More Jokes!

More Jokes!

Wow, it’s already time for more jokes! So here they are, from my two favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan and Steven Wright. Let’s start this week LAUGHING!

Jim Gaffigan Stand Up Jokes

 

It is amazing how email has changed our lives. You ever get a handwritten letter in the mail today? “What the?… Has someone been kidnapped?”

 

When they first introduced bottled water, I thought it was so funny. I was like, “Bottled water! Ha ha, they’re selling bottled water! I guess I’ll try it. Ahh, this is good. This is more watery than water. Yeah, this has got a water kick to it.”

 

I come from a very large family – nine parents.

 

Life is a little easier for attractive people. Think about it, if a stranger smiles at you and they’re attractive, you think, “Oh, they’re nice.” But if the stranger’s ugly, you’re like, “What do they want? Get away from me, weirdo.”

 

Have you seen the bologna that has the olives in it? Who’s that for? ‘I like my bologna like a martini. With an olive.’ ‘I’ll have the bologna sandwich — dirty.’

 

I think it’d be great if you had a kid that ended up being pope. That would be the ultimate bragging rights. ‘Oh, your son’s a doctor? Yeah, ours is pope. Oh, they have a house? He has his own city.’

 

Have you ever had somebody not ask for directions but demand them. You’re just walking down the street, you hear a horn — some guy’s like, ‘Holland Tunnel!’ You know, like you were supposed to fax this guy directions; suddenly, you’re wasting his time. ‘Let’s go, buddy — Holland Tunnel!’

 

My favorite animal is the manatee, the sea cow. Have you ever seen that animal? The manatee is endangered, and I think it’s because it’s out of shape. It looks like a retired football player.

 

You ever look for the remote control, you can’t find it, so you just decide, ‘Ah, it looks like I’m not watching TV.’

 

I am originally from Indiana. I know what most of you are thinking: Indiana — mafia.

 

When you don’t drink, people always need to know why. They’re like, ‘You don’t drink? Why?’ This never happens with anything else. ‘You don’t use mayonnaise? Why? Are you addicted to mayonnaise? Is it OK if I use mayonnaise?’

 

You could be a genius — you try to write a postcard, you come across like a moron anyway. It’s always like, ‘This city’s got big buildings. I like food. Bye.’

How did we get to the point where we’re paying for bottled water? That must have been some weird marketing meeting over in France. Some French guy’s sitting there, like, ‘How dumb do I think the Americans are? I bet you we could sell those idiots water.’

 

I’m bald, blind and pale. I’m like a gigantic recessive gene.

 

You ever find yourself being lazy for no reason at all? Like you pick up your mail, you go in your house, you realize you have a letter for a neighbor — you ever just look at the letter and go, ‘Hm, looks like they’re never getting this. Takes too much energy to go outside.’

 

You think when gym teachers are younger, they’re thinking, ‘You know I want to teach, but I don’t want to read?’

 

You ever talk about a movie with someone that read the book? They’re always so condescending. ‘Ah, the book was much better than the movie.’ Oh really? What I enjoyed about the movie: no reading.

 

Isn’t it strange — when you’re single, all you see is couples, and when you’re part of a couple, all you see are hookers.

 

I never have free time. You ever go to the cash machine, there’s two people in line front of you — you get kind of flustered? You’re like ‘Forget it! I’m not standing here for 40 seconds. I’ve got things to do.’

 

Parents get burned out in big families. You can even see it in the naming of children. It’s always, like, the first kid: ‘You were named after Grandma’; the seventh kid: ‘You were named after a sandwich I had. I loved that. Now, get your brother Reuben.’

 

You ever read an article, and at the bottom, it says, ‘Continued on page six’? I’m like, ‘Not for me. I’m done.’

 

You ever notice that when people are thinking in movies, they’re always chewing on the end of their glasses? Like, ‘If we give the alien a cold…’. You know what they’re really thinking? ‘This tastes likes wax.’

 

I do kind of aspire to do comedy that appeals to a wide range of audiences and doesn’t divide people. I never want to do material that makes people laugh at the expense of making other people feel bad – not to say I’m not guilty of that at times. … I try and make humor out of the really important issues of the day, like Hot Pockets and elevators and not wanting to get out of bed. I am a guy who talks about bacon and escalators.

 

Steven Wright Stand Up Jokes

All those who believe in psychokinesis raise my hand.

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

I almost had a psychic girlfriend but she left me before we met.

OK, so what’s the speed of dark?

How do you tell when you’re out of invisible ink?

If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked

something.

Support bacteria – they’re the only culture some people have.

When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.

Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to be lazy.

Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.

Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don’t have film.

Shin: a device for finding furniture in the dark.

Many people quit looking for work when they find a job.

I intend to live forever – so far, so good.

If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?

Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.

Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.

When I’m not in my right mind, my left mind gets pretty crowded.

Boycott shampoo! Demand the REAL poo!

Who is General Failure and why is he reading my hard disk?

What happens if you get scared half to death twice?

I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.

I couldn’t repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.

Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?

If at first you don’t succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.

If at first you don’t succeed, then skydiving definitely isn’t for you.

A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.

Experience is something you don’t get until just after you need it.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite criticism.

The colder the X-ray table, the more of your body is required to be on it.

The hardness of the butter is proportional to the softness of the bread.

The severity of the itch is proportional to the reach.

To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is

research.

You never really learn to swear until you learn to drive.

The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.

Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7th of your life.

The sooner you fall behind, the more time you’ll have to catch up. (this is

one of my long time favorites)

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you’ve never tried

before.

Change is inevitable….except from vending machines.

A fool and his money are soon partying.

Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.

If you think nobody cares about you, try missing a couple of payments.

Drugs may lead to nowhere, but at least it’s the scenic route.

I’d kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.

Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.

Borrow money from pessimists-they don’t expect it back.

Half the people you know are below average.

99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.

42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.

A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel so good.

 

“What Happened to My Six Inches?”

This comment, “what happened to my six inches,” came from my dear friend, Carol. She and I both love those wonderful light sweaters that cascade down the front and have 3/4 sleeves; just right to show off all our bangle bracelets. But as she says, the word “sweater” implies warmth, sleeves all the way to the wrist (meaning those extra six inches), and buttons. Ever see those anymore? Me, either.

Also, when did sweater sleeves become so tight and skinny? And, as Carol says, why do sweaters now either have sleeves about 6″ too short, or sleeves long enough to fit gorilla arms? When did that happen?

Then there are today’s short skirts that take me all the way back to the ’60s. At that time, we girls all wanted to have the “Carnaby Street” look; i.e., short-short skirts, cute tops, striped leggings, “gillie-tie” shoes and puffy caps with a brim. The Beatles were the hottest group in the world, and we all wanted to be British-y. So our skirts were barely long enough to cover our underpants. In fact, those who sewed used to make undies in the same material as the skirts. I’ll tell you, that confused the heck out of the boys who wanted a peek at our undies–somehow matching pants didn’t have the same attraction as a peep at our white granny pants.

But I digress. I would love to know who makes up the “rules of sweaters” these days. Interesting factoid: the percentage of beautiful/hot/perfect/thin/gorgeous people in the world is about 5% (and that’s being generous). So here’s my thinking: if that’s so, then why do all the fashion mags feature these amazing perfect creatures where there are so few of them?

My late mother-in-law, Hazel, used to complain that no one seemed to be making blouses anymore, either. Remember Ship n’ Shore blouses? Or maybe those are more of a New England thing, like L. L. Bean. In fact, here in New England we wear what we can “L. L. Bean chic:”

  • Tartan flannel shirts over tank tops, with jeans
  • “Duck shoes” with anything
  • Turtlenecks with linen pants
  • Flannel-lined jean jackets over pintuck shirts with chino slacks
  • Colorful anoraks over everything
  • Those wonderful three-in-one all-weather coats and jackets
  • Thermal underwear
  • Linen “boyfriend” jackets over long striped skirts and mountain boots

..and so on. We L. L. Beaners stand out in places like NYC where it seems everyone wears black. Fine for New York, but when New Yorkers come up to New Hampshire and Maine, they do stand out, gaining them that welcoming line from the natives, “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

But anyway, back to the missing six inches, who suddenly decided that style trumped warmth? Let me tell you, when you’re snowed in so badly that your snowblower can’t blow one more snowflake over the 8′ high drifts in your driveway, you’ll be missing those six inches–badly!

So I guess it’s up to us regular folks to start our own fashion statement by adding elbow-length evening gloves to those  sweaters with missing those last six inches.

Or oven mitts. Yup, those would do, too.

From the Kindness Blog: Scars of Love

I found this recently on the Kindness Blog, and it struck me to the heart. I want to share it with you, because I am in the process of losing my mother to incurable cancer. My bright, talented, graceful, beautiful, funny, clever, wonderful, loving and amazing mother, who survived two bouts of breast cancer, is in Stage 4 lung cancer due to metastatic breast cancer. She has lost nearly half of her body weight, and is fragile and in pain. However, my wonderful 90-year old dad and Hospice are taking wonderful care of her. On my visits I bring food (as do many of her loving friends), and we talk and laugh together.

She may have as much as six months to live; perhaps less, perhaps more. She considers it a blessing that she can chose how she leaves this world. At age 83 she sees no reason to endure the pain and sickness of chemotherapy. She now enjoys some medications that dull the pain, allow her to sleep, have decent mobility, and have also brought her appetite is back. Her mind is as sharp and clear as ever, and she is glad to be able to direct and manage her remaining time.

My dad and I agree completely with this decision, too. If I were in her shoes, I would do exactly the same. Quality of life trumps length of life every time.

I have loved and lost both my grandparents, some aunts and uncles, and a few friends. I am incredibly lucky to be 64 years old and still have both my parents.

The following offering from the Kindness Blog touched me deeply, and helps me to see better the road ahead. I am going to miss my mother’s physical presence for the rest of my life. I know that there will be good days, bad days, amazing days, sad days, and just ok days. I also know that both my mother and father raised me well and raised me to be resourceful and strong. I know I can survive this. I also know beyond any doubt that I will see her and everyone I have ever loved and lost again where we all will be together in endless light and love.

Posted on The Kindness Blog by G. Snow

“All right–here goes. I’m old. What that means is I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not.

I’ve lost  friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want it to be something that just passes.

My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function.

You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

My Favorite Kind of Loony

The word “loony” has many different meanings; the common one being “crazy” or “foolish.” It is also the short version of “lunatic” as well. And then there are these synonyms from Webster’s Dictionary:

  • absurd
  • asinine
  • balmy (or ‘barmy’)
  • brainless
  • bubbleheaded
  • cockeyed
  • crackpot
  • crazy
  • cuckoo
  • daffy
  • daft
  • dippy
  • dotty
  • fatuous
  • feather-headed
  • fool
  • half-baked
  • hare-brained
  • half-witted
  • inept
  • insane
  • jerky
  • kooky (also kookie)
  • foolish (also looney)
  • lunatic
  • lunk-headed
  • mad
  • nonsensical
  • nutty
  • preposterous
  • sappy
  • screwball
  • senseless
  • silly
  • simple-minded
  • stupid
  • tomfool
  • unwise
  • wacky (also whacky)
  • weak-minded
  • witless
  • zany

Just look at all of these wonderful words to describe someone who is, shall we say, one sandwich short of a picnic, one who does not have all their fish on one string, and so on. I really don’t think we have nearly as many interesting phrases, words or synonyms for regular ‘normal’ folk.

But that aside, I rather like the term ‘loony.’ It brings to mind an older lady of some means, sitting on her front porch in the early evening, having a cup of tea in an English china cup and sparked with a gracious plenty of “C’mon Baby Light My Fire” whiskey. She would be wearing one of her old but well-kept floor-length kimonos with matching silk slippers.

Tonight she would be wearing the ivory, scarlet, turquoise and black kimono, with scarlet slippers turned up at the toes. Her long silver hair would be braided and wrapped at the base of her neck, with an ivory and gold comb to hold it in place. Large jade and gold rings would bedeck her fingers, and her nails would be painted a glittering gold. Creamy ivory drop earrings trimmed in gold would dangle from her ears.

Her large Samoan manservant would have tenderly seen to her dressing, hair and nails, and would be sitting opposite her, enjoying a glass of shandy. Having been together for many decades, the silence between them would be comfortable, and occasionally they would catch the others eye and smile. He would have been witness to her days of dancing atop pianos, drawing crowds in her salon as she read her own poetry aloud, seen her through her five marriages and also would have loved and cared for her endless parade of black cats over many years, all called Disraeli.

The children in her neighborhood suspect that she might be a witch, but they can’t deny the allure of her home with its wide porch, stained glass upper windows and hedges clipped to look like upside-down ice cream cones. Nor can they turn away the delicious brownies and cookies that the manservant bakes and leaves in large plates for them on the front steps.

Some evenings you can hear her play her violin, and often her manservant will accompany her on a curiously carved wooden flute. The music would lazily coil out of the windows and into the street where the neighbors might start tapping their feet or putting down their newspapers to let the sound roll over them as they close their eyes, enjoying the free concert.

So, having said all that, this is how I choose to view the word “loony.” In fact, I’d like it very much if, 10 or 20 years down the road, people call ME “loony.” I can’t promise I’ll have a manservant, but I will have the Crankee Yankee by my side…..and I probably will be wearing bright kimonos, too. And definitely lots of jewelry.

Yup, that would by my favorite kind of loony.

 

 

 

C.A.T. = Curious. Aloof. Tricky.

I called the cat, and he did not come.

He’s sound asleep somewhere, the lazy bum–

I clink his food bowl with my ring

To alert him that it’s dinner time, the silly thing–

But does he come running like a dog?

No, he’s snoozing on the bed, and snoring like a hog.

He can’t tell time, so he doesn’t think it out of place

To wake me up with his butt in my face–

I’ll admit it’s a bit of an intrusion

To see his hindquarters in such profusion–

But I will admit, it gets me up right quick

Even though my brain is still too thick

To realize that he’s done it yet again–

He’s made me fix his breakfast before dawn’s diadem

Has risen to full sunlight, but does he care?

He does not, as long as his own good fortune fares

Well enough to get him back on my bed

Full tummy upturned, happy, sleepy and well-fed–

Cat means Curious, Aloof and Tricky,

But most of all, he’s impolitic-y.

 

 

Are Personal Drones the *Muggle Version of the Harry Potter Owls?

If you are a big Harry Potter fan as I am, you are familiar with the “owl post” used by all witches and wizards. They are used to carry letters and packages, and often the sky is filled with them. They are handy as can be; they even deliver the morning papers, “Witch Weekly” and “The Daily Prophet.”

Now, put this kind of handiness in the muggle world and think of some of the purposes of drones (non-military, of course) for delivering packages and letters….sounds a lot like the owl post, doesn’t it? While I’d much rather have things delivered by owl, you have to admit that there is a similarity in purpose.

Consider this as well: There are other ways that witches and wizards communicate to each other (other than speaking face-to-face, of course). The Deatheaters used to be summoned by Lord Voldemort when he pressed his wand against the Dark Mark (skull and snake tattoo) on any Deatheater’s arm. Isn’t this a lot like texting someone?

Hermione used this same technique in “Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix” when they secretly developed **Dumbledore’s Army. They practiced advanced magical defense charms in the Room of Requirement and met whenever they could. Hermione put a charm on several ***galleons so that all members could be alerted to the time of the next meeting. The time would show up on the edge of the coins once she tapped her wand on her own coin. Again, quite a lot like texting.

Magic was used in practical things, too. Mrs. Weasley (mother of Ron, Harry’s best friend), having so many children, used magic to great domestic use. Using her wand, she could set a pot of stew on the stove and magic it into stirring the contents itself. Doesn’t that sound a lot like those self-stirring pots (and stoves, too) we have now?

There were actually some “icons” in the Harry Potter books as well. Fred and George, older twin brothers to Harry’s best friend, Ron, used to regularly sneak into the Hogwarts kitchen to get extra food. There were no doors to the kitchen, but with a little sleuthing, they discovered how to gain access. On the lower level of Hogwarts, there was a large painting of a bowl of fruit. All they had to do was to tickle the pear in the painting until it giggled, and a door to the kitchen magically opened. Doesn’t that sound a lot like clicking an icon on the computer?

Personally, I think that magic is much more fun than technology, anyway. However, if I ever have my own drone, I think I’ll name it ****Hedwig.

*Muggle: a non-magical person, not a witch or a wizard.

**Albus Dumbledore is the headmaster at Hogwarts.

***A galleon is the highest denomination of wizard coins and is made of gold.

****Hedwig was the name of Harry’s owl. (Seriously, people–read the Harry Potter series!)

“Stop Telling Me What’s Wrong About Me!”

As most of us know, some friendships just don’t last. They may start off well; you meet someone with whom you feel you have a lot in common. You do things together, you start having your own jokes and references; you begin to feel as if you’ve known this person all your life.

You are having so much fun that often you don’t realize that the other person; this great friend, is starting to say things to you that are–well, a bit hurtful. She says you’re fun to be with, but just not quite all the friend you could be to her. She lists all the things she feels that the “perfect friend” should be (implying that you are not being those things). It’s not quite an insult, so you brush it off, thinking you were just taking things the wrong way, that they couldn’t have meant the way that sounded….but a little corner of your heart starts to hurt–a little.

Time goes on. You start to notice that your friend is making comments about you to other people, and you come out of it as the butt of the joke. If you say something about it, she looks at you as if you’re crazy, telling you to stop thinking that everything is about you, and why don’t you learn to take a joke?

So you try to be a better friend. You concentrate on being more complimentary, you always ask what she wants to do instead of suggesting something you’d like to do. You find yourself with a group of people you and your friend like, and during the time together another friend comes up to you and says, “you know, <insert best friend’s name> just said something kind of mean about you. Are you guys mad at each other?”

You feel as if you just got stabbed. How could your dearest friend say that? You’re friends! Later on you confront her and ask what she meant by her comment. She says that you “should know” that you have this or that problem or issue. You ask why she didn’t tell you personally, and she shrugs and says, “I thought you knew.”

Later on when you’re alone, you start thinking, ‘hey, wait a second: why does she get to say these things about me? Why is she not a better friend to me? I’ve been nothing but nice to her!’

Then it hits you right between the eyes: you have nothing to be sorry about. You have done nothing but be a good friend, and you are not responsible to be the kind of person your friend says that you should be. What should matter is that you take each other as you are, not what you think they should be.

This happened to me, and believe it or not, it took me years to realize that there was nothing wrong with me; I really was a good friend. My problem was that I let her get in my head and I began to believe that she was right. She just didn’t like that I didn’t do all the things she felt I should do for her. So we stopped seeing each other, and I went through sort of a grieving period. I had had such a good time in the beginning with her, and was sad that that part of my life was over. Then I had to forgive myself for believing her over believing in myself. These things go both ways, not just one way.

While I’m the first to say that I am far from perfect, I have tried all my life not to knowingly hurt anyone. It took that “friendship” to make me realize that 1) not all friendships last, and 2) not all friendship issues are my fault.

How about that for an “aha!” moment?