Yesterday, I changed a light bulb, crossed the street, and walked into a bar. My life is a joke.

Longer Jokes have been a bit “thin on the ground” here lately. On the other hand, when I read the punch line on this one, I laughed loud enough to startle the dog and get the parrot chattering.

I think you’ll like it.

 

Big Jake

It’s a quiet day in the saloon when a cowboy runs in. With a panicked look on his face, he says, “Everybody run, I just got word that Big Jake is comin’ to town!”.

The bartender, who’s new in town, is shocked to see everybody get up and run out. He grabs a patron by the bar and asks, “What’ happening?”.

“D-d-didn’t you hear, man? Big Jake’s comin’ to town!”

The bartender is confused, but rolls with it. But, since he doesn’t want people coming and looting the saloon, he decides to stick around.

Just then, the meanest, tallest, ugliest son-of-a-bitch the bartender’s ever seen bursts into the room. He slams the door so hard it falls clean off its hinges. He’s eight foot tall, and nearly as wide. Every inch of his face is either scarred or tattooed. His ears are pierced with two massive railroad spikes. He picks up a table and throws it straight down through the floor, just to show that he can.

He walks up to the bar and slams his fist down on it so hard that it splits clean in two. “HEY, BARKEEP!”, he yells. “GIMME THAT BOTTLE O’ WHISKEY!”

Shaking, the barkeeper hands the bottle over. In one massive gulp, he downs the entire bottle before smashing it over his own head. “NOW GIMME THAT BOTTLE O’ TEQUILLA!”

Again, the barkeeper hands over the bottle, which the stranger downs in a single gulp before breaking the bottle over his head. He scoops up some of the glass and eats it, just to show how tough he is.

Wanting to stay on his good side, the bartender asks him, “I-i-is there anything else I can get you, sir?”.

The stranger says “THANKS PARDNER, BUT I GOTS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, FAST! I HEARD THAT BIG JAKE’S COMIN’ TO TOWN!”

How do intruders get inside your home? In through the window!

This first of three I quote all the time.

Usually while smiling at the person I am talking to.

You will see why very shortly!

 
Two physicists go hiking

A theoretical physicist and an applied physicist go hiking on the Appalachian Trail. Suddenly they spot a black bear running towards them. The applied physicist starts taking off his boots.

The theoretical physicist says, “It’s not possible to outrun a bear.”

The applied physicist says, “I don’t. I just have to outrun you.”
My nephew took a career placement test at school.

It told him he was going to be a pirate when he grew up. My sister was furious. She matched to the school and demanded to speak to his teacher.

“Why does this test say that my son is supposed to be a pirate?! Is this some kind of joke?”

The teacher calmly pulled out the boy’s report card.

“No ma’am, it’s not a mistake. As you can see here, your son has an affinity for High C’s.”

 

I once dated a masseuse…

On the first date she massaged my shoulders.

On the second date she massaged my feet.

On the third date she gave me a full body massage.

But, in the end it never worked out.

She kept giving me mixed massages

Bamboo Poles At The Back Of The Pool Or What To Do When It Gets Too Close To The Powerlines

Years ago at this point, probably about a decade, we went off to a Bamboo Nursery.

People in Asia love the stuff.  It’s used heavily in construction, cuisine, art and so forth.  I figured I would have a ready supply of Bamboo to do oddball things with it.

But this particular bamboo we brought home from the nursery has quirks.

We planted it further back, but over the years, it’s gone closer to the pool and readily drops nearly indestructible leaves into the pool.

As it matured, it has gotten thicker.  It started out smaller than my smallest finger, and was a clumping bamboo the size of a bucket.  Since we took the SUV to the Bamboo Nursery, we were able to stick the rootball in the back of the car, and have the greenery stick into the front of the cabin.

I remember riding back from Palm Beach County with my arm draped over top of it so the way home could be seen.

Now the thinner than my finger stalks have gotten thicker than my thumb, maybe two fingers wide.  It has gone from being a maximum of ten feet tall (3m) to growing taller than the highest supply lines on the electricity easement behind the house.  I’d say it’s at least 30 feet (9M) and growing.

We noticed, then panicked since you are constantly looking over your shoulder in South Florida at the next hurricane season.  Those two stalks had to be cut down.

We did, and laying next to the pool I realized it was longer than the 32 foot (9m) length of the pool.  Even if my math here is being a little off, my estimates stand.

Since the stalks we cut were too nice to throw away, I cut them into roughly 6 foot tall, shoulder length bits.  One of them is a handy Me Sized length and I am taller than 6 foot by another four inches.  (193 cm in new money).

But what to do?

At this point, I made an accent pot since putting plants at the back of the pool was a great idea until Hurricane Irma knocked my cactus into the deep end and all over the back of the pool.

I had a strawberry pot that I wasn’t doing much with other than collecting dust.

I Know, Let’s Put Together One Of Those Accent Pots!

Basically it’s the least I could do.  I cut them with the electric saw to roughly the same length and stuck them there, at the back of the pool.  I will water them as much as I watered the cactus, which is to say, Not At All.

The leftover bits are going to be chewed up by my parrot Oscar, and there are two little lengths that will be shot glasses once I sand them smooth.

Or maybe not.  At least they won’t create a circuit-to-ground from the high voltage wires!

When does a dad joke become a dad joke? When it becomes apparent!

When I skate, I do so at a trail that circles an airport and a golf course. Both service activities that skew older. I feel like a youngster at my mid workout stop at the bench outside of the pro show at the golf course.

Those golfers are as bemused by me as I am by them. I roll up with my heart rate coming down from above 170BPM, drenched in sweat, dressed in shorts and t-shirt and protective pads. I park myself and slam down that bottle of water that tastes so very good and almost always, I end up with people who are engaged by this seven foot tall with skates and helmet person.

They always want to share their lives if for only a little bit, and it can be a rather nice turn of pace.

Then as my heart rate drops below 135 and it’s time to go and burn another thousand calories.

Some of the folks there are quite old, and it reminded me of this story when I read it.

 

Two 90 year old men, Mike and Joe, have been friends all of their lives.

When it’s clear that Joe is dying, Mike visits him every day.

One day Mike says, “Joe, we both loved football all our lives, and we played football on Saturdays together for so many years. Please do me one favour, when you get to Heaven, somehow you must let me know if there’s football there.”

Joe looks up at Mike from his death bed, “Mike, you’ve been my best friend for many years. If it’s at all possible, I’ll do this favor for you.

Shortly after that, Joe passes away.

A couple of nights later, at midnight, Mike is awakened from a sound sleep by a blinding flash of white light and a voice calling out to him, “Mike–Mike.”

“Who is it ?” asks Mike sitting up suddenly. “Who is it?”

“Mike–it’s me, Joe.”

“You’re not Joe. Joe just died.”

“I’m telling you, it’s me, Joe,” insists the voice.”

“Joe! Where are you?”

“In heaven”, replies Joe. “I have some really good news and a little bad news.”

“Tell me the good news first,” says Mike.

“The good news,” Joe says,” is that there’s football in heaven. Better yet, all of our old friends who died before us are here, too. Better than that, we’re all young again. Better still, it’s always spring time and it never rains or snows. And best of all, we can play football all we want, and we never get tired.”

That’s fantastic,” says Mike. “It’s beyond my wildest dreams !” “So, what’s the bad news ?”

“You’re in the team for this Saturday’s match !!!”

If you’re happy and you know it, it’s your meds!

At the end of the day, a Border Collie reported back to the rancher, “All 50 sheep accounted for, boss!”
“Wait, I only have 48 sheep!” he replied.
“I know,” said the dog, “but I rounded them up.”
I was sitting in a bar and some Comic Sans tried to hit on me.
I said, “Sorry, you’re not my type.”

 

I was eating lunch in the park when all of a sudden a crow landed in front of me and promptly keeled over on its side. I set my lunch down and leaned forward to see what the matter was.

In that moment, an owl swooped in, plucked my sandwich off the bench, and carried it up to the treetop above me. Imagine my further surprise when the crow sprang to its feet and fluttered up to join the owl in devouring my sandwich.

I think they were in caw-hoots.

 

A pilot and his co-pilot fly in an empty passenger plane.

Mid flight, the pilot decides to land the plane with the top of its head torwords the ground. The plane crashes, and everything goes boom. Neither of them survived.

In the after life, the co-pilot asks the pilot: “Why have you done this?”

The pilot answers: “I thought it would go Boeing.”

My mother always used to say “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”

Nice lady and all, I truly loved her, but a terrible surgeon

The Thump Of A Monarch Butterfly

We have weirdly friendly wildlife here in the middle of the suburban sprawl that is South Florida.

I regularly see opossums on my back porch, well technically a Lanai, but I’m not that posh.  I don’t think they know what to think of me, but I do my Steve Irwin act and tell them that I mean them no harm and they should go about their business.

Bad Aussie sometimes included.

Besides they eat ticks and neither me nor Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) like ticks.

There are flocks of white birds that land from time to time and pick through the yard eating grubs.

Flocks of Feral Parrots making a racket in the trees. just after dawn and just before sunset.  That’s the call to flock and it mirrors when Oscar the ornery Orange Wing Parrot that shares the house gets loud.

I give him a quarter of an orange and he’s quiet.

But the thing is that I really rarely know what I am going to come across.

One morning I was out back for the yard inspection.  Every day, skim the pool, check the irrigation, and consider whether I can take more cuttings for propagation to build up the hedges or some such.

I stepped away from the house and felt something thump on my head.

Strange.  The birds out there are not quite that bold.  They yell at me, I imitate them and they get more annoyed, but they almost never get closer than ten feet.

 

It could not have been a bird.

Going by the bougainvillea and the spa, my head got thumped again.

Ok, something is decidedly too friendly here.

Turns out that it was one of the Monarch Butterflies that are around the place.  I see one, at least, every day.  This one must have thought that yesterday’s Apple Shampoo meant something in its little insect brain but couldn’t find anything to eat.

Try my brains.  Brains good.  I’m not using them right now anyway!

It fluttered around the yard and ended up on the Bougainvillea behind my bedroom window.   He came to a landing and began to drink up his fill.   I say he because he had the spot on each of the back wings that denote that.

“Hey you little bugger, go have your fill!  That’s why I keep that plant there!”

I went back to inspecting the Rosemary that is starting to take root under the Bougainvillea.  Pizza Spice for Ground Cover.  At least it will smell good.

I have a constant churn of butterfly friendly plants in the yard.   The milkweed regularly gets eaten down to wee sticks, and the butterflies lay their eggs there.

I’ve got Poinsettia there, but the butterflies seem to ignore that.

As well as other oddball plants, it’s an overfull garden.

Just the way I like it.  I have never lived in an empty property where there is a question of how do I want to put in the hedges.  I simply maintain it.  Filling in where necessary.

The scent of Jasmine on the breezes, the flowers of the red Hibiscus, the Podocarpus all fight it out to determine where We begin and They end.

But plenty there for a wandering Monarch to land and eat.

And to thump me in the back of the head from time to time.

To The guy who stole my antidepressants I hope you’re happy now!

Dr. Johnson is approached by Ted, a new vampire.

“I just got turned,” Ted tells him. “You gotta help me out. I need blood, and I don’t want to kill anyone.”

Dr. Johnson agrees to help, providing Ted with the blood bags he needs. He refers Ted to counseling to deal with the psychological effects of the change. He even lets Ted crash on his couch while he looks for a job with a night shift opening.

But a week later, during his rounds on the coma ward, Dr. Johnson notices suspicious marks on several necks.

Ted confesses. “I just couldn’t resist.”

Dr. Johnson sighs. “I wanted to help you. I really did. I gave you food, and I even offered you a place to stay. But now, Ted—”

Dr Johnson shakes his head. “You’re beginning to try my patients.”