Ouch! Only one time, I hope. That is too funny.
Once when I was traveling I had a stop-over in an Appalachian town. I was taking the train out, and I spent some time waiting on the platform, just looking around.
I struck up a conversation with a local gent, who was sitting on a bench whittling. We talked some time.
I noticed a cat lying about on the platform, and it was kid of odd. It had no tail. I motioned to the local, “Manx cat?”
“Nope,” said, continuing his whittling. “3:40 express.”
Lot’s of time the government is more funny than should be allowed. Enjoy the weekend.
A doctor in a small town was giving his patient some bad news. “I’m sorry, Mr. Henderson, but I have to tell you that you have diphtheria. You need immediate treatment.”
The patient replied, “Then I’m sorry, Dr. Smythe, but I’m going to get a second opinion.”
The doctor was shocked. “Mr. Henderson, why do you doubt my diagnosis?”
“Because, Dr. Smythe, last year Dr. Allison diagnosed Tom Jacobs with diphtheria, and he died of the flu.”
Dr. Smythe sought to calm his patient. “Mr. Henderson, I assure you that if I diagnose you of diphtheria, you will die of diphtheria.”
Getting funnier by the day. Take the weekend off.
Henry was minding the store he had on the main street in town when the phone rang.
“Yes, this is Henry Jackson speaking.”
“Do you know a Mr. Edward Kittridge?”
“Known him since he was a boy.”
“Well, this is Fred Harris here at the bank, and Mr Kittridge has applied for a loan. He said you could vouch for him.”
“You must have the wrong Eddie Kittridge, because the Eddie Kittridge I know is dead.”
“Dead? How do you know he’s dead?”
Because he told me on Monday that unless he was dead he would be in on Tuesday to pay me the $50 he owed me.”
“Thank you Mr. Jackson.”
It’s the final Friday of the year. Enjoy.
“Nevile plays the trumpet, also, and you really must hear him play. He plays just like Roger Voisin.”
“I’m sure he plays quite well, madame,” Marsalis reassured her. “Roger Voisin was in his time the greatest all around. But you need to have him audition at a music school. That’s the best route to success.”
“No,” the woman persisted. “I can’t get them to give him an audition. But I’m sure that if you hear him play you would want to help him. I have a recording right here. Let me play it for you.”
With that the woman punched a button on her iPod and the mellow sound of a trumpet filled the air. Marsalis was taken aback. The sound of the trumpet was as professional as he had ever heard. “That’s your son playing?” he asked.
“No,” the woman replied. “That’s Roger Voisin. But Nevile plays just like that.”
Yeah, I find this humorous, as well. Enjoy your weekend.
Madelaine inherited her parents’ fabulous wealth and flowered into a maid of stunning beauty. She decided to devote her life to purity, and she repaired to her stately home and waited for the right man to come. He never did.
The flower withered, and Madelaine, alone and facing the inevitable, held to a life of purity. The end approached.
It was a dark night, and Madelaine lay in her bed and wondered at life’s choices. Out of the darkness a light glowed and a vision appeared. “Madelaine,” a voice spoke to her. “You have lived a pure life, and you should be rewarded. I can grant you two wishes and the opportunity to reconsider. What is your first wish?”
Madelaine grasped a the chance for redemption, and she spoke her first wish. “I desire to be young and beautiful again,” and the room brightened, and she saw once again the seductress of years past.
“For my second wish,” Madelaine told the spirit, “I want my faithful cat Brutus to be transformed into a young and strong-hearted man who will come to me in my bed.
There was the sound of a gong being struck, and Brutus, who had grown startled at what was transpiring, was instantly replaced by a strapping youth of obvious vigor. He gazed at Madelaine in surprise, seeking an answer.
“Brutus,” Madelaine asked him, “you appear puzzled. Is there something you want to ask me?”
Brutus spoke. “Yes, my dear Madelaine. Do you now regret having me neutered?”
Wow! Just wow. How many different ways are there to say, “Mission accomplished?” Good thing it’s Friday.
Herbie was born and grew up in Queens, more properly Queens Borough, New York. His friend Nathan from time to time pestered Herbie with wacky ideas. One day Nathan came in all excited.
“Herbie,” he exclaimed. You have got to come to see this woman I met yesterday. Her name is Miss Yarna, and she tells me fantastic things. She tells me things about myself that only I know.”
Herbie was nonplussed. He told Nathan that kind of business was fake and nonsense. But Nathan was persistent. “Herbie, she can put you in contact with your grandmother, your Bubbe.”
Herbie figured he needed to get Nathan clued in, so he went along with him to visit Miss Yarna. Miss Yarna was properly impressive. She wore a long, flowing gown, and her hair was stacked almost to the ceiling. Nathan introduced Herbie, and he told Miss Yarna that Herbie wanted to communicate with his Bubbe, who had been dead five years.
Miss Yarna told the two she would enter a trance and would speak to them in Bubbe’s voice. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth. Finally she began to speak. She reminded Herbie how she told him to always eat his vegetables and to not run around with fast women. And much more. Finally Bubbe asked Herbie if he had a question he wanted her to answer.
Herbie, obviously entranced, thought for a moment and then spoke. “Bubbe, when did you learn to speak English?”
Do not…. I repeat, do not hold your breath waiting for free gas. It is just not there. And take the weekend off.
This was back in the previous century, when traveling carnivals visited farm communities in the Mid-West. The farmer was in the next county looking at farm machinery, and his harried wife was left to deal with their teenage boy.
Billy wanted to go to the carnival, but his mother resisted. Billy persisted, and the farmer’s wife finally relented. But she gave him some stern advice.
“Son, when you get amongst those carnival people, you are entering a different world. There is stuff you need to be aware of, things you aren’t meant to experience at your age. You can ride the rides, and you can take your turn at some of the games, but you need to avoid those tents that show girlie dancers out front.”
Billy was puzzled. “Why, momma? Why can’t I go in there and see the shows?”
His mother was adamant. “Son,” she told him, “If you go in there you are liable to see some things you shouldn’t see. Do you understand me?”
The boy assured her, and off he went to the carnival. He was back home a little before supper time.
As his mother prepared supper she grew suspicious. “Billy, did you have a good time at the carnival?”
“Yes, ma. I sure did,” Billy replied.
“Now, be honest with me, son,” she said. “Did you go into one of those tents I told you about?”
“Billy was despondent. He hung his head and admitted the truth to his mother. “Yes, ma, I did.”
“See, I told you so,” his mother told him. “And did you see some things you weren’t supposed to see?”
“Yes, ma. I did.” Billy was so ashamed.
“And what did you see, young man.”
“I saw my daddy sitting down on the front row.”
Do the crime, and you will not be allowed to do the time. And that is funny.
A curious email exchange
I’m coming home to get married soon, so get your check book out. I’m in love with a man who is far away from me.
As you know, I’m in Australia and he lives in Scotland. We met on a dating website, became friends on Face book, and had long chats on WhatsApp. He proposed to me on Skype, and now we’ve had two months of a relationship through Viber.
My beloved Dad, I’d like your blessing, good wishes, and a really big wedding.
Lots of love and thanks.
Your daughter, Lilly
My Dear Lilly,
Like wow! Cool!
I suggest that you two get married on Twitter, have fun on Tango, buy your kids on Amazon, and pay for it all through PayPal.
And when you get fed up with your new husband, sell him on eBay.
I will see your Hell, and I will raise you a Big Mac. And that’s all for the rest of the week.
Three virgin sisters were getting married, and their mother worried about how they would handle their wedding nights. She made each sister promise to send a post card from their honeymoon to let her know how things went.
The first card the mother received was from Hawaii. It said simply, “Nescafe.” The mother was puzzled, so she pulled out a jar of Nescafe and read the label. It said, “Great from beginning to end.”
The second card the mother received was from was from the Maldives. It said “Rothmans.” She knew it was a cigarette brand, so she searched out a pack of her husband’s cigarettes and read the label. It said, “Super Strong King Size.” She was a little shocked.
She received the third card from nearly a month after the wedding, from New Zealand. It said, “Air New Zealand.” She went to the library and found an ad for Air New Zealand. It read “Ten times a day, seven days a week, in all directions.”
Take a hint from the Commander-in-Chief, and take the rest of the week off.
In a prior century a weary traveler plodded through the night along a lonely English country road. Presently he came upon an inn, nestled amongst a stand of chestnut trees. The sign above the door read “St. George and the Dragon.” The traveler knew it was late, and the inn was surely closed, but he knocked at the door nonetheless.
Shortly a window above sprang open and the frizzled head of a surly matron thrust forth. Her voice enriched the night air. “What do you mean knocking me up at this ungodly hour, you scummy pig? Get thee to the farthest reached of Hell.” And the window shutters slammed shut.
The weary traveler was abject and crestfallen. Perplexed, he determined to persevere. Once again he knocked upon the inn’s door, and he stood back to observe the window above. Again it opened with a banging of shutters against the cold stones.
“So, you persist, Mr. shit head. What do you want?”
The traveler looked up at the awful face and he pleaded. “Please, madam, could I speak to St. George?”