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Re: Funny Stories
This is funny and true. I have gone thru most of them.
A Man's Age, as Determined by a Trip to Home Depot
You are in the middle of a few projects at your home: putting in a new fence, painting the basement walls, putting in a new garden. You are hot and sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt and paint. You have your old work clothes on. You know the outfit -- shorts with the hole in the pocket, old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what, and an old pair of tennis shoes.
Right in the middle of these projects you realize you need to run to Home Depot for supplies.
Depending on your age you might do the following:
In your 20s:
Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes.
Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because, you never know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout line.
And yes, you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.
In your 30s:
Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change your shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else.
Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still got it. Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell.
The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.
In your 40s:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the hole in the pocket of your shorts.
Put on different shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute is almost empty, so don't waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot.
Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing.
The hot young thing running the register is your daughter's age and you feel weird about thinking she's spicy.
In your 50s:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat. Wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don't want to get mud in your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror and swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat.
The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it. Then you remember -- the hat you have on is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and it says, 'I Got Worms '
In your 60s:
Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat any more. Hose the mud off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50s. You hope you have nothing hangs out the hole in your pocket.
The girl running the register may be cute but you don't have your glasses on, so you're not sure.
In your 70s:
Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the drug store has your prescriptions ready too. Don't even notice the mud on your shoes.
The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize something is hanging out of the hole in your pocket.
In your 80s:
Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again.. Now you remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead.
You think you went to school with the old lady greeter.
You wander around trying to remember what you are looking for. Then you pass gas out loud and think someone called your name.
In your 90s & beyond:
What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden? Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this?
Did I send it? Did you? Who passed gas?
Re: Funny Stories
Re: Funny Stories
Wishing everyone a safe, happy and blessed Thanksgiving.
Lighthouse Thanksgiving Dinner
By The Lightkeeper - Mike Oliviere
The commissioners of the Lighthouse Board decided that they wanted to share a Thanksgiving dinner. So they commissioned the THREE SISTERS OF NAUSET to put together a dinner. First of all they needed a turkey, so of it was to TURKEY POINT LIGHT where they found a nice big turkey so that there would be enough for everyone to have seconds. Then it was off to HENDRY FARM LIGHT to purchase the potatoes, squash and other vegetables for the feast. The corn came from CORNY POINT LIGHTHOUSE and the beans from BEAN ROCK LIGHTHOUSE. Some salad greens were also found at CAPE ROMAIN LIGHT. Some oyster stuffing came from OYSTER BAY LIGHT and some really good cheese from CABOT HEAD LIGHT. Cranberry sauce was provided by the keeper at CRANBERRY ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE and some delicious dumplings to go with the turkey were found at DUMPLING ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.
The rolls and baked goods were made by the bakers at BAKER ISLAND LIGHT. The butter for the rolls came from BARREL OF BUTTER LIGHT. Pies for desert of course came from the pie shop at PIE ISLAND LIGHT. They included apple pie from APPLE RIVER LIGHT, pumpkin pie from PUMPKIN ISLAND LIGHT and cherry pie from CHERRY ISLAND LIGHT. Of course there was also plum pudding from PLUM ISLAND LIGHT and some delicious eggnog which came from EGG ROCK LIGHT.
Of course to cook a good meal one needs the best of pans and cooking utensils. These were provided by the crew of the FRYING PAN SHOAL LIGHTSHIP. For those who preferred a different fare, seafood dishes were provided by the keepers at FISHERMAN’S HARBOUR LIGHTHOUSE as well as some others meats from HOGS ISLAND LIGHT and GOOSE ROCKS LIGHT. The table which was made at TABLE BLUFF LIGHT looked really great when all was brought out to enjoy. There was a beautiful centerpiece of fresh flowers that came from FLOWERS ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE and some fresh oranges from FORT ORANGE LIGHT.
Beverages were in abundance with finely brewed beers from BASS HARBOR LIGHT and NEWCASTLE LIGHT. There was also some Irish cream which came from Ireland’s BAILY LIGHT and some rare scotch from SCOTCH CAP LIGHT and an assortment of
brandies and wines from BRANDYWINE SHOAL LIGHT.
When all sat down, a thanksgiving prayer was said by the Bishop from BISHOP & CLERKS LIGHT and everyone enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.
Re: Funny Stories
@DaveMcK Very clever indeed.
Re: Funny Stories
He worked hard every day of his life, which left him feeling entitled to the money he had earned. He felt no desire to give it away. He wanted to keep it to himself.
Guided by that line of thinking, when it came time for him to ask a dying wish, he asked his wife to bury him with the remainder of his money. She wasn't into the idea of granting him his miserly wish, so she came up with another brilliant idea.
“There was a man who had worked all of his life and has saved all of his money," his widow wrote. "He was a real cheapskate when it came to his money. He loved money more than just about anything, and just before he died, he said to his wife, 'Now listen, when I die I want you to take all my money and place it in the casket with me. Because I want to take all my money to the after life.'
She promised him that she would bury him with all his money in the casket with him. And then he died. As the ceremony was coming to a close, the undertakers began to close his casket. Before they could his wife yelled out "Wait a minute!" She had a shoebox with her, which she placed in his casket. The undertakers locked the casket and rolled it away.Her friend said to her, 'I hope you weren't crazy enough to put all that money in there with that stingy old man.' She said, 'Yes, I promised. I'm a good Christian, I can't lie. I promised him that I was to put that money in that casket with him.' 'You mean to tell me you put every cent of his money in the casket with him?' 'I sure did,' said the widow. 'I got it all together, put it into my account and I wrote him a check.' Clever!
Re: Funny Stories
@DaveMcK Alrightythen! Walk a lot and stop making left turns. Got it.
Re: Funny Stories
I hope everyone enjoys this as I did and here it is;
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. This is a story of an aging couple told by their son who was President of NBC NEWS.
This is a wonderful piece by Michael Gartner, editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing. It is well worth reading, and a few good chuckles are guaranteed. Here goes...
My father never drove a car. Well, that's not quite right. I should say Inever saw him drive a car.
He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.
"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."
At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:"Oh, bull **bleep**!" she said. "He hit a horse."
"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."
So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars -- the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford -- but we had none.
My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines , would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop,meet him and walk home together.
My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes,at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that.
But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one." It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.
But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown.
It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.
Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother.
So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying more than once.
For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps -- though they seldom left the city limits -- and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.
Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.
(Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.)
He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home.
If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."
After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored."
If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out -- and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream. As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?"
"I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.
"No left turns," he said.
"What?" I asked
"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic..
As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."
"What?" I said again.
"No left turns," he said. "Think about it.. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."
"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support.
"No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works." But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."
I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing.
"Loses count?" I asked.
"Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem.You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."
I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.
"No," he said " If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."
My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her carkeys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when shewas 90.
She lived four more years, until 2003.. My father died the next year, at 102.
They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom -- the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.)
He continued to walk daily -- he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising -- and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.
One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had togive a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news.
A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred."
At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer."
"You're probably right," I said.
"Why would you say that?" He countered, somewhat irritated.
"Because you're 102 years old," I said..
"Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day.
That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night
He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet"
An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:
"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain.. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."
A short time later, he died.
I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.
I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life, Or because he quit taking left turns. "
Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat youright. Forget about the ones who don't. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it & if it changes your life, let it. Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it."
ENJOY LIFE NOW - IT HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE!
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