Month: September 2024

Hirsute Jokes

Yo Mama’s so hairy…

Her dandruff shampoo is called “Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes”

It’s green, hairy, and slides down a mountain…

A skiwi.

A tough looking group of hairy bikers are riding when they see a girl about to jump off a bridge, so they stop.

The leader, a big burly man, gets off his bike and says, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to commit suicide,” she says. 
While he doesn’t want to appear insensitive, he also doesn’t want to miss an opportunity, so he asks, “Well, before you jump, why don’t you give me a kiss?” 
She does, and it is a long, deep, lingering kiss. After she’s finished, the tough, hairy biker says, “Wow! That was the best kiss I’ve ever had! That’s a real talent you’re wasting. You could be famous. Why are you committing suicide?” 
“My parents don’t like me dressing up like a girl…”

Imagine a nascar fan. The image that comes to mind is probably that of a brutish, beer guzzling, loud mouth, hairy, unwashed, unshaven, redneck

And her husband.

Hairy

My wife found out that our dog (a Schnauzer) could hardly hear, so she took it to the veterinarian. The vet found that the problem was hair in the dog’s ears. He cleaned both ears, and the dog could then hear fine.

The vet then proceeded to tell Andrea that if she wanted to keep this from recurring, she should go to the store and get some “Nair” hair remover and rub it in the dog’s ears once a month.


Andrea went to the store and bought some “Nair” hair remover. At the register, the pharmacist told her, “If you’re going to use this under your arms, don’t use deodorant for a few days.”

Andrea said, “I’m not using it under my arms.”

The pharmacist said, “If you’re using it on your legs, don’t use body lotion for a couple of days.”

Andrea replied, “I’m not using it on my legs either. If you must know, I’m using it on my Schnauzer.”

The pharmacist says, “Well, stay off your bicycle for about a week.

Uncle Albutt Part 4

Uncle Albert had an interesting vocabulary.   Even when he didn’t get words right, he forged bravely ahead.  When his energy was low, he didn’t have much image.  When the doctor diagnosed him with emphysema, he referred to his ‘zema. Air conditioners were air positioners. He called my sister Phyllis, Phillips.  I liked that one.  I was Linder.  I didn’t like that quite so much. My mother Kathleen was Kathaleen.  He called Daddy “Willie”, his real name instead of Bill, the name Daddy gave himself once he left home.  

Daddy cringed every time he was called Willie. The only other person who got away with it was his mother.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be Willie, either.  For some reason, Daddy’s brother Parnell named his daughter Willie Carol.  She was a whiny, sullen kid, maybe because of that name. It makes perfect sense to me.

On occasion, we saw some of Aunt Jewel’s relatives.  Her sister, Lucille, who incidentally had married one of Daddy’s cousins, had the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen, man or woman. The wearing of seamed stockings only made it more obvious.  A good proportion of the wiry hairs worked their way through the stockings, trying to escape, while the rest were imprisoned flat against her legs.  I don’t know which fascinated me more, the swirling mass of flattened ones, or the wild escapees.  I never got to look enough, and certainly wasn’t allowed to comment. Mother warned us off when she knew we’d see Lucille.  Daddy swore her legs had gotten hairier because she shaved them!  That just sounded nuts.  How would hair roots know a razor threatened?  He was death on leg-shaving, ascribing to the old wive’s tale that shaving made hair grow back thicker.  I don’t know what planet he was from that made his daughter’s legs, shaved or unshaven, his business, but Daddy thought he was God and his wishes,  commandments.  More likely, he may have feared he’d be stuck with his girls forever should we sprout hair like that. 

Of course, Mother never volunteered the information that she shaved her legs.  I guess she didn’t want Daddy to know what was in his future.  Naturally, I shaved my legs as soon as I could get hold of a razor.  I can’t tell you how happy I was to get away from home.

Daddy’s methods did ensure he never had to deal with adult children boomeranginghome.  Times just didn’t get that hard.

Nature Calls

My whole life, I have hungered for the outdoors. It has always calmed and fulfilled me.  My earliest memories were of Mother telling me I couldn’t go out till the dew dried.  Many, many times, she caught me outdoors barefoot with a muddy-tailed nightgown before breakfast.  Inclement weather was no impediment.  We simply played in the barn, slipping out the instant the downpour was over.  More likely than not, we’d end up wet anyway, then stay out till our clothes dried enough it wasn’t immediately obvious.  So much of the time I worked as a nurse, I’d go to work before daylight and come home long after dark, working on a windowless unit that shut out all hope of a glimmer of sunshine.  One of life’s greatest blessings is that after retirement, I am free again.  My husband and I camp a great deal, seeing a lot of the beach and the mountains.  While he fly fishes, I spend my time walking with my dogs, dabbling in the water, or just being.  I can’t claim to be a fly fisher person, but I never met a fly fisherman I didn’t like.  I usually cook outdoors in my Dutch Ovens over an open fire.  My posts have come to you from the hills and riversides of Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma and from the beaches along the Gulf of Mexico.  Next summer we plan to spend time with friends in Canada and the Northwest.  I am grateful to be “Chilling” at this time in my life.

This picture was from one of life’s finest moments.  Someone called to see if I could come in and work a shift for them a few days after I retired.  Sent the picture with the explanation,  “Sorry.  I’m busy!”

hammock

Time Out for Smart Alecks

imageMy dad was more creative than factual when making a point.  When there was no dessert, he pointed out.  “My mother or sisters made a cake every day.”

Other times, when we were ungrateful for how great we had it, he’d tell us his family sometimes went three days with nothing to eat but peas.

i piped up.  “Why didn’t y’all eat one of those cakes your mama or sisters made every day?”

He took time out his busy day to teach me the difference in smart and smart aleck.

Knitting Jokes

A piece of yarn enters a bar all alone and tries to order a drink. The bartender snarls,
“We don’t serve your kind here!”.
The yarn is forced to leave.
While sitting outside the bar and feeling all alone, the yarn suddenly comes up with a brilliant idea. Working quickly, he ties himself into a knot and unravels the ends. Taking a deep breath, the yarn boldly walks back into the bar and orders a beer instead.
“Hey!” says the bartender. “Ain’t you that piece of yarn I just threw outta here?”
“Nope,” replies the yarn, “I’m a frayed knot.”

A policeman spots a woman driving and knitting at the same time.
Driving up beside her, he shouts out the window……
“Pullover”!!
“No,” she shouts back, “a pair of socks!”

The doctor told me to get more fiber, so I went to the local yarn store after work.

An old lady walked into a butcher’s shop and shouted at the butcher.
“That leg of lamb you sold me last week, shrunk by six inches when I cooked it”
“That’s funny” said the butcher “My missis knitted me a jumper, and when she washed it, it shrunk by six inches”
“Must have been from the same sheep”

Local police hunting the ‘knitting-needle nutter’ who has stabbed six people in the arse in the last 48 hours believe the attacker could be following some kind of pattern.

A grandmother sat on her porch knitting three socks when someone walked by and asked, “Why are you knitting three socks?”
The grandmother replied: “Because my grandson said he’s grown a foot since joining the Army.”

A woman walks into a yarn store and asks for a length of wool yarn. The shopkeeper asks,”How long do you need it?” The lady, new to the hobby of crochet, thought it over, then responded, “I guess I’ll need it for a pretty long time. I’m going to make a sweater!”

How can you tell when you’ve had too much coffee?
When you’ve just finished knitting your third sweater in a week, and you don’t even know *how* to knit!

A mother took her little boy to church.
While in church the little boy said, “Mommy, I have to pee.”
The mother said to the little boy, “It’s not appropriate to say the word ‘pee’ in church. So, from now on whenever you have to ‘pee’ just tell me that you have to ‘whisper’.”
The following Sunday, the little boy went to church with his father and during the service said to his father, “Daddy, I have to whisper.“
The father looked at him and said, “Okay, just whisper in my ear.”

Uncle Albutt Part 3

Uncle Albert somehow came up on a ninety-nine year lease on several acres on Dorcheat Bayou in Louisiana.  Ready to retire from farming, he decided a fish camp would provide a modest retirement income.  My father bought his farm and stock, but that’s a story for another day.  Obviously, he was a multi-talented man, able to turn his hand to any task.  His farm boasted two cabins.  He moved into the second cabin, disassembled the log house he was living in loaded it piece by piece on his old truck, and moved  it to his lease, where he went to work reassembling it just as it had originally been, except he added an additional bedroom, occasionally recruiting help from relatives with bigger jobs.  Once the reassembled house was in the dry, he took apart the second cabin, using the timber to cover over the logs and seal the house tighter.  One day, Daddy decided we’d go by and check on Uncle Albert’s progress. My older sister climbed on the unsecured log walls, tumbling them to the ground.  I was so glad she got to them before I did.  Neither Daddy nor Uncle Albert was pleased.  Daddy spent the rest of that evening and Saturday helping Uncle Albert get it back together.  None of us kids were invited along, for some reason.  When Uncle Albert was satisfied with his house, he used the rest of the salvaged lumber for fishing boats, a pier, fences, a bait shop, and outbuildings.  Soon he had a pretty good business going.  By the next spring, he had a large garden underway.

Prior to construction of his house, Uncle Albert took care of necessities,; first, a toilet before summoning all his nephews for the digging of a well, uphill from the toilet, of course.  They came, bringing all their wives and children, a festive day of barbecuing, fishing, children running wild, while the men took turns shoveling the hard red clay from the well site..  Only one man could be in the hole at a time.  The others stayed above ground, pulling the heavy dirt from the hole.  They all took their turns.  By the end of the first day, thanks to the high water table, water was beginning to seep in at a depth of twenty feet.  They dug a few feet more, set the curb so the well wouldn’t silt in, and came back the next day to build a protective well-housing.  Uncle Albert was able to draw a bit of water by the evening of the second day.

Along with all my cousins, I was desperate to be lowered by pulley and bucket as the fortunate diggers were, into the depths of that well.  Sadly, all the mothers and aunts were just as anxious to keep wayward kids out of the well, warning us away every time we came near.  However, were able to indulge in one other life-threatening activity as they focused on that well.  A gravel road ran down the steep hill along one side of Uncle Albert’s property where it intersected with another dirt road fronting his house alongside the steep-banked bayou. The occasional oil-truck, fisherman, or hunter who travelled that way would have had no expectation of kids running wild, since until only recently, it was nothing but woods.    Someone of my cousins had thoughtfully brought along their red wagon to Uncle Albert’s that day.  Naturally, we pulled that wagon to the top of the red-dirt hill, piled in as many cousins as would fit, and prepared for a thrilling coast down the steep graveled road.  There were no engineers among us.  Confident as only a cluster of kids can be, we set off for a bone-rattling ride.  That wagon clattered and bounced, held down only by the weight of kids.  A couple of the smaller ones were pitched out, left squalling in our dusty tracks.  The clattering, crying, and dust cloud caught the attention of the well-diggers and mothers who were laying out the picnic lunch, secure in the knowledge we weren’t falling in the well.  As they looked on at the screaming wagonload of kids hurtling down the hill, an oil truck approached the crossing at the bottom.  It slammed on its brakes, swerving enough to allow us to pass, though our unlikely survival was concealed by the massive dust cloud.  The wagon flew on toward the high bank of the bayou, where we were saved by a brush thicket just short of the water.

In the manner of parents at that time, once the loving parents found their children weren’t dead, they gratefully expressed their joy with beatings for all. I had one fine ride down that hill, but I never got another crack at it.

Depriving Bonnie

I love, love, love my sisters-in-law, however, to protect the guilty, in this story, they will remain nameless. I also love to can all kinds of food. Taking advantage of chicken I’d caught on sale, I canned up several quarts of chicken and dumplings, saving back plenty for dinner when Sybil((alias) and her husband were to join us.

At dinner, Sybil told us of her friend Bonnie’s recent accident and broken leg. Concerned for Bonnie, I gave Sybil two quarts of my chicken and dumplings for the unfortunate Bonnie after reminding Sybil to extract a promise to tell Bonnie I had to have my jars back, My generosity does not extend to jars. Like all canners, I am territorial about my precious jars.

Sybil took my jars. A few evenings later, Sybil and her partner in crime found themselves at dinner time with no particular plan. My chicken and dumplings sat innocently on the counter, awaiting their trip to poor, hungry Bonnie. Reasoning Bonnie didn’t need two quarts, hunger overtook them, They put Bonnie’s dinner on to heat for their dinner. Before the dumplings came to a simmer, another sister-in-law showed up hungry, with her starving son in tow. Sybil made them her willing accomplices without a thought for Bonnie.

Needless to say, Bonnie’s dumplings were soon history. The good news is, I did get my jars back.

So, if your name is Bonnie, you broke your leg, and nobody brought you chicken and dumplings, it’s not my fault.

Crocheting

How do you relax?

Crocheting relaxes me. I always have a project or two in a basket next to my chair. My mind totally clears as I work along. I have a crocheted basket full of afghans for chilly guests. I give away many of my creations. Someone always wants a sweater, bag, afghan or pair of socks. Right now, I am working on a bag.

I really love the hummingbird colors in this oversized shopping bag. It would fit well under a plane seat.

This ruby afghan is heavenly soft.

This is my current project. I just have to complete straps. I will finish it today.

My little dog likes to cuddle while I crochet. He is particularly partial to natural yarns, often trying to snitch a ball for himself. Natural yarns must retain an enticing scent.

Cousin Raymond

Cousin Raymond was the family icon of greed. I grew up with Bud, sharing many meals at his house. His mother was polite enough not to slander me so freely, so I never tired of hearing of Cousin Raymond’s gluttony. She resurrected him often to shame her children in the throes of greed. They were raised just like us. Desserts were usually reserved for Sundays and holidays. Also, after school and in between meal snacks were probably dried-out breakfast biscuits, flapjacks, or a piece desiccated cornbread languishing on the stovetop. Sometimes, a day or two after payday, peanut butter and saltines miraculously survived.

I don’t imply we were too picky to gobble anything that didn’t bite us first. We just didn’t look forward to breakfast rejects. Should an errant plate of cookies or bag of chips show up, we fell on it like ravenous beasts, ate all we could hold, and tried to get more when we felt a little better.

When at his family was at their greediest and most in need of shaming, they’d be accused of being just like Cousin Raymond. It seems when Cousin Raymond’s family had company for dinner, big old, dumb Cousin commenced bawling like a bull calf. “ They’re gittin’ it all, Mama! They’re gonna eat it all. Don’t let’em eat it all!”

Cousin Raymond’s mama indulgently heaped his plate with goodies before anyone else had a chance to even line up instead of whooping his behind like any right-thinking person expected! That Cousin Raymond had it figured out!