What? Time for another Editor’s Note? I just got finished with the last one! Seems like it, at any rate. Time does fly. It’s been a whole year since I started editing the Foolish Times. Back in those days, we were known as the Monterey County Fool. Maybe you remember. It was crazy times. Housing prices were astronomical. The cost of gas was off the charts. Thank goodness the old days are old. Anyway, I haven’t gotten around to editing this issue yet (still working on the March issue), but I’m told it’s a good one. Here’s hoping it provides you with a guffaw or two, or at least a chuckle or titter. If not, you can always stop by our office at 150 W. Franklin Street for a refund.

Wow! It’s hard to believe this issue starts our fourth year of publication. To celebrate we’re having a party (any excuse will do). Our advertisers have graciously contributed over a thousand dollars in prizes and a surprise or two. Come join us on Sunday, August 19th at Mexcal restaurant. Free food (to die for), music, dancing, and the aforementioned prizes. Check the ad in this month’s issue for details. Those of you who have been to one of our shindigs (see the cover) pass the word to your friends. Come on out and meet the crew that’s crazy enough to work for next to nothing each month and put out a pretty damned good product as can be attested to by our growth, from 6,000 a month, to this September’s 20,000! Thanks to our advertisers, who believe that a customer who can read and likes humor can’t be all bad. Most of all, thanks to you, the readers, who laugh out loud and don’t take life too seriously. It makes not paying the bills worth it. See you at the party!

Don’t forget the advertisers!

August birthdays:
In Europe, August is a holiday month. No one works and the whole continent pretty much shuts down for vacation. Now, if only America would get with the program and appropriately honor your birthday month.

ARIES (3/21 - 4/19)
National Aviation Week honors early aviation pioneers like famous Aries Orville Wright and Neil Armstrong. This month you’ll rely on your fearlessness to also boldly go where no human has gone before: in the port-o-let at the fairgrounds. Read the rest of this article »

by Rosie Sorenson’s

Dear Mr. NSA,
I want to thank you for eavesdropping on me. No, really. I’ve long said that what we all need is a “Good Listening To!” And, there you are! Hour after tedious hour tuning into my conversations. For just a few billion dollars, I now know that someone cares enough to listen, REALLY listen to me. And, I can assure you Read the rest of this article »

Twenty or so years ago when I was in college and taking a creative writing class, I invented a being called the Salvage Angel.

Salvage angels are a branch of the angel family tree. The hierarchy of angels as understood by any given society tends to reflect that society. I suspect that salvage angels are the equivalent of the Read the rest of this article »

Editor’s note: The following is an encore presentation of Will Fargo’s Bogus Advice. Will did not send in a column this month. He was abducted by space aliens. Foolish Times is currently negotiating his safe release.

Dear Will Fargo,
Will Fargo? The Will Fargo? My Will Fargo? Will, does the name Cloy ring a bell?

I didn’t even remember that short past life of mine back in Weedpatch, North Dakota. But then I saw your name, and a whole cloud of dusty memories kicked up, and I felt the pangs of pet and owner love once again. Read the rest of this article »

Freshly coined jokes, with a few encore presentations sprinkled in.

Under the Table
A man and woman were having dinner in a fine restaurant. Their waitress, taking another order at a table a few steps away, suddenly noticed that the man was slowly sliding down his chair and under the table, but the woman acted unconcerned. The waitress watched as the man slid all the way down his chair and out of sight under the table. Still, the woman appeared calm and unruffled, apparently unaware that her dining companion had disappeared. Read the rest of this article »

A virtual smorgasbord of jokes and otherwise funny stories e-mailed to FoolishTimes.

Laws of the Natural Universe
Law of Mechanical Repair: After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch.
Law of the Workshop: Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.
Law of Probability: The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.
Law of the Telephone: If you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal. Read the rest of this article »

August is the last full month of summer and is named after a Roman dictator, Caesar Augustus. Before he took power he was just a punk named Octavian. After he took office, he could have your head cut off and mounted as a hubcap on a chariot wheel unless you called him August, which also means something that is majestic, admired. Read the rest of this article »

Still no information on the talented, mysterious, and elusive Unknown Cartoonist. We had a tip about a guy in Café Noir, but when we investigated it turned out to be just your garden-variety doodler, nowhere near as talented as UC.

We asked you tell us the meaning of the cartoon on page 12 of last month’s “real world paper edition”—the one where the two dogs are standing in the wreckage of Read the rest of this article »

A mouse in her room woke Miss Dowd.
She was frightened, it must be allowed.
Soon a happy thought hit her
To scare off the critter:
She sat up in bed and meowed.
—Somebody, I Forget His Name Read the rest of this article »

Editor’s note: Tim Letcher is a well-connected media mogul to whom people submit their outlandish money-making ideas. He sometimes shares the best of these with readers of Foolish Times. Here’s a movie idea he recently came across.

Yet another summer of wonderful movies. I’ll call it (like it is every year) the “Summer of Sequels.” It sounds better than the “Summer of Unoriginality.” Read the rest of this article »

I was practically certain that I was too old for amusement parks.

My spouse loves amusement parks. He is a big, overgrown kid who still wants to ride on the rides. I tolerate them.

We heard about an amusement park in Chattanooga. It is not too far away and it seemed like a good weekend adventure. We took my grandson along for an excuse, though my honey really didn’t need an excuse.

This place turned out to be a kiddy park, which was okay since my grandson is a kiddy and so is honey. They had a few adult-type rides, but for the most part it seemed to be more like the place where old amusement park rides go before they die.

I agreed to go on a ride called the Tilt-A-Whirl. Silly me.

“Isn’t this fun?” yelled honey, as it slung us around in circles.

“I feel sick! I think I may throw up.” I groaned, as I staggered away, feeling like I’d been inside a blender.

While I recovered, honey went on another whirly ride. I don’t know what it did as I was too nauseated to watch. My grandson was also chicken at first, though he recovered and rode it later—no hands.

“Let’s ride the paddle boats!” exclaimed honey.

“My knees! My knees!” I was finding body parts that I had long ago forgotten about.

“How about the Scrambler then?” asked honey.

“How about the swings?” I replied in desperation, immediately sorry I had mentioned it.

As I flew round and round, I was certain my shoes would go flying off my feet and end up somewhere in the lake. My eyebrows twitched as I tried to figure out how close to death I was.

“Baby stuff,” grumbled honey.

I knew we were headed towards the roller coaster as we worked our way to the back, and sure enough, there it was. I used to love roller coasters, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

We inched up the first hill and I held on with white knuckles. “Wheeeee!” yelled honey as we hit the first dip.

“Help! Let me offffff!” I screamed as my internal organs turned inside out and my backbone crackled. I couldn’t remember what it was that I used to like about a roller coaster as I staggered away holding my back.

“Does this place have first aid? Call the paramedics!”

After that, it didn’t really matter, as everything that could be broken was already broken and my brain was jelled.

I got on their newest ride, fool that I am. I forget what it was called. Actually, I’m trying to forget the whole day.

“You know what happens, don’t you?” asked my honey, seeing my pale face and clenched teeth.

There was a kid about five years old sitting next to me. How bad could it be? As we reached the top and plunged back fourteen stories to earth, I found out. My hair stood straight up, my glasses nearly jumped off my face, and my stomach is still up there somewhere.

The little kid next to me was crying, as I unbuckled my seat and honey helped me wobble to the exit.

“I’m going to kill you for that!” I mumbled to my former honey…

After two hours, I was ready to go home. It took another six hours before my grandson was convinced.

I crawled to the closest picnic table, wishing I could take a nap.

I stared at the carousel. “See the pretty horses go round and round, up and down,” I gurgled.

By the end of the day, I was sunburned and brain-dead but managed to make it home without losing my glasses, my teeth, my camera, my shoes, or my lunch.

But, I am absolutely certain now that I am too old for amusement parks.