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The Comedian's Notebook XII
by M. V. Montgomery

I can no longer eat all I can eat.

You know you’re a redneck when you think “dressing for dinner” means putting on an old shirt in case you might spill on the one you’re wearing.

Don’t know if I could have escaped from Alcatraz, but I am bustin’ outta this shirt.

According to a news commentary today, the U.S. should be wary of negotiating with President Kim Jong-un of North Korea because in his region of the world he is known as a “bad actor.” Well! I think that’s kind of a snobbish reason for refusing to talk to someone.

In the housing development next to mine, most of the homeowners have a front door sign with their last initial monogrammed on it. It’s kind of cutesy, I suppose, but sometimes when I pass by I feel kind of sorry for the D and F families, ‘cause it’s like their homes got the low grades.

Before going to bed, I’d like to try one of those new SOM drinks that are advertised to help you get to sleep — but at the same time, I worry that it will make you get up to pee. How does anyone win that one?

Life can be confusing. You feel like one of those BBC mystery actors who circulate on different shows each week from murderer to suspect to victim — so, chaps, what are we on for today?

Would like to see Larry David do something about news reporters who begin their reports with the words “Sure” or “Yeah,” as though we have just asked them, as a special favor, to inform us.

While we’re at it, I think I would also sic Larry on people who say, “Got it!” automatically when you are trying to discuss an idea with them, even before you’ve explained it.

TV Mystery: Why do police officers always have to shove the perps’ heads down when they are putting them into the back of a squad car? Give a dude some space, man.

Guns don’t kill people, bullets do.

Impatient man, can’t wash his hands.

Which is better—to “be something” or to be “something else”?

When I tell others I plan to retire, they automatically reply, “Oh, what are you going to do?”

As if putting myself onto another schedule immediately is a big concern.

Without coffee, I spend days in a state of suspended animation, only to wake up fully at night.

It’s better to eat a melon with seeds to slow you down. It’s also the closest I’ll ever come to dining like Thich Nhat Hanh and giving my full attention to what I’m chewing.

As men age, our spines start to recline like lounge chairs, bending back to support our guts one interlocking vertebra at a time.

The pollen count is so high now, all you have to do to get your daily requirement of fiber is to breathe with your mouth open.

Musicians who have sacrificed their hands to playing the cymbals ought to give themselves a well-deserved round of applause.

Executives will always look at you funny if you wear a short-sleeve shirt to work, but for me it’s a free exercise of my right to bare arms.

Sophisticated words that you can use to take the edge off, that sound remotely like swearing: “laminate!” “succor!” “granddam!”

What to wish a Jewish bodybuilder before a competition: “Muscle tone!”

Surrealist-pun humor: When is a tire not a tire? When you don’t wear it.

You picked a fine time to leave me, loose wheel.

Thriller title: The Baptist Drownings.