My dad was a big man. Six-two, some two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. He was two-eighty or so at one time.
Once, he went on a public diet, along with other hefty local celebs–a radio deejay or two; a politician or three; John Mooney, the Trib’s sports’ columnist. I think Herman Franks, manager of the old Salt Lake Bees and former New York Giant catcher was one. All wanted to thin down. They called themselves the “Blubber Brigade”. Once a week my dad would report to the reading public their weekly success or failure.
When my mom first fell in love with my dad, friends would say, “But he’s fat.” My mom would answer, “But he makes me laugh.”
HE MAKES ME LAUGH
(c) 2010 by Daniel Valentine
There are men of worldly means,
Earthly goods, and riches,
Who’d have set me up in suites,
Each with household staff.
But my love I chose because
He keeps me in stitches.
He is not a man of wealth,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH.
There are men of world renown,
Household names with money,
Who’d have handed me blank checks
With their autograph.
But my love I chose because
He’s bust-a-gut funny.
He is not a man of fame,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH.
Friends wonder why
I’m no taken with the guy.
He’s not much to look at.
Not by half.
Some would even say he’s fat
And ask themselves, “What’s with that?”
Well, HE MAKES ME LAUGH.
There are notables I know
Who are sitting pretty.
Each of whom I said no to.
All must think me daff’.
But my love I chose because
He’s side-splitting witty.
He is far from well-to-do,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH–
My, how that man can make me laugh!–
And he thinks I’m funny too.
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME
(c) 2010 by Daniel Valentine
If you can make a woman laugh
In this world of ours gone daff’,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
If you can roll her in the aisle,
Turn concern into a smile,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
Sure, you’d love to wine-and-dine ‘er,
Buy her clothes by some designer,
Send her flowers, bring her candy.
All of which is fine and dandy.
But you’re broke! Not to choke.
Make her laugh. Tell a joke.
If you can make her slap her knee,
Grab her sides, go tee-hee-hee,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
If you can bring tears to her eyes,
Make her laugh until she cries,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
So you’ve none of earthly riches–
Pal, just keep your gal in stitches.
You don’t need a lotta money.
All you gotta be is funny.
Never mind that you’re broke.
Make her laugh. Tell a joke.
If you can make her spill her beer
While she’s grinning ear-to-ear,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
If you can make her roll about,
On the verge of passing out,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
Fill her heart and home with laughter,
Head to toe, floorboard to rafter.
Let the others buy her toddies,
Spend their dough as though their Saudis.
So you’re broke! Not to choke.
Perfect time for a joke.
If you can make her stamp her feet,
‘Fraid ‘a falling off her seat,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.
No need to buy a long-stemmed rose.
No box of chocks, no card with poem.
Just make her snort milk from her nose.
Make her laugh
And YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME
To happily-ever-af’.
Posted by Ed Darrell 
Millard Fillmore's Bathtub 