There once was a farmer whose wife had died and left him with three beautiful teenage daughters. Every weekend, when they went out on dates, the farmer would stand at the door with his shotgun, making it clear to their dates he wanted no trouble from them.
Another Saturday night came around.About 7 p.m., there was a knock on the door.He answered and the young man said,
“Hi, my name’s Joe.I’m here for Flo.I’m taking her to the show. Is she ready to go?”The farmer thought he was a clever boy and wished them a good time.
A few minutes later, another knock was heard. A second boy appeared and said,
“Hi, I’m Eddie.I’m here for Betty.I’m taking her for spaghetti. I hope she’s ready.”He thought that he must know Joe, but bade them off as well with his best wishes.
A few minutes after that, a third knock was heard.
“Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road? A political perspective. DONALD TRUMP: I’ve been told by my many sources, good sources – they’re very good sources – that the chicken crossed the road. All the Fake News wants to do is write nasty things about the road, but it’s a really good road. It’s a beautiful road. Everyone knows how beautiful it is.
JOE BIDEN: Why did the chicken do the…thing in the…you know the rest.
SARAH PALIN: The chicken crossed the road because, gosh-darn it, he’s a maverick!
BARACK OBAMA: Let me be perfectly clear, if the chickens like their eggs they can keep their eggs. No chicken will be required to cross the road to surrender her eggs. Period.
AOC: Chickens should not be forced to lay eggs! This is because of corporate greed! Eggs should be able to lay themselves.
HILLARY CLINTON: What difference at this point does it make why the chicken crossed the road.
GEORGE W. BUSH: We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road or not. The chicken is either with us or against us. There is no middle ground here.
DICK CHENEY: Where’s my gun?
BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken.
AL GORE: I invented the chicken.
JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white?
DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he is acting by not taking on his current problems before adding any new problems.
ANDERSON COOPER: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he’s guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I’ve not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.
GRANDPA: In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.
ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
A Father put his three year-old daughter to bed, told her a story, and listened to her say her prayers, which ended by saying “God bless grandma, and good-bye grandpa.”
Father said, “Why did you say good-bye grandpa?”
The little girl said, “I don’t know, daddy. It just seemed like the thing to do.”
The next day grandpa died. The father thought it was a strange coincidence.
A few months later, the father put the girl to bed and listened to her say her prayers, which went like this: God bless mommy, God bless daddy and good-bye grandma.”
the next day the grandmother died.
My gosh, “thought the father, “this kid is in contact with the other side.”
Several weeks later when the girl was going to bed, the dad heard her say “God bless mommy and good-bye daddy.”
He practically went into shock. He couldn’t sleep all night and got up at the crack of dawn to go to his office. He was nervous as a cat all day, he had lunch sent in, and watched the clock. He figured if he could get by until midnight he would be okay. He felt safe in the office, so instead of going home at the end of the day he stayed there drinking coffee, looking at his watch, and jumping at every sound.
Finally, midnight arrived. He breathed a sigh of relief and went home.
When he got home, his wife said, “I’ve never seen you work so late. What’s the matter?”
He said, “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve just spent the worst day of my life.”
She said, “You think you had a bad day. You’ll never believe what happened to me. This morning the mailman dropped dead on our porch.”
Dear Ma and Pa, I am wel. I hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all the spaces are filled.
I was restless at first because you get to stay in bed till nearly 5 a.m. But I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No Hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.
Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there’s warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, and bacon, but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two boys that live on coffee. Their food , plus yours, holds you until noon when you get feed again. It is no wonder these city boys can’t walk much.
We go on “route marches,” which the platoon Sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it’s not my place to tell them different. A “route march” is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.
The Sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and Colonels just ride around and frown. They don’t bother you none.
This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughter. I keep getting metals for shooting. I don’t know why. The bulls-eye is nearly as big as a chipmunks head and don’t move, and it ain’t shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there as comfortable and hit it. You don’t even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.
Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. you get to wrestle with them boys. I don’t have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain’t like fighting with the old bull at home. I’m about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordon from over in Silver Lake. I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me, but I’m only 5’6″ and 130 pounds and he is 6’8″ and nearly 300 pounds dry.
Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.
The local news station was interviewing an 80 year old lady because she had gotten married for the fourth time. The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be married again at 80, and then about her new husbands occupation.
He’s a funeral director, she answered.
Interesting the newsman thought… He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little bit about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.
She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years. After a short time, a smile came on her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20’s, then a circus ringmaster when she was in her 40’s, and a preacher when in her 60’s, and now in her 80’s – a funeral director.
The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.
I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four to go.
On the outskirts of town there was a big old pecan tree by the cemetery fence. One day two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight and began dividing the nuts.
“One for you, one for me, One for you, one for me” said one boy.
Several were dropped and rolled down toward the fence. Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery, and he slowed down to investigate. Sure enough, he heard “One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me.” He just knew what it was. “Oh, my,” he shuddered, “it’s Satan and the Lord dividing souls at the cemetery.”
He Jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along. “Come here quick,” said the boy, “you won’t believe what I heard. “Satan and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls.” The man said, “Beat it kid, can’t you it’s hard for me to walk?” When the boy insisted, though, the man hobbled to the cemetery.
Standing by the fence, they heard, One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me.” The old man whispered, “Boy, you’ve been telling the truth. Let’s see if we can see the devil himself.” Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet we’re still unable to see anything. The. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of Satan.
At last they heard, “One for you, one for me. And one last one for you. That’s all. Now let’s go get the nuts by the fence, and we’ll be done.”