I’ve had refrigerator blindness for a long time. My eyesight is normal — until I open a refrigerator and look inside.
I can never find what I’m looking for.
I know it’s in there. I put it there myself. But I can’t see it.
Beer is the only thing I can find in the refrigerator without assistance from a Seeing Eye dog. If there’s beer in the fridge, I will find it. Every time.
I would say I “suffer” from refrigerator blindness, but it’s really my wife who suffers my condition. I always have to ask her where everything is.
“Honey, where’s the —”
“Did you look behind the milk?” she says before I can finish my question.
“What does the milk look like?” I say.
Over the years, I’ve gotten better at finding things in the refrigerator. I take my time and “look.” It might take several minutes and burn up a couple of kilowatt hours, but I often find stuff in the fridge.
But now my wife has resorted to magic to frustrate my progress.
The other day I was looking for a container of cream cheese. The only things in the fridge were three eggs, a carton of milk and a bottle of mustard.
I asked my wife where was the cream cheese. She said it was right there in the refrigerator, and I corrected her by listing the fridge’s contents.
I may have been a little smug — and that was my mistake.
She walked into the kitchen and locked her eyes on mine. Without looking, she reached into the refrigerator, flicked her wrist and pulled out the cream cheese.
“Ta da!” she said and took a bow.
I hate magic acts. Especially when I’m hungry.
They say that everybody has a twin somewhere in the world.
This information would come as a shock to my mother. She was there when I was born and would have recalled having more than one of me.
I don’t know why, but I suddenly want to pronounce the “w” in “sword.”
“The proof is in the pudding.”
Why would they put the proof in there? I don’t often eat pudding, but if I did and found proof in it, I’m pretty sure I’d sue somebody.
What’s more, keeping the proof in the pudding would make for some sloppy court cases — even in a food court. (“We’d like to present Exhibit A — a photograph of the car before the crash. It’s in the tapioca.”)
Three-second synopsis of Feodor Dostoevski’s “Crime and Punishment”:
“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” — Detective Tony Baretta
With my luck, someone will probably find that my twin is a 6-year-old girl in Moscow.
How am I supposed to explain that to my mom?
I admit that I sometimes get carried away.
I went to a wholesale club the other day and got gas for $1.67 a gallon. A $1.67!
I was jubilant. I filled my tank. I filled my trunk. I filled my back seat.
It was when I started filling other customers’ water bottles that the cops came and carried me away.
Some people have a head for baldness, like Howie Mandel and Michael Jordan.
Other people don’t have a head for baldness, like Britney Spears and Mike Tyson.
Unfortunately, the only way to know if you have a head for baldness is to completely shave your head.
I don’t have a head for baldness. And neither does my neighbor’s cat.
I’m going to join a club for procrastinators — next week.
A TV Commercial For An Economic Stimulus
Scene: A cardiologist’s office, where a middle-aged man in a hospital gown is sitting on an examination table, waiting on the results of a recent heart test.
Announcer: (Voiceover) The economy has received some severe jolts recently, and we want to get a medical opinion of the situation. So we have secretly replaced this patient’s EKG results with a chart showing the stock market’s fluctuations over the past several weeks. Let’s see what happens.
Doctor: OK, Mr. Jones, let’s take a look at your EKG. (Holds up chart.) My god!
Mr. Jones: What is it doctor?
Doctor: This chart. These results. … It seems that you’re living dead.
Mr. Jones: Dead?
Doctor: Living dead. Technically, undead. Your life force is nil. You’re a zombie.
Mr. Jones: A zombie? I’m not sure I want to be a zombie. Is there a cure?
Doctor: There are only two known cures. One is to stimulate the life force through a massive infusion of cash from a federal agency.
Mr. Jones: Oh, my. And the other?
Doctor: The other requires the removal of your head from your body.
Mr. Jones: I see. So it’s either a massive infusion of cash or removing my head from my body.
Doctor: Yes, that’s basically it.
Mr. Jones: Hmmm. Uh, let’s go with the massive infusion of cash?
Announcer: (Voiceover) And there you have it. To save our economy we must secure a massive infusion of cash or else have our heads removed. Otherwise, we will continue to be zombies. The choice is simple. Support the economic stimulus.
Three-second synopsis of Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita”:
“Who loves you, baby?” — Detective Theo Kojak
• Read Carleton Bryant’s daily humor blog at https://washingtontimes.com/weblogs/out-context/.
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