Critic Jokes / Recent Jokes

Yesterday on our Superstar Talent Bitcom page, we got a comment on Episode 3. It came from a guy named John Kennedy. It said something like, “They did this on Extras, come up with something original.” Neil, who plays Avi on the show, woke me up and requested that I remove the comment, so I did. I think we were hoping for a few good comments prior to the hate mail and/or law suits.
Paraphrasing this piece by Teddy Roosevelt, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
So for all of you who are the watchers and not the doers in life, you can have your opinion(s), I can respect that, it’s a free more...

Here is a story about a famous food critic's recent visit to Europe last summer. He had a delightful time sampling the cusine in Italy, France and Germany, but he made the mistake of stopping off in London on the way home.

Needless to say, he found English food bland and overcooked. However, one day he had a great meal of fish & chips at a London pub. He asked the manager of the pub if he could have the recipe for the fish and chips.

The manager confessed that he bought his fish and chips from a nearby monestary, and so our critic would have to get the recipe from one of the brothers.

So he quickly ran down the street to the monestary and knocked on the door. When one of the brothers came to the door, he asked him if he were the "Fish Friar."
The brother repiled, "Nope, I'm the Chip Monk!"

Found Parable by J.D. McClatchy (published in the 15 November 1993 issue of the New Yorker, p. 72)
In the men's room at the office today
some wag has labelled the two stalls
the Erotic and the Political.
The second seems suitable for the results
of my business, not for what thinking
ordinarily accompanies it.
So I've locked myself into the first because,
though farther from the light bulb overhead,
it remains the more conventional
and thereby illuminating choice.
The on its walls is more desperate.
As if I had written them
there myself, but only because by now
I have seen them day after day,
I know each boast, each plea,
the runty widower's resentments,
the phone number for good head.
Today's fresh drawing:
a woman's torso, neck to outflung knees,
with breasts like targets and at her crotch
red felt-tip "hair" to guard
a treasure half would, half wisecrack.
The first critic of desire more...