Ha ha ha. Losers walking back to their cars. They just lost the rent money.
That’s my observation about the Indian casinos up here. AI calmed my rant down. Apparently AI has decided I need adult supervision. It rewords the jokes so I don’t start an international incident before breakfast.
Then you hear about people telling AI about criminal activity.
What the hell are you doing?
Next thing you know, they’re sitting in court and somebody’s reading their AI chats.
“What did you tell the computer?”
“I might have mentioned I’m a coke dealer.”
Well, there’s your problem.
I can see the judge now.
“Ten years in Sing Sing. And I’m adding another six months for being that damn stupid.”
AI does give pretty good advice, though. Everything under the sun. Marriage, money, music, philosophy.
Probably criminal defense, too.
First question:
“Did you already tell AI what you did?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. We’re gonna need a better lawyer.”
Now, on to something more important.
What if humans walked around naked like the rest of the animals?
I’ve never seen an embarrassed raccoon in my life.
Dogs certainly don’t have a problem with it. A dog will stand naked in the front yard licking himself while making eye contact with the neighbors.
Not one ounce of shame.
I’ve never seen a deer blush either.
So who wrote all these clothing rules?
I think it was the first clothing store in the Garden of Eden.
“Adam, buddy, you cannot walk around like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve got a sale.”
That’s how civilization started.
Half-price fig leaves.
Buy one, get Eve’s free.
“You really ought to wear clothes.”
“Well, I don't really want to.”
“Everybody’s doing it.”
“Fine. I’ll follow the crowd. But I feel like a sheep.”
Then it got completely out of hand.
Neckties. Matching shoes. Designer underwear.
A necktie makes absolutely no sense. We took a strip of cloth, tied it around our throat and decided it means we have a good job.
Then somebody tried selling me silk jockey shorts.
No thanks.
My boys need to breathe.
They’ve been with me my entire life and they’ve earned some ventilation.
And here comes Halloween again—or Satan’s Day, as Elvis is fond of calling it.
Halloween is the one day of the year when we celebrate everything people are scared of the other 364 days.
Ghosts.
Demons.
Witches.
Graveyards.
Death.
“Those things are evil!”
“When?”
“Every day except October 31st.”
Retailers figured it out.
“Would you like this six-foot skeleton?”
“No. That represents death and terrifies me.”
“It’s 40 percent off.”
“I’ll take two.”
Nothing defeats evil like a clearance sale.
By November 1st, Satan is back in storage next to the inflatable snowman.
Retailers are thrilled.
Satan had another profitable quarter.
And finally, some actual good news from the Elvis Nash Medical Department.
The doctors told me today I don't need heart surgery or shoulder surgery right now. They're going to test me again next year and see where everything stands.
Well, hell, that's all I needed to hear.
If nobody is cutting me open, Elvis is going back to work.
Studio Monday.
He did miss the blood test report cuz he was stressed out on Harvard surgeons making money off him
Will see if he caught every disease known to man kind . He is not worried about VD, he only talks to young women not end up in Motel 6 and forgot the condoms .
Then he laughed and said these are my fucking Golden Years .







https://www.instagram.com/reel/DdX-yc0RIrV/?stkn=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Last edited by bennash; 09/18/26 07:04 AM.
We’re all built from the same dust and dreams,
Different roads, but the same means.