Joke of the Day



One night, Mrs McMillen answers the door to see her husbands best friend, Paddy, standing on the doorstep.

“Hello Paddy, but where is my husband? He went with you to the beer factory”

Paddy shook his head. “Ah Mrs McMillen, there was a terrible accident at the beer factory, your husband fell into a vat of Guinness stout and drowned”

Mrs McMillen starts crying. “Oh don’t tell me that, did he at least go quickly?”

Paddy shakes his head. “Not really – he got out 3 times to pee!”

An Irishman was flustered not being able to find a parking space in a large mall’s parking lot.

“Lord,”he prayed,”I can’t stand this.If you open a space up for me,I swear I’ll give up drinking me whiskey, and I promise to go to church every Sunday.”

Suddenly, the clouds parted and the sun shone on an empty parking spot. Without…

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Irish Drinking Joke


IrishAn Irishman walks into a bar in Dublin, orders three pints of Guinness and sits in the back of the room, drinking a sip out of each one in turn. When he finishes them, he comes back to the bar and orders three more. The bartender asks him, “You know, a pint goes flat after I draw it; it would taste better if you bought one at a time.” The Irishman replies, “Well, you see, I have two brothers. One is in America, the other in Australia, and I’m here in Dublin. When we all left home, we promised that we’d drink this way to remember the days when we drank together.” The bartender admits that this is a nice custom, and leaves it there.

The Irishman becomes a regular in the bar, and always drinks the same way: ordering three pints and drinking them in turn. One day, he…

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Poopy Puppy on a Plane

Image courtesy of Pixabay

Had I met Snowball under different circumstances, I’m sure I would have found her adorable.  Sadly for our friendship, I met her on a crowded plane.  I heard about her before I saw her, listening  in on the conversation between the two passengers sitting between me and the aisle.

”Snowball never pooped when I put her down on her pee pee pad in the bathroom.  I know she has to go by now.”  Ms. Bozo worried as she crowded me closer to the window.

”She’ll be fine.  We can’t do anything about that now.” Mr. Bozo replied, placidly.

”I think you need to take her to the lavatory and put her down on a pad.”  Ms. Bozo insisted.  “I gave her a little laxative last night so she’d go this morning. She never did.   We don’t want her getting constipated again.  You remember what happened last time.”  That sounded ominous.

“I told you not to do that!” Mr. Bozo grouched. “You know how that works her.”  He got up and struggled to pull Snowflake’s carrier from under Ms. Bozo’s seat.  Ms. Bozo unzipped the opening and peeked in at Little Snowball.  The smell was bad news.  Desperate to escape the fetid air in the carrier, Snowball leapt to freedom, smearing Mr. and Ms. Bozo with feces on her way.  Snowball no longer looked snowy.  Ms. Bozo squealed and Bozo roared.  Snowball sprinted down the aisle, ducking between passenger’s feet, the stewardess in pursuit.

”Don’t hurt her!  She’s scared!” Shrieked Ms. Bozo.  “Snowball, come back to Mama!  Snowball! Snowball!

That Snowball could run. Darting in and out among the legs of the other passengers, she left a little of herself all along the way.   She got by Bozo and the stewardess several times.  Eventually  she was recaptured, looking much cleaner, courtesy of hapless passengers’ legs. Ms. Bozo tidied her up in the lavatory, so Snowball was in better shape than her disgruntled new acquaintance who took turns sponging off in the lavatory,.  They clearly held a grudge.

Soon, a miasma from Snowball’s befouled carrier beneath the seat began to reek. As the odor recirculated through the cabin, only the Bozos failed to notice.  Even after the stewardess had them stuff it in a garbage bag, the smell spread,  even crossing the curtain into first class.

It was not the best flight I ever had.



The Paper Plate Outrage

Eavesdropping on planes is one of life’s gifts. First of all, it costs nothing and could be considered a bonus that comes with your ticket. Most importantly, it is totally a guiltless indulgence, though some people might not appreciate it.

Today’s flight was packed. A gentleman seated behind us called a buddy and launched into his sad story as soon as he was seated, talking so loud the entire assemblage could hear.

“Man, I am so hungover and mad I can hardly think straight. I picked up a client for dinner and he wanted to drag a buddy along. I should have said no, but I was trying to be The Good Guy. They talked about his buddy’s divorce all through dinner. We didn’t get a bit of business done. I took them to a strip joint and it was all downhill. We all got drunk and I told him what I thought.

He paused for a bit,”No, I’m going straight to my office. I don’t want to see my wife. I blew up before I left. I came home for dinner and she dished my dinner up and banged it down on the counter. ‘Now, hold on,’ I said. ‘What happened to family dinners in the dining room?”

She got all huffy, moved my meal to the dining room table. Then she went back and started putting the kid’s dinners on paper plates.

“#|%^*!~. £#%~?{, I don’t want my kids growing up eating on paper plates like trash. I want them to remember eating in the dining room on real dishes. I don’t care if the dishwasher is broken. I’LL wash the ——ng dishes if that’s what it takes. I bought you a two million dollar house and I expect you to raise my kids right.”

Lengthy pause, then “I don’t even think I’ll go home. I think I’ll just call her tonight and tell her I’m done. She used to be my best friend. I don’t know what happened.”

Just then the stewardess came by and told him to get off the phone so that was the end of the call. He did apologize saying, “I’m sorry, I’ve got such a hangover I’m not thinking straight.”

Don’t you know his wife would be upset when she found out all she would have had to do was feed the kids on paper plates to get rid of him?

Crazy Charlsie Part 28

Charlie fell into bed that night aching with fatigue.  It seemed he’d just shut his eyes when Bessie opened his door, “Wake up!  Them cows is calling you!”  He learned to hate that phrase long before the week was out.  Sore and stumbling with sleep, he filed out to the milking.  Though his hands protested, he got the hang of it and stripped one cow by the time the time Robert and Freddy were done with the other six.  He made up his mind to do two tomorrow.  The barn cats danced behind his cow as he squirted milk in their mouths, unconcerned at his substandard milking. While Freddy turned the cows in the lot with their calves, Robert and Charlie slopped the hogs, fed the horses and chickens, and gathered eggs.

Egg-gathering seemed easy enough until Charlie reached into a nest and pulled out a long back snake.” He pitched it down, screaming, and ran. Freddy laughed hysterically while Robert scurried after the snake. Picking it up, he popped it like a whip, snapping its head off.  “I guess that’s the last of the eggs you’ll git, you ol’ devil.  That’s just a chicken snake, Charlie.  He hangs around the barn stealing eggs.  He wouldn’t hurt you if he did bite you. But, it wouldn’t hurt to look before poking your hand in dark places.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”  Charlie laughed.  “I took off so fast it like to took me a half a day to walk back.”

“I think somethin’s or somebody’s been dipping’ in my corncrib. The last three mornin’s I noticed the shelled corn in the bib was hollered out a little. I ain’t accusing nobody, but I think we’ll git out there a little early in the morning an’ see cain’t we catch em. Let’s git this milk an’ eggs in an’ git us some breakfast. I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.” Robert led the way with heavy, cloth-covered milk buckets.

That day was the beginning of a farmer’s life for Charlie.  Over the course of the summer, he learned the business of breeding and birthing stock, cultivating and gathering crops, building fences, haymaking, mechanicking on the old truck and tractor, repairing outbuildings, and many other farm tasks at hand.  As he worked alongside the others, his muscles grew long and bulked up.  As his estrogen levels dropped after surgery, his breasts lost mass and he sprouted the beginnings of a beard.  He was beginning to look more the person he’d always known he was.

Dog’s Life

Our granddog, Croc, has a hard life.  In this photo, he is anxiously awaiting  the mail carrier.  So far, he has a one hundred percent success rate in chasing him off.  Please note the crocheted afghan he rests under.  Yes, I made it just for him.  Mornings are the best for him.  Protecting the house from the postal service is a great sacrifice since afterwards he has to sleep on top of his blanket unless someone happens by to cover him.





The mail carrier has once again been vanquished, but as you can see, Though he has blankets, poor Croc is uncovered.  He has, however, acquired the baby’s favorite doll to comfort him.  He covets her snugglies, and given the opportunity, snitches them.  This fearsome beast is all that stands between us and the USPS.  Of course, he is not allowed on sofa.


Icy Showers and Rotten Sausage

Cousin Kat was tight. We always took plenty of food when we went to visit, knowing how “conservative” she was. She thought three rolls, three scrambled eggs, a little jam and a dab of butter was plenty for any number of guests there might be for breakfast. “I just don’t think there’s any point in folks being hoggish,” was her favorite phrase as she set out a meal. She was a devout believer and had probably heard that story about Jesus feeding the multitudes on five loves and three fishes one too many times.

A few days before our last visit, someone had given Cousin Kat some fresh homemade sausage. She’d eaten a bit and saved some for us. That sounded fine till I opened her tiny 1940 model refrigerator to get some water. The rank smell of bad meat nearly knocked me down. “Ooh, Cousin Kat, I think something’s gone bad in here!”

“Oh, it’s not bad. It’s just that sausage Barney gave me. It’s real spicy!” She answered, totally unconcerned. “I’m gonna cook it up for supper.”

I made up my mind then and there to eat popcorn. I’ve never smelled a spice that mimicked the smell of rotting meat so closely. Mother and Phyllis both found other options. Count Kat cooked that sausage and ate up all by herself, since she was determined not to let it go to waste. It stunk the whole house up with its nauseating odor as it cooked. We all told her it smelled like it might have “gone to the bad.” She disagreed.

We planned a road trip for the four of us to go into Amish Country and packed a nice picnic …no sausage. Phyllis and Cousin Kat decided to take their showers the evening before so The four of us wouldn’t be competing in the morning. Cousin Kat told her how she could run a bit of water in the tub, sit on the edge, wash her face, ears, neck, then her body before washing the best parts and her feet. That way, she could get by with just a little of that expensive hot water. Well, I do believe I heard the shower running while Phyllis was in there, despite her lesson. Cousin Kat perked up her ears, too. When Phyllis came out, Cousin Kat said, “I hope you stopped up the tub and saved your water for me. Just one person don’t mess up bath water none.” Shamefaced, Phyllis had to admit she run it all down the drain. Cousin Kat gave her a look.

We went on to bed. I snore and talk in my sleep, so no one would bunk in with me. I am always early to bed, so I took the small bedroom. Cousin Kat gave Mother an inflatable mattress her son had left there to put on the living floor. Unfortunately, he had taken the pump home with him, so they sent a great deal of time trying to inflate it with a small hand-held hairdryer, the wrong tool for the job. Eventually, it approximated a mattress, though it flattened out the minute Mother reclined on it. They hadn’t bothered to pad the floor with quilts, so Mother was freezing the minute she lay down that frosty October evening. She got up, dragged her covers tote old-fashioned bi-fold sofa and tried to warmup. It was hard, lumpy, and had a couple of exposed springs but it was better than the icy floor.

Meanwhile, things weren’t going much better for Phyllis in the large, unheated upstairs bedroom. She’d chosen it because she liked to sleep in the cold. She’d dawdled and was the last to get to bed. I was quickly asleep though I kept up a listen for retching during the night, expecting Cousin Kat to come down with food poisoning, but the next thing I knew, Phyllis was climbing in the small creepy bed with me. “I thought you were too good to sleep with me.” I reminded her.

“I am, but when I got upstairs and switched on that dim overhead light, and everything looked fine, but when I turned back the quilts, rice scattered all over the place. I couldn’t imagine why rice would be on the bed, like that. I turned on that little flashlight Cousin Kat gave me and saw the bed and floor covered in mouse pellets. Mice were scattering everywhere. I can’t sleep up there with all those mice. She was mad! I was laughing so hard the springs were creeping. We sounded like honeymooners.

As I mentioned earlier, I don’t sleep well, I talk in my sleep. In truth, it’s much worse than that. I curse and hurl epithets, language I’d never use during waking hours. Once I drifted off, Phyllis and I rolled up in that ancient mattress like a couple of hotdogs in a bun. She swears I shoved her and screamed at her to “get the f…. Out of here. I don’t remember a thing about it!

In a huff, she got up in search of a place to sleep. Seeing that Mother had abandoned the perfectly good air mattress, she gave it a try. Of course, it put her right on the floor. Not to be defeated, she folded it in half and stretched out. That was a little better. Just as she drifted off, it gave up the ghost and blew out. Hearing all the racket, Mother and I got up to help. I invited her to share my bed, but she was mad and wouldn’t have any part of it. Mother offered to share the bi-fold sofa, but there was no way that would work. She ended up spendinding the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket trying to sleep in a not-so-easy chair.

We got up early to Have breakfast and get ready for our trip. At the kitchen table, We chatted over breakfast and sipped coffee. Mother and Phyllis lied about the extent of their miserable night. Phyllis had to come up with an excuse about abandoning the mousy attic. Cousin Kat polished off the last piece of the rancid sausage with her breakfast.

I got the first shower, keeping it short, since I remembered Cousin Kat’s lesson. It was pleasantly hot, but Mother said Cousin Kat ducked down to the basement to “get something” while I showered. Mother was next in line. When she got in, the water was nice and hot while she soaped up, but in just a minute, an icy blast hit her. Obviously, Cousin Kat’s basement errand was to cut off the water heater. The water came from a spring, so Mother’s hot shower was over. She had to wipe the soap off with a wet washcloth dipped in icy water.

She was furious when she shivered out of her shower, accusing me of using all the hot water.
“Mother, I wasn’t in there but a couple of minutes. I didn’t use that much!”

All the while, Cousin Kat sat humming contentedly, finally offering, “Oh well, that water heater’s old. I guess it just gave out.” Only the day before she’d told us that her son had just put in a new one, over her objections. “I can heat what water I need on the stove and save the heating bill.” She made no mention of turning off the water heater.

Finally, the cold, sleepy bunch was ready to start the trip.

To be continued

All Wrapped Up

My friend Jean could fall in a bed of roses and come out smelling like cow manure.  Best of all, she couldn’t resist telling off on herself.  After having three babies in four years, she somehow decided she needed a little romance, though why anyone with three babies would encourage that behavior was a mystery to me.  She took the children to her mother for the night and hurried home to fancy herself up for a steamy night.   Having read an imbecilic article suggesting meeting your guy at the door with a  rose in your mouth wearing nothing but cellophane, she decided that was the very thing.  She showered, did a daring style and bit of a color job  on her nether portions and perfumed herself enticingly.   Just before her man was due home, she started at her ankles and wrapped herself in plastic wrap.  This was unfortunate, as it effectively hobbled her.  She waited by the door, rose clenched between her teeth.  Though her husband was usually punctual, this day he was late.  She waited in anticipation for several minutes till it was obvious he was late.  Tired of standing, she hopped toward the sofa, still clenching the rose.  Since she had toddlers, a malicious Lego was lurking in wait.   Propelled forward, nosediving the sofa arm.  Blood gushed.  She grabbed the nearest thing to staunch the cascade of blood and somehow got herself up on the sofa.  In agony, she lay there, trying not to scream as every heartbeat pounded in her damaged nose.  As the pain abated a bit, like any mother of three toddlers, she went to sleep.

She was awakened by her horrified husband standing over her.  “Oh My God!  What happened?

Icy Showers and Rotten Sausage part 2

We toodled happily through the hills of Virginia in high spirits for a couple of hours till Cousin Kathleen asked for a rest stop. She wasn’t feeling so well. Uh oh! Still fearing the onset of food poisoning, I wheeled into a service station and she scurried for the Ladies Room. We filled the car, took our break, and waited. She came out looking a little green around the gills. “I ain’t feeling too peart. Something must be going around. I have a feeling I knew what was going around, that rotten sausage rolling around in her gut.

“Do you think we ought to go back home? I don’t want to take you off sick.”

“I’m fine. I just kinda’ had loose bowels.” That phrase always gave me visions of a person walking along with their arms full of slippery guts that periodically escaped and slipped to the ground. “I think I am fine now. My stomach’s rumblin’ a little. Think I’ll have a little bite to settle it.”

The sharp smell of rancid sausage assaulted us as she unwrapped a sausage-biscuit she dug out of her purse. “I’m sorry I ain’t got enough for y’all, but I didn’t want to waste this last piece.”

We couldn’t talk her out of eating it, and she cleaned it up, even licking its wax paper wrapper. Around noon, we stopped at a rest area for our picnic, spreading it out on a table under a shade tree. Several other groups were picnicking close by. Cousin Kat wasn’t hungry, so she headed for the restroom, telling us “Y’all go ahead and eat. I need a few minutes to sponge off a little.” That sounded ominous, but I didn’t offer to go along, assuming she wanted privacy.

By the time she came out, she looked bad. At a nearby picnic pavilion a couple with three little children was putting out their lunch. Dad smoothed the red and white checkered cloth and corralled the kiddies as Mom laid out the matching napkins and dishes. It was obvious tradition meant a lot to these parents since the kid’s clothes matched and Dad pulled out a nice camera and set up a tripod. It was a beautiful day for a picnic and family photos until Cousin Kat walked up, leaned against one of the poles of their pavilion and started projectile vomiting in their direction. She continued retching as they hurriedly packed their things, apparently in no mood for a new tradition.

When she regained her equilibrium, drank a Seven-Up, declaring she was fine now. “Sometimes I just get real sick like that, then it’s all over. Let’s get on down the road!”

She must have had a constitution of iron. We couldn’t talk her into going home, so we headed on. All was well for a couple of hours, then she got nauseated. I pulled over so she could retch to her heart’s content. Reaching in the car behind her, she grabbed Mother’s brand new red fleece jacket to wipe herself up with. Mother is still griping about her ruining that jacket. We whipped into a hotel and got a room, so she could rest and recover. We loaded her with fluids. I tried to get her to go to the Emergency Room but she would have no part of it. You can’t make an apparently competent adult go to the Emergency Room against their will. Believe me, I tried. Every time she opened her eyes, I had her drinking fluids.

After a few hours, she seemed better. At her suggestion, the rest of us walked over to the hotel restaurant for dinner. When we got back in an hour or so, the room smelled like a charnel house after a fresh episode of diarrhea and vomiting. Worst of all, her hemorrhoid had flared up and started bleeding. There was a bloody, poopy mess on the toilet, the walls, and a trail back to the bed where she lay sleeping like a baby. We made sure she was okay, gave her more to drink, and got to work on the mess, calling for extra towels to clean up. We also had to wash her clothes, since she’d already messed up the two outfits she’d brought. Then we headed to the pharmacy for remedies and air fresheners. Just in case you don’t know, they don’t give that stuff away. It was not a good night.

Somehow, we made it through the night. The next morning, she’d won her gastrointestinal battle. Now all she had to deal with was agonizing hemorrhoids. Her generous descriptions of her progress and suffering did not make her a better travel partner. We did some anti-climatic sightseeing in Amish Country, due to her ailments. Naturally, she didn’t feel like getting out, so we just made abbreviated stops. The only place she got out was at a quilt shop, where she was outraged at their prices. She’d thought she might be able pick up a nice quilt for twenty-five dollars.

We headed out early the next morning, determined to drop her off and head home to Louisiana. We had no intention of ever spending another night at her house. I think she was happy to see us leave, especially since we left her pantry well-stocked.