1. What do beans say to their Valentines? You keep me grounded. 2. How does an IT guy drink coffee? He installs Java. 3. What’s a coffee’s favorite karaoke song? Hit Me With Your Best Shot. 4. What’s the opposite of coffee? Sneezy. 5. What do you call two coffee mugs sitting next together? A happy cupple. 6. What’s a coffee’s favorite Wham! song? Wake Be up Before You Cocoa! 7. I didn’t choose the mug life, the mug life chose me. 8. How do coffee cups greet each other? With mugs and kisses.
The old farmer just got married and as he was driving home with his new wife the mule stopped and wouldn’t pull the wagon. The farmer smacked him over the head with a 2×4…..and said, “That’s One! ….. …The second time the mule refused to move the farmer went over and hit him with the 2×4 and said…”That’s Two!……… ……The third time the mule refused the farmer took his gun and shot him……. The new wife started to criticize the old farmer for shooting his mule and he says;
That’s one…………….
A cardiologist who was nearing the end of his career to leave the spotlight and stress of leading the cardiologist staff of the Mayo Clinic, and moved to a small, rural hospital in the Florida Panhandle. He told the staff at the Mayo Clinic, “I am tired of dealing with CEO’s and millionaires who are too busy to take care of their hearts, and look forward to the simple country lifestyle of patching up farmers and their bankers who have simply worn their hearts out.”
Sadly, after only four short years of simpler life, the Cardiologist died of cancer. When his comrades from the Mayo Clinic heard the sad news they told the family that they wanted to help them plan a very elaborate funeral, to pay their respects for this great man who had so much influence on doctors all over the world. A huge heart, covered in flowers, stood behind the casket during the service at the church, and all in attendance were in awe, having never seen such an event. Following the eulogy, as harp music played, the heart opened and the casket rolled inside. The heart then closed, sealing the doctor in the beautiful heart forever.
All of a sudden, one of the mourners in the back of the church burst out in laughter. Every head turned to see the source of this disrespectful laughter. It was one of the country doctors from the small town hospital. With the whole crowd glaring at him in disgust, the doctor held up his hand and said, “I am so sorry folks, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, he was a great friend. I was just thinking of my own funeral. I’m a proctologist.
Harold was a farmer, who had stayed healthy and happy out on the farm for over 60 years. As the years slipped by, however, his wife worried about him out in the summer heat for long hours each day. She had been right to worry as one summer, while out fixing fence, the heat got the best of Harold. He got dehydrated and had to be hospitalized. Harold hated it there, because he kept wanting to get home to check on his crops and cattle. The doctor warned him that he needed to spend at least 4 days in the hospital, so they could run a series of tests on his heart and other systems. Plus he just wanted to make sure Harold’s strength had returned, because he knew he would be right back out farming again in the heat.
There was one young nurse that just drove Harold absolutely crazy. Every time she came in, she would talk to him like he was a little child. She would say in a patronizing tone of voice, “And how are we doing this morning?” or “Are we ready for a bath?” or “Are we hungry today?” Old Harold had had about all he could stand of this particular nurse, and just had to get out of that hospital. He was more sick of people poking, prodding, testing and talking to him like an helpless old man, than he was from the heat stroke.
One day at breakfast, he came up with a plan. The nurse came to his room and left him a urine bottle to fill for testing. After she had left his room, Harold got a twinkle in his eye as he spied the apple juice on the breakfast tray on his bed side stand. Well you know where the juice went, right into the urine sample vial.
A little while later when the patronizing nurse returned, she picked up the vile and said, “My oh my, it seems we are a little cloudy today?” At this, Old Harold snatched the bottle out of her hand, popped off the top, and drank it right down, saying, “Well, let’s run it through again. Maybe I can filter it better this time!”
The nurse fainted! Harold boomed out, “This nurse needs help!” Within seconds 4 nurses and two doctors were fussing all around her. Harold just smiled and said to himself, “Now’s my chance to get the heck out of this place.” He snatched his clothes out of the closet, got dressed in the restroom down the hall, headed to the elevator, and was out the door before anyone knew what happened!
This is my cute little ninety-six yea-old-mother. She still lives in her home with a good bit of support. She’s as good-natured as she looks. Quite a few men in her neighborhood have shown interest in her. She says there’s nothing wrong with men, except the keep breathing in and breathing out.
He handled the situation like a champ, injured paws and all.
Look, hiking a few miles up a mountain is hard. If you’re a 190-pound dog named Floyd, who may not be in the best shape of his life, it’s a bit too much
The 3-year-old mastiff was hiking with his human up the Grandeur Peak trail in Salt Lake County, Utah, on Sunday and got so worn out he couldn’t make it back to the car.
About five concerned hikers passed by the pup and his owner, who were stopped on the trail for hours, and called 911 once they got back to cell reception. Salt Lake County Search and Rescue were dispatched to rescue Floyd and quickly sprang to action to make sure the doggo got off the mountain before it got too dark and too cold, Todd Taylor, the team’s squad leader, told BuzzFeed News.
“They started hiking around noon and it’s usually a three-hour hike,” Taylor said. “But they were sitting up there for a few hours. He would walk a few feet and then sit down and his paws were hurt and cut up.”
The nonprofit, all-volunteer crew does about 50 rescues a year, Taylor, 49, said. They range from injured runners, dehydrated hikers, swift-water incidents, and jumping out of helicopters to get to stranded rock climbers.
Most of the volunteers have been rescuing people for 10 to 15 years. Saving dogs, though, is much rarer and required some strategizing.
This was an interesting rescue because of the size of Floyd,” Taylor said. “We knew we had a big dog, a 190-pounder, and we treated it like a normal rescue for a person.”
Ten rescuers on two teams arrived armed with helmets, ropes, radios, and a litter — a piece of equipment used to carry people — to rescue Floyd. However, the wheel broke about a mile into the rescue, Taylor said, so the crew had to carry the massive mastiff the rest of the way down.
But Floyd handled the entire situation like a champ and was the best of boys.
Our big dog Croc, was due for his vaccines and checkup. Of course, a fellow in his geriatric glory would have other problems to address. His thyroid levels are always jumping around, so he has skin issues. He was right on time with extra complaints for this visit. He has bald spots and irritated skin. His thyroid didn’t stop his toenails from growing. They were long! I’ve given up on cutting them. It’s like sawing a tree. Besides, our little dog Izzy tries to eat the pieces as they snap off. I can’t handle both challenges.
Izzy, our little guy has been expressing his manhood, so I scheduled him for neutering the day before, so I could make one trip do. I always dread taking Croc in anyway. He’s so big, I have trouble managing. The last time, he snatched me down. I bumped my head on the curb and my glasses flew off. As I felt around for them, I found a pile of steaming poo. Croc probably dropped it there for me after tugging me down.
We talked about behavior before we got out of the truck and he went straight in. A beautiful,big girl dog in an interesting condition was waiting politely with her owner. Croc was desperate to greet her, but the owner was terrified. I kept Croc under control, but he was so enamored of the lady dog he howled as they left. I don’t know what he thought he could do as a neutered fellow, but I believe he was prepared to lie. He was totally unconcerned about being fat and balding.
All’s well that ends well. Croc got his exam and vaccines and lost seven pounds. Izzy left without testicles. $837.32 later, I took them to Sonic for their reward. Croc gobbled down his Pup Cup while Izzy refused his. Agreeable as always, Croc took care of it for him.
Bill made it his business to find out about Kathleen. She shared a room with her old maid sister at the Clarksville hotel, which also functioned as a boarding house. She heard she already had a boyfriend, but taking care of that wasn’t much of a hill for a climber. He called for her at the hotel. The clerk called up the stairs. “Miss Kathleen, you got a call.”
Kathleen and her boyfriend, Gene, had tentative plans to go to the movies., if he got back in time from his delivery run. She really wanted to go to the movie and if he didn’t call now, it would be too late. She was already mad when the clerk called up the stairs. Gene had stood her up one too many times getting back too late! “Miss Kathleen, you got a call.” Relieved, she grabbed her purse and a sweater and bounced down the stairs.
Grabbing the phone breathlessly, thinking it was Gene, she spoke impatiently, “I thought you’d never call. I’ve been waiting for you!”
Bill cackled, anticipating her embarrassment. “Girl, if I’d known you wanted me to call that bad, I’d have called sooner!” She was mortified!
“I thought you were somebody else!” she snapped, irritated, “my boyfriend, calling to take me to the movie.”
“Now don’t hang up! I’ll take you to the movie.” Bill offered.
There was a bit of a backstory here. Only sixty miles from Clarksville, Texas, in Texarkana, between February and May, 1946, The Phantom Killer had killed and maimed several couples, creeping up on them on parked cars on Lover’s Lanes. One person was even attacked in her rural home. Everyone was one edge. Women were warned not to go out with strangers and definitely not to go parking. It was a terrifying time.
Gene had left her waiting one too many times. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she accepted his invitation. The Phantom Killer operated around Texarkana, after all. Bill picked her up in an impressive coupe. The only flaw was a missing door handle on the passenger side, so she had to slide in under steering wheel. Chiding herself, she climbed in and they were off. This seemed like a bad idea. She could never tell Annie or Mama and Daddy she’d gone out with a strange man.
Bill hadn’t eaten yet , so they decided to stop off for a bite, then catch the late movie. They got there to late to get a close spot, so they had to park on a side street, a couple of blocks from thee movie. Kathleen thought nothing of this. After the movie let out, Bill met a friend who was also leaving. He stood and talked to his buddy for about twenty minutes before the friend got into his nearby car and drove away. The abandoned streets increased her anxiety as they walked her to his lonesome car a few blocks away. Again, she had to slide in on driver’s s side before edging as close as she could to the handleless door. He sat there quietly while lighting a cigarette. looking even bigger in the dark. She knew then she had no business being alone with this man she didn’t know.. He exhaled, then turned to look at her and spoke softly, “What would you say if I told you I was the phantom Killer?”
She knew in that moment she was going to die, so she bluffed. ” I have a gun in my purse.”
Realizing he had gone too far, Daddy folded. “I had you fooled for a minute, didn’t I?” He laughed starting the car.
She married him three weeks later.
Addendum: Daddy couldn’t have been the killer. He was working hundreds of miles away at the time. The killer was never caught.
Like all families we employ time-honored phrases that seem nonsense to others:
“Don’t go crazy, Sue!” My cousin’s husband, a real doofus, employed this when he really messed up, intending to temper her reaction. example: He backed over the dog after she’d told him it had slipped out. It didn’t calm her down a bit.
“I don’t like what I wanted.” My three year-old-niece had a quarter. She’d been hounding her mom all morning to take her to the store. Finally, the time came. Chelsea ran up to the vending machine outside the store , popping her quarter in before Mom could stop her. Out popped a tacky little plastic car. Furious with disappointment , smashed it to the ground. Mom chided her. “I thought you wanted a prize out of the machine!”
Chelsea spouted back, “I don’t LIKE what I wanted.”
That phrase is perfect for so many of our choices in life!
“It couldn’t be helped.” Mother is a ditz, scatterbrained and chronically behind in whatever she had to do. When the beans burned, she forgot to pick a kid up at basketball practice, forgot to stub a check, or messed up in any way, she justified it by saying, “It couldn’t be helped.”. This was rarely true.
“It’s starting to get some better.”. Daddy was a hypochondriac. When he managed a malady, he clung to it tenaciously. About two weeks after wasps stings, Mother facetiously asked how it was. Mistaking her sarcasm for concern, he replied, “It’s starting to get some better.”
“The head’s as dangerous as the rest of it!”. My sister was warning us to stay away from a decapitated snake. “Stay away from that snake head! It’s as dangerous as the rest of it!” Duh!
“Only fools f___s with snakes.”. A guy Bud worked with coined this wisdom. Since we had little kids at the time we had to amend it.
” I salted it, but not enough.”. Mother was the master of confusion. Putting a plates of eggs on the table one morning, she advised us, ” I salted them, but not enough.”. Where do you go from there? Salt or don’t salt. By the time you decide, your egg’s half gone.
Mother was a true Daughter of the Bible Belt. Daddy was a man of the “Old South. Mother’s regular days were demanding, but preparation for Sundays was brutal. There were five children in our family;two older girls, the “big” girls then my brother, each three years apart. When my brother was five, my parents got reacquainted and had two more girls about a year apart, known as “little” girls. I quickly noticed the little girls had made a better decision than I when joining the family lineup. Their role was to be sweetly precious while the “big” girls were promoted to unpaid household help; sweeping, mopping, cooking, cleaning, evening farm chores. I didn’t care for any of that, but of course, I was conscripted, not a volunteer.
Mother’s life was unenviable by most standards. When her normal duties on late Saturday were done, it was time for us to get shoes polished, clothes starched and ironed, and baths and pin-curling done. I would have gladly foregone the torture of having my fine, lank hair slimed up with Dippity-Do, but my opinion was irrelevant. She hated having her girls show up on Sunday with stringy hair. Mother clenched me between her knees, wound my pre-slimed hair tightly around her finger and slid in criss-crossed Bobby -Pins to hold the recalcitrant curls in place. The pins wouldn’t have goudged a groove as they slid in had I had resisted the temptation to bite the plastic tips off the pins, but alas, I was a slow learner. The pin-curled mess was wrapped snugly in a scarf overnight to keep curls from working loose, leaving one straight sprig claiming independence from it’s frazzled friends. I hated the curly do that taunted me in the mirror the next morning. I can’t imagine why anyone would go to all the trouble to look so awful.
Pretty often, Daddy threw a monkey wrench into Mother’s organization by electing to take us all to visit his family until late Saturday evening, often not getting us home until long after all the kids had slumped into deep sleep. As he approached home, he threw the car windows open to shock the us awake since he didn’t like carrying somnolent kids in. Unwashed kids with dirty feet tumbled into bed in their clothes. Beds would be stripped Monday.
I was grateful to forego hairdos when we were out late. Kids got spitbaths after a quick breakfast That left Saturday night’s shoe-polishing, a panicked job before Sunday school. Without fail, at least one shoe went missing, ensuring a wild search. It was almost unheard of for all pairs to be found resting cozily together under the edge of the bed as they should have been. The shoe might have escaped to the fartherest corner of the house, yard, or perhaps been kicked off in the car. While Sunday School lessons read, offering nickels were stuffed in Sunday School Collection Envelopes. Amidst this mayhem, Mother or one of her lacksadaicsical lackies had to draw Daddy’s bath, and put the soap,washcloth, towel, and church clothes out. He always dawdled over coffee, late to his bath. We alway left late for church with him preaching all the way to church because “Y’all made me late! You need to get organized!” the perfect start to a lovely Sunday. I
My children took frequently took advantage of one of my fatal discipline flaws. Should their behavior cross the line and require discipline, activating my funny bone rendered me useless. The pastor in our small Methodist Church offered healing by laying on of hands at the end of the regular Sunday Service. I suspect that was one of the few times John, age ten, had ever listened. He made a move as though he were heading to the front. I was totally surprised, and caught his arm, thinking he’d misunderstood ”Where are you going?” I asked. ”I’ve got a heat rash!” He giggled. ”Sit down.” He got me.
Nutsrok 