Toupee or Not Toupee

 

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Dean Martin & Bob Newhart 

On the couch

 

Patient: Please doctor, you've got to help me out.

Psychiatrist: Certainly. Which way did you come in?

Patient: Through the door just here.

Psychiatrist: Would you like to get out through the window instead?

Patient: No doctor ... I am having these recurring dreams.

Psychiatrist: Here ... lie on the couch. Take your shoes off first; I've just had the couch cleaned. My ... oh my ... your socks smell! Now then ... tell me, what seems to be troubling you.

Patient: I'd like to ask you first ... are you a Freudian psychiatrist or a Jung?

Psychiatrist: Neither ... I learnt psychiatry by watching Frazier Crane on TV.

Patient: Oh ... OK ... I keep having this same dream night after night.

Psychiatrist: Is it about your mother?

Patient: No.

Psychiatrist: Pity. I am good at dreams about one's mother. Oedipus and all that. Reminds me of my own Mom. She was so kind and sweet. I liked her you know. I wish I had met her before my Dad did ...

Patient: No doctor. The dreams are not about my mother.

Psychiatrist: Are they about my mother then? Do you know my mother?

Patient: No ... they are not about anyone's mother.

Psychiatrist: What are they about then? Because I am not very good at other dreams.

Patient: They are about this woman ...

Psychiatrist: Ah ... now we're getting somewhere. Tell me more. Whose mother is she? Have you got her phone number?

Patient: No ... no phone number. She is young, very beautiful, blonde hair, sexy voice ... and she keeps calling my name softly.

Psychiatrist: Is your name Softly?

Patient: No it isn't.

Psychiatrist: I see. Why does she call you Softly then? What does she say?

Patient: She keeps calling ... Felix ... Felix ... Felix ...

Psychiatrist: Felix? Is that your name?

Patient: No ... it's my cat's name.

Psychiatrist: Why did your mother name you after a cat?

Patient: She didn't name me after a cat. She named the cat after a cat.

Psychiatrist: What did your mother name you?

Patient: Whiskers!

Psychiatrist: What happened next? In your dream?

Patient: Then I am running down the street chased by ...

Psychiatrist: Your mother?

Patient: No ...

Psychiatrist: My mother?

Patient: No ... by ...

Psychiatrist: Felix's mother?

Patient: No doctor! Why has it always to be someone's mother?

Psychiatrist: Well, you know how it is? If it is not one thing it's the mother!

Patient: Well it isn't this time. In fact every time I am running down the street I am chased by a ... zebra!

Psychiatrist: A zebra? Are you sure?

Patient: Yes ... I got it in black and white ... etched on my mind. It's a zebra. It looks like a horse, but it is definitely a zebra.

Psychiatrist: You seem pretty sure.

Patient: So would you be if it chased you every night!

Psychiatrist: Why is this zebra chasing you every night?

Patient: I don't know. I thought you could help me interpret the dream.

Psychiatrist: I can't do that. I don't speak zebra. 

Patient: What does all this mean, doctor?

Psychiatrist: It means your time's up. See you next week. And bring your mother with you!

Mirror Mirror on the wall

 

A private school was faced with a unique problem.

A number of young girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick, they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Every night, the maintenance man would remove them and the next day, the girls would put them back. Finally, the principal decided that something had to be done.

She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.

To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it.

 

Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror. 

There are teachers, and then there are educators.

Little house on the prairie

 

There I was at home watching Little House on the Prairie on TV. 

Little House on the Prairie is a great program to watch after a nice meal, a few glasses of wine and port or brandy to follow. Especially at Christmas, even though it was not Christmas just then. You can sit there on your favourite armchair, half-asleep, your eyes closed and you don't care what happens on the prairie because it will all end well in the end.  

As I was half watching the program the front door bell did not ring. Someone was pressing it hard several times but it was not ringing. Of course, I did not know this at the time. Eventually I was alerted to that fact by heavy knocking on the door. 

I got up and opened the door, brandy glass still in hand.

It was a stranger. He said to me, "Your door bell does not work!"

"It usually does," I replied, pressing the door bell and it rang perfectly.

He did not answer but pressed the doorbell button and it did not ring.

"That's strange!" I said pressing the button and it rang again. I was confused and perplexed; in that order and in quick succession.

"Perhaps it's because I'm on the inside and you on the outside," I said stupidly and not making sense. I handed him the brandy glass and asked him to step inside. I got out and shut the door. I pressed the bell and it did not ring.

"You're right," he said, "this is a nice brandy, by the way. What are you watching on TV?"

I could hear him walk away. He changed the channel and I could hear horse racing on TV.

I knocked frantically on the door but he ignored me.

"Let me in ..." I shouted through the letterbox.

"In a moment," he replied, "I'm watching this race. I have a bet on the favourite horse ..."

"I'll call the police ..." I shouted again, "this is breaking and entering."

"I did not break anything," he said over the TV commentary which he turned up louder, "I entered because you let me in! Remember?"

I crouched down and continued the conversation through the letter box. "This is robbery!" I shouted at him.

"I stole nothing," he shouted back, "you offered me the brandy! Remember that?"

"But ... but ... but ..." I was at a loss for words and I did not have my Roget's Thesaurus to help me express myself eloquently as I usually does ... did ... do ... yes do!

"No buts about it," he continued, "you invited me in, gave me a drink, and let me watch your TV!"

"Aha ... there you are wrong!" I retorted, "I did not let you watch the TV. You usurped your position as an un-invited guest to sit in the comfort of my armchair, and benefit from the viewing of my TV, thus in effect stealing my electricity ipso facto as well as my right and privilege to enjoy whatever program I wish in the safety and pleasure of my own domain!"

(Did I ever tell you I'm a trained lawyer?)

This had its good effect. He switched off the TV, opened the door and said, "My horse has lost!"

Then he walked away nonchalantly down the road.       

It was pointless stopping him and phoning the police.

It happened like this

Well Judge ... your honour. It happened like this.

It was Saturday and I was helping out at my friend's Pete's Garage. He runs a small garage in Acacia Avenue, do you know it? Where he fixes cars and does maintenance and so on. The garage has a sign in bright red. It says "Pete's Garage" on it.

I am not a mechanic, your honour. I was helping him in the office. Answering the phone, filing papers, counting paper clips, doing some reception work and so on. Meeting customers as well. The people who come in to have their cars fixed.

Unbeknown to me ... that is ... I did not know anything about it your honour. One of Pete's employees, Tobias is his name. Well he came to work late and he was totally and utterly drunk. No way could you say he was as sober as a judge, your honour. Certainly not as sober as you are right now.

As it happens, Tobias had been out at a party the night before. That is Friday night; this being Saturday. I know it is not Saturday right now, but it was Saturday when all this happened.

As I was saying, Tobias was totally drunk. Drunk as a skunk ... he was. Really drunk as hell, if you pardon the expression, your honour. May the Good Lord forgive me.

He did not know the time of day ... that's the drunk Tobias, not the Good Lord. The Good Lord always knows the time of day.

Tobias did not know the time of day even though he was wearing a watch at the time. He did not even know what planet he was on, even though his colleagues asked him what on earth he was doing getting drunk. I tell you, your honour, he did not even know his elbow from another part of his anatomy, even though each bit of his body is labelled by a tattoo.

Anyway, his colleagues and friends, Matthias and Gareth, being loyal to Tobias, did not want Pete, their boss, to find out because he would fire Tobias. They suggested he hides and sleeps it off before Pete gets back to the garage from delivering a car. But there was nowhere to hide him to get some sleep.

Then they realised that there was a hearse in the garage which had come in for a simple job to be done. Engine needed a change of oil. So they laid Tobias down on the flat bit at the back of the hearse, you know ... where they put the coffin, and they covered him up with a piece of cloth. There was no coffin in the hearse at the time, your honour.

As I said, all this happened unbeknown to me, and to Pete, because he was out on delivery.

Later that afternoon, Pete asked me if I wouldn't mind delivering the hearse to Doug M Deep and Reego Mortice, the Funeral Directors. This is because Pete was short-handed especially since everyone was busy and Tobias had not turned up for work. He had really, but he was asleep at the back of the hearse, unbeknown to Pete and me on account that we did not know about it.

Well ... as I was driving the hearse, Tobias at the back woke up ... I got such a fright and turned sharply left and ran over your cat, you honour, and landed the hearse in your duck pond disturbing a mother duck which was nesting at the time.

It was not me who was driving under the influence of drink. It was Tobias waking up from under the influence of drink.

When the police came they obviously mixed me up with Tobias by mistake and said I was driving under the influence of drink. But I assure you not a drop passed my lips that day, although several drops ran down my legs when it all happened.

I am sorry about the loss of your cat Pancake who was flattened with him being run over by the hearse. I did offer at the time to drive him to Doug M Deep and Reego Mortice, the Funeral Directors, but your wife who came out of the house on hearing the commotion said a few words which I would rather not repeat here in Court you honour.

I am also sorry for all the broken duck eggs which were in the nest at the time. I did offer to buy some more eggs from the supermarket but your wife said a few more words which I would rather not repeat to you.

I think she was upset.

So you see ... your honour, it was not me who caused the accident, but it was Tobias who caused it by waking up from what I thought he was dead, even though I did not know that he was at the back of the hearse at the time, whether dead or alive, but in fact asleep because of him having been drinking excessively the night before. Which was Friday.

And this is how I plead, your honour.

I wish to add that I did offer at the time to replace the dead cat; and your wife did say that she did not want me around the **** house purring all day and filling the litter tray with my unmentionables.

This is an excerpt from my book 

MUCH ADO ABOUT LAUGHTER

I laughed so much writing it that I wrote it sitting down.

CLICK HERE

 

 

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CLICK HERE 

 

Keep it under my hat

The rules in our office are quite clear and strict. We should not bring any pets to work.

Why is it then that some people insist on “bending the rules” when in reality they are outright breaking them and risking severe disciplinary action; if not being fired from the job altogether.

For example someone brought a kitten in one of those carrying cases because the creature was not too well and its owner was on her way to the vet after work. Admittedly, the cat did not leave the carrying case or cage at any time, and was only in the office for a couple of hours, having been collected from home at lunch time. But if the boss had come in I’m sure that person would have been reprimanded or probably lost her job; especially since the boss is allergic to cats.

What if I had a hippopotamus as a pet, or a crocodile? Would it be OK for me to bring them to work on my way to the vet?

You think I’m exaggerating don’t you? Well, I’m not.

Last week someone brought in a chameleon or lizard type creature. I don’t know what it was. All I know is it was about three inches long and it was ugly; even though it was supposed to be a baby of the species.

Apparently some colleagues had been talking about unusual pets a few days earlier and one of them decided to bring this reptile to show the others. The animal was brought to work in a shoe box and taken out to show everyone. It jumped out of the owner’s hand and ran on the large conference table where we were supposed to have a meeting.

Yes … you’ve guessed it. The boss came to the meeting a few minutes earlier than expected.

Everyone panicked and froze … except Joe. He’s a quick thinker and a bit too clever for comfort.

He quickly grabbed my hat from the coat stand … yes, my expensive cowboy type hat with the long feather on the side … I call it a plume, not a feather … more stylish!

Anyway, Joe picked up my hat and as quick as a flash put it on the lizard trapping him underneath.

Everyone kept a straight face … or tried to. I noticed one or two badly concealed smirks and one person was literally going red in the face trying to hold back a guffaw of laughter as well as nature’s release mechanism.

I was furious of course. My expensive hat used as a cage and a subject of subterfuge. Can you imagine that? And it’s silk lined on the inside. I dread to think what that wretched creature is doing under there.

I said nothing of course. I could hardly risk someone else losing their job; even though my precious hat was the real victim here.

I sat at the place nearest to the hat and we all started the meeting.

The boss sat at the far end and did not seem to notice even though once or twice the hat moved on the table all on its own.

This led to the person nearest me to laugh quietly and then stifle a sneeze.

The boss said “Bless you” and for some stupid reason I replied “Thank you!”

Why do I do silly things like that? What possessed me to say “Thank you”?

Luckily the boss did not notice who had sneezed.

At the end of the meeting my boss suggested he and I visit one of our suppliers who is only half a mile away from our office.

I put on my coat and followed him when he said: “Put on your hat … it’s a little cold out there and we’re walking!”

Everyone froze again and fixed their eyes on my hat on the table.

I had to think and act quickly … very difficult when you can’t multi-task!

I picked up the hat in a scooping motion and put it on my head.

You should have seen everyone’s face when they saw nothing on the table where the hat once was. I was proud of myself and my magical sleight of hand.

My quick triumph quickly faded as I felt the lizard grappling tightly at my hair. I kept a straight face and left the room hurriedly after my boss.

On our way there, as we walked down the street, the silly creature tried to escape once or twice by raising my hat off my head. The boss didn’t see it, but a passerby thought I was saluting him by lifting my hat and he did the same with his.

I pushed the hat further down my head so that the brim was almost at eye level. That should trap him solid … I thought.

In response the vindictive reptile started pulling at my hair struggling to get out. The pain was agonizing but I could hardly do anything about it. How could I possibly explain the situation to my boss if he found out what’s under my hat?

He would hardly take me seriously after such an incident.

We walked side by side with him doing most of the talking about some budgetary situation or other and me making un-intelligent noises more as a response to pain than contribution to the discussion. At one point as I grunted he said “Well … I’m glad you agree with this. Perhaps you can go ahead and implement it.” I had no idea what I had agreed to.

As we approached the suppliers’ premises I felt a wet feeling under my hat as no doubt the lizard decided on a new plan of attack in order to get free.

We entered the building and a young lady offered to take my coat and hat. I gave her my coat and decided to crumple my hat and its content quickly into my briefcase.

She noticed my head and hair were wet and I said “It’s been raining …” as I wiped it off with my handkerchief.

Why did I say such a stupid thing? Does it often rain under peoples’ hats where you come from?

After the meeting with the suppliers I left my boss, went to a coffee bar where I rang the reptile’s owner and asked him to meet me there and collect his pet.

I am now looking for a new hat. The silk lining in mine has been torn to shreds.

 

NOTE: This was an excerpt from the book "A CHUCKLE A DAY"

 

Download your copy FREEEEEEEEE from HERE 

 

Funny Books

 

I'll never understand women

 

I have mentioned it before, the fact is, I will never understand women.

Louise is a friend of ours. She’s single and she is very beautiful. She lives not far from us.

I watched her as she got home from work this evening. I was surprised when she walked across the street, up our driveway and knocked on our door.

I opened the door, she looked at me and said, "I just got home, and I have this strong urge to have a good time, get drunk, and have fun tonight. Are you doing anything?"

I was surprised at this overt suggestion. I replied hesitantly, "Nope, I’m free!"

"Great" she said, "Can you watch my dog?"

I mean ... what if we were going out this evening? Who would have baby-sat her dog?

Here's another example. In London a few days ago, I was walking towards the railway station on my way home, when this woman stops me in the street and said, "Do you want a good time?"

I must have misheard her because I said, "It's quarter past seven!" 

She replied, "Thanks for nothing" and walked away.

What was all that about? I don't understand. 

And another example about women ... last week I helped a woman from our Prayer Group mow the lawn because she'd hurt her leg and could not do it herself. When I finished she said with a smile, "I could marry you!"

I couldn't believe it! You do something nice for someone and they threaten to ruin your life for ever.

My wife is just as enigmatic.  It was very strange. It was about 11:30 pm last Wednesday night. It was very dark outside when suddenly she shouted, "Golf ... Golf ... Golf ... That's all you speak about. That's all you do. Golf ... Always golf!"

I tell you. It was out of the blue, and I was startled out of my life. I never expected to see her on the golf course at that time of night shouting at the top of her voice.

I never complain about her and her habits. I could be watching something serious on TV like a political program when she would say, "we used to have a car like this one, do you remember?"

And she'd expect an answer, by which time I would have missed the point that politician was making.

Or I could be watching a documentary and they show a country somewhere ... say Canada for instance ... and she'd say "Justin Bieber is from Canada ... so is Shania Twain ..."

Well, that information certainly enriched my life, don't you think? By the time I digested and ignored this ground-breaking piece of non-information I have missed once again what they were saying on TV.

On my birthday she bought me two silk ties. We were going out for a meal so I decided to wear one of them. As soon as she saw me she said, "What's wrong with the other one?"

At the restaurant there were a young couple sitting a few tables away. It was obvious they were still in the early phase of love. 

My wife looked at them and said, "Just look at that couple over there, how lovely they are. He keeps holding her hand, kissing it softly. He held the chair for her when they sat at table. He caresses her arm every now and then. Why can’t you do the same?"

I replied, "Are you mad? I barely know that woman!"

I got the silent treatment throughout our meal.

As I said, I'll never understand women!

Not for the ladies

 

 

THIS POST IS NOT FOR LADIES

OR PEOPLE WHO ARE EASILY OFFENDED

 

I was at a business conference held in a hotel up North. At the same time as our conference there was a clowns gathering. There were clowns from all over the country there. All dressed in their circus costume in bright colours and most of them with red noses, painted faces, and orange, or blue or green hair.

In short, the place was full of clowns holding their own annual gathering. 

I went to the Gents Restroom. There was a clown there holding a small dog and wearing those very long oversized shoes for comedic effect. You know the ones ... those shoes long at the front which allow you to lean forwards well out of the centre of gravity yet you do not fall on your face.

When I got in he asked me if I could hold his small dog so he could "point Percy at the porcelain" as they say in my circles.

I held the dog; but just as he approached the urinal he discovered that he was quite a distance away from it in order to do his business. He tried to lean forwards but that only brought his head near the receptacle, not his ...

He tried to twist his feet sideways, looking like a pregnant duck, so that he could approach nearer, but that did not help either.

He looked at me in despair as if to say "I REALLY must go ... can't hold it any longer."

I suggested he takes his shoes off. He said he could not do that because somehow they were attached to a contraption up his trouser legs which allowed him to lean forwards out of the centre of gravity. They were not ordinary shoes but a whole contraption fitting round his legs and feet.

I suggested he "goes like a lady" by sitting down in one of the cubicles. 

That did not work either because with his big feet the cubicle door would not shut. 

If he sat on the throne with the door open he'd be in full view of everyone ... and the dog. 

Also, the cubicle was not wide enough for him to turn round if he went in facing forwards. So he backed into the cubicle. That did not work either because he discovered that his one piece costume would mean he has to get totally undressed. He'd only just met me ... remember. We were not friends or anything like that for him to disrobe in my presence! Besides, it would scandalise the dog seeing him naked.

Just at this moment some colleague of mine came in.

He looked at me, then the clown, then the dog, then at me and said nothing. He did his business.

I stopped him from leaving and explained the problem. 

He thought for a moment and then came up with the most ludicrous idea you could think of. 

He suggested that the two of us pick up the clown, turn him upside down, and slowly bring him closer to the urinal so he can do his business.

Picture the scene. Two men in business suits, pick up a clown with big feet and turn him upside down, they slowly and in unison approach the bowl, whilst he opens his zipper and gets relief.

I put the dog on the ground. Pushed a chair behind the door so that the small dog does not escape if anyone comes in.

We picked up the clown. As we got him in position upside down he said he was ticklish and started wriggling and laughing like a live eel chasing its partner. 

He slipped through our fingers and fell with a bump on his head. His laughter turned to cries just as the loudspeaker on the wall called me and my colleague back to the Conference Hall.

We ran out of the Gents Restroom and left him there with his dog. I did not want to get caught manhandling a clown bursting for a wee!

Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself say:  I did not want to get caught manhandling a clown bursting for a wee!

Later on I saw him in the car park with his dog. He was still holding it ... the dog!

Church Council Meeting

 

Hello everyone and thank you for attending this church council meeting ... Alleluia and all that!

Now then ... the first item on the agenda I would like to bring to your attention is the parking situation on Sundays.

As you know, we have a small car park at the front of the church, and a much larger one at the back. Could I ask you please when you arrive to church on Sunday to first try to find a parking place at the small front car park. If by parking there you are blocking the entrance to the car park then please park at the larger car park at the back of the church.

Please be careful of any stray sheep that may come into the large car park from the fields beyond our property. 

If you attend the 8:00 am Mass on Sunday morning we would ask you to hurry up and go home quickly after Mass rather than dilly-dally and chat in the car park; or go to the church hall for a cup of tea and a biscuit. 

This is because you still being here after the 8:00 am Mass interferes with the commencement of the 9:15 am Mass; with cars from both car parks leaving at the same time as other  newcomers arrive for the 9:15 am Mass. This causes congestion in both car parks as well as the surrounding streets where cars are parked which have not been parked in either car parks. Also, beware of non-Catholic sheep which may wander into the car park at either Mass times. 

Some parishioners have complained privately that Father Onto Long goes on and on with interminable sermons. The other week, when he started his sermon there was a young newly married couple sitting in the front pew. By the time he finished his sermon they were playing with their grand-children.

I have to report that there have been complaints as to the number of church collections we have at Mass every Sunday. Personally, I don't think three collections are too many ... it is one thing we Catholics do well.

May I remind you please, especially if you have visited the many casinos in town, not to put your casino chips in the collection plate when it comes round. This causes confusion to our church treasurer, Mr Banks, who has to separate all the casino chips and send them to the nearby monastery where they are sorted and taken to the respective casinos to be cashed in. This job is done at the monastery by chip monks.

Now let me turn to the forthcoming Garden Fete to raise money for the Bishop's Maintenance Fund. I did not know he was falling apart; but then when you consider his age some things must be getting a little loose by now!

Anyway ... the first item to mention is the Bingo Stand ... or Lotto ... another Catholic speciality. May I remind you Mr Tom Bola not to call out the numbers in Latin to ensure that only Catholics win. This is hardly fair to our friends from the Churches Ecumenical Fraternity. After all, this is our only yearly opportunity to get some money out of them so let's give them a fighting chance.

On a similar vein, Miss Dollie Parson, may I remind you that last year's naming of the doll competition was a little unfair. Who could have possibly guessed that the doll was named Agape after a Saint of that name? Admittedly, the previous year naming the doll Mary resulted in 237 winners guessing the name correctly; but choosing Agape is far way on the other side of the scale of possibilities. Let's give the non-Catholics a chance to win.

And whose idea was it to hide a brick inside the cake for the guess the weight of the cake contest? Was it you Mrs Mortar?

And another thing, let us not repeat last year's experience with the Lucky Dip barrel. The idea is for people to put their hand into the barrel full of saw dust and retrieve a small prize which will make them happy. Hiding in the barrel bones from half-eaten KFC dinners was totally in bad taste ... 

We believe it is the same person who filled whoopee cushions with chocolate cream and left them lying around in the tea room for guests to sit on.

Regarding the bric-à-brac stall, the idea is to sell unwanted items which you believe people would love and cherish in their homes ... things like objets d'art, curios, elaborately decorated teacups and small vases, compositions of feathers or flowers under glass domes, decorated eggshells, porcelain figurines, painted miniatures or photographs in stand-up frames, and so on. 

It does NOT include selling your mother-in-law ... or your second-hand car ... or your half-eaten pizza which you no longer want. Let's take this seriously folks and bring to the stall things that people with no taste would wish to buy.

There being no other matter on the agenda, I declare this meeting closed.

Talking with my subconscious

 

Me: Hmmm … I have a few days free right now and maybe I should …

Subconscious: Oh good … we’re going on holiday!

Me: Holiday? No … of course not.

Sub: But, we haven’t been on holiday for sometime.

Me: Yes we did … we went to the seaside for the weekend two years ago … that was nice!

Sub: Wasn’t it just? OK … what will you do with your free days?

Me: Well, I was intending to plan …

Sub: Oh no … not more plans. You’re always planning something; and writing documents, and filing all sorts of bits of paper. It’s your need to be in control of everything. Always planning! Why can’t you let things be? Surprise yourself. Be instantaneous. Let things happen for a change, without any plans and schedules. What is it you’re planning this time?

Me: Well … my funeral, as it happens.

Sub: What?

Me: My funeral.

Sub: Are you feeling well? No aches and pains I should know about? Apart from your brain that is! What’s brought on the sudden need to plan your funeral?

Me: Well … It helps get things organized … you know … when the time comes. It saves the bother and worry for those left behind to have to sort things out.

Sub: But … the whole purpose of dying is to get others to sort things out. It gives them something to do and stops them moping around with miserable faces.

Me: It would be nice to organize the funeral service in church. My favourite readings … favourite hymns …

Sub: Oh no … not those sad hymns. What is it with people and sad hymns at funerals? Why not sing something cheerful?

Me: Like what?

Sub: Like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Maybe people would like to sing those at your funeral rather than your sad hymns.

Me: But people always have mournful songs at funerals.

Sub: Don’t they just? And what is it with that Whitney Houston song from the movies? What’s it called? And I will always love you. With that very long elongated … "I eeeee" which goes on and on before singing "will always love you". What’s all that about?

Me: It’s sad. It depicts the love people have for the person who has died.

Sub: What nonsense. If you really love someone you tell them so when they’re alive. When they’re with you. And you show that love through the way you treat them. Not tell them all about it when they’re dead … When it is too late.

Me: You have a point there …

Sub: I always do. Take my advice. Forget about planning your funeral and go and show your love for somebody.

Me: How well put …

Sub: And another thing … you’re a pain in the neck … working your way South!

 

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NOTES: I don't know about your TV but over here we have a lot of depressing adverts about funeral planning, cremations, and how it is better and more responsible to plan ahead for your departure so that your family don't have to bother ... or care. This must be very sad and worrying for many viewers.

 

There seems to be too many adverts with a negative sombre tone; like adverts for care homes, senior citizens sheltered housing, end of life planning and will writing, mobility scooters and so on. Meanwhile, adverts for foods, luxury cars, holidays and cruises always feature young people with families enjoying all that is good in life. You never see ads showing elderly folks with skin that needs ironing in their swimsuits on the beach. It's always the young and beautiful. (Thinks: keep young and beautiful, if you want to be loved.)

 

What's wrong about a photo of me in my swimsuit?

 

A plea to women everywhere

 

I so wish women would speak clearly and say what's on their mind. I really can't guess what the problem is can I? I'm not Einstein. 

My wife left a note stuck on the fridge door. It said, "It's not working. I can't take it any more. I'm going to my Mom."

I opened the fridge door and the light came on. The beer was cold and my pizza left-overs was still edible. What did she mean "It's not working"?

I rang her and got the silent treatment. I never understood the silent treatment. Why is not on when there's football on TV?

I spoke to my mother-in-law instead. I won't repeat what she said here.

The long way home

 

I went to the green grocers about a mile or so from our house. I bought some apples, some pears, some potatoes and some carrots. They were quite heavy. About two kilos each of apples, pears and carrots and three kilos of potatoes.

The green grocer put them in a plastic bag which I carried back home. It was a long walk with all that weight.

Then suddenly the bag burst under all this weight and there were apples, pears, potatoes and carrots all over the ground.

How do I carry them home, I thought, I can't leave them there. I might be caught on security cameras and accused of throwing litter in the street. Then genius struck. It won't be said I am not resourceful or inventive.

I took off the shoe laces from my boots and tied them very tight round the legs of my trousers; just above the ankles.

Then I put the fruits and vegetables down my trousers. I put them in from the waist.

When they were all tucked in my trouser legs I tightened my belt even more so as not to lose my trousers and held on to them by putting my hands in my pockets.

My legs were swollen by the weight of the fruits and vegetables therein.

I started my walk back home. It was like walking in the sea with water up to my waist. Very slow and very tiring.

Because I had no shoe laces I risked losing my boots if I lifted my feet up.

So I slid one foot a few inches forward; then slid the other foot next to it, then slid my foot a little further forward again, and slid my other foot near it.

Because my legs were swollen to more than twice their original size; the sliding forward was done in a semi-circle fashion rather than straight ahead as you would expect.

This walking, or sliding forward a few inches at a time, with my hands in my pockets was quite tiring, I tell you.

Everyone was watching me and wondering what was wrong with me. People coming up ahead towards me, suddenly stopped and crossed the road on the other side. They did not want to meet me in case my swollen legs syndrome was catching.

Others wondered why I had my hands in my pockets and shouted obscenities at me.

Cars nearly bumped into each other as they stopped to look at me rather than the way ahead.

Some drivers wound their windows down and shouted something unrepeatable here.

I eventually got home. My wife was not impressed by my ingenuity at carrying the fruits and vegetables home when I took off my trousers revealing all.

Psychiatric Dilemma

 

A psychiatrist friend of mine went to see a psychiatrist. Now that is not the same as a doctor seeing a doctor. When a doctor is not well, he goes to see another doctor and explains the symptoms and the diagnosis he arrived at. Then he asks the other doctor if he agrees and whether a specialist's opinion is in order.

Not so with psychiatrists. With them it is all in the mind. As someone once said: If someone thinks he needs to see a psychiatrist he should have his head examined.

Anyway, this psychiatrist friend of mine went to see a psychiatrist. As he entered his insulting room he said, "Help me doctor. People keep ignoring me."

The insulting psychiatrist said, "Who said that?"

"Me," replied the first psychiatrist seeking an opinion, "I said people keep ignoring me and my psychiatrist advice. What should I do?"

"Join them," said the second psychiatrist.

"Is that really your advice?" asked my friend. "To let people ignore me?"

"Who said that?" said the insulting psychiatrist.

"Me ... I just said it," replied my friend.

"Oh do forgive me," said the other psychiatrist, "I have lost my hearing aid and I can't hear you properly."

"Let me help you find it," said my friend helpfully.

"Oh ... thank you. I have looked here everywhere and could not find it!"

"When and where did you last remember seeing it ... or hearing it?" asked my friend.

"Oh ... it was at home this morning. I must have lost it there!"

"You lost it at home?" asked my friend, "why did you search for it here then?"

"Oh ... the lighting in my insulting room is much better than at home. So I thought I'm more likely to find it here!"

"But shouldn't you be looking at home?" insisted my friend.

"Not really," replied the second psychiatrist, "I know exactly where it went. It fell in my corn flakes this morning and I must have swallowed it!"

"You swallowed your hearing aid?" repeated my friend.

"Yes I did ..." replied the other psychiatrist, "now I hear everything as if it was faint and coming from within a cave. And whenever I break wind I answer myself!"

"So you can still hear with the hearing aid within you?" asked my friend.

"That's right," said the other psychiatrist, "what do you say to that?"

"This too shall pass!" replied my friend.

"I hope so," said the other psychiatrist, "in the meantime I have to ask people to talk to me through my navel! Now what can I do for you?"

"Oh ... nothing," said my friend, "I've just been healed. You are the first person not to ignore me and listen!"

"Who said that?" asked the insulting psychiatrist.

Gone with the wind

 

At our supermarket car park you usually pick up a ticket at the barrier which you place inside your windscreen so that the car park attendant can easily see it when he does his rounds. When you leave, you hand the ticket at the exit barrier and you pay as you exit. So it is imperative you do not lose your parking ticket.

I’d finished shopping and I placed all my goods in the car. As I opened the driver’s door a gust of wind blew the ticket out of the car. I chased after it. It went under another parked car some yards away. I looked around for the car park attendant – there was no one to be seen. 

I knelt down and there winking at me teasingly was the ticket under a parked van. It was just out of reach as it smiled at me saying: “Come and get me!”

I went totally flat on my tummy and stretched my arm right out under the van, inching forwards a bit at a time until I touched the ticket with my fingertips. Another stretch and … “Got it!”

At this point I heard a woman say: “Are you all right, Sir?”

I eased myself from under the car as she said, “You seem to have fainted, Sir; and rolled under this van!”

Before I could explain myself she had called the car park attendant who now appeared out of nowhere. 

 

The attendant called for help on his walkie-talkie radio. Another shop assistant turned up with a chair followed by someone else with a glass of water.

“Sit down Sir …” they all seemed to say in unison, “have a sip to drink!”

I tried to explain what had really happened …

“He’s delirious poor soul …” said the woman who first found me on the ground, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying … maybe he hit his head hard as he fell!”

“I did not fall …” I said biting my lip to suppress any insults on my mind, “I went down on my knees voluntarily!”

“Did you want to pray, dear?” she asked patronisingly, "don't be concerned, the Good Lord loves you and will forgive all your sins if you ask Him. You do not have to kneel here in the middle of the car park! He is everywhere, you know?" then turning to the others she mumbled, “he doesn’t know where he is … thinks he’s in church poor soul! It happens to some people with age!”

What a damn cheek ... what did she mean by people with age? I am younger than her and could race her any day at drinking a chocolate milkshake faster than her. Besides, she looked ugly with her condescending religious voice that would turn any man to sin.

At this point the first aider turned up with his bag with a red cross on it. He opened it and asked, “Is he bleeding? Where did he hit his head? Does he want mouth to mouth resuscitation; only I don't like doing that. You don't know what germs you can pick up from a dying man, do you? Have you got any communicable diseases that I should know of, Sir? Or any of a sexual nature?”

Before I could answer something that he would remember for the rest of his life, the assistant manager turned up and asked me, “Are you making a complaint and seeking compensation, Sir? We'll deny all responsibilities, whatever they are. You'd be surprised how many people pretend to have been run over by stationary cars just to claim compensation!”

I remained calm under the circumstances and shouted, "Would you all get the hell out of here ... except this idiot pretending to be the ass manager!"

This gave me the opportunity to explain matters to someone who might be able to listen. They all looked at me in surprise and walked away mumbling to each other.

The assistant manager looked a bit of an idiot; but in dire times a bit of an idiot is better than none.

I told him what happened and assured him I had not intention of making any complaint or seek compensation. I just wanted to leave this stupid car park manned by escaped lunatics.

He went away much relieved. He told me the gate-keeper will let me out if I showed him my parking ticket.

As I reached the exit barrier the attendant there wanted to charge me a fee for overstaying my allotted time.

I had to explain all over again why I had stayed longer than the allotted parking time. He called the assistant manager who asked the attendant to let me out. The attendant refused. An argument ensued between the two of them and neither wanted to give way.

At this point a cashier turned up with a bag of onions in his hands, "are you the gentleman who forgot these at the cash desk?" he asked.

As the assistant manager and the car park attendant were arguing, I got out the car. Put my head through the kiosk opening and pushed a button on the panel marked OPEN. To my surprise, both men ignored me as they continued arguing about company policy.

 

I got in the car and left.

The moral of this story is:

If you enjoy what you read on this blog why not invite others here?

If you knew for certain ...

 

If you knew for certain that the world would end in three days' time; would you return the book you borrowed to the library or not bother?

And if you decide not to bother because of other more pressing things to do; then what are these things which take precedence? (Think hard about this).

And should you decide not to bother returning the book, do you realise that technically speaking this is stealing and you have broken one of the Ten Commandments? How would you explain this to Saint Peter?

And if you do return the book, would you tell the librarian that the world will end in a few days? Would you warn her? (Think hard about this also).

And if you decide not to tell the librarian, or anyone else; is that not being selfish and withholding salvation from someone else? How would you explain this to Saint Peter?

Is it not our duty and responsibility as Christians to tell everyone about eternal life and what they should do to get to Heaven?

I went to see a psychiatrist a few days ago. He was not well and we have to visit the sick, don't we?

I found him lying on his "medical couch" staring at the ceiling.

I sat beside him, picked up a pen and paper and casually said, "Tell me what's troubling you!"

He said, "If you knew for certain that the world would end in three days' time; would you return the book you borrowed to the library or not bother? ... ... ... ... ... "

 

 

CLAIM YOUR MONEY BACK HERE 

My mid-life crisis

 

I've been thinking; when exactly does one have a mid-life crisis and how does it manifest itself? I am asking for a friend.

I looked it up and the AI says:   

A midlife crisis is a period of deep self-doubt and emotional upheaval that typically occurs between the ages of 40 and 65. Triggered by the realization of ageing and mortality, individuals reassess their life choices, leading to desires for drastic changes or a return to youth. 

The thing is; can someone have two mid-life crisis? Only, I can't afford one; I mean that's what my friend says. Having two mid-life crisis is like having two mothers-in-law. You don't want them at the same time.

Life is confusing these days and it is going so fast. No sooner it's Monday than it's the weekend again. And we're always waiting for something to happen: an appointment, a letter, a journey. Even on the news; they always say that something will happen in a while. Whether it is a political situation, economic forecast, weather outlook or whatever. It is always in a while time.

I went to see my therapist lately. The poor guy is having a mid-life financial crisis. No one is seeking his advice on anything. I asked him how did his mid-life financial crisis manifest itself. He said the bank manager closed his account.

He then advised me, on behalf of my friend of course, to take up yoghurt to find inner peace.

Apparently you sit on the floor cross-legged and try to discover your inner-self. I just could not find mine.

The lady instructor went into the plough position and showed the class how to relax

You have to stay in that position pointing your backside upwards. She did not flinch on cheek as she invited all of us to do the same.

I discovered you have to be a contortionist to get into that position. And I am totally the wrong body shape being a wee bit rotund. My legs and arms became totally entangled and I was more disjointed than ever before. I'll tell you something. Having to get into all those difficult positions and stay there for a while ... the only thing I learnt from that yoghurt session was how to hold on from breaking wind for a long period of time.

My wife suggested I take the dog for a walk more often. But the dog was too tired to join me and he did not have a mid-life crisis. I took the cat instead. He has nine lives and at least one of them must be in the middle.

I put the long retractable dog lead/leash on him and we went out. I did not want Tommy to run into the street. Instead, he climbed up a tree and stayed there. I stood by the tree holding the lead pointing upwards. People thought I was taking the tree for a walk.

Some passer-by commented that I was having a mid-life crisis. Or my friend did/does.

Lifetime Regrets

 

Regrets, I've had a few; but then again, too few to mention ...

 

We have all had our fair share of regrets in life. Things we did, or did not do, or things that happened to us and left a mark or a memory in our lives. Hopefully we have learnt from the experience and moved on. But what about when something happens which results in a life-changing experience? You can regret as much as you want but what has happened has happened.

 

This happened to me many years ago. I was on holiday with a group of people in the Lake District and we lived in tents overnight. 

 

One morning I got up early before everyone else, and without telling anyone I went for a walk. I went up this hill and kept walking. It was a nice sunny morning at about 6:00am with a fresh breeze every now and then. I kept walking and going higher and higher. Pretty soon I was on top of the world. I could see the lakes and other mountain tops in the distance and the tent camp down there was nowhere to be seen.

 

It was a stupid and foolhardy thing to do. If I'd slipped and got hurt no one would find me.

 

But I did something more stupid than that. Something I regret to this day.

 

There was a small stream nearby. Water was trickling down the mountain and passing by me a few feet away. I put my hand in the water and drank a little bit. No more than a couple of spoons. It was cold and fresh. I thought nothing of it.

 

Days later, when we all got back home, I noticed one of my ears was itching a bit. I ignored it. The itch continued for a few days. I noticed whilst looking at the mirror that the ear was a little red and seemed slightly bigger in size.

 

I kept looking at the mirror daily. Sometimes more that once a day. The redness had gone, and also the itch. But the ear seemed to be growing. Or was it my imagination?

 

Eventually, I went to see the doctor. He humoured me and said peoples' ears do grow bigger as they get older. I challenged him and said surely both would grow bigger at the same rate. He said not always. 

 

I ignored the doctor and in time I ignored the ear growing too. Another thing I regret.

 

Have you noticed that I never post photos of myself on this Blog or on social media?

 

I now have an ear measuring six inches from top to bottom. Yes - six inches. The other two are much bigger than that!

THE FINAL FRONT EAR