Busting the Block

Laptop Reboot

A man walked into a computer repair shop. “Hello,” he said to the technician, “I’d like you to give my laptop a Hollywood-style reboot, please.” “Excuse me?” the technician replied, almost spilling his coffee. “You know,” the man said, “I want you to reinvent it! Make it fresh! Make it hip! Make it appealing to new and profitable demographics!” “I don’t think you or Hollywood knows what the word ‘reboot’ means,” the technician informed him. “Oh, ‘reboot’ has a different meaning now,” the man said. “It means making something darker and grittier and more modern, preferably with the barest semblance of its former self.” The technician scoffed. “Well… I could always smash your laptop out in the parking lot,” he suggested bluntly. “That would be dark and gritty and modern.” “Aha!” the man said, grinning from ear to ear. “You do get it!”

© 2014 Tony Vicory.

Always Dependable

Good Neighbor

A man walked into a State Farm® insurance office and said to the nearest agent: “I hear you’re like a good neighbor.” He was, of course, referring to the company’s successful advertising campaign, which made exactly that claim. “State Farm® certainly is,” the agent replied happily. “Excellent!” the man said. “I’m going to need you to watch my cats for a couple of days. Also, if you wouldn’t mind checking the mailbox and taking out the trash on Tuesday…”

© 2014 Tony Vicory.

Romance Novel

Romance Novel

“A man walked into a 15th century Scottish castle. Excusing his servants, he barred the door behind him and smiled wickedly. Even though his powerful thighs ached from a hard day’s riding, one thing was assured: he was ready to ride again. In the faint candlelight, his wet clothes, which were damp with sweat and fresh rainwater, seemed almost transparent, and underneath them, his lustrous skin glistened like polished bronze. He may have been a lord and a gentleman, but deep down, he was still a lustful savage, burning with a hot, primal desire. Removing his tunic, he tossed it carelessly to the ground, exposing a muscled chest and an impossibly chiseled abdomen. As he thought of his beloved, who awaited him upstairs in the tower, he could feel his blood pumping faster and harder — thump, thump, thump — and before he knew it, his fingers were untying his trousers with a reckless impatience. Soon, he would feel his lady’s soft, tender kisses; her warm, tremulous embrace; her impassioned womanhood writhing against his huge, throbbing — ”

Quick! Someone’s coming! Pretend you’re reading that other book! Yes, the Dostoevsky!

“Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov…”

© 2014 Tony Vicory.

Steve Martin

Steve Martin

A man walked into the legendary comedian Steve Martin. Actually, that’s a lie. He didn’t walk into Steve Martin, (a) because the man didn’t live in proximity to Steve Martin and (b) because walking into Steve Martin would be a stupid thing to do. The man did, however, namedrop Steve Martin on his website excessively, in the shameless hope that Steve Martin might one day Google himself, stumble upon said website (amanwalked.com), and think, “Hmm, this looks like something Steve Martin would probably enjoy.” Steve Martin, Steve Martin, Steve Martin.

You can find the legendary comedian Steve Martin here and here.

© 2014 Tony Vicory.

Whodunit?

Guest Star Mugshot

A man walked onto the set of a popular TV procedural drama.* He was the featured guest star, so obviously he would be playing the perpetrator. Mystery solved. Thanks, IMDb.com!

*CSI: B.C.; Cyber-Matlock; Law & Order: Ordinary Victims Unit; Murder She Dictated; NCIS: Salt Lake City; etc.

© 2014 Tony Vicory.

What Are Friends For?

Smartphone Friend

A man walked into a Facebook “friend.” “It’s Steve, right?” he said, unsure of this particular friend’s identity without the assistance of a labeled avatar. (To be fair, the man had 87 million friends, so he could hardly be expected to know everybody intimately… or at all.) “No, I’m Tom,” the friend replied. “Well, Tom, I’m moving tomorrow,” the man said. “Can I count on you to give me a hand?” “Is this in real life or on FarmVille?” Tom asked. “In real life?” the man answered cautiously. (He was often confused by the difference.) “Then no,” Tom said, simultaneously buying chickens on his smartphone. “We’re not that sort of friends.” “What sort are we?” the man asked, crestfallen. “The imaginary sort, I think,” Tom replied. At this, he began walking away, the proud owner of some new digital poultry. “So, I can’t count on you for anything?” the man shouted at Tom’s back. “Sure you can,” Tom replied cavalierly, now matching up jelly beans on Candy Crush. “If you post any adorable kitten videos on your wall, you can always count on me to ‘Like’ them!” Disenchanted, the man angrily whipped out his own smartphone. “Consider this relationship over then!” he barked impotently, searching for Facebook’s mythical “Unfriend” option. “What’s your last name again?!”

© 2014 Tony Vicory.