BOOBS, PENIS, STREET SIGNS & A THANK YOU

The readership in the Kahrmann Blog has been increasing steadily and I want to thank all of you who visit here often, as well as those of who drop by from time to time. It is a humbling thing to see people give value to what you write. There are now regular readers in several countries in addition to my own: Australia, Canada, England, and Venezuela (countries listed alphabetically).

Recently a friend of mine, who knows I have a penchant for going off on comedic riffs, said why don’t you put that stuff in the blog? Even better, go do some standup. The idea of doing standup is scary – but I just might. If you ponder the fact that much of comedy comes from tragedy, there’s plenty of material in the world these days. Now that doesn’t mean all comedy comes from tragedy. Here are some examples of the latter, questions I’ve been pondering.

1) Why is the penis the only body part that has a name you can’t say out loud without sounding as if you’re whining? It has to be one of the most avoided if not the most avoided words in the English language, save for medical professionals, urologists and such. Moreover, no man in the throws of sex has heard the words; I love your big penis. If he did, it didn’t stay big.

2) What is up with the word boobs for women’s breasts? How do we know they’re stupid? They are the only body part given a name that defines their intelligence. And let me tell you what, given all the attention breasts get in the world, I’d say they are anything but stupid. Instead of boobs, why not say something like, nice pair of geniuses?

3) Lets talk about street signs. When I left New York City in 1987, I left a place where street signs made sense. SLOW meant slow and STOP meant stop. The NYC no parking signs were crystal clear in their meaning, so much so that there were no parking signs in the well-heeled neighborhood of Sutton Place that read, and I quote, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT PARKING HERE.

In 1987 I leave the city and move to Sullivan County and everything changes. I love Sullivan County. The people are nice and the land is magnificent beyond description. However, whoever designed the street signs there (and it seems in all the upstate counties) smoked better pot than I ever did. The team that design these signs had passed the bong around a few times before getting down to work. How else can you explain the signs? . I would see a sign that said SPEED ZONE AHEAD and so I would do what I was told and hit the gas. I couldn’t figure out why on earth they wanted you to speed through the more populated areas. Later on I would find out SPEED ZONE meant slow down. Yeah? Then say slow down.

And then there was the sign that scared and confused the hell out of me the first few times I saw it until I finally asked someone what the hell it meant. I’m driving on a road that has signs that say 35 MPH. So, I do 35 MPH because I’m a newcomer to the area and I want to establish straight away that I respect the area. And then the nightmare sign. It says, END 35 MPH……….. And then…nothing…..no follow up sign, nothing. I didn’t know whether to come to a complete stop until someone came along who would tell me what to do next. I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do. A week or two later I was told that when you see that sign it means you can then do 55 MPH. I thought, so why not have a sign that says that.

I can tell you one thing, the people who designed those signs, now they were boobs.

Thanks for reading the blog.

___________________________________________________________________

Advertisements

One thought on “BOOBS, PENIS, STREET SIGNS & A THANK YOU

YOUR COMMENTS ARE WELCOME

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s