Don’t drink water while studying… chemistry states that concentration decreases upon adding water.
A paramecium and an amoeba are walking down the street. The amoeba asks “So, lacking any pseudopodia, how do you manage to get around? The paramecium replies “A cilia question I’ve never heard!”
What did one cell say to his sister cell when she stepped on his toe? Mitosis
Why are environmentalists bad at playing cards? They like to avoid the flush.
Why was the young amoeba so sad? His parents had just split.
As a musician, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play. The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man. And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my banjo and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.
Why is pea soup better than mashed potatoes? Because anyone can mash potatoes.
Poop jokes aren’t my favorite, but they’re a solid #2.
There are two reasons not to drink toilet water. Number one and number two.
What types of flowers do bacteria like? Germaniums
What is “HIJKLMNO”? H2O
If H2O is water, what is H2O4? Drinking, bathing, washing, swimming, etc.
Why did the bacteria cross the microscope? To get to the other slide.
What was the fish’s least favorite class? Algae-bra
Why did the paramecium cross the road? He was stuck to the chicken’s butt.
What do you call an amoeba that crosses the road, jumps in a mud puddle and crosses the road again? A dirty double-crosser.
Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says DAM!
Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says “I’ve lost my electron.” The other says “Are you sure?” The first replies “I’m positive.”
What did the male bacteria say to the female bacteria? Who needs biology when we have chemistry!
Why did the bacteria cross the road? To prove he wasn’t chicken.
What did one bacteria say to the other bacteria? Your gene pool could use a little chlorine.
What do you call a sewer expert? A connoissewer.
What is the only thing worse than a mecium? A paramecium.
What is the definition of paramecium? Two Latin mice.
What did the one toilet say to the other toilet? You look flushed.
Why did the bacteria make fun of the protozoan? He brought toilet paper to the crap game.
What did the male bacteria say to the female bacteria? Let’s convert our potential energy to kinetic energy.
Why do bacteria like nitrates so much? They’re cheaper than day rates.
Did you hear someone broke into the local police station and stole the toilet? Right now the cops have nothing to go on.
Why don’t bacteria gamble in Las Vegas? Because they believe a good flush always beats a full house.
If H2O is the formula for water, what is the formula for ice? H2O cubed.
What did one bacteria say to the other bacteria? The problem with your gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.
Did you hear about Robin Hood’s house? It has a Little John.
What did one bacteria say to the other bacteria? Let’s make like an amoeba and split.
What is bacteria? The rear entrance to cafeterias.
What do you get when you cross a rabbit with an amoeba? An amoebit. It can multiply and divide at the same time.
Why did the amoeba cross the road? It was time to split.
Why did the bacteria fail the math test? He thought multiplication was the same as division.
Why did the bacteria cross the playground? To get to the other slide.
Our favorite bumper sticker: “Support bacteria; it is the only culture we have left.”
Why did the paramecium cross the road? To get to the diffuser bar in time for happy hour.
Where do bacteria go to resolve disputes? The settling chamber.
Where do protozoa go to practice long jumping? The hopper.
Where do bacteria go when they are confused? The clarifier.
Old Lady Borden was a saint! We had it on good authority, hers. She had been widowed longer than anybody knew. Hateful as she was, had I been her husband, I would have claimed to be dead, too. Though she was devout in another denomination, she was in attendance at our little country church every time the doors opened. Her own church was twelve miles away and she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride to services so far afield. It was much more expedient walk a few hundred feet and stir up no end of trouble closer to home, inserting herself fully into all matters related to church business, be it financial, theological, or just some sinner in need of her hateful opinion.
Mother was very particular about our language. We would have never been allowed refer to Ms. Borden by the B word, but she turned a deaf ear when we referred to her as an Old Bat. Old Lady Borden played a vital role pointing out flaws that might have gone unnoticed for a while, a pregnant bride, a baby with a crossed-eye, a child who stuttered, a woman who’d gained weight, or was a bad housekeeper. She begrudged any good fortune coming to a neighbor, such as good crops, or getting a good job. They were “gittin’ uppity.” Should a church member appear too prosperous, they were probably “gittin’ in the c’lection plate.”
Old Lady Borden was the first to the home of the bereaved, making sure to crowd the younger women out at the kitchen sink, then complaining loudly about how “lazy them gals was. “ Any one unfortunate enough to be handed a drying towel would be treated to her acid tongue about what a pitiful job they were doing. Nothing excited her more than a tragedy. Long before the days of cell phones, or even many house phones in our rural community, the school principal got the word that Mr. Barnes, the school bus driver’s father had collapsed and died a few minutes after his daughter Becky left on her bus route. The principal got in his vehicle, hoping to catch up with her before she home and found a shocking scene. When she stopped to let off Old Lady Borden’s grandson, the old woman rushed out to meet her at the bus stop with the horrible news. “Becky, yore daddy just dropped dead. He’s still a’ laying out in the yard a’waitin’ for the coroner.”
Naturally, Becky and her young children were distraught. There were still a half-dozen other children, some of them relatives, on the bus who’d heard the whole thing. They became overwrought at hearing the news of Mr. Barne’s death. Becky had no idea how to manage till the principal caught up to comfort and relieve her. He had to finish her route with her and the upset children still on the bus, since there was no other way to get them home. It was a shocking situation but at least the old bat had the pleasure of delivering the terrible news.
Old Lady Borden kept trouble stirred up. She made every church business meeting to make her opinion known, despite the fact that she wasn’t a church member and could not vote. She bullied everyone she dealt with and tried to dominate her Sunday School Class, making it clear she had God’s ear and wouldn’t hesitate to use her influence. She was the meanest Christian I ever met.
(Continuation of story of Jamey Awful’s birthday party, without a doubt, the most fun I ever had in my life. If he gave a party today, I’d be there!)
Jamey’s birthday party was incredible. There was no sappy “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, no party hats, just fun, fun, fun. Mama Awful didn’t concern herself with us, leaving us on our own. Of course, we ran wild, ripping through mud puddles, jumping out the barn loft, and robbing chicken nests. We splatted eggs against the side of the barn and climbed into fig trees breaking off a branch or two. My sandals were long gone and the skirt of my dress ripped from the waist band. The sash ties were mud-caked. From the look on Mother’s face when she walked over to get me, I could see she was not happy, not even going in for coffee like she usually did at neighbor lady’s houses. “I ought to tear you up for running wild like that, losing your shoes and tearing up your new dress.”
“But Mama, we was just playing. We didn’t mess up nothing in the house!” I protested. I usually got in trouble for meddling with people’s whatnots when we went to visit, a terrible wrong.
“ Don’t dispute my word!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “”You’re never going over there again!” My heart fell. Surely she didn’t mean it!
I figured Mother would forget after a few days, but no……….No visits to the Awfuls. If they noticed they were being snubbed you couldn’t tell. We were always ready to play with them if they rambled through our yard on the way to bigger and better things. During this time Daddy brought home a huge, mean turkey, to fatten for Thanksgiving. He was a monster jumping, spurring, and flogging us with when we had to feed the chickens and gather eggs. He even got bolder and started flying over the fence to attack us in our own territory. We stayed as far away as we could, but he ambushed us if he caught us off guard.
My personal favorite among the Awfuls was Junior who enjoyed a special claim to fame. He ate bugs and other strange items. He ate his first bug on a dare and liked it, saying it tasted like peanuts. From that time forward, he was generally known as Bugeater. The kids in the neighborhood took pride in finding the biggest, strangest bugs for him to eat. Bugeater did have standards, refusing to eat worms.
Before too many days, we were lucky enough to have Jamey, Bugeater, and Davey pay us a call. “Where’s that bad turkey? I wanta see it.” demanded Jamey.
“He’s out in the chicken yard but you better leave him alone! He’s real mean!” I pointed out. I watched them head for the chicken yard, wanting no part of that turkey.
Sure enough, that old devil turkey flew at them, ready to do battle. They screamed and ran like crazy, but not in the cowardly way we had. “Whoo whoo! Turn turkey run!” they shrieked, chasing him all over the chicken yard, flogging him with their caps and sticks. The terrorized turkey finally escaped up into the trees and stayed there till they sauntered off.
“That ol’turkey ain’t so bad,” Jamey said as they banged the gate shut on the way out.
”Wait, where are you going? Don’t you want to play?” I liked them even better now.
”Nah, We’re going crawfishing over in Donnie Parker’s ditch.” Jamey replied, ruining my day.
That turkey’s spirit was broken. He never bothered us again. I liked those kids even better than ever after that.
I gave Mother a little time to forget before asking to go to the Awfuls. One golden day, she had a headache and wanted to rest on the sofa until her head felt better. We played quietly for a few minutes till she went to sleep. “Mother, can I go play with the Awful’s?” I whispered. She didn’t say no, so off I went.
The Awfuls had the best place in the neighborhood. Overgrown bushes tangled into the fence so the yard was a jungle, a great place for adventures. Tall grass and junk in the yard made it easy to hide. We chased the sleeping hound dogs out of the abandoned cars and played cops and robbers. We pulled broken boards off the barn for fort-building. Best of all, there was a big tree with low-hanging branches by the front door. “Look at this!” Jamey shouted. I followed the boys up the tree and through a window into the attic. From there, we dropped through a hole into the living room ceiling and sneaked behind the furniture into a back bedroom where daft, old grandma was in the bed.
“Aigheeeeeeee!” she screeched, clutching her blankets like she’d seen a ghost.
“Y’all git out’a there! Don’t git your Granny stirred up. I got a headache” yelled Mama Awful over the TV.
They showed us a secret way out through a hole in the floor of her closet. Pelting each other with dirt clods from their bare yard, I’d never felt so free.
Eventually, Mother came stomping over. “What are you doing over here? Don’t you ever go off without asking!” she said. “I’m gonna tear you up!”
“But Mama, you said I could go!” I whined. dreading a switching. “ I asked when you was layin’ on the couch.” I told her.
I could see she remembered. “You knew I was asleep. Don’t you ever pull that again.” she threatened. Sadly, that was my last visit to the Awful’s house.
Not too long afterward, the Awfuls showed up with little Becky Awful in tow. She was about three and overdue to join their traveling show. Daddy was unhappily cleaning out a clogged septic line, bailing nasty stuff into a wheelbarrow. Not in a great mood, he sent the Awfuls on their way, not noting that Becky had remained behind playing quietly off to the side. She was making mud pies with clean white sand and septic drain sludge. As soon as he saw her, he howled for Mother. “Kathleen, get this kid out of here! She’s playing in this excrement(paraphrased) and nasty as a pig! Do I have to do everything?”
“Bill, I didn’t know she was out there.” Mother washed Becky a little under the hose and led her home. Becky was so filthy and smelly it would probably have been easier to get another little girl than to try to clean her up. As it turned out, that wasn’t a problem. Becky showed up two days later in the same malodorous outfit.
Since we couldn’t visit the Awfuls anymore, we had to make do with whatever crumbs of joy they tossed our way. My parents had their noses out of joint because Mr. Awful had shut his pigs up in a small lot between our house and theirs. Not surprisingly, it really, really stunk. Mother had us helping her hang laundry on the line when we heard a huge ruckus next door. It seems Mr. Awful had noticed Jamey’s missing birthday shoes. “You boys get out there and find them shoes or I’m gonna tear you up. We ain’t got money to waste on shoes.” he roared. I could have told him where one of them was, but Mother shushed me up. The boys made for the pigpen, wading around, looking in the muddy black hog-wallows seeking the lost shoes. Of course, it wasn’t long before Bugeater slipped and fell, then Davey, then Jamey. They forgot about the shoes and were streaking through the pig mud. Mud showered everywhere. The beleaguered pigs cowered in the corners, trying to save their bacon. Eventually, Mr. Awful came out in the yard to check the progress of the shoe search. Finding them in the pigpen meant big trouble. He pulled a spring of grass and threatened to switch them if they didn’t find the shoes.
“No don’t whoop me,” whined Jamey. Then the other boys chimed in.
“He backed down. “ Well, I won’t whoop you, but you gonna have to git a bath before bedtime.
It did my heart good to see they could get in trouble. It’s hard to live next door to kids with a perfect life.
Of course, our family has familiar phrases we use a lot. We have been known to get so comfortable, we forgot to mention to the kids the terms were nonsense. One such word was “bungarendeen” which Bud commonly used to describe the potential for harm. For example: “Don’t eat that potato salad that’s been sitting out too long. It might give you Bungarendeen!” Another:” Let me clean that cut and put Neosporin and bandage on it. You don’t want to get Bungarendeen.” Again: Always wash your hands after going to the bathroom. You don’t want Bungarendeen!”
After a lifetime of indoctrination, one of our kids was in college biology class. The instructor was covering pathogens and neglected to mention the all important Bungarendeen. The unfortunate student raised their hand, “But what about Bungarendeen? You didn’t cover that.”
A Mexican magician says he will disappear on the count of 3. He says “Uno, dos…” poof. He disappeared without a tres.
It’s hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs because they always take things literally.
Why don’t ants get sick?Because they have little antybodies.
What did the pirate say when he turned 80 years old?Aye matey
What happened when the pirate attempted to recite the alphabet?He got lost at ‘c’.
How do you tell the gender of an ant?Put it in a glass of water. If it sinks it’s a girl ant. If it floats it’s buoyant.
What’s the difference between in-laws and outlaws?Outlaws are wanted.
What do you do if you get the bird flu? Tweetment.
What’s brown and sticky? A stick!
Just re-watched Benjamin Button, again. Never gets old.
Why was the scarecrow awarded a Nobel prize?Because he was outstanding in his field.
Hey Europe, you look like you’ve lost some POUNDS.
What do you call Batman and Robin after a steamroller went over them?Flatman and Ribbon.
What do you call a fish with no eyes?Fsssshhhhhh!
Did you hear about that actress that stabbed herself? Reece…Witherspoon?No, it was with her knife!
My friend Phillip had his lip removed last weekNow we just call him Phil
What do you call a lion who is feeling dandy?A Dandelion.
Where do bad rainbows go?Prism, it’s a light sentence.
What do you call a haunted chicken?A poultry-geist
Now matter how much you push the envelope,…… it’ll still be stationery.
A man rushed into a Doctor’s surgery, shouting “help me please, I’m shrinking” The Doctor calmly said, “now settle down a bit”…..”you’ll just have to learn to be a little patient.
My favorite comfort food is biscuits, buttered hot from the oven. Mother made twenty-seven biscuits every morning. I’d wake to the squeal of the oven door and the scraping of the pan just before she called out, “Biscuits are in the oven.” That was our cue to hustle out of bed. The bedrooms were frigid in winter, so we’d jostle for space to dress in front of the kitchen space heater. When I was little, it was solid comfort to slide into clothes Mother had just warmed before the flames. Once dressed, we’d tie into breakfast with that pile of biscuits, the little guys draped in towels.
Ingredients
3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
3/4 cup COLD butter
1 cup evaporated milk
Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
The secret to excellent biscuits is COLD BUTTER. Really cold. Many times the biscuit dough gets worked so much that the butter softens before the biscuits even go in the oven. Try cutting the butter into small pieces and stick back in the fridge pulling out only when ready to incorporate into the dough.
Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl.
Cut cold butter into flour mixture. Mix will be a bit lumpy.
Add in the milk and mix just until the ingredients are combined. The dough will be sticky but don’t keep working it. You should be able to see the butter pieces in the dough.
To roll out, turn mix on to floured surface. Sprinkle with flour and turn two or three times. Cut with biscuit cutter.
To hand roll, dust with flour and roll in flour dusted hand two or three quick turn to smooth a bit.
Brush tops with melted butter and bake 10 to twelve minutes till tops brown. Yields 12 Wrap in damp paper towel to reheat 15 seconds in microwave.
I was glad for the garage that sleety morning as I started out for my day shift. At least I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold and scrape ice off my windshield. As I headed cautiously out my slippery drive, I caught sight of a tiny red Chihuahua hopping down the middle of the street in the dark. Knowing how Chihuahuas suffer from the cold , I knew someone’s precious baby must have slipped out. Surely, no one would have intentionally left such a fragile creature out, so I stopped and called out. The grateful dog jumped in my car as soon as I opened the door. She looked like a red Chinese Crested Hairless Chihuahua at first. Shivering, she was chilled to the bone. I called work, letting them know I’d be late and took her back home. Upon inspection, I found her flea collar had slipped to fit bandoleer style, pulling her front leg out of line. Cutting the collar off, I saw chafing under her left front leg. This pitiful beast had been abandoned. Flea-infested and starving, she had horrendous breath, the result of muscle breakdown, After hand-feeding and watering her, I put a heating pad in a small box and wrapped her like a mummy. She buried up head and ears, still shivering and coughing. Bud hadn’t gotten in from his night shift so I left him a note and went to work. I worried about her all day.
I needn’t have concerned myself. When I got home that afternoon, I found her enthroned on Bud’s lap, cozily wrapped in a blanket, her food and water bowls at hand. She was crawling with fleas but Bud was unconcerned. I gave her a warm flea bath, which she welcomed, removed a few ticks, and treated her chafed leg. The next day, we took her to the vet who put her on antibiotics for her cough. She weighed four pounds six ounces.
We nursed her back to health before worming and vaccinating her. Her cough cleared. By the time she’d reached her target weight, her golden coat grew in. She turned out to be a beautiful, honey-coated Pomeranian, the sweetest little dog possible. This little rescue was so grateful for her home. Her personality blossomed. She got bossy, trying to get us to go to bed at eight every night. Ruling the roost over our bigger dogs, she pushed them out of their beds and confiscated their toys at will. She particularly loved Bud, who’d wrapped her in a blanket and cuddled her all day, her first day home.
If you are thinking of getting a dog, consider a rescue. They are likely to already be house trained. They are definitely grateful for their home. No one need buy a dog when there are so many rescues waiting. Even if you have your heart set on a particular breed, you can usually find one. People often buy purebred dogs thoughtlessly, then turn them in to shelters.
I had only been out of the bathtub about 10 minutes when this picture was made. After that birthday party, this dress was never the same. I never saw that little purse again.I first became aware of the Awfuls on the occasion of Jamey Awful’s fifth birthday.It’s significant that my first experience was quirky, setting the standard from that day forward . I was probably about four and totally ignorant of what birthday parties entailed.I only knew that Mother ruined a perfectly good day by calling me away from my sand pile to take a bath in the middle of the day, an unheard of event.I was disturbed especially since she insisted on washing the sand out of my hair.I’d just spent a good portion of the morning pouring sand on the top of my head, enjoying its powdery coolness showering down on my shoulders and the back of my sundress and saw no reason for her outraged reaction.“I told you not to get dirty.We have to go somewhere today.”
As far as I was concerned, sand was clean.Mud was dirty.Axle grease was dirty.Chicken poop on my shoe was dirty.Sand was white and dusted right off.It was not dirty.At any rate, Mother filled the tub with water and sprinkled in Tide Powder and plunged me in.That was what passed for bubble bath at our house.I would have been content to spend the afternoon there, but she washed my hair and hurried me out, ruining another good time.Then she brushed my stick straight hair and stuffed me in a fluffy petticoat, a white fluffy dress with red and blue polka-dots, white socks, and sandals.Worse yet, I had to submit to a photo session.Mother was a novice with a camera making me pose forever, staring into the sun.She’d gone to a great deal of fuss making matching dresses for me and Phyllis for Easter and was extremely proud of the effect.Too bad the confection was wasted on me.When she’d said Easter outfit, I’d envisioned a cowboy getup.
Then she walked us over to the Awful’s house.I doubt Mother knew Mrs. Awful, since we’d never been to her house for coffee, even though they only lived a couple of houses over.I guess the poor woman was scraping the bottom of the barrel to find enough kids for a party, since I was a year younger and Phyllis was a couple of years older and neither had ever laid eyes on Jamey.
Mrs. Awful met us at the back gate.There were a dozen or so kids running round in the yard, so once Mother made Mrs. Awful’s acquaintance, she headed home, promising to be back for us in a couple of hours.She couldn’t have anticipated the goings on at this quirky party. Mrs. Awful ushered us in the back gate and the fun began.I was in Heaven!
Old Lady Borden was a saint! We had it on good authority, hers. She had been widowed longer than anybody knew. Hateful as she was, had I been her husband, I would have claimed to be dead, too. Though she was devout in another denomination, she was in attendance at our little country church every time the doors opened. Her own church was twelve miles away and she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride to services so far afield. It was much more expedient walk a few hundred feet and stir up no end of trouble closer to home, inserting herself fully into all matters related to church business, be it financial, theological, or just some sinner in need of her hateful opinion.
Nutsrok 