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You’re the only person around here with a sense of humor.
The rest of you are gonna die from a serious disease.
It’s called being serious.
Fatal as hell.
Men don’t really want sex anyway. That’s just some bullshit DNA we inherited from monkeys.
Here comes the mating ritual.
First the fantasies.
Then somebody’s clucking like a chicken.
Whatever works.
“Are we done?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’m busy.”
Three days later the fever comes back like the flu and we gotta go through the whole damn mating dance again.
Apparently evolution had nothing better planned for us.
The moral in this if you don't think about sex all the time
You can write jokes and songs . Not waste your life away on yet another fantasy in the old roll in the hay department .
It's only in porn movies , It ain't never going to happen what they're doing .
Are monkeys still climbing trees ? . Yeah they are . Distant cousins from Adam and Eve. Makes sense now even the Baptists are happy.
You people need to learn to compromise .On this creation evolution thing , Make a deal , call for the white flags to surrender . Cease fire . I'm not feeding the cat I'm not feeding dog . I made the money to pay for it .
Thats your department . Adam and Eves first fight .Adam set the ground rules .

Anyway, I’m driving toward Middletown and I see Putah Creek.
Putah Creek?
Who named that?
Was the planning commission sitting around going through names?
“Eagle Creek?”
“Taken.”
“Paradise Creek?”
“Too pretty.”
“I got it. Putah Creek.”
Now anybody who knows a little Spanish is gonna hear puta.
Yeah, yeah, there’s an H.
But you put an H on a bad idea and it’s still a bad idea.
Then farther up toward Blue Lakes there’s Bachelor Creek.
Bachelor Creek?
Are the trout single?
Do they have little trout apartments?
Saturday night at Bachelor Creek:
“Hey, baby, come upstream often?”
Then you pass one of these giant casino billboards:
WE’RE WORLDS APART.
Damn right.
Their world: “Give us every penny you brought.”
My world: “I still think I’m gonna win.”
Casinos have figured out the perfect business model.
You walk in with $500.
Three hours later you’re eating a complimentary sandwich explaining how you’re actually up twenty bucks.
“No, Earl. You lost $480.”
“Yeah, but the sandwich was free.”
And those parking lots are packed.
Everybody knows the odds favor the house, and everybody walks in anyway.
That’s optimism bordering on mental illness.
“Tonight’s gonna be different.”
Sure it is.
The slot machine has been waiting all week for you, Bob.
It saw your Buick pull into the parking lot and said:
“Shut everything down, boys. The chosen one is here.”
Three hours later Bob’s at the ATM.
“I almost had ’em.”
No, Bob.
They almost had your PIN number.
Then Bob finally leaves broke, drives past Bachelor Creek, looks over at Putah Creek and realizes something:
The trout had the smartest night.
They stayed home.
And that concludes tonight’s Elvis Nash Road Report.
Remember:
Laugh once in a while.
Being serious is fatal.
Details at 11.