|The Funniest Newspaper Column
in the Country
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
2008 First Place Humor Column
Hogspore News from the Ozarks
Do you ever use the trip button on your vehicle?
Morton Trubletoof was carrying me around town Saturday cause my truck was in the shop. We had to stop by his house
at noon. I asked him, “How many miles to your house?”
“I don’t know.”
I sez, “Do you ever use the trip button on the dash?”
Morton said, “I never touch that. It’s just not my thing to use. I think it’s for fellers that like to play practical jokes.”
“What do you mean?” sez I.
“Well, from what I understand, you can pull a prank with that trip button. Suppose you’re at a stoplight and some folks
are walking across the street. If you had a mind to, you could push the trip button when they get in front of your truck. I can’t
see the humor in hurting people.”
Willard Pinnacle bought himself a parrot from Quin’s Pet Store and Sporadic Wildlife. Quin said, “The reason the bird is
so expensive is cause Paleo Polly is 50,000 years old.”
The first owner taught the bird to talk, but since he was a caveman, the jungle chicken just grunts. The only food he eats
is roasted pork rind. When the parrot squawks, Willard knows it means, “Paleo Polly want a cracklin.”
Punkin uses coconut oil to keep her skin youthful and fresh. She’s slapping on so much of it lately that last night she slipped
out of bed and slid down the hall into the living room. It got worse. She reapplied some more coconut oil and broke
out into a hula.
A guvernment official visited me Tuesday. He needed to check if my farm was in compliance. I didn’t have time to look
up what compliance meant or why I mighta been out of it.
He wanted to inspect my crops. He was from the Department of Elective Intervention and Earth Insurance Office.
I weren’t gonna let him inspect my fields till he flashed a badge and shouted. “I’m from the E. I. E. I. O.”
You can contact Clet Litter at email@example.com.
Just click on the e-mail address below and ask for the weekly column to be delivered to you each week.
No one will ever know that you read this kind of stuff.