humor

Hangover Cartoons

Just so you know, I don’t even drink.

Ideal Week

Describe your ideal week.

Everyday would start slow and easy.

Sunday I’d wake up early, settle in my comfy chair with my lapdog and a cup of coffee, open WordPress and enjoy for a while. I might drift off for a nap till Bud wakes up. Eventually, I’d fix breakfast and do a few things around the house. I’d go out with the dogs a few times. If the weather is nice, I might work in the yard for a while. Dinner, more chair time and then bed.

The rest of the week, it’s just rinse and repeat. my life is just one madcap adventure after another.

Little White Lie

This story can never get back to Mother.

Quite a few years ago, Mother went to a cute bobbed hairstyle. It cost her thirty-five dollars.

Kathleen Swain

Everything was fine until she slipped up on setting up an appointment with the hairdresser. She asked if I could trim it. Foolishly, I accommodated her. While it didn’t look good, it probably wasn’t the worst home haircut anybody ever got. I’d inflicted that one on my sister many years earlier. Mother appreciates a bargain and the price was perfect. I was trapped. She never made another appointment.

As time went on, I got less enthusiastic about doing the job. I made a deal with my hairdresser. If she’d cut Mother’s hair and charge ten dollars, I’d pick up the rest of the tab. Mother loves Diane and looks forward to their appointments. That’s how its been ever since.

Mother recently moved to an independent Living facility which she loves. The good news is, they have a hairdresser on site. The bad news is. She charges forty-five dollars. That relationship never got off the ground. Mother couldn’t wait to get back to Diane and her ten dollar appointments.

Here she is, getting her $10 bob.

Delicious Crockpot Venison and Beef Stew

Buying markdown meat is an excellent practice. I typically shop after the weekend and really stock up. I overdid it a few months ago and overfilled my freezer. Please don’t judge me but I’ve been reading about the health benefits of cooking for dogs. My vet suggested I cook one third good quality meat, one third brown rice, and one third veggies. That sounded easy enough. I put about three pounds of mixed venison and beef in the crockpot on high, added three cups of brown rice and two pounds of mixed vegetables. After an afternoon of simmering, it smelled wonderful. The dogs kept coming through, checking out the enticing aroma.

They weren’t the only ones. Bud found his way to the kitchen. “What are you cooking?” He asked, lifting the lid. “That smells great!”

It occurred to me, this was not the time to mention I’d planned to reheat the homemade chicken noodle soup I’d made the day before. Lo and behold, the concoction experienced a conversion. Hallelujah! “Oh, just some stew. I need to add some onions and garlic.” It will be ready soon. You might want to get a piece of fruit in the meantime.”

I got busy with onions, garlic, and parsley as well as seasonings. It smelled heavenly. Before long, Bud tucked into a big bowl of stew as the dogs watched mournfully. They may have to be satisfied with chicken noodle soup.

Jackie Robinson

Name the professional athletes you respect the most and why.

I respect Jackie Robinson for breaking the color barrier in professional baseball. His drive and courage had to be tremendous to brave the difficulties he faced. He changed things for all of us who are different in any way. He was not just a baseball player, he opened doors for all who face challenges. Thank you, Mr. Robinson

Mother’s Infamous Flapjacks: A Humorous Culinary Tale

As long as I’m on the subject, I might as well tell about the absolute most heinous food Mother cooked: flapjacks! When I smelled the acrid smell of Mother’s flapjacks nearing incineration, I literally hoped for The Rapture before I got the call to breakfast. Mother ascribed to the theory that a person HAD to eat breakfast. If she’d had nothing to offer but a bowl of sticks and rocks, so be it. Though she was generally mild-tempered, on this subject, she wouldn’t budge. Breakfast would be eaten.

Mother’s flapjacks could never have been confused with lovely, golden brown pancakes topped with butter and dripping with maple syrup. We usually saw her dread flapjacks on Thursday morning, grocery day. The cupboard was often nearly bare by then with nothing left but self-rising flour, a little leftover grease, and possibly a little sugar.

That’s when we’d get flapjacks, a glorified, deep fried dough ball. They were most often no more than self-rising flour, likely made without benefit of milk or eggs. The flour was often just mixed with water. Should we be out of syrup, preserves, or jam, Mother would boil us up a bit of sugar syrup, an equal mixture of sugar and water boiled together. The only taste was sweet.

Mother’s flapjack technique was crude. She’d put the skillet of grease on to heat while mixing up a thick mess of tasteless dough. Once the grease was smoking and near to conflagration, she’d dump big gobs of dough into the near-blazing grease. The flapjack quickly plumped up about an inch thick on contact with the skillet. As often as not, smoke poured from the skillet. Just before they ignited, she’d flip them. The bottoms were burned black. As I’ve mentioned before, Mother was easily distracted by the madness always in progress with five kids. Distressed by the burned side, she usually managed to get the fat, black dough balls out of the pan before the bottoms burned.

Mother had a poor opinion of our intelligence. Despite the cloud of smoke circling our heads and the smell of the charred flapjacks, she optimistically took the trouble to plate them burned side down, sure we’d never suspect they were black on the bottom again.

Topped with sugar syrup and probably no butter, it was payday morning after all, we’d dig in. Invariably, due to the thickness of the dough and the inferno under the skillet, thick, white, maggotty-looking dough would ooze out when pierced with a fork. It was a nauseating addendum to a lost cause. I could never choke it down. Fortunately, we were always running late, so those of us with weak stomachs could escape to the bus after scooting them around a little.

The good news was, there were always plenty left on the stove for after-school snacks, should we be ravenous enough to chance another try.


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.

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.”

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.