Tag Archives: funny

The Quotable Kora P.

So today, I learned that my friend and co-worker Kora says hilarious things with alarming consistency, so I took the liberty of recording a few of her quotes to post here (with her permission, of course).  Ladies and gentlemen, The Quotable Kora P.!

“What’s a Zombie apocalypse?”
(Me): “It’s when zombies take over the world.”
“I hate it when that happens.”

“I think I just choked on my life.”

“I’m more 90’s than a longboard!”

“You just got graped!”

“If I point my pinkie out like this, does it cancel out my elbows?

“I could make a comment about that, but I’m afraid you’ll quote me.”

Oddly enough, she didn’t say anything else particularly quotable after that.  I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

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So I’ve Been Sinking…

It’s Saturday night and I’m pretty much sleep deprived, so I find everything way funnier than I should.  Even so, I’m pretty sure that if I was fully lucid I would still laugh at these three videos.

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The Wacky World of Quelf

What is Quelf?  Simplest answer: Quelf is a board game.  Most accurate answer: Quelf is the perfect blend of randomness concentrate and friendship, and it is the most fun you will ever have while sitting at a table.  Here, a selection of choice quotes from tonight’s epic game with fellow Lake Ann staffers Adam, Scott, Christian, Shelby, Jonathan, and Megan.

“That is true, false.  It’s true that it’s false; false.” – Scott

“Quack, quack, quack!” – Shelby (every time anyone drew a card)

“I’d love to play this game at 3 in the morning, when everyone’s like, (O_o).” – Scott

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This Is a Picture of Pinkie Pie Shooting Herself Out of a Cannon

You’re welcome.

Source: http://maximillianveers.deviantart.com/art/Breaking-the-4th-Wall-Step-1-210887806

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An Explanation

So yesterday, I posted a post that consisted of a very loud audio recording of people screaming and yelling and the words “I’ll explain this tomorrow”.  It’s tomorrow, so here’s the story behind that odd sound bite…

Yesterday, I went with the Lake Ann Camp support staff to Empire Beach.  It was a very nice beach except for all of the tiny dead fish along the shoreline, but the best part wasn’t the sand or the water or the dead fish or any of the other normal, beach-type things.  It was the enormous and fantastic playground.  This playground had a climbing wall, swings, and, best of all, one of those metal merry-go-rounds that are responsible for 85% of playground injuries and 97% of playground enjoyment.  We spent several dizzying minutes whipping each other around in circles just because we could, and then I realized that I hadn’t written a post that day.  Suddenly, I remembered the phone-to-blog feature on WordPress and decided that it would be a great idea to get on the merry-go-round with a bunch of the other guys and record our ride to upload as the post for the day.

I had to walk back to the bus to get my confirmation code, and when I came back there was a little girl on the merry-go-round.  She introduced herself as Kaylee (I probably spelled that wrong.  There are several hundred thousand ways to spell that name, and parents never choose the one you expect.  Ever.), and she announced that she wanted to ride with us.  We tried to tell her that we would be going really, really fast, but that only made her more excited to do it.  The kid was an adrenaline junkie.  Her uncle was alright with it, so we all climbed on, grabbed onto the railings, and let the madness begin.  If you listen to the audio post, you can hear me argue with the pushers for a moment about which direction we should go, and then it all descends into chaos.  We were screaming and yelling and holding on for dear life, but over the din you can hear a little voice say, “I’m not even holding on!”  That’s right.  Kaylee was standing there, her hands in the air, leaning nonchalantly against the railing and grinning like a mad person.  All of us full-grown men were crying for mercy while this little girl stood there completely calmly, shaking her head at our display.  Halfway through the ride, she got bored and started walking around the edge of the merry-go-round.  I’m telling you, she was like some kind of miniature ninja.  By the time it was all over, most of us had been thrown to the ground by the unmerciful g-forces, but not Kaylee.  She hopped down cheerfully from the merry-go-round and ran off to go play with her brother, Franklin (who was just as crazy as his sister; I’ll write about that another day).  She didn’t even look dizzy.

And that’s how a recording of me screaming like a little girl while an actual little girl makes fun of me in the background was uploaded to the Internet.

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Memories and Melons

This blog post is dedicated to my good friend Jon Coleman.  He was the sound technician here at Lake Ann for the past several years, and we had a lot of amazing adventures together, not the least of which was the day that I tried to hit him with fruit and failed hard.  Here’s to you, Jon.  I’ll miss you this year, and I hope you have an amazing summer.  Oh, and watch your back; I won’t miss next time.

The situation was perfect.  There was Jon Coleman, his careless blond hair clean and dry, just waiting to be spattered with watermelon juice.  I had just finished eating a slice of watermelon, and the dripping rind was waiting anxiously in my hand, like a daredevil ready to risk his life for his audience.  Jon was driving a dull red golf cart, he called it the Red Dragon, and he parked it just within watermelon range, looking obliviously in the other direction.  The black metal grate behind his head would shred the tattered, pink flesh that remained on the rind into tiny, sticky pieces, and those pieces would have nowhere to go but all over his head.

I checked the direction of the wind, hefted the rind in my hand to get an idea of its mass, tilted my head and squinted my eyes in an effort to gauge my trajectory.  All of my summer camp coworkers at the picnic table nodded and smiled, half of them watching me so they wouldn’t miss the throw, the others focused on the back of Jon’s head, already imagining the beautiful mess it would be when my melon exploded.  I stretched my arm behind me as far as it would go, took in a deep breath, and hurled the rind with Herculean might at my unsuspecting target.

I’m not sure when the junior higher with the pink ball cap walked up to the Red Dragon and struck up a conversation with Jon, but I do know that he was right there, two feet to the left of the intended splatter zone, when the fruity missile smacked the hat right off of his head.  The boy was shocked, but I was absolutely terrified.  Camp training had planted a holy fear of lawsuits deep inside of me.  All of the leaders and directors reminded us regularly not to touch the campers the wrong way, talk to them the wrong way, even look at them the wrong way.  I had just pummeled one with a hunk of fruit, and I was pretty sure that  “I was trying to pummel someone else, your honor” wouldn’t fly in court.

At first, my fear was content to manifest itself in a chill in the middle of my spine.  As long as I could avoid detection by the boy with the pink hat I would be just fine.  Nothing to freak out about.  As he turned towards my picnic table and began to walk, my adrenaline kicked in.  My face was burning, my extremities were all trembling like the figurines on an electric football table, and I covered my eyes with my hands.

I could tell by the looks on my friends’ faces that even if the boy didn’t already know I had been responsible for his messy uncapping he soon would, so when he approached our table, held up the condemning green crescent, and demanded, “Who threw this?” I confessed.  He stared at me with an unreadable expression just long enough for several disastrous scenarios to play out in my mind, most of them ending with a newspaper headline reading “Camp Shut Down Due to Watermelon-Related Child Abuse.”  “I’m sorry,” I managed to squeak.  I think he heard me over the laughter of the spectators, because the slightest smile lifted his eyes, he shook his head in mock reproof, and he dropped the rind and walked away.

Thankfully, I never heard from that boy again.  The camp is still running, I’m still allowed to work there, and Jon Coleman is still my friend.  I even got a great “most embarrassing moment” story out of the deal.  I did lose one thing as a result of that encounter, however.  To this day I can’t bring myself to wear a pink hat.

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Goats Are Stupid

The other day, a few friends and I took a hike out to our camp’s petting farm, Acorn Acres.  There are a lot of entertaining animals who live there, and we were going to feed them grass because that is what you do at petting farms.  As we approached the wire-and-wood-fenced enclosure, we caught the attention of one animal in particular.  His name is Stupid Goat.  Stupid Goat is small and brown and very, very bad at critical thinking.  He got this weird gleam in his dull orange eyes as we approached, like he was struggling to deal with the awesomeness of the situation.  I imagine this is how the thought process went:

People are coming.
They have grass.
People are good.
Grass is good.
People + grass = probably the best thing that has ever happened to me.

As soon as his mind finally made that connection, he ran as fast as he could toward the fence to greet his heroes, the Grass People.  In his blind zeal, he thrust his head through a hole in the fence to get as close as he could to us, which made him very happy for about thirty-eight seconds while he munched on the grass we brought him.  Then he tried to pull his head back into the safety of his enclosure, and he realized that he was stuck.  As it turns out, Stupid Goat’s horns are curved perfectly to allow him to push through the fence forwards, but they are also curved perfectly to catch on the wires of the fence and thus block any attempts to pull his head back out.

This caused Stupid Goat a great amount of distress.  He had no idea why he couldn’t escape, he just knew that he was stuck.  His mind was overcome with one thought:

I can normally move.
Now, I cannot move.
PANIC!

At this point, it became apparent why Stupid Goat only has one and a half horns.  He flailed around helplessly trying to get out, and the more we tried to guide his horns properly through the hole with our better perception and increased motor skills, the more he tried to stiffen his neck and be generally unhelpful.  At one point, we got one of his horns through successfully, but the half-horn stubbornly hooked on the wire and Stupid Goat managed to wriggle his way back into full-on hyper-stuck-mode in moments.

We finally got him free after about fifteen minutes of intense coaxing and combat, but I don’t think he even realized that we were the ones responsible for helping him.  In his mind, he had finally overcome the mysterious force holding him back and yanking on his head all by himself, and he couldn’t have been more proud of himself.

I can move again.
I am awesome.
Those  Grass People must be so impressed with me…

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