Sunday, January 30, 2011
It seems that an elephant got too close to all the baby ducks the circus had brought in for Easter, and accidentally inhaled a bunch of them.
The poor elephant was choking on them and no one could help. Finally the trainer goosed him — and the elephant blew out a whole trunk full of downy feathers.
Yep! That’s what he gets for snorting quack.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
It seems that during that famous battle, Col. Wm. B. Travis, the guy in charge of the whole thing put his wife, of all people, on the battle line. She was shot by the enemy, shattered her patella, and had to be removed from the front line.
After the fighting was over, she divorced her husband, and … sued for Alamo knee.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
To all you texters out there....be very very careful!
I have noticed that many of you who text-message & e-mail have forgotten the "art" of capitalization. I don’t particularly like it, but I would never be so presumptuous as to try and change any of you. However, let me just say that:
Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack
off a horse, and helping your uncle jack off a horse.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
A new woman lawyer joined their law firm. One day she overheard the remaining three talking about their golf round in the break room. Curious, she spoke up, “You know, I used to play on my golf team in college and I was pretty good. Would you mind if I joined you next week?”
The three lawyers looked at each other. They were hesitant.
Not one of them wanted to say ‘yes,’ but she had them on the spot. Finally one man said it would be okay, but they would be starting pretty early at 6:30 am. He figured the early tee-time would discourage her immediately. The woman said this might be a problem and asked if she could possibly be up to 15 minutes late. They rolled their eyes but said this would be okay.
She smiled and said, “Good, then I’ll be there either at 6:30 or 6:45.”
She showed up right at 6:30 and wound up beating all three of them with an eye-opening 2-under par round. She was a fun and pleasant person the entire round. The guys were impressed. Back in the clubhouse they congratulated her and happily invited her back the next week.
She smiled and said “Sure, I’ll be here at 6:30 or 6:45.”
The next week she again showed up at 6:30 Saturday morning.
Only this time, she played left-handed.
The three lawyers were incredulous as she still managed to beat them with an even par round despite playing with her off-hand. By now the guys were totally amazed, but wondered if she was just trying to make them look bad by beating them left-handed. They couldn’t figure her out.
She was again very pleasant and didn’t seem to be showing them up, but each man began to harbor a burning desire to beat her.
In the third week they all had their game faces on. But this week she was 15 minutes late. This had the guys irritable because each was determined to play the best round of golf of his life to beat her. As they waited for her, they figured her late arrival was some petty gamesmanship on her part. Finally she showed up.
This week the lady lawyer played right-handed, which was a good thing since she narrowly beat all three of them. However, she was so gracious and so complimentary of their strong play, it was hard to keep a grudge against her. This woman was a riddle no one could figure out.
Back in the clubhouse she had all three guys shaking their heads at her ability.
They had a couple of beers after their round which helped the conversation loosen up.
Finally one of the men could contain his curiosity no longer. He asked her point blank, “How do you decide if you’re going to golf right-handed or left-handed?”
The lady blushed and grinned. She said, “That’s easy. When my dad taught me to play golf, I learned I was ambidextrous. I have always had fun switching back and forth.
Then when I met my husband in college and got married, I discovered he always sleeps in the nude.
From then on I developed a silly habit. Right before I left in the morning for golf practice, I would pull the covers off him. If his “you-know-what” was pointing to the right, I golfed right-handed and if it was pointed to the left, I golfed left-handed.
Astonished at this bizarre information, one of the guys shot back, “But what if it’s pointed straight up in the air?”
She said, “Then I’m fifteen minutes late.”
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
A local man was found murdered in his home over the weekend.
Detectives at the scene found the man floating face down in his bathtub. The tub was filled with milk and corn flakes, and the deceased had a banana protruding from his nose.
Police suspect a cereal killer.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
A husband and wife were having dinner at a very fine restaurant when this absolutely stunning young woman comes over to their table, gives the husband a big open mouthed kiss, then says she’ll see him later and walks away.
The wife glares at her husband and says, “Who the hell was that?”
“Oh,” replies the husband, “she’s my mistress.”
“Well, that’s the last straw,” says the wife. “I’ve had enough, I want a divorce.”
“I can understand that,” replies her husband, “but remember, if we get a divorce, it will mean no more shopping trips to Paris, no more wintering in Barbados, no more summers in Tuscany, no more Infinity or Lexus in the garage and no more yacht club. But the decision is yours.”
Just then, a mutual friend enters the restaurant with a gorgeous babe on his arm.
“Who’s that woman with Jim?” asks the wife.
“That’s his mistress,” says her husband.
“Ours is prettier,” she replies…
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Men and women have two distinct views about a wedding. The husband-to-be wakes up in the morning, plays a round of golf and counts the minutes until he has to be at the altar.
The wife-to-be, on the other hand, wakes up in the morning and is panicking. She immediately begins to organize things, making sure everything is in proper order. In her mind she is repeating what she has to do.
“All I have to do is go down the aisle, get to the altar, and listen to the wedding song.” She repeats this over and over again, until she begins to shorten it to three words which she continues to repeat…
“Aisle, altar, hymn.” “Aisle, altar, hymn.” “Aisle, altar, hymn.”
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A family of skunks lived together, happily looking after each other. The two children, named In and Out, were especially close.
One day they played hide and seek into the evening. At dusk the mother called them to dinner, but only Out came in.
“Where is your brother In, Out?” asked the father skunk, sitting down to the dinner table.
“I thought he came in ahead of me,” said Out.
“Well he didn’t, so go out and find In before you find yourself in serious trouble!” warned the impatient father.
It was now quite dark, but after searching for only a few minutes, Out found In and told him he’d better be getting inside quickly or they’d both be out of luck.
On seeing her two darlings return, the mother gushed, “Oh Out, how clever you are! How did you find your brother in the dark so quickly?”
“Not so difficult, Mother dear. Instinct.”
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
A couple of nights ago, I actually took the time to watch some television. This is something I don’t do much of, and hence, I have absolutely no clue of what programs might be of interest, and when they might air. So, with my usual spate of luck, I picked the night when there was nothing of interest. Only humorless sit-coms, and sensationalized gossip masquerading as journalism.
In one of my journeys through the channels I paused briefly on the local news. There is, it seems a dangerous remnant of Hurricane Bonnie lingering in the area — mosquitoes.
These mosquitoes are transmitting some infection which is resulting in encephalitis. Nasty. Soon, however, I switched channels and the news became a thing of the past.
The story, however, tripped something in my brain and brought up the a memory of an old Discovery Channel program I had seen on a similar situation several years ago. It was either in Wales or New England. I can’t remember. And it really doesn’t matter. The program had to do with a variety of gnat-like bugs which were infesting flowers–primarily those in florist-shops. The bugs, called “Renwick Fliers” after some 18th century British botanist who discovered them, were apparently coming in on flowers from India or maybe Africa . Normally, the fliers are only of minor annoyance. While they do bite, the bites rarely react, and leave no itchy spots.
The fliers that had come in this time, however, were different. They were some new mutation which had different tolerances and a slightly different body chemistry–just enough to make things interesting.
You see, normal Renwick Fliers are easily killed by some of the more common insecticides. These little critters, however, seemed immune to virtually everything. And to top it off, they were carrying a virus, which affected humans. Now the virus was nowhere near as serious as the one we have here, but it was bad enough. A rather nasty case of bronchitis was the normal result. For small children, people with asthma, emphysema, or reduced immunity, it could progress into pneumonia.
The florists were in quite a problematic situation. Several of them went out of business, and despite insurance coverage, many others were in danger of it also. The word had gotten out that the fliers were coming from the florist shops. Business plummeted. The Florist union (or whatever it’s called) forked over some serious money to find something that would kill these bugs–without harming the customers who would be sniffing the flowers. The solution came from an unexpected corner. The florists were, of course, looking at chemical insecticides to eradicate the fliers.
A British university, however, proposed another solution. They had been experimenting with natural enzyme compounds for use as “organic” pesticides. These pesticides would, they hoped, be a much safer and eco-friendly alternative to the chemicals currently used.
The university had been having a fair but of success with compounds made from the enzymes of various animals: pigs, cows, chickens, and sheep being primary among them. With the blessing of the Florists, the university acquires a supply of the fliers and began to attack the problem. They solved it in less than 3 days. An enzyme found in the urine of pregnant sheep proved to be extremely deadly to the mutant fliers. It took something like 5 ppm (parts per million) to effectively kill them. By the end of the week, the fliers were dead.
So, I guess what they say is true, “Only ewes can prevent florist fliers.”
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The businessman who did the work denied responsibility. He righteously proclaimed that . . . “Everybody knows that old habits dye hard.”
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
An extremely red-faced man stormed into the tiny shop on the corner of Lingot and Main. Pushing his way past the assorted browsers, he bore down on the sales counter like a Scud missile.
The lone clerk regarded him with some trepidation.
“I want to speak to the manager,” he demanded.
“I’m sorry Sir, Mr. Mowbray isn’t in today. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“You’re darn right there is,” he sputtered, his anger gushing out like urine in a pub. He reached into his pants pocket, extracted a tattered wallet and slammed it down on the counter.
“I bought this piece of trash here only two months ago and now look at it. It’s falling apart. Forty-nine ninety-five it cost me! Forty-nine ninety-five,” he added for more emphasis. “Can you believe that?” His face was getting redder.
The clerk wasn’t sure what to say to him. She only hoped the top of his head stayed put.
She picked up the wallet and examined it. “Yes, Sir, it certainly isn’t in very good shape. And you say you’ve only had it for two months?”
“That’s what I said. Two months and it falls apart. And you know what else?”
“No,” she answered cautiously. “What?”
“It isn’t even leather. You ripped me off. It looks like leather, feels like leather, even smells like it. But I’ll be damned if it is. And you charge me almost fifty dollars for it.” He was sputtering badly now. “That’s highway robbery and I don’t intend to let you get away with it.”
“Well … what exactly are you looking for?”
“I want my money back, every cent of it.”
“Do you have your receipt?”
He opened the wallet and produced the slip. She examined it.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”
The top of his head seemed to rise above his crimson ears. “What do you mean?” he bellowed. “I have my receipt, the goods were defective and I want restitution. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course I understand but as I just told you, there’s nothing I can do.” She was more confident now.
“What kind of store is this? I buy something in good faith and when it falls apart prematurely you refuse to give me satisfaction. Is that the kind of operation you’re running?”
“It’s not that simple Sir. We are indeed a reputable firm but in this case, well, … I’m sorry.”
His sputtering had shifted into high gear and he was showering the clerk with spit. “Sorry … sorry? That’s all? Perhaps you’d explain just why you insist on treating me like this.”
She pointed to the receipt. “Did you read the fine print?”
He was dumbfounded. “What fine print?”
“Here, just below the total.” She pointed to it like a teacher in a class of maddeningly slow learners.
“See,” she said, “All Sales Are Vinyl.”
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The legend is told in India about a stick and a stone that were of some small service to a Hindu holy man. Out of gratitude he offered to transform them into any object they desired.
The solid stone wanted to be a strongbox or safe to hold the holy man’s sacred relics. The vain stick indicated it wanted to become a Hindu woman’s beautiful gown or sari.
Thus it came to pass: the stone became a strongbox and the stick became a sari. The night after the transformation, a terrible fire ravaged the village, burning down every house.
The holy man’s hut was destroyed and along with it the beautiful sari. The safe was the only thing that survived.
Moral: It’s better to be safe than sari.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
This is a story about a couple who had been happily married for years. The only friction in their marriage was the husband’s habit of farting loudly every morning when he awoke. The noise would wake his wife and the smell would make her eyes water and make her gasp for air.
Every morning she would plead with him to stop ripping off because it was making her sick. He told her he couldn’t stop it and that it was perfectly natural. She told him to see a doctor; she was concerned that one day he would blow his guts out. The years went by and he continued to rip them out!
Then, one Thanksgiving morning as she was preparing the turkey for dinner and he was upstairs sound asleep, she looked at the bowl where she had put the turkey innards and neck, gizzard, liver and all the spare parts and a malicious thought came to her. She took the bowl and went up upstairs where her husband was sound asleep, and gently pulling back the bed covers, she pulled back the elastic waistband of his underpants and emptied the bowl of turkey guts into his shorts.
Some time later she heard her husband waken with his usual trumpeting which was followed by a blood curdling scream and the sound of frantic footsteps as he ran into the bathroom. The wife could hardly control herself as she rolled on the floor, laughing, tears in her eyes! After years of torture she reckoned she had got him back pretty good.
About twenty minutes later, her husband came downstairs in his bloodstained shorts with a look of horror on his face. She bit her lip as she asked him what was the matter.
He said, “Honey, you were right. All these years you have warned me, and I didn’t listen to you.”
“What do you mean?” asked his wife.
“Well, you always told me that one day I would end up farting my guts out, and today it finally happened. But by the grace of God, some Vaseline, and these two fingers, I think I got most of them back in.”