down to figure out if you’re famous or not, before letting you pass. They might even snap a picture or two just in case. If you really want to fuck with them, you can walk out with your hands covering your face, which makes them take pictures like crazy. And there’s nothing like seeing a photographer’s disappointment when he realizes you’re merely just a regular, upstanding, underwear-wearing citizen.
-Before I moved here, I checked weather.com to get an idea of what the weather would be like. I didn’t know what any of the local zip codes were, so I simply entered 90210. Only later did I feel stupid. Not because my knowledge of LA was limited to a cheesy ‘90s television show, but because it turns out the weather here never varies more than five degrees.
-The most striking difference between New York and LA is that New York is so much more egalitarian. Everyone takes public transportation in New York. In LA, there’s a bus and subway system that half the people (myself included) have never used. Merely waiting at a bus stop in LA reveals much about your socioeconomic status. I hate that. New Yorkers never really know exactly how much one another makes, but rather assume it based on preconceived notions and rash judgment – you know, like normal people.
-You know those absurdly hot chicks that walk around in every scene of Entourage? It’s not too much of a stretch. I’ve been in fairly low-key bars in LA and still had trouble keeping track of how many “tens” were in the room. I’m not saying I hook up with them, or even talk to them, but I’m strangely comforted by the fact that at least someone is.
-By far the most frequently asked question I get from friends and fans is: “How is LA?” But the emphasis is always on the word “is” – “How IS LA?” – as if I moved to Mars. No one asks, “How IS Chicago?” or “How IS Boston?” Why are we subjected to such scrutiny? I think it’s because people are fascinated by Hollywood. But in truth, the city of Hollywood is only a small segment of Los Angeles (and, ironically, one of the seedier parts at that). Most people in LA don’t even work in the entertainment industry. Of course, I don’t know any of those people, but I’m sure it’s true. That’s why, from now on, when people ask me, “How IS LA?”, instead of racking my brain for an appropriate response, I’ll merely tell the them truth: 85 degrees and sunny. Every fucking day.
-As always, here are some random things I've been ruminating about lately…
-It still bugs me out that there are a lot of “open-air” buildings in LA. Like if you walk out of the elevator in my apartment building, you end up outside. And my hallway has no door or anything; it just leads to a courtyard where there’s a gourmet pool and Jacuzzi. Pool-worthy days a year in LA? 300. Times I’ve actually swam? One. Seeing hot chicks sunbathing on my way to the mailbox? Priceless.
-LA is dominated by graduates from colleges that feed the entertainment industry, namely Harvard, Syracuse, Northwestern, USC, and UCLA. This is a marked difference from New York, which I found to be filled with alums from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Cornell, and Penn. Luckily, however, we’re all brought together by the common language of Flip Cup.
-Despite the unapproachable but Entourage-worthy chicks that abound, one area that LA is severely lacking in is nightlife. Sure there are cool bars, but there’s much fewer of them, they’re much farther away from each other, and they’re much harder to get into than any other city I’ve partied in. Plus they’re either dives or really upscale – there’s nothing in between. Getting laid is supposed to be hard work; getting drunk is not.
-People tell me all the time that they love LA because the “quality of life” is better than on the East Coast. But how is having to get in your car to go to the ATM better? How is waiting 90 minutes for your food to be delivered better? How is spending half your day searching for parking better? To me, quality of life means instant gratification and not having to deal with people who use the word “stoked.”
-In New York, if you run into someone in the street who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re hurrying back to your apartment to use the bathroom. In LA, if someone calls who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re gonna lose them because you’re about to drive into an underground parking structure.
-And, finally, a cursory glance at my life would seem to reveal that I’m not only living in the state of California, but a state of denial as well. After all, I still have a New York State driver’s license, still subscribe to New York Magazine, still have a New York cell phone number, and still see my dentist in New York every six months. I have a clock set to New York time in my home office, the only Lakers games I’ve ever been to have been against the Knicks, and despite my open-air apartment building and pool, I’m still pale as fuck. But despite all that, my current career path in comedy necessitates that I live in Los Angeles, and I’ve been doing my best to integrate. I’ve made some great new friends out here and reconnected with old ones. I’ve learned my way around the city pretty well (thank you, Google Maps!). I have a doctor and a broker here, bought a pair of Chuck Taylors, and even have a landline with a local area code. And, OK, I’ll admit, I occasionally say “stoked.” I guess I just eventually realized that living in Los Angeles doesn’t change the fact that I’m originally from New York, and never will. So, I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll learn to love LA. After all, when the paparazzi mistake me for someone else and snap my picture – there’s no reason I shouldn’t be smiling. Fuck me.
RUMINATIONS
Aaron Karo’s world-famous email column
________________________________________________________________________
1997
"Celebrating ten years of writing what you’re thinking!"
2007
________________________________________________________________________
Issue #116 – "Manifest Destiny’s Child" – July 30th, 2007
Circulation: Over 50,000 subscribers worldwide
Subscribe or Read More @ www.AaronKaro.com
________________________________________________________________________
-One of the oldest running jokes in Los Angeles is that no one is actually born here, they’ve just moved here from someplace else. That’s why at parties, when asked how long they’ve lived in LA, people will often tell you their exact anniversary – like they’re an alcoholic telling you how long they’ve been sober. For instance, having left New York on July 31st, 2005, tomorrow marks two years since I arrived in California. The second-oldest running joke in LA is that people come out here only intending to stay temporarily, and then never leave. Considering my original lease was a five-month sublet, I can’t argue with that one either. Having long since resigned to the fact that my foreseeable future will be spent on the West Coast, I’ve tried my best to adapt. Like our forefathers, who believed that America was destined to reach the Pacific Ocean, I too have come here to follow my dreams. Though of course, back then, no one could have imagined that Manifest Destiny would eventually spawn the whacked-out freak show known as Los Angeles that I call home today.
-Whenever a celebrity enters a bar in LA, the paparazzi set up camp outside. Then, when you walk out of the bar wasted at 2am, they’ll look you up and down to figure out if you’re famous or not, before letting you pass. They might even snap a picture or two just in case. If you really want to fuck with them, you can walk out with your hands covering your face, which makes them take pictures like crazy. And there’s nothing like seeing a photographer’s disappointment when he realizes you’re merely just a regular, upstanding, underwear-wearing citizen.
-Before I moved here, I checked weather.com to get an idea of what the weather would be like. I didn’t know what any of the local zip codes were, so I simply entered 90210. Only later did I feel stupid. Not because my knowledge of LA was limited to a cheesy ‘90s television show, but because it turns out the weather here never varies more than five degrees.
-The most striking difference between New York and LA is that New York is so much more egalitarian. Everyone takes public transportation in New York. In LA, there’s a bus and subway system that half the people (myself included) have never used. Merely waiting at a bus stop in LA reveals much about your socioeconomic status. I hate that. New Yorkers never really know exactly how much one another makes, but rather assume it based on preconceived notions and rash judgment – you know, like normal people.
-You know those absurdly hot chicks that walk around in every scene of Entourage? It’s not too much of a stretch. I’ve been in fairly low-key bars in LA and still had trouble keeping track of how many “tens” were in the room. I’m not saying I hook up with them, or even talk to them, but I’m strangely comforted by the fact that at least someone is.
-By far the most frequently asked question I get from friends and fans is: “How is LA?” But the emphasis is always on the word “is” – “How IS LA?” – as if I moved to Mars. No one asks, “How IS Chicago?” or “How IS Boston?” Why are we subjected to such scrutiny? I think it’s because people are fascinated by Hollywood. But in truth, the city of Hollywood is only a small segment of Los Angeles (and, ironically, one of the seedier parts at that). Most people in LA don’t even work in the entertainment industry. Of course, I don’t know any of those people, but I’m sure it’s true. That’s why, from now on, when people ask me, “How IS LA?”, instead of racking my brain for an appropriate response, I’ll merely tell the them truth: 85 degrees and sunny. Every fucking day.
-As always, here are some random things I've been ruminating about lately…
-It still bugs me out that there are a lot of “open-air” buildings in LA. Like if you walk out of the elevator in my apartment building, you end up outside. And my hallway has no door or anything; it just leads to a courtyard where there’s a gourmet pool and Jacuzzi. Pool-worthy days a year in LA? 300. Times I’ve actually swam? One. Seeing hot chicks sunbathing on my way to the mailbox? Priceless.
-LA is dominated by graduates from colleges that feed the entertainment industry, namely Harvard, Syracuse, Northwestern, USC, and UCLA. This is a marked difference from New York, which I found to be filled with alums from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Cornell, and Penn. Luckily, however, we’re all brought together by the common language of Flip Cup.
-Despite the unapproachable but Entourage-worthy chicks that abound, one area that LA is severely lacking in is nightlife. Sure there are cool bars, but there’s much fewer of them, they’re much farther away from each other, and they’re much harder to get into than any other city I’ve partied in. Plus they’re either dives or really upscale – there’s nothing in between. Getting laid is supposed to be hard work; getting drunk is not.
-People tell me all the time that they love LA because the “quality of life” is better than on the East Coast. But how is having to get in your car to go to the ATM better? How is waiting 90 minutes for your food to be delivered better? How is spending half your day searching for parking better? To me, quality of life means instant gratification and not having to deal with people who use the word “stoked.”
-In New York, if you run into someone in the street who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re hurrying back to your apartment to use the bathroom. In LA, if someone calls who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re gonna lose them because you’re about to drive into an underground parking structure.
-And, finally, a cursory glance at my life would seem to reveal that I’m not only living in the state of California, but a state of denial as well. After all, I still have a New York State driver’s license, still subscribe to New York Magazine, still have a New York cell phone number, and still see my dentist in New York every six months. I have a clock set to New York time in my home office, the only Lakers games I’ve ever been to have been against the Knicks, and despite my open-air apartment building and pool, I’m still pale as fuck. But despite all that, my current career path in comedy necessitates that I live in Los Angeles, and I’ve been doing my best to integrate. I’ve made some great new friends out here and reconnected with old ones. I’ve learned my way around the city pretty well (thank you, Google Maps!). I have a doctor and a broker here, bought a pair of Chuck Taylors, and even have a landline with a local area code. And, OK, I’ll admit, I occasionally say “stoked.” I guess I just eventually realized that living in Los Angeles doesn’t change the fact that I’m originally from New York, and never will. So, I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll learn to love LA. After all, when the paparazzi mistake me for someone else and snap my picture – there’s no reason I shouldn’t be smiling. Fuck me.
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