Guaranteed to Roll
Your Eyes
Jim
strolls into the paint section of a hardware store
and walks up to the assistant. "I'd like a pint of
canary-colored paint," he says.
"Certainly," says the clerk. "Mind if I ask why you
need it?"
"My parakeet," says Jim. "See, I want to enter him
in a canary contest. He sings so sweetly that I know
he's sure to win."
"Well, you can't do that!" the assistant says. "The
chemicals in the paint will almost certainly kill
the poor thing!"
"No, they won't," Jim replies.
"Listen, Buddy, I'll bet you ten bucks your parakeet
dies if you try to paint him."
"You're on!" says Jim.
Two days later Jim comes back looking very sheepish
and puts ten dollars on the counter in front of the
clerk.
"So the paint killed your bird?"
"Indirectly," Jim says. "He seemed to handle the
paint okay, but he didn't survive the sanding
between coats."
My
wife and I were making our own funeral arrangements,
and the director showed us into a room in which
containers for ashes were on display.
After we looked at the choices, I asked my wife if
she had decided.
She sighed. "Yes, the wood-finish one, as it will
likely go into the ground."
After a moment's pause, however, she continued. "But
I really prefer the blue one. You know I always look
good in blue."
A
woman goes to the local psychic in hopes of
contacting her dearly departed grandmother. The
psychic's eyelids begin fluttering, her hands float
up above the table, and she begins moaning. Eventually, a coherent voice
emanates saying, "Granddaughter? Are you there?"
The woman, wide-eyed and on the edge of her seat,
responds, "Grandmother? Is that you?"
"Yes granddaughter, it's me."
"It's really, really you, grandmother?”, the woman
repeats.
"Yes, it's really me, granddaughter."
The woman looks puzzled, "You're sure it's you,
grandmother?"
"Yes, granddaughter, I'm sure it's me."
The woman pauses a moment, "Grandmother, I have just
one question for you."
"Anything, my child."
"Grandmother, when did you learn to speak English?"
We
had built our dream house several years ago, and
furnished it with quality pieces as we could afford
them. Now the delivery truck carrying the last
purchase, a new bedroom suite, was pulling into the driveway.
"Finally!" I exclaimed, flinging open the front door
as the driver walked up to the house. "I've been
waiting twelve years for this!"
"Don't blame me, lady," he said. "I just got the
order this morning."
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