Posts Tagged 'life'

Girls Can’t Bow

So, I won’t lie.

I never do, you know.

Well, that’s not true.

See, sometimes I lie, other times I don’t. It’s a consternation, but it can’t be helped.

That’s why I always say: “I lie every other day.”

Anyways, I must tell you something that’s rather hurtful, and I def can’t lie about it.

Here it is:

Girls can’t bow.

That’s not to say they don’t want to, but it’s just an impossibility. What happens when they try isn’t a bow, see. We can’t go redefining words, after all. (For example, you wouldn’t call a crocodile a lizard if he was stunted in the growth department, would you? Of course not. Likewise, we can’t call a not-bow a bow.)

What's the difference between a bow a bough and a bow? Never mind. That's neither here nor over there.

So, to back up my hypothesis, I must now needs present proof. (All good professor do such things, see. And I’m a good professor, double-see.)

What better way to prove a point than using our dear friend Mr. Google.

Here’s what I found after a quick google; I scanned nearly 642,000 results, btdubs.

And these images were the best that the ladies had to offer.

Proof #1

I mean, this is so far from a bow that I win right away. No problem; no battle; no skin from my lobes.

Proof #2 & #3

A hand spin is not bowing.

Proof #4

This one was closest to a bow…but for a bow to be legit, you really can’t speak and bow at the same time. Therefore, I win.

And I didn’t tell a lie.

And girls can’t bow.

And that’s the end.

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Classroom Mayhem

“So…”–gigantic, and I mean huge, pause for emphasis here–“how do we know what we know?”

The question hung in the air, and this professor, for one, would’ve left it hanging there (probably indefinitely) but an elderly chap sitting next to me raised his hand and spoke up.

He said something full of dadblamery, so I had to raise my hand and say:

“We know what we know because we know it.”

A just answer. Maybe a bit oblique, but then again, so was the question. I leaned back like a conqueror, thinking that I had won, and that it was over.

But a war was coming.

The chap teaching the class shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t answer that way,” he said. “They were the words I used in my question.”

“Quite right,” I said, “that’s why I rearranged them for my answer.”

“No.” He was a bit stern here, I must admit. Hands on hips, chin jutting out in my direction like a stag beetle with it’s great big jaws. “You don’t get it.”

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

Stag Beetle with its awesome jaws.

“Oh I get it.”

Of course, this professor didn’t mean to be spicy at all, but the other students laughed here a bit, bits, and little bits.

“You. Don’t. Get It,” he repeated. “I want you to use your own words to answer the question.”

And then this professor spied something on his shoulder, and I knew I’d won.

“They became my own words once I rearranged them, see. And furthermore, double see, is that a hornet on your shoulder?”

He screamed, everyone laughed, and this professor–shiny, cunning beast that he is–won.

#conqueror 


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