People are always curious as where do humorists get their wacky ideas all the time. Once awhile you may hit upon a funny line or silly joke, but to churn out an endless stream of funny ideas is no joke(no pun intended).

So, where and how do the professional comedy writers do it? It’s all up in the head and the deep secret is the thinking process. The combination of creativity and imagination is the first step that will lead your thoughts to the funny finish.

To be imaginative and creative, you got to let your mind wander freely and illogically even to absurdity. Don’t be inhibited.
Many a times, the best joke appeared in the most unexpected combination.

Here are five techniques which you can generate humorous ideas:

1.Incongruity - by pairing of opposites or contrasts.

2.Reverse - by switching or reverting of situations.

3.Similarity - by pairing of the same or similar things,

person or situations

4.Words - by using puns, oxymorons, cliches and figure of speech

5.Switches - by using others’ideas only as a starting point.

These are the four essential elements of humor:

1.Surprise - unexpected twist to the ending

2.Realism - truth or logic that can be related to or recognised

3.Exaggeration - simple distortion to the extent of absurdity

4.Victim - the butt of the joke

A freelancer from Malaysia who dabbles in both visual and performing art. Cartooning, script-writing, acting in TV and movies, doing voice, sound and singing impressions under the stage-names: Wacky Willy and SFX-Man.

Read more articles and free tips at: http://funny-ideas.blogspot.com/

Reach me at: kertoon@yahoo.com

The United States Government is spending like it is going out of style and some are now saying that we must cut back. Still our economy has grown like never before and our National Debt is still only a couple of percent of the total.

Nevertheless some are saying that America is spending itself into bankruptcy and the politicians have a never-ending pet project, sneak it in at the last minute, spend thrift attitude. Well recently at a coffee shop a liberal thinker told me; Wouldn’t it be nice if had money for Health Care and the United States Air Force had to hold a bake sale to by another bomber plane?

Yah well, I heard that joke before and was not phased, amazed or moved by his comments and then he said; We Should Build US Fighter Planes in Mexico with Chinese Parts to Save Money. I asked him what line of work he was in and he told be he use to build aircraft for Boeing in Everett, Washington and worked Union for 20 years.

Well that did not surprise me at all seeing as his jaded comments failed to take into consideration that our Government’s number one job is to protect the American People. And building fighter planes in Mexico, please, spare me the cynicism for a change, sheesh! Please consider all this in 2006.

“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; http://www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

The National Security Administration, admitting it has monitored the phone bills of millions of Americans, decided to palliate the perturbed populace by agreeing to pay half of every American’s phone bill.

While consumers lauded the action, reaction on Capitol Hill was mixed, with Republicans maintaining that such a gesture is fiscally irresponsible. To shore up their case, they pointed to their unimpeachable conduct in regard to the national debt.

Democrats by and large praised the gesture, with a Democratic member of The House Ways And Means Committee stating, “Do you know what it’s like to get a disconnect notice? I do. But I’m not sure my Republican counterparts on the Committee are even aware such unconscionable resources for collection exist.”

President Bush commented, “It doesn’t seem to me that phone bills pose a problem that should channel money away from the programs on which I prefer to squander the national treasure.”

But, so as not to flagrantly debilitate his already bottom-scraping approval numbers, he requested that the Federal Communications Commission examine whether or not the government has the right to help the public pay its phone bills.

Democrat Ted Kennedy was quick to respond, stating, “This is just another instance of how the current administration is out of touch with the true wishes of the American public. Why doesn’t George Bush call up a few average Americans and ask if they’d like the federal government to pay half of their phone bills?”

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

What is it with all the cats in the winter? Do they forget how to catch mice? They are so round and fat they look like they are going to explode, yet when you put food in front of them they eat as if they were starving. Sort of like my mother-in-law. Wait! Scratch that. Never mind. Don’t. What are the chances she’ll read anything I wrote? My sister-in-law can tell her.

We’re having a heat wave. It warmed up to 33 degrees. The icicles started melting and falling off of the house. One of them almost got the cat, like a spear. I’m sure that the scare took away one or two of his nine lives.
How come mice never have accidents. They chew through electric wires, cause fires, then run off into the fields. Maybe we could leave decoy food in the yard to lure them away from the house.

After all my house guests left, there wasn’t enough food left to interest the mice. I’ve devised a plan to rid myself of unwanted house guests. You know the kind. They stay and stay and eat and eat and complain.

1. Let the dog lick off the plates then put them directly into the cupboard. 2. Have husband belch loudly and pick his nose at the dinner table. Of course, if the house guest husband does this too, it probably won’t deter them. 3. Turn on hot water for washer when house guest is in the shower or flush the toilet. 4. Cook a lot of beans. They are cheap and loaded with protein among other things. 5. Have the neighbor children over and make sure they run through the house and get into everything. Mine do that anyway. 6. Run out of soap and toilet paper (hide some for yourself, of course). I tried running out and the house guest presented me with a grocery list. They can’t find a store or their wallet to contribute. I guess that the pleasure of their company is supposed to suffice. Oh, by the way, the beans everyday finally did the trick. Do you want to borrow my bean cookbook?

Granny Marge just published her second humor book, Granny’s Journal, following closely on the heels of her first one, Have I Ever Told You How Much I Hate People? Written by Two Little Old Ladies With No Friends.

According to Andy Jones, a member of the Best Practices
Search Engine Forums, fraudulent clicks are just another
aspect of the business. “Any of us that use AdWords or any
other PPC has to pay for a certain percentage of fraudulent
clicks,” he said in a forum discussion. “I factor it in as a
cost of doing business.”

Can you believe that? In other words, he’s saying, I know
the pay-per-click companies are stealing my money, but it’s okay, because I’ve considered that fact ahead of time.

Unfortunately, that mentality is pervasive among pay-per-click advertisers. No wonder the pay-per-click companies aren’t making stopping pay-per-click fraud a top priority. Who can blame them? If their advertisers don’t care, why should they? Heck, with all of the money the pay-per-click companies are making, it’s actually more cost effective to issue an occasional refund, than to develop technology to eliminate click fraud.

And if you read between the lines of the following
statement, Google even admitted as much:

In a recent filing to the Securities and Exchange
Commission, Google acknowledged, “We are exposed to the risk
of fraudulent clicks on our ads. We have regularly paid
refunds related to fraudulent clicks and expect to do so in
the future. If we are unable to stop this fraudulent
activity, these refunds may increase. If we find new
evidence of past fraudulent clicks, we may have to issue
refunds retroactively of amounts previously paid to our
Google Network members.”

That statement doesn’t exactly instill any confidence, now
does it?

And if Overture is asked about click fraud, they’ll just
issue their standard company line:

“Our Click Protection System is sophisticated software that evaluates each of our advertisers’ clicks. This software makes decisions as to the validity of any click. Our Click Protection System uses search and click data to make both rules-based inferences and pattern recognition-based inferences about which clicks are valid clicks. We have two patents pending related to this technology, so we cannot currently disclose too many details about the methods we use.”

Do you honestly think newspaper, magazine, radio or tv
advertisers would just sit back and let those media get away
with blatantly stealing their money? You know they wouldn’t.

Then why do pay-per-click advertisers allow it? I don’t know the exact answer to that question, but I have my theories: First of all, you’re talking about a whole different
level of sophistication with pay-per-click advertisers, compared to media advertisers. Many pay-per-click advertisers don’t even know how to access or even analyze their log files, so they have no idea how much money is actually being stolen from them.

In addition, some pay-per-click advertisers are making more money than they’ve ever made before. And rather than upset the apple cart, they’d rather keep quiet and allow the vicious cycle of click fraud to continue, so that they can keep cashing those big checks.

I also suspect many advertisers are afraid that if they complain too loudly, they may be penalized in the search engines, in regard to their free listings.

If my theories are accurate, silence is one heck of a trade off, if you ask me. Why? Because according to a report on MediaPost, an online study done by Clicklab revealed that fraudulent clicks can account for more than 50 percent of your total clicks.

So, if the goal of pay-per-click search engines is to bring lucrative, targeted traffic to your web site, what are the pay-per-click search engines doing about the click fraud epidemic, to prevent abuse that needlessly drive up your costs and reduce your ROI?

Unfortunately, since so many pay-per-click advertisers are willing to play the role of “lambs going to slaughter,” the pay-per-click companies really don’t have to do anything.

In the meantime, your ROI is going to continue to plummet, and the pay-per-click companies are going to continue to milk those cash cows (AKA) pay-per-click advertisers, for all they’re worth!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dean Phillips is an Internet marketing expert, writer,
publisher and entrepreneur. Questions? Comments? Dean can be
reached at mailto: dean@lets-make-money.net
Visit his website at: http://www.lets-make-money.net

“Everybody needs someone ….

“Everybody needs someone to Love Thaam. Everybody needs someone to love them.” Every morning as I left my back door onto the porch , there he was crooning. I thought he might scare the birds away but he attracted them instead. It took me 2 years of chucking quarters at them to get them to go away. Well he brought them back and they were pooping everywhere once again. Even in his apartment, they sure were. The man left his window open all the time with boxes of corn flakes and cat food sitting on the ledge. If it was not bird shit it was cornflakes I was cleaning up. This man loved birds so much that he carried a dead sparrow in his pocket. “Hello this is my friend” he would say as he held a bird in his palm. with its neck dangling to and fro. Man, talk about bird brained.

One day I came back from my trip from Jersey to find that my battery was dead. Someone broke in and played car. You know turned the head lights on, turn the wheel, vroom vroom noises, the whole works. Nothing stolen, just well hidden. See I thought someone had stole my bracket for my leaf-springs. No, but I did find them a year later stuffed under my seat. The man killed my battery and left my hydraulic jack in the rain. It seized. He just got in, flashed the lights and wipers and said ok!

If it was not bird shit or corn flakes it was broken railing posts and empty beer cans. For there was my other neighbor who kept mixing pot and alcohol. Not good. For next thing he knew he was punching moving cars. In the front grills. In one of his visits to the seventh floor, Joe the singing bird man would sit in the hallway and communicate with him through the closed door. Every morning for a week. See Bill was gone that week and was not to return for another three. But that did not phase Joe from not having these conversations. ” I know you Might not like me, but you could talk to me.” But Joe did have some friends, I think? One morning through my door I heard two voices, I think, planning their days intinary. The one said to the other or himself, that they should become freedom fighters for the day. Free themselves, or himselfs, from reality that is!

“Everybody needs someone to Love them” and sharp left kick and he is into the girls apartment below mine. He has been serenading these girls from outside their window now for a week. He thought it was time to make his move. They just put their hand on his forehead and just pushed back and slammed the door. Crazy maybe, but harmless.

We were sitting in Bills kitchen when Niagara falls hit. Drips were falling on our heads and hands. The cards were starting to stick togethor. We looked up and seen traces of yellowish brown line streak across the ceiling exposing every joint between sheet rock. Then came the rain, cubicles of water fell through dividing his kitchen into sixths. We knocked on Joe’s door. We asked him to turn off the water.

“But mister, I am paranoid of water.”

“Can you just turn it off !”

“Once I was walking through a park, and it was only raining on me.”

“Yeah, but can you turn the water off.”

“I am paranoid of water”

“Come down and you can see the water falling.”

“I don’t want to fight you mister”

“No just come see the water, I already invited you to have a beer”

“No mister, I am afraid of water.”

Then he was gone, apartment left for the birds. The biggest and most expensive apartment in the joint, bird shitted. Out lived his usefulness and his Veteran checks. Off to sunnydale farms. Just another insurance check collected for the landlord. In came the second hand white wash and the new neighbors. Rent raised and money saved on renovations, Land lord was doing well. But what about Joe? He served his purpose. Fought someone else’s battle and lost his own. Battled the tenancy levels of the state. Endowed the landlord full of property claims. But what about Joe? He just wanted someone to love him. That’s all.

I hate geese. I am an animal lover extraordinaire, with the exception of geese. You may wonder why this particular species engenderers such anathema, what could cause a sane, rational, mature woman who is otherwise very kind, to feel the way I do.

When I was five years old we moved from the coast of Oregon to Montana. My Grammy and Grandpa had moved there to homestead and my parents decided to go out too. The ocean air was hard on my lungs and I was sick all the time. There was a 100 acre farm for me to run around on, to build up my strength.

We drove to Montana in a chartreuse 1950 Ford. Mama filled the back seat with pillows and put my baby brother in an apple box beside me. I was in charge of him because I was reliable and loved babies. I could change a diaper as well as women four times my age. There were no seat belts back then, so our nest was for safety as well as for sleeping.

I was so excited the day we left. We were going on an adventure. To a sickly little girl who only attended four weeks of 1st grade, and spent the remainder of the time in bed, ill with fever, this was the best thing that ever happened. I had been put in first grade at five. By then I read out of medical books and huge mysterious tomes. They passed me to second grade by having teacher give me a skills test. I loved school, read everything and made up rhymes all the time.

My brother Richard was my obsession. Unlike an older child who resents the newcomer, I fell right into taking care of him and would rock him by the hour. He was four months-old when he rode to Montana in an apple box. Everything about him was sweet-smelling and fascinating. Mama had given me two coloring books and a box of crayons, but I spent most of the trip fussing over the baby.

As we were crossing the mountain pass, getting close to our destination, I heard my Mama gasp and the next thing I knew she was over the back of the seat, holding my face into the pillows, shrieking, “Don’t look!” It was years later that I learned there had been an accident and a man was decapitated, his lifeless head on the hood of his pickup. Most likely I would never have looked, but the incident loomed large in my child’s mind and I was crazy with curiosity, and my fertile imagination went right straight to work. A big deal only becomes a big deal if someone points it out. When I raised my children I remembered this incident and forced myself not to overreact to something a child might not even notice.

The snow in the pass captured my senses. That was the first snow I had ever seen. There may have been snow on the Oregon Coast, but it was never in such huge, random piles. Near the top we had to stop and wait for a road grader to plow a path for the cars in line. A pilot car would select five waiting travelers and guide them across to the start of the down side. Several times during our slow slide down, families of deer would hop down hills and run across the road. Daddy would apply the brakes and curse at the deer, but we didn’t hit one. There were all kinds of animals around. I would ask Mama what each one was and copy it down in my treasure book.

Daddy and Mama took turns driving the Ford. I had to keep Richard absolutely quiet while Daddy napped in the passenger seat. Daddy was a good man, a hard worker and a fair man, but he had a mean temper to him, and everybody worked real hard to help him not lose it. I would hold Richard to my chest and Mama would tie a dish towel around him and tie it at my back. For hours I would coo to him and rock him. The most special feeling in this world is a warm little baby next to your heart. He was the first of many babies I mothered. Now the babies are grown, but my two ferrets now receive the rocking. My female will sleep for hours being held.

I could tell when we were going into Montana. Daddy stopped the Ford on the gravel to the side of the road. Mama got out and they took turns taking pictures of all of us underneath a big sign that said, “Welcome to Montana, the Big Sky Country”. There was a long way to go yet, but this was the official seal on our trip.

The air had become sweet and warm, and Daddy rolled down the windows. I savored that fresh air blowing across my face. The smells were wonderful. Flowers and farms and huge fields of wheat each contributed to the intoxicating brew. Everything was new and different, and though I had cried about having to leave the ocean behind, this country put its spell on me from the start.

Grammy lived seven miles outside of Kalispell. We went from the highway to a tar road and then to a crushed gravel road. Mama had lived in Montana before. She had kin everywhere. My grandfather and his young new wife lived in Whitefish with their three children, my mother’s step-brothers and step-sister. Iola was a big, comfy woman who taught school in Whitefish for years. I didn’t want to betray my loyalty to Grammy, so I tried real hard not to like her, but she was so sweet it was impossible.

For the moment though, these were future people. Grammy’s ranch was way out in the country. Finally my Mama sighted the house that was captured on film by Grammy’s old Kodak with its fold-out lens. I hadn’t know what to expect, so I was enchanted with everything. All the way out my folks had murmured about Grammy’s imagination and how the ranch was just a plain old homestead. As we turned down the gravel road to the dirt track I tried to drink in every single sensation. To memorize everything I saw. A wonderful little white cottage sat off the road. There was a big red barn out back and several outbuildings. There were flowers everywhere. Grammy passed her love of gardening on to me.

There was fuss and turmoil as Mama and Grammy cried and Walter, her new husband, and Daddy shook hands. Grandpa swooped me up and asked me what I thought about everything. I was mute. Sensory overload rendered me speechless. But Grandpa still smelled like Grandpa…a mixture of flannel shirts and the old briar pipe he kept clenched between his big yellow teeth. He understood that the baby would be the center of attention and took care to make me feel important too.

Grammy still peered quizzically through her wire-framed glasses, her sweet blue eyes a little bit out of focus. She was a little bit of a woman, not even close to five feet tall. So Grandpa put me down and she swooped me up in her floury, flowered apron and I felt serenity fill the world.

The electric hadn’t yet made it the seven miles out to Grammy’s. Grammy hated the electric anyway. Warm candles and kerosene lamps put soft edges on the world at night. There was an outhouse way out back, and once I smelled it, I understood its isolation. Right behind the house was a big mound with a door in it. The root cellar that kept foods over the winter. I excused myself to the bathroom, or outhouse in this case, and began running down the well-worn path. I had just passed the first outbuilding when something came roaring out of hiding, hissing and squawking, wings a million miles wide. It was there I became acquainted with the species know as goose. Before Grandpa could reach me these foul fowl pushed at me with their wings and screeched so loudly I was sure I would go deaf.

Candy and Dandy, the ranch geese. One or the other of them kept nipping at my shirt and trying to get their beaks around my thin arms. Grandpa finally rescued me and sent the homicidal couple to the side of the shed. The adults were all laughing and I realized it was something I was supposed to find amusing.

Candy and Dandy stood at the edge of the outbuilding, still hissing and flapping their enormous wings. Grandpa walked me on past them and let me continue to the outhouse. I had never used an outhouse before. Since there were no gas stations or rest areas back then, travelers found a brushy spot to make a stop, and I had done that many times. The outhouse stood on a little hill, and had a half-moon in the door. The boards were rough and uneven. When I pulled on the leather strap to open the door a cloud of flies were buzzing inside. Big blue bottle flies that shone shiny in the sunshine peering through the sides. The smell hit me and for a minute I considered just going back to the house, but I had to go so I stepped up inside. There were two holes with wooden lids and the obligatory Sears and Roebuck catalogs.

Somehow I managed not to fall into the rancid holes and wiped myself with a page of wringer washers. I would have taken a deep breath, but the stench would probably have leveled me.

Watching carefully through a crack in the outhouse door, I looked around for the disastrous duo. They were no where to be seen, so I started down the path to the house. As I came even with the tack room I heard murmuring noises. My young girl instinct just knew it was the geese again. It was. Out from around the tack room they came, heathens from hell.

Grammy’s ranch was wonderful. I ran around so much that first day that I was awake all night screaming with cramps. It was my first memory of pain. Grammy and Mama took turns massaging my calves. Grammy got a jar of bear grease and worked it into my legs. Finally I fell asleep, after one of Grammy’s hot toddies. The nastiest stuff you ever put in your mouth. It was her cure for everything and I grew to dread any sign of infirmity that might call for forcing that noxious fluid down my throat. It had another benefit though. It was whiskey laced with lemon and who knows what else. I never had to worry about becoming a drinker - just the smell of whiskey nauseates me.

Next day the time finally came when I couldn’t put off a trip to the outhouse any longer. I prayed one of the adults would escort me past those Nazi geese. Wrong. I was a big girl and they were only geese. As soon as they got used to me everything would be fine.

So, there I went, wobbling on legs that threatened to collapse beneath me. Fiery pain from my calves pulsing with my heartbeat. I slunk along as quietly as I could, looking for any sign of Candy and Dandy. About midway I heard a rustle and my heart went cold. It was a rustle of goose wings. Waiting, I knew I would never make it to the outhouse. Here they came! Bullying, biting and beating with their wings. Until they caught wind of the bear grease. Their beaks shook like castanets as they tried to wipe the grease off that they had gotten onto themselves from me.

Apparently geese don’t like the smell or taste of bear. Both of them backed off and turned to waddle away. Not feeling particularly sympathetic, I raised my arms out wide and went after the devilish duo, squawking at the top of my lungs. Then I began making bear noises, or what I perceived as bear noises. Those geese goose-stepped as fast as they could go. Shrieking in absolute rage, the geese headed for the barn without looking back.

I was intoxicated with power. For the next few years I rubbed myself with bear grease every day. It wasn’t much appreciated at school, but I didn’t care. As long as it kept those horrible geese away from me, I was thrilled. My little behind remembered the feeling of being goosed and I questioned God as to why He had to waste time making geese.

Bring on lions and hippos, Tasmanian Devils - I’ll take them all on. But if I never saw another goose again in my life I would be delighted.

Sherry Asbury is a Portland, Oregon fixture. Her work appears in all types of venues, and she is well-known as a advocate for the homeless and for domestic violence, with her work appearing regularity in a newspaper for the homeless. She lives with her two rescue-ferrets, Amber and Rascal.

- Stop breathing ozone immediately. You know you can if you try.

- Do not strike matches near an open nuclear power plant.

- Do not rub either your scalp or your bosom with the latest scientific breakthrough.

- Never sit next to strangers in movie theaters, churches, or hot tubs.

- Never ride with a teenager wearing a Dukes of Hazzard T-shirt.

- Do not store feminine hygiene products in a microwave oven.

- Avoid harmful fats — particularly those name Gloria.

- Never go swimming immediately after eating a day-old tuna and mayo sandwich.

- Avoid death-defying rides at amusement parks — especially those that have carried 10 million people without an accident.

- Avoid wearing tight designer jeans, since the dye used in some designer labels, when sat on by laboratory rats, caused dishpan tail.

- Avoid medical care by licensed physicians. Even if the treatment causes no harmful side-effects, the bill can prove fatal.

- Be satisfied with what you have. Stay away from pyramid parties, gurus, Nigerian email offers, and marriage counselors.

Follow the wise though goofy suggestions above and you will have an excellent chance at survival. But just in case, always wear clean underwear.

About the Author

Joe Hickman, a veteran writer for comedians and public speakers, is editor of HaLife.com

Dear parents, When I was a teenager, at school the boys wore tight black chinos and loud plaid ‘cowboy’ shirts. The girls wore cotton dresses and bobby socks. When we went out, we were dressed up in a nice suit and the girls wore fancier dresses and bobby socks. Now, I”m ashamed to bring my grandchildren to a classy restaurant. They have nothing decent to wear, just their peer pressure impossible clothes their parents paid a fortune for. Can somebody explain how they got to pick what they picked? It’s even hard to tell the boys from the girls. No, I don’t think the schools should go back to wearing uniforms, but green hair? Here’s a poem I wrote about the new generation. Confused in Morristown.

Where do the teenagers get their fashions?
With everyone else they seem to be clashin’.
The twenties noveau brought in dropped waists;
Now the dropped crotch is much in good taste.
Tight sweaters were all the rage in the forties,
Triple X tents are now considered jaunty.
A farmer wore jeans for their work as a digger;
Today with worldly teens, jeans are d’rigeur.
While I don’t suggest they should all be frumps,
Why do they wear them all at once?

Retired portrait photographer. Comments anyone?

If you’ve ever found yourself inching up on the car in front of you to read their bumper stickers, you’re not alone. Bumper stickers are a means of proclaiming your views on life, politics, sports, your religious affiliation, and virtually any other arena. Whether you want the world to know you support your local school, your hometown sports team, or a certain politician, bumperstickers can be the means to do so.

Bumper stickers can be funny, crazy, thought provoking, silly, intelligent, or rather stupid. They can bring a smile to the reader’s face or make the person in the car behind you angry. By wearing your thoughts on your bumper, you can proclaim your personality or your priorities to the world. There’s no doubt that, based upon the bumperstickers adorning a vehicle, others make assumptions about the car’s driver.

Some of the most amusing bumper stickers I’ve encountered are:

Social Security Has Me Feeling Unsocial and Insecure

My Best Friend Says I’m Insane, But Who Listens to Dogs Anyway?

If Opportunity Knocked on My Door, I Must Have Been in the Shower

Work is a Four-Letter Word

Rash Decisions Make Me Itch

Yes, This is My Van. No, I Won’t Help You Move

A Waist is a Terrible Thing to Mind

I’ve Forgotten More Than I’ve Ever Learned

Bumper stickers can also make great marketing tools, whether for a cause or an organization. Custom-made bumper stickers are relatively inexpensive, yet can help spread the message you’re trying to convey. If you have a message to promote, you can order custom-made bumper stickers and pass them out at your next meeting or event.

Bumper stickers can also help to raise money. Having a variety of bumper stickers, along with pins and T-shirts, which are funny or thought provoking can do double duty for merchandising and marketing. The only caveats are that they should be in good taste (in the eyes of your prospective customers), that they are clever, and that they relate to the mission of the group or organization.

Overall, bumper stickers can be a delightful form of self-expression and serve to entertain other drivers while you’re on the road. The entertainment value of bumper stickers can go one step further, especially if you have one or more children in the car on a long day of errands. You can encourage the kids to play the “Alphabet Game” using bumper stickers. The rules are that, starting with the letter “A,” they must find each letter of the alphabet on a bumper sticker. This game can keep them engaged for quite awhile, particularly when they get stuck on the letters “Q” and “Z”!