Dave’s Joke Tree

And now a bit of humor from Paul’s Wierd Humor, making fun of that universal experience: growing older ….Enjoy….Dave

An elderly couple pull up to a gas station;

Attendant: How may I help you?
Old Man: Please fill it up.
Old Lady: What did he say?
Old Man (Yelling): He asked what we wanted and I told him to fill it up. Attendant: So, where are you heading?
Old Man: To Chicago to see our Grandchildren.
Old Lady: What did he say?
Old Man (Yelling): He asked where we’re going. I told him we’re going to see the Grandkids.
Attendant: It sure is a nice day for a drive.
Old Man: Yes, it’s been quite pleasant.
Old Lady: What did he say?
Old Man: He said its good weather.
Attendant: Where are you coming from?
Old Man: We started our trip from Pittsburgh.
Old Lady: What did he say?
Old Man: He asked where we’re from and I said Pittsburgh.
Attendant: I dated a girl from Pittsburgh once. She wouldn’t shut up and was lousy in bed.
Old lady: What did he say?
Old Man: He says he knows you.

Another “Toilet Tale”, Enjoy….Dave

From a Florida newspaper, forwarded by a friend:

A man was working on his motorcycle on his patio and his wife was in the house in the kitchen. The man was racing the engine on the motorcycle and somehow, the motorcycle slipped into gear. The man,still holding the handlebars, was dragged through a glass patio door and the motorcycle dumped onto the floor inside the house.

The wife, hearing the crash, ran into the dining room and found her husband laying on the floor, cut and bleeding, the motorcycle laying next to him and the patio door shattered. The wife ran to the phone and summoned an ambulance. Because they lived on a fairly large hill, the wife went down the several flights of long steps to the street to direct the paramedics to her husband.

After the ambulance arrived and transported the husband to the hospital, the wife uprighted the motorcycle and pushed it outside. Seeing that gas had spilled on the floor, the wife got some paper towels, blotted up the gasoline, and threw the towels into the toilet.

The husband was treated at the hospital and was released to come home. After arriving home, he looked at the shattered patio door and the damage done to his motorcycle. He became despondent, went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet and smoked a cigarette. After finishing the cigarette, he flipped it between his legs into the toilet bowl while still seated.

The wife, who was in the kitchen, heard a loud explosion and her husband screaming. She ran into the bathroom and found her husband laying on the floor. His trousers had been blown away and he was suffering burns on the buttocks, the back of his legs and his groin. The wife again ran to the phone and called for an ambulance.

The same ambulance crew was dispatched and the wife met them at the street. The paramedics loaded the husband on the stretcher and began carrying him to the street. While they were going down the stairs to the street, accompanied by the wife, one of the paramedics asked the wife how the husband had burned himself. She told them and the paramedics started laughing so hard that one of them tipped the stretcher and dumped the husband out. He fell down the remaining steps and broke his ankle.

Hello, This was sent to me by a friend on the East coast..Jim….Thanx Jim. He also sent another note that sez this was all a hoax…Hoax or not, there are some clever ideas to appreciate here…..Enjoy…Dave

Kurt Vonnegut’s commencement address at MIT was passed on to me. I thoroughly enjoyed it and thought you would too.

It’s short and has a wonderful punch line….

Kurt Vonnegut’s commencement address at MIT.
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ‘97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They’re your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you’ll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair or by the time you’re 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

And here’s another one from my friend Don……Enjoy…Dave…..

The Toilet Police

BY DAVE BARRY

If you call yourself an American, you need to know about a crucial issue that is now confronting the U.S. Congress (motto: “Remaining Firmly In Office Since 1798”). This is an issue that affects every American, regardless of race or gender or religion or briefs or boxers; this is an issue that is fundamental to the whole entire Cherished American Way of Life.

This issue is toilets.

I’m talking about the toilets now being manufactured for home use. They stink.

Literally. You have to flush them two or three times to get the job done. It has become very embarrassing to be a guest at a party in a newer home, because if you need to use the toilet, you then have to lurk in the bathroom for what seems (to you) like several presidential administrations, flushing, checking, waiting, flushing, checking, while the other guests are whispering: “What is (your name) DOING in there? The laundry?”

I know this because I live in a home with three new toilets, and I estimate that I spend 23 percent of my waking hours flushing them. This is going on all over America, and it’s causing a serious loss in national productivity that could really hurt us as we try to compete in the global economy against nations such as Japan, where top commode scientists are developing super-efficient, totally automated household models so high-tech that they make the Space Shuttle look like a doorstop.

The weird thing is, the old American toilets flushed just fine. So why did we change? What force would cause an entire nation to do something so stupid? Here’s a hint: It’s the same force that from time to time gets a bee in its gigantic federal bonnet and decides to spend millions of dollars on some scheme to convert us all to the metric system, or give us all Swine Flu shots, or outlaw tricycles, or whatever. You guessed it! Our government!

What happened was, in 1992, Congress passed the Energy Policy and Conservation Act, which declared that, to save water, all U.S. consumer toilets would henceforth use 1.6 gallons of water per flush. That is WAY less water than was used by the older 3.5-gallon models –

the toilets that made this nation great; the toilets that our Founding Fathers fought and died for — which are now prohibited for new installations.

The public was not consulted about the toilet change, of course; the public has to go to work, so it never gets consulted about anything going on in Washington. But it’s the public that has been stuck with these new toilets, which are saving water by requiring everybody to flush them enough times to drain Lake Erie on an hourly basis. The new toilets are so bad that there is now — I am not making this up — a black market in 3.5-gallon toilets. People are sneaking them into new homes, despite the fact that the Energy Policy and Conservation Act provides for — I am not making this up, either - - - a $2,500 fine for procuring and installing an illegal toilet.

I checked this out with my local plumber, who told me that people are always asking him for 3.5-gallon toilets, but he refuses to provide them, because of the law. The irony is that I live in Miami; you can buy drugs here simply by opening your front door and yelling: “Hey! I need some crack!”

Here’s another irony: The federal toilet law is administered by the U.S. Department of Energy. According to a Washington Post article sent in by many alert readers, the DOE recently had to close several men’s rooms in the Forrestall Building because — I am STILL not making this up — overpressurized air in the plumbing lines was causing urinals to explode. That’s correct: These people are operating the Urinals of Death, and they’re threatening to fine us if we procure working toilets.

The public — and this is why I love this nation — is not taking this sitting down. There has been a grass-roots campaign, led by commode activists, to change the toilet law, and a bill that would do that (H.R. 859 — The Plumbing Standards Act) has been introduced in Congress by Rep. Joe Knollenberg of Michigan. I talked to Rep. Knollenberg’s press secretary, Frank Maisano, who told me that the public response has been very positive. But the bill has two strikes against it:

1. It makes sense.

2. People want it.

These are huge liabilities in Washington. The toilet bill will probably face lengthy hearings and organized opposition from paid lobbyists; for all we know it will get linked to Whitewater and wind up being investigated by up to four special prosecutors. So it may not be passed in your lifetime. But I urge you to do what you can.

Write to your congresshumans, and tell them you support Rep. Knollenberg’s bill. While you’re at it, tell them you’d like to see a constitutional amendment stating that if any federal agency has so much spare time that it’s regulating toilets, that agency will immediately be eliminated, and its buildings will be used for some activity that has some measurable public benefit, such as laser tag.

So come on, America! This is your chance to make a difference! Stand up to these morons! Join the movement! Speaking of which, I have to go flush.

Just to brighten your daze!!! Here’s a funny from my friend Don Yankovic… Enjoy…Dave

DARWIN AWARD WINNER FOR 1997 ANNOUNCED

You all know about the Darwin Awards - It’s an annual honor given to
the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing
themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way.

The 1995 winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which
toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out
of it.

In 1996 the winner was an airforce sergeant who attached a JATO unit
to his car and crashed into a cliff several hundred feet above the
roadbed.

And now, the 1997 winner: Larry Waters of Los Angeles– one of the
few Darwin winners to survive his award-winning accomplishment.

Larry’s boyhood dream was to fly. When he graduated from high school,
he joined the Air Force in hopes of becoming a pilot. Unfortunately,
poor eyesight disqualified him. When he was finally discharged, he
had to satisfy himself with watching jets fly over his backyard.

One day, Larry, had a bright idea. He decided to fly. He went to the
local Army-Navy surplus store and purchased 45 weather balloons and
several tanks of helium. The weather balloons, when fully inflated,
would measure more than four feet across.

Back home, Larry securely strapped the balloons to his sturdy lawn
chair. He anchored the chair to the bumper of his jeep and inflated
the balloons with the helium. He climbed on for a test while it was
still only a few feet above the ground.

Satisfied it would work, Larry packed several sandwiches and a six-
pack of Miller Lite, loaded his pellet gun — figuring he could pop a
few balloons when it was time to descend — and went back to the
floating lawn chair. He tied himself in along with his pellet gun and
provisions. Larry’s plan was to lazily float up to a height of about
30 feet above his back yard after severing the anchor and in a few
hours come back down.

Things didn’t quite work out that way.

When he cut the cord anchoring the lawn chair to his jeep, he didn’t
float lazily up to 30 or so feet. Instead he streaked into the LA sky
as if shot from a cannon.

He didn’t level off at 30 feet, nor did he level off at 100 feet.
After climbing and climbing, he leveled off at 11,000 feet. At that
height he couldn’t risk shooting any of the balloons, lest he
unbalance the load and really find himself in trouble. So he stayed
there, drifting, cold and frightened, for more than 14 hours.

Then he really got in trouble.

He found himself drifting into the the primary approach corridor of
Los Angeles International Airport.

A United pilot first spotted Larry. He radioed the tower and
described passing a guy in a lawn chair with a gun. Radar confirmed
the existence of an object floating 11,000 feet above the airport.

LAX emergency procedures swung into full alert and a helicopter was
dispatched to investigate.

LAX is right on the ocean. Night was falling and the offshore breeze
began to flow. It carried Larry out to sea with the helicopter in hot
pursuit.

Several miles out, the helicopter caught up with Larry. Once the crew
determined that Larry was not dangerous, they attempted to close in
for a rescue but the draft from the blades would push Larry away
whenever they neared.

Finally, the helicopter ascended to a position several hundred feet
above Larry and lowered a rescue line. Larry snagged the line and was
hauled back to shore. The difficult maneuver was flawlessly executed
by the helicopter crew.

As soon as Larry was hauled to earth, he was arrested by waiting
members of the LAPD for violating LAX airspace.

As he was led away in handcuffs, a reporter dispatched to cover the
daring rescue asked why he had done it. Larrry stopped, turned and
replied nonchalantly, “A man can’t just sit around.”

Let’s hear it for Larry Walters, the 1997 Darwin Award Winner!

Everyone wants some recognition…Here’s a funny from my friend Marlene in San Diego… Enjoy, Dave…

George Goldberg is elected as the first Jewish President of the USA.

He calls his mother to come to the inauguration.

“How will I get from Chicago to Washington?”

“Mom, I’m President, I will send a plane for you.”

“How will I get to the airport?”

“Mom, I’m President I will send a limousine.”

“Where will I stay?”

“You will stay in the White House with me.”

She agrees and on the day she is going, the limo pulls up and her neighbor comes over.

“Where are you going?

“To the inauguration.”

“Who is being inaugurated?”

“You know my son Myron, the Doctor,……well it’s his brother.”

WHY I AM SO TIRED????

I’m tired. For a couple of years I’ve been blaming it on my iron-poor blood, lack of vitamins, dieting, and a dozen other maladies. But now I found out the real reason: I’m tired because I’m overworked. The population of the USA is 237 million. 104 million are retired. That leaves 133 million to do the work. There are 85 million in school, which leave 48 million to do the work. Of this there are 29 million employed by the federal government. This leaves 19 million to do the work. Four million are in the Armed Forces, which leaves 15 million to do the work. Take from that total the 14,800,000 people who work for State and City government and that leaves 200,000 to do the work. There are 188,000 in hospitals, so that leaves 12,000 to do the work. Now, there are 11,998 people in Prisons. That leaves just two people to do the work. You and me. And you’re sitting there reading this.

Relax,,,It’s only a joke????? Enjoy….Dave

It has been awhile, but have been very busy.

This comes from Dave Thomas, a friend in England. It offers food for thought concerning an eternal question….Enjoy, Dave

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Plato:

For the greater good.

Karl Marx:

It was a historical inevitability.

FBI:

Give us ten minutes alone with the chicken and we will find out

Timothy Leary:

Because that’s the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.

Nietzsche:

Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.

Oliver North:

National Security was at stake.

Jean-Paul Sartre:

In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the

chicken found it necessary to cross the road.

Aristotle:

To actualize its potential.

Buddha:

If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.

Salvador Dali:

The Fish.

Darwin:

It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.

Ralph Waldo Emerson:

It didn’t cross the road; it transcended it.

Johann Friedrich von Goethe:

The eternal hen-principle made it do it.

Ernest Hemingway:

To die. In the rain.

Werner Heisenberg:

We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.

Saddam Hussein:

This was an unprovoked act of rebellion and we were quite justified in dropping 50 tons of nerve gas on it.

Ronald Reagan:

I forget.

Sappho:

Due to the loveliness of the hen on the other side, more fair than all of Hellas’ fine armies.

Joseph Stalin:

I don’t care. Catch it. Crack its eggs to make my omelette.

Captain James T. Kirk:

To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

De Loitte and Touche Consultant:

Deregulation of the chicken’s side of the road was threatening its dominant market position. The chicken was faced with significant challenges to create and develop the competencies required for the newly competitive market.

Hi There,

This is from my friend Don Yankovic… Perhaps we need to re-evaluate our misconceptions…Enjoy,,,,Dave

A rather inhibited engineer finally splurged on a luxury cruise to the Caribbean. It was the “craziest” thing he had ever done in his life. Just as he was beginning to enjoy himself, a hurricane roared upon the huge ship, capsizing it like a child’s toy. Somehow the engineer, desperately hanging on to a life preserver, managed to wash ashore on a secluded island.

Outside of beautiful scenery, a spring-fed pool, bananas and coconuts, there was little else. He lost all hope and for hours on end, sat under the same palm tree. One day, after several months had passed, a gorgeous woman in a small rowboat appeared.

“I’m from the other side of the island,” she said. “Were you on the cruise ship, too?”

“Yes, I was, ” he answered. “But where did you get that rowboat?”

“Well, I whittled the oars from gum tree branches, wove the reinforced gunnel from palm branches, and made the keel and stern from a Eucalyptus tree.”

“But, what did you use for tools?” asked the man.

“There was a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed on the south side of the island. I discovered that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. Anyhow, that’s how I got the tools. But, enough of that,” she said. “Where have you been living all this time? I don’t see any shelter.”

“To be honest, I’ve just been sleeping on the beach,” he said.

“Would you like to come to my place?” the woman asked. The engineer nodded dumbly.

She expertly rowed them around to her side of the island, and tied up the boat with a handsome strand of hand-woven hemp topped with a neat back splice. They walked up a winding stone walk she had laid and around a palm tree. There stood an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.

“It’s not much, but I call it home.” Inside, she said, “Sit down please; would you like to have a drink?”

“No, thanks,” said the man. “One more coconut juice and I’ll throw up!”

“It won’t be coconut juice,” the woman replied. “I have a crude still out back, so we can have authentic Pina Coladas.”

Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted the drink, and they sat down on her couch to talk. After they had exchanged stories, the woman asked,”Tell me, have you always had a beard?”

“No,” the man replied, “I was clean shaven all of my life until I ended up on this island.”

“Well if you’d like to shave, there’s a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet.”

The man, no longer questioning anything, went upstairs to the bathroom and shaved with an intricate bone-and-shell device honed razor sharp. Next he showered — not even attempting to fathom a guess as to how she managed to get warm water into the bathroom — and went back downstairs. He couldn’t help but admire the masterfully carved banister as he walked.

“You look great,” said the woman. “I think I’ll go up and slip into something more comfortable.”

As she did, the man continued to sip his Pina Colada. After a short time, the woman, smelling faintly of gardenias, returned wearing a revealing gown fashioned out of pounded palm fronds.

“Tell me,” she asked, “we’ve both been out here for a very long time with no companionship. You know what I mean. Have you been lonely…is there anything that you really, really miss? Something that all men and woman need? Something that would be really nice to have right now!”

“Yes there is!” the man replied, shucking off his shyness. “There is something I’ve wanted to do for so long. But on this island all alone, it was just…well,…it was impossible.”

“Well, it’s not impossible, any more,” the woman said.

The man, practically panting in excitement, said breathlessly: “You mean you actually figured out some way we can check our e-mail here?

Hi there!

Here are some little known facts about a well known artist…Enjoy,,,Dave

Even the most ardent art aficionados might not know that Vincent Van Gogh had a really large family. Some of his lesser known relatives were:

His grandfather who moved to Yugoslavia - U. Gogh. His great-great grandniece who wore a miniskirt and liked to dance - Go Gogh. His real obnoxious brother - Please Gogh. His dizzy sister - Verti Gogh. His brother who ate prunes - Gotta Gogh. His cousin who moved to Illinois - Chica Gogh. His uncle, the magician - Wherediddy Gogh. His cousin who lived in Mexico - Amee Gogh. His nephew who drove a stage coach - Wells Far Gogh. His aunt who loved ballroom dancing - Tang Gogh. His uncle, the ornithologist - Flamin Gogh. His cousin, the astrologer - Vir Gogh. His nephew, the Freudian psychoanalyst - E. Gogh. His brother, the alcoholic - Juan Mo T. Gogh.