Tosha Anderson, founder of The Charity CFO, lays out for charities & non-profits the mandatory adaptations, where new funding sources lie, how to woo and maintain business sponsorships, and an array of new, vital fiscal tools. Listen in to: Charities’ Survival Guide in Covid Times https://theartoftheceo.com/
At last, here is your complete sourcebook of business humor. Here’s your chance to dip in, seize a fistful of wry wit, and pass it along to your fellow chaingangers at work. Bart Jackson believes that the greatest wisdom flies in on the wings of laughter, and for the last decade he’s become known as the man who portrays business in the jocular vein. Bart’s Business Quips books have provided professionals with barrelsful of quotable zingers to spice up their workdays and their presentations. As host of The Art of the CEO radio show, Bart has been joyously jesting at the lunacies, piercing the pomposities, and celebrating those clever, inventive folks who make up the business community. This volume culls and combines the very best and funniest of his quips, jovial repartee with radio guests, and those sardonic, final takeaway Parting Shots which Bart always launches with, “In the Words of My Wife’s Husband….” May you read, laugh, share, and grow nearly wise. P.S. Don’t miss Bart’s Curmudgeonopedia with its devilish definitions of business jargon.
“I recently went to a new doctor and noticed he was located in something called the Professional Building. I felt better right away.”
The controversial, counter-culture comedian authored Brain Droppings, and made millions laugh over his routine: “The Seven Dirty Words that are keeping us from winning the war.”
– George Carlin
I drove out of state to visit my mother, but her state’s police wouldn’t let me in, nor would her gated community. So I headed back home, and my state won’t let me back in. Oh well, at least I’m maintaining social distance.
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About 5:15 pm take your coffee, sit outside, and watch the army of your locked-down neighbors finally stagger out of their homes in outlandish attire, and blink into the light. There is no more intriguing people-watching venue on the Champs Elysees in Paris.
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Ten years ago I valet-parked cars in the lot of our local restaurant. Today, I now wait tables outside on that same lot – and get bigger tips. Covid’s got me moving up in the world, without changing locations.
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So now my state allows me to dine inside a restaurant where the waiter standing fifty feet from the kitchen takes twenty minutes longer to deliver my food than he did last week, when I was sitting a hundred yards away out in the parking lot.
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‘Tis the electoral season and the candidates are in full spin – literally. As I understand the speeches, marching protestors are courageous patriots seeking liberty, if the politician believes they will vote for him. The violent thugs and marauding looters are those carrying banners for the opposition.
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Bart’s elevator pitch is brilliantly clever. Trouble is, unless the elevator runs from Baltimore to Bangor, he can never finish it.
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I truly admire everyone efforts to fill us with good cheer during these times, and I’m sure I could pull myself out of the dumps if only my investments would turn around and lead the way. (When the liquor business booms – beware your portfolio, my friend.)
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Now that the president’s name is printed on the stimulus checks, they may be issued in hopes that, like a small child swallowing a dime, they may quickly pass through, providing no effect on the child, and go on to stimulate the corporations so desperately in need. (Notice: they were not called “public aid checks.)
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Our office is finally opening up, rotating small groups back in, beginning with the most essential. Based on my value, looks as if I’ve got a vacation until November.
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I don’t get all this fuss about wearing masks. Most folks I meet put on a mask every day to protect me from discovering their darker side. So now their being encouraged to mask up and protect themselves from my darker, diseased side. What’s the big deal?
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Campaigning politicians have gotten so desperate during this lockdown that they have stopped begging for your money and are actually phoning to explain why they’d like your vote.
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Covid-19 lockdown has been particularly tough on the young. Many teens have become so bored they are reduced to texting their own parents across the dinner table – and not asking for money.
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If you doubt that this virus has perched every sector of America on the edge of financial ruin – wait a minute. There’s bound to be a telebeggar calling in who will happily explain it to you.
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I learned that the Rockettes are giving free aerobic classes online. So I grabbed a cold beer, tuned in, and I must say it really works – my heart hasn’t raced this fast in years.
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I truly admire everyone efforts to fill us with good cheer during these times, and I’m sure I could pull myself out of the dumps if only my investments would turn around and lead the way. (When the liquor business booms – beware your portfolio, my friend.)
***
Now that the president’s name is printed on the stimulus checks, they may be issued in hopes that, like a small child swallowing a dime, they may quickly pass through, providing no effect on the child, and go on to stimulate the corporations so desperately in need. (Notice: they were not called “public aid checks.)
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The surest way to avoid the truth is to seek it in a survey. Do you a) strongly agree. b) strongly disagree c) don’t give a damn.
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This morning I knocked on the back door of a store and a man wearing a mask sold me one large pack of toilet paper. I felt half way between the 1950’s Soviet communist shopper and a Prohibition era alcoholic trying to enter a speakeasy.
This virus is harsh – I’ve finally learned to handle the social distancing, but it’s the fiscal distancing – watching my money drift ever further away, that’s crushing me.
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One thing I’ve learned from this virus is gratitude for everything from friendship to toilet paper. Before it, I was like the farmer so busy praying for rain that I forgot to hold out my cup in a thunderstorm.
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Social Media is a mask that allows you to scream to an audience of thousands tales that would make you blush crimson if told to one friend in a bar room.
Twenty some years ago my wife Lorraine awoke and assured me that I was craving to build an authentic Japanese Teahouse in our back meadow. So I did – and the original thatch has lasted a quarter century. These pictures show the new bundles of thatch I scythed down, hauled up, and tied down onto the roof, with a lot of help from my buddy – Thanks Marvin. Everyone should have a retreat, be it for solitude and/or contemplation with a few close friends.
