Category Archives: Humor




How much for that old pair of Shoes?

He fumbled around for some change.

They’re not for sale, my friend, said she.

Well why are they there for all to see?

I’m trying to rearrange.

He wiggled his barefoot toes

And wiped his runny nose.

“Rearrange what”, the fellow inquired,

“These raggedy shoes are about to expire,

They’d go just fine with my clothes.”

I see what you mean, said she,

I’ll give you these shoes for free.

“Could I have some socks and maybe a shirt,

And a pail of water to shed some dirt?

I’m really a sight to see.”

You’re not so bad, but yes.

I can even give you a vest,

There’s a pond nearby, you can take a bath

Here’s a towel to dry; my name is Cath.

He wanted to look his best.

“Freddy’s my name, he said

But you can call me Fred”.

On return he looked great.. Let’s celebrate,

We can get married; I’ll be your mate.”

And she rearranged his head.

Buffalo Joe Kills a Fly and a Gnat with a Single Swat (there were no pigeons around.)


On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the gnatty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy;  “Take that”.

And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.

And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.

So happy he was  that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).

The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the  man went SWAT once again

And returned to his image in the glass in the lav

And perfected the  knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”

So….what do you think of your brown-eyed boy now Mr. Cummings.

By Lee Broom. A spoof of Buffalo Bill’s Defunct by eecommings.


Image from Sandra Schou
(There’s a face in here somewhere)



As a  research aide for Doctoral candidates I got caught up for a time  in the sixties with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs which was in those early days a fairly new idea.

As an aide, my commitment was to the scholar I served and my guy at the time said “More Maslow”.

As a researcher with an eye to my own future I had a vision of helping would-be patients and troubled subjects to heal themselves. Maslow’s hierarchical bent apparently had little value to anyone but professional theorists and made self-help candidates dependent on the professional.

I need more time to write about this so by Monday, I expect to make some better.

If a reader has something to contribute, I’m interested.



Lovey (Dixie)   Age twenty.




My father was a well-respected man.

My father was a devout Baptist.

My father was the only Baptist in a  very large family.

My father died in 1976. By that time I was pretty sure that he was a Taoist, perhaps even a Buddhist but certainly not a Baptist.

Mother called my father Lovey and so did I.

Lovey called Mother Oodles and so did I.

Lovey did not insist that I follow in his footsteps; he encouraged me to ask questions (of myself) and to seek answers.

LEE:  Lovey, Oodles told me about Aristotle; who was Aristotle?

LOVEY: Look up Aristotle in The World Book, Lee.


LEE: I found a book on Aristotle at the library and I checked it out. I read the introduction and discovered that Aristotle had some very different ideas. What if Aristotle was wrong about everything, Lovey?

Should I read this book; whaddaya think?

LOVEY: Son, I think you should assume that everything in that book is wrong.

LEE: Okay Lovey, I’ll return it to the library tomorrow.

LOVEY: No, no Son, let me finish; I think you should first assume that this book is wrong and then I think you should read it. If you are going to judge a book with new information and you judge it to be good without ever having read it, then what is the sense of reading it.

By judging this book or any book with new ideas to be a  bookful of mistakes, then every line in that book will mean something to you. You won’t ever again need to ask your parents, your teacher, your friends or even your enemies if a book with new ideas is good or bad or some of each.

You may even be able to write your own books.

Would you like to be an author sharing fresh ideas?

LEE: Gee, Lovey; you’re the smartest father in the whole world.

Lovey only made it through the second grade. When his father Dr Broom died, Lovey who was Horace Dixie Broom, managed the family farm until World War One.

Dixie was fourteen by then and knew as much about medicine as any of the front-line medics. His new job in the Ambulance Corps had him picking up injured soldiers and with the help of others in the trenches got his passengers into a Mule Team Covered Wagon  and return them to the medical tents. He often had to patch up his passengers before bringing them aboard.

Lovey was not a blood relation, by the way.

Lovey  and Oodles, my Great-Aunt Marie adopted me in 1943. I was four years old. Oodles taught me to read in 1943. These new parents of mine bought me lots of books…

All of those books were wrong.







Barber: how much do you want me to take off?

Barbee: Just leave 1 ½ inches all over.

Barber: Okay but how much do you want to cut off?

Barbee: How long is it now?

Barber: (measures hair.) 4 inches here and 3 inches over here and 1 ½ over here, around the ears.

Barbee: Okay so remove 2 ½ inches here, 1 ½ inches over here and don’t cut around the ears.

Barber: That’s too difficult, how long do you want it to be?

Barbee:  Just leave 1 ½ inches all over.

Barber: That’s better; you shoulda said so in the beginning.


Dieter: I weigh 200 lbs. I am 5’10” and I want to get to down to 160 lbs.

Nutritionist: You are consuming 2000 calories daily. I want you to start eating 1500 calories daily.

Dieter: At 3500 calories a pound it’ll take me 40 weeks to lose the fat.

Nutritionist: Actually, if all you do is diet, much of the weight loss will be muscle.

Dieter: I want to lose weight and I want to do it in half the time. And I don’t want to lose any muscle.

Nutritionist: Great, so let’s add a five-mile jog every morning; that should do it.

Dieter: This is getting too hard. I can’t do what you ask.

Nutritionist: Have you ever successfully reached your desired weight and kept it off for more than a month?

Dieter: No.

Nutritionist:  Okay, I have a better method. Do the 1500 calorie diet and jog for fifteen minutes, four times a week. How does that sound?

Dieter: Great. How long is this for?

Nutritionist: The rest of your life. The 1500 calories is what you should have been eating all along for someone your height and level of activity. You’ve been trying to win by losing. Commit for life and you will become successful.  By the way, I can recommend a really great barber. You have very long hair, you could lose a pound with a good haircut; Just tell him to cut everything down to 1 ½ inches.



My method of controlling my addiction to sugar focuses primarily on the embossed, round  chocolate sandwich with the sweet white filling.

The Oreo attack seldom occurs at Circle K because I rarely go there.

I rarely go there because I know I’ll have an Oreo attack.

This beastly side of my nature makes itself known most often at Fry’s or Safeway (owned by Albertson’s which is owned in turn by Cerberus Capital Management which is named after the three-headed dog of Hades.)

My response is nearly always the same.

I buy the large family size Oreo package for five bucks and try to get home with my prize before opening.  If I raid the bag of goodies on the bus-ride home I risk the danger of incurring the wrath of a diabetic driver  angrily spouting the no-eating-on-the-bus rule and who weighs at least three hundred pound and may kill me for my Oreos if I fail to  obey.

On my arrival at the Lee Broom Kitchen I quickly count out five Oreos and open the Oreo hole on the garbage disposal which I call The Cookie Monster, abruptly  grabbing another five Oreos, then dumping the rest of the package.

I then open the faucet and flick the Oreo destruction switch and listen to the gurgling “thank you” from The Cookie Monster’s throat as the bulk of my prize flows into the kitchen’s intestines.

If you are wondering why I call this apparatus installed in my sink the Cookie Monster, nothing else has ever gone down that drain; I am a great vegan cook who eats every morsel of his five meals a day and who usually manages quite well, thank you, with one teaspoon of brown sugar on his morning oatmeal.

If you read about my Valentine cookies on Facebook four days ago, that particular day ended with an Oreo attack.

When I arrived at Circle K that evening the clerk greeted me with a smile. If you need your Oreos I keep a package for you here at the counter. How many bus tickets do you need?