The minister’s little six-year-old girl had been so
naughty during the week that her mother decided to give her the worst kind of
punishment. She told her she couldn’t go to the Sunday School Picnic on
When the day came, her mother felt she had been too harsh and changed her mind. When she told the little girl she could go to the picnic, the child’s reaction was one of gloom and unhappiness.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be glad to go to the picnic,” her mother said.
“It’s too late! the little girl said. “I’ve already prayed for rain.”
Smile: A curve that can set a lot of things straight.
The secret to living long is avoiding “Death by Stupidity.”
Totally Clips or Cut It Short
Woman 1: Oh! You got a haircut! That’s so cute!
Woman 2: Do you think so? I wasn’t sure when she gave me the mirror. I mean, you don’t think it’s too fluffy looking?
Woman 1: Oh my, no! It’s perfect. I’d love to get my hair cut like that, but I think my face is too wide. I’m pretty much stuck with this stuff I think.
Woman 2: Are you serious? I think your face is adorable. And you could easily get one of those layer cuts – that would look so cute I think. I was actually going to do that except that I was afraid it would accent my long neck.
Woman 1: Oh – that’s funny! I would love to have your neck! Anything to take attention away from this two-by-four I have for a shoulder line.
Woman 2: Are you kidding? I know girls that would love to have your shoulders. Everything drapes so well on you. I mean, look at my arms – see how short they are? If I had your shoulders I could get clothes to fit me so much easier.
Man 1: Haircut?
Man 2: Yep.
A little boy watched, fascinated, as his mother gently
rubbed cold cream on her face.
“Why are you rubbing that white stuff on your face, Mommy?” he asked.
“To make myself beautiful,” said his mother.
A few minutes later, she began removing the cream with a tissue.
“What’s the matter, mommy?” he pleaded. “Are you giving up?”
George W. Bush, in an airport lobby, noticed a man in
a long flowing white robe with a long flowing white beard and flowing white
The man had a staff in one hand and some stone tablets under the other arm. George W. approached the man and inquired, “Aren’t you Moses?” The man ignored George W. and stared at the ceiling.
George W. positioned himself more directly in the man’s view and asked again, “Aren’t you Moses?” The man continued to peruse the ceiling. George W. tugged at the man’s sleeve and asked once again, “Aren’t you Moses?”
The man finally responded in an irritated voice, “YES, I am.”
George W. asked him why he was so uppity and had taken so long to answer him. The man replied, “The last time I spoke to a Bush I ended up stuck in a desert for forty years!”
An expert on whales was telling friends about some of
the unusual findings he had made. “For instance,” he said, “some
whales can communicate at a distance of 300 miles.”
“What on earth would one whale say to another 300 miles away?” asked a sarcastic member of the group.
“I’m not absolutely sure,” answered the expert, “but it sounds something like this: ‘Heeeeeeey! Can you hear me nowwww!?!’
Weapons Of Math Destruction
One day a scientist wanted to prove that, contrary to
popular belief, blondes were actually smart. To prove his theory he gathered a
huge convention of blondes. He chose one lady out of the crowd and began to ask
“What is 12×11?”
The crowd yelled, “Give her another chance!”
The scientist asked again, “What is 6×4?”
The crowd yelled, “Give her another chance!”
Cessna: “Newark tower, Cessna Bravo, Seven,
Foxtrot, student pilot, I am out of fuel.”
Tower: ” Roger Bravo, Seven, Foxtrot, reduce airspeed to best glide!! Do you have the Newark airfield in sight?!?!!”
Cessna: “Uh, um…tower, I’m parked on the south ramp. I just wanted to know where the fuel truck is.”
The first fuel used in auto racing was called formula one.
Knead to Know Crummy Evidence
than 98 percent of convicted felons are bread users.
2. Fully HALF of all children who grow up in bread-consuming households score below average on standardized tests.
3. In the 18th century, when virtually all bread was baked in the home, the average life expectancy was less than 50 years; infant mortality rates were unacceptably high; many women died in childbirth; and diseases such as typhoid, yellow fever, and influenza ravaged whole nations.
4. More than 90 percent of violent crimes are committed within 24 hours of eating bread.
5. Primitive tribal societies that have no bread exhibit a low incidence of cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s disease, and osteoporosis.
6. Bread is often a “gateway” food item, leading the user to “harder” items such as butter, jelly, peanut butter, and even cold cuts.
7. Most American bread eaters are utterly unable to distinguish between significant scientific fact and meaningless statistical babbling.
In light of these frightening statistics, we propose the following bread restrictions:
1. No sale of bread to minors.
2. A nationwide “Just Say No To Toast” campaign, with complete celebrity TV spots and bumper stickers.
3. A 300 percent federal tax on all bread to pay for all the societal ills we might associate with bread.
4. No animal or human images, nor any primary colors (which may appeal to children) may be used to promote bread usage.
5. The establishment of “Bread-free” zones around schools.
Morris walks out into the street and manages to get a taxi just going by. He gets into the taxi, and the cabbie says, “Perfect timing. You’re just like Dave.”
“Dave Aronson. There’s a guy who did everything right. Like my coming along when you needed a cab. It would have happened like that to Dave.”
“There are always a few clouds over everybody,” says Morris.
“Not Dave. He was a terrific athlete. He could have gone on the pro tour in tennis. He could golf with the pros. He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star.”
“He was something, huh?”
“He had a memory like a trap. Could remember everybody’s birthday. He knew all about wine, which fork to eat with. He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and I black out the whole neighborhood.”
“No wonder you remember him.”
“Well, I never actually met Dave.”
“Then how do you know so much about him?” asks Morris.
“Because I married his widow.”
You know sometimes I get the sudden urge to run around naked. But then I just drink some Windex. It keeps me from streaking.
The jockey thought he was so clever feeding marijana to his steed to enhance it’s performance. Well, now he’s busted, and it’s time for him to get off his high horse.
I heard of a Pastor who had a special drawer where he filed his bills. It was labeled “Due unto others.”
I refuse to visit Marx’s tomb because it’s all just a communist plot.
A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary
surgeon As she lay her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and
listened to the bird’s chest. After a moment or two, the vet shook his head
sadly and said, “I’m so sorry, your pet has passed away.”
The distressed owner wailed, “Are you sure? “Yes, I’m sure. The duck is dead,” he replied. “How can you be so sure”, she protested. “I mean, you haven’t done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something.”
The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room. He returned a few moments later with a black Labrador Retriever. As the duck’s owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head. The vet patted the dog and took it out and returned a few moments later with a beautiful cat. The cat jumped up on the table and also sniffed the bird from its beak to its tail and back again. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly, jumped down and strolled out of the room.
The vet looked at the woman and said, “I’m sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck.” Then the vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys, and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman.
The duck’s owner, still in shock, took the bill. “$150!” she cried. “$150 just to tell me my duck is dead?!!”
The vet shrugged. “I’m sorry. If you’d taken my word for it, the bill would have been $20. But what with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it all adds up.”
Life In A Manure Pile or as
Robby Would Say Spreading
By Marsha Jordan
There was a time when my husband aspired to be a
self-sufficient, back-to-the-land pioneer. He bought a windmill, some oil
lamps, beehives, and a couple of pigs, which our son named Lois Lane and Clark
This dirty duo caused me many headaches, from the day we took them home. Although tied in gunny sacks and secured in the back of our pickup truck, the Houdini hoglets managed to free themselves , leap from the truck, and head for the hills. We eventually got the slippery little buggers safely home, but only after a rough and tumble scramble through the woods.
Lois and Clark were adventurous piglets who soon learned to scale their little pig house and jump off the roof to freedom outside the fence. Motorists on the busy highway near our home frequently reported seeing “two wild pigs” darting between cars. And more than once, I received angry phone calls from neighbors who found the pair digging up their flower beds.
I was usually the only one home when the pigs went exploring, so the job of luring them home fell to yours truly. How does one convince two full grown hogs to follow you? It requires a slop bucket full of cottage cheese, apple peels, and other goodies.
Once I had to trudge through waist-high snow, leaving a trail behind me of table scraps. By this time, L and C had become man eaters, so they followed close behind chomping at my heels.
Yes, pigs BITE – at least Lois and Clark did. And once they tasted blood, they preferred it to their usual diet.
That diet consisted of truckloads of stale bakery bread , sour milk from the dairy, and scraps from local restaurants. Keeping the pair of porkers fed was a big job. Lois and Clark ate a lot – and you can imagine what else they did – a LOT. The manure pile grew into a mountain which remained in the field long after Lois and Clark were transformed to bacon and pork chops and laid to rest in our freezer.
The following summer, I planted a huge garden. I lovingly weeded it, fertilized it, and tended it daily only to discover at the end of the season that my prized vegetables were dwarfed in comparison to the huge tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash that had sprung up from the manure pile.
Why am I telling you more than you cared to know about pigs and manure? Because there is something to be learned here (God has lessons for us everywhere, if we are willing to see them).
Most folks have felt the pain of seeing their hopes shattered and dreams destroyed. We all have felt at times like life is one big dung heap and we’re living smack dab in the middle of a mountain of manure!
The Bible says that God can produce beauty from ashes. He can take the smelly, disgusting pile of manure that our lives can sometimes be – and He can grow some prize-winning, life-giving fruit (and veggies) from what looks to us like garbage.
So there is hope – even atop the manure pile. Just as the garbage in a compost heap makes a garden grow, the garbage in our lives can bring forth good things too that help us to grow.
We may wonder why God allows the manure to pile up in our lives, but I’m sure it’s no accident or surprise to Him. The good news is that we don’t have to climb that manure mountain alone. Trouble comes into every life, but we have a source of strength to uphold and guide us; and we have hope, the essential ingredient for making it through the dung heap.
So grab a shovel and start digging. There’s a harvest on the other side.
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