humor

Who in the Hell is Michael Jackson?

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Sometimes life serves up some incredibly sweet moments.  About twenty-five years ago, I mortally embarrassed both my high school children with no effort or planning on my part whatsoever. I was a dialysis nurse at the time and had worked all night the night before.  I had gone to bed about four that afternoon, knowing I was going to be called back.  At eight-thirty in the evening. The phone at my bedside rang, jolting me from sleep. I was sure it was my call back from the hospital, I was disoriented to hear a radio D J introduce himself. “This is ———- I am calling the Bethea Home in Greenwood, Louisiana, live.  We are on the air.  Is this Ms. Bethea?”

“Duh”. This was not the call I was expecting.  I was brilliant!

“You have the chance to be entered in the Win a House Contest if you can answer one simple question.  Are you ready?”

Remember, I’d just come off a sixteen hour shift and had had four hours sleep.

“Uh. Ok”

“All Right!  Here’s your question.  It’s so simple you couldn’t miss it.  What was Michael Jackson’s first million seller?”  By this time my kids, who were both listening to the radio had burst into the room to try to get the phone away from me, knowing what was bound to happen.

They were too late.  I answered loud and clear, disgracing them in front of all their listening friends.  “Who in the Hell is Michael Jackson?”

Fortunately, I already had a house.

Creepy Jokes

A father and his young son are walking deep in the woods at night with a lantern and a shovel.
The son says, “Dad it’s creepy out here, I’m scared”.
The father replies, “You’re scared? I’m the one who has to walk back alone!”.

I used to love building sandcastles with my granny… But my parents thought it was creepy so they glued the urn shut.

I threw a boomerang a few years ago.
I now live in constant fear.

What did Kermit the Frog say at his puppeteer’s funeral?
Nothing.

Aaron Purmort

Full Obituary

“Age 35, died peacefully at home on November 25 after complications from a radioactive spider bite that led to years of crime-fighting and a years long battle with a nefarious criminal named Cancer, who has plagued our society for far too long.  

Civilians will recognize him best as Spider-Man, and thank him for his many years of service protecting our city.

His family knew him only as a kind and mild-mannered Art Director, a designer of websites and t-shirts and concert posters who always had the right cardigan and the right thing to say (even if it was wildly inappropriate).  

Aaron was known for his long, entertaining stories, which he loved to repeat often.

In high school, he was in the band ‘The Asparagus Children’, which reached critical acclaim in the northern suburbs.  

As an adult, he graduated from the College of Visual Arts (which also died an untimely death recently) and worked in several agencies around Minneapolis, settling in as an Interactive Associate Creative Director at Colle + McVoy.  

Aaron was a comic book aficionado, a pop-culture encyclopedia and always the most fun person at any party.

He is survived by his parents, Bill and Kim Kuhlmeyer, father Mark Purmort (Patricia, Autumn, Aly), sisters Erika and Nicole, first wife Gwen Stefani, current wife Nora and their son Ralph, who will grow up to avenge his father’s untimely death.”

A service will be held on December 3, 2014.

Jokes

1. Snail with an attitude
A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says: ‘What the hell was that all about?’

2. A genie and an idiot
Three guys stranded on a desert island find a magic lantern containing a genie, who grants them each one wish. The first guy wishes he was off the island and back home. The second guy wishes the same. The third guy says: ‘I’m lonely. I wish my friends were back here.’

3. True love lasts forever
It’s the World Cup Final, and a man makes his way to his seat right next to the pitch. He sits down, noticing that the seat next to him is empty. He leans over and asks his neighbour if someone will be sitting there. ‘No,’ says the neighbour. ‘The seat is empty.’ ‘This is incredible,’ said the man. ‘Who in their right mind would have a seat like this for the Final and not use it?’ The neighbour says, ‘Well actually the seat belongs to me. I was supposed to come with my wife, but she passed away. This is the first World Cup Final we haven’t been to together since we got married.’ ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s terrible….But couldn’t you find someone else, a friend, relative or even a neighbour to take her seat?’ The man shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘They’re all at the funeral.’

4. Off to work
A guy shows up late for work. The boss yells, ‘You should’ve been here at 8.30!’ He replies. ‘Why? What happened at 8.30?’


5. Oooh Heaven is a place on earth
Sid and Irv are business partners. They make a deal that whichever one dies first will contact the living one from the afterlife. So Irv dies. Sid doesn’t hear from him for about a year, figures there is no afterlife. Then one day he gets a call. It’s Irv. ‘So there is an afterlife! What’s it like?’ Sid asks. ‘Well, I sleep very late. I get up, have a big breakfast. Then I have sex, lots of sex. Then I go back to sleep, but I get up for lunch, have a big lunch. Have some more sex, take a nap. Huge dinner. More sex. Go to sleep and wake up the next day.’ ‘Oh, my God,’ says Sid. ‘So that’s what heaven is like?’ ‘Oh no,’ says Irv. ‘I’m not in heaven. I’m a bear in Yellowstone Park.’

6. The Devil’s in the details
A guy dies and is sent to hell. Satan meets him, shows him doors to three rooms, and says he must choose one to spend eternity in. In the first room, people are standing in dirt up to their necks. The guy says, ‘No, let me see the next room.’ In the second room, people are standing in dirt up to their noses. Guy says no again. Finally Satan opens the third room. People are standing with dirt up to their knees, drinking coffee and eating pastries. The guy says, ‘I pick this room.’ Satan says Ok and starts to leave, and the guy wades in and starts pouring some coffee. On the way out Satan yells, ‘OK, coffee break’s over. Everyone back on your heads!’

7. Kid vs barber
A young boy enters a barber shop and the barber whispers to his customer. ‘This is the dumbest kid in the world. Watch while I prove it you.’ The barber puts a dollar bill in one hand and two quarters in the other, then calls the boy over and asks, ‘Which do you want, son?’ The boy takes the quarters and leaves. ‘What did I tell you?’ said the barber. ‘That kid never learns!’ Later, when the customer leaves, he sees the same young boy coming out of the ice cream store. ‘Hey, son! May I ask you a question? Why did you take the quarters instead of the dollar bill?’ The boy licked his cone and replied, ‘Because the day I take the dollar, the game is over!’

8. You’re one in a million
China has a population of a billion people. One billion. That means even if you’re a one in a million kind of guy, there are still a thousand others exactly like you.

9. Racing a bear
Two campers are walking through the woods when a huge brown bear suddenly appears in the clearing about 50 feet in front of them. The bear sees the campers and begins to head toward them. The first guy drops his backpack, digs out a pair of sneakers, and frantically begins to put them on. The second guy says, ‘What are you doing? Sneakers won’t help you outrun that bear.’ ‘I don’t need to outrun the bear,’ the first guy says. ‘I just need to outrun you.’

10. All in a night’s work
A guy meets a sex worker in a bar. She says, ‘This is your lucky night. I’ve got a special game for you. I’ll do absolutely anything you want for $300 as long as you can say it in three words.’ The guy replies, ‘Hey, why not?’ He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and lays $300 on the bar, and says, “Paint my house.”

Snotty Girls

Good baby0002

See this beautiful dead baby photographed outdoors in front of a black drape.  He was the cause of my first major social failure.  Before you get too outraged with me, bear in mind this child was my grandmother’s baby brother, stillborn in 1898.  Even she never knew him. From the time I could remember, whenever I caught Mother busy, I’d slip into her closet and rifle through a small box of pictures and letters, which I enjoyed all the more because they were forbidden.  I’d sit cross-legged on her closet floor, pouring over the taboo loot.

One day when I was in third grade, I ran up to Margaret Green, who played with me only if she didn’t have a better offer.  I was a friendly kid, the kind who’d have played with a rattlesnake if it hadn’t bitten me too much.  Today, Margaret wanted no part of me, having hit the jackpot.  She and Rita May Bowers, the snooty daughter of the principal were bonding tearfully, comparing notes upon discovering they each had a long dead stillborn baby sister in their past. They hugged each other and wept luxuriously.  Bored, I went on my way.

Determined to compete, I queried Mother that afternoon.  “Mother did you ever have a baby born dead?”  Hugely pregnant, she wasn’t partial to this question.

“No!  What an awful question!”

“Well, did you ever lose a baby?”  (I had no idea how one could be so careless, but I’d heard it whispered.)

“That’s enough of that kind of talk!  Go do your homework, now!”

Nothing was left but for me to visit the closet, slipping the dead baby picture into my Arithmetic book.  At recess the next day, Margaret and Rita May were still deep in mourning, freezing me out as I trotted up.  “I have a dead baby sister,too.”  I bragged.  I happily waved the picture.  “Looky here!”  They couldn’t deny it.  It was a dead baby, alright!

Rita May grabbed the picture, studying it, reluctant to admit me to the club, even with this proof.  She was softening when the jealous Margaret grabbed it for a gander.  She studied it before flipping it over, to find written on the back, Floyd Franklin Perkins, born and died May 3,1898.  I was out!

William Ziegler passed away on July 29, 2016 at the age of 69 “to avoid having to make a decision in the pending presidential election,” according to the obituary written by Ziegler’s four children.

Ziegler’s obituary also mentions his love for the “morons and mental patients” that he served with as a fireman, sending tasteless internet jokes, potted meat and his “alcoholic dog Judge”.

While this obituary is full of humour, Ziegler’s daughter shared with the Times-Picayune the meaning behind the hilarious obituary saying that her father would always email funny obituaries he found online so that they could have a laugh.

All jokes aside, the obituary ends with a heartfelt, “He will be greatly missed.”

Full Obituary

“William Ziegler escaped this mortal realm on Friday, July 29, 2016 at the age of 69.  We think he did it on purpose to avoid having to make a decision in the pending presidential election.

He leaves behind four children, five grand-children, and the potted meat industry, for which he was an unofficial spokesman until dietary restrictions forced him to eat real food.

William volunteered for service in the United States Navy at the ripe old age of 17 and immediately realized he didn’t much enjoy being bossed around.  He only stuck it out for one war.  Before his discharge, however, the government exchanged numerous ribbons and medals for various honorable acts.

Upon his return to the City of New Orleans in 1971, thinking it best to keep an eye on him, government officials hired William as a fireman.  After twenty-five years, he suddenly realized that running away from burning buildings made more sense than running toward them.  He promptly retired.

Looking back, William stated that there was no better group of morons and mental patients than those he had the privilege of serving with (except Bob, he never liked you, Bob).

Following his wishes, there will not be a service, but well-wishers are encouraged to write a note of farewell on a Schaefer Light beer can and drink it in his honor.

He was never one for sentiment or religiosity, but he wanted you to know that if he owes you a beer, and if you can find him in Heaven, he will gladly allow you to buy him another.  He can likely be found forwarding tasteless internet jokes (check your spam folder, but don’t open these at work).

Expect to find an alcoholic dog named Judge passed out at his feet.  Unlike previous times, this is not a ploy to avoid creditors or old girlfriends.  He assures us that he is gone. He will be greatly missed.”

Published in The Times-Picayune on Aug. 12, 2016.

Kathleen Carries On or Breathing In and Out

Mother was widowed at fifty-four. A couple of widowers in their seventies called showing interest. One was an elderly Pentecostal Preacher who showed up with a three-page poem he’d penciled on pages torn from a three ring spiral binder. The kicker was, he’d admired the way she’d waited on Daddy hand and foot. He knew she’d make him a good wife, too. Hard to believe she’d turn down such an attractive offer.

After a time, Mother moved into town and developed a tepid friendship with a neighbor man, Maury. Unfortunately, Maury’s health failed, but not before Mother’s interest in him. She realized then she didn’t want another man friend. When another neighbor man, John, showed interest in Mother, intending to discourage John, she explained she had a friend, Maury, who wasn’t doing too well. Some weeks later, the Maury died. John stopped by a time or two to see how her friend was doing. Evasively, Mother told him. “He’s about the same.” I suppose he’s still “about the same.”

Afterwards, when asked if she’d ever thought of marrying again, Mother always replied,”No, the only thing wrong with men is they keep breathing in and breathing out.”

If you enjoyed Kathleen’s stories, check out her memoir on Amazon. Authored by Linda Bethea Illustrated by Kathleen Swain

Emily Philip’s Self-penned Obituary

“It pains me to admit it, but apparently, I have passed away.  Everyone told me it would happen one day but that’s simply not something I wanted to hear, much less experience.  Once again I didn’t get things my way!  That’s been the story of my life all my life.

And while on that subject (the story of my life)… on February 9, 1946 my parents and older sister celebrated my birth and I was introduced to all as Emily DeBrayda Fisher, the daughter of Clyde and Mary Fisher from Hazelwood.  

I can’t believe that happened in the first half of the last century but there are records on file in the Court House which can corroborate this claim.

Just two years later when another baby girl was born, I became known as the middle sister of the infamous three Fisher Girls, and the world was changed forever.

As a child I walked to the old Hazelwood Elementary School where teachers like Mrs. McCracken, Mrs.  Davis and Mrs.  Moody planted the seed that eventually led me to becoming a teacher.  

I proudly started my teaching career at that same elementary school in January 1968, and from there I went on to teach young children in the neighboring states of Virginia, Georgia, as well as Florida where I retired after 25 years.

So many things in my life seemed of little significance at the time they happened but then took on a greater importance as I got older.  The memories I’m taking with me now are so precious and have more value than all the gold and silver in my jewelry box.

Memories … where do I begin? 

Well, I remember Mother wearing an apron; I remember Daddy calling Square Dances; I remember my older sister pushing me off my tricycle (on the cinder driveway); I remember my younger sister sleep walking out of the house.

I remember grandmother Nonnie who sewed exquisite dresses for me when I was little; I remember grandmother Mamateate wringing a chicken’s neck so we could have Sunday dinner.

I remember being the bride in our Tom Thumb Wedding in first grade and performing skits for the 4-H Club later in grade five.  I remember cutting small rosebuds still wet with dew to wear to school on spring mornings, and I remember the smell of newly mowed grass.  

I remember the thrill of leading our high school band down King Street in New Orleans for Mardi Gras (I was head majorette).  I remember representing Waynesville in the Miss North Carolina Pageant, and yes, I twirled my baton to the tune of “Dixie”.  It could have been no other way.

I married the man of my dreams (tall, dark, and handsome) on December 16, 1967 and from that day on I was proud to be Mrs. Charlie Phillips, Grand Diva Of All Things Domestic.  

Our plan was to have two children, a girl and a boy.  Inexplicably we were successful in doing exactly that when we were blessed with our daughter Bonnie and then later our son Scott.  Seeing these two grow into who they were supposed to be brought a wonderful sense of meaning to our lives.

This might be a good time to mend fences. 

I apologize for making sweet Bonnie wear No Frills jeans when she was little and for “red-shirting” Scott in kindergarten.  Apparently each of these things was humiliating to them but both were able to rise above their shame and become very successful adults.  

I’d also like to apologize to Mary Ann for tearing up her paper dolls and to Betsy for dating a guy she had a crush on.

Just when I thought I was too old to fall in love again, I became a grandmother, and my five grand-angels stole not only my heart, but also spent most of my money.  Sydney Elizabeth, Jacob McKay, and Emma Grace (all Uprights) have enriched my life more than words can say.  

Sydney’s “one more, no more” when she asked for a cookie; Jake saying he was “sick as a cat” when I’d said that someone else was sick as a dog; and Emma cutting her beautiful long hair and then proceeding to shave off one of her eyebrows … Yes, these are a few of my favorite things.  

They’re treasures that are irreplaceable and will go with me wherever my journey takes me.

I’ve always maintained that my greatest treasures call me Nana.  That’s not exactly true.  You see, the youngest of my grand-angels, William Fisher Phillips and Charlie Jackson Phillips call me “Nana Banana”.  (Thank you Chris and Scott for having such spunky children.) 

These two are also apt to insist that I “get their hiney” whenever I visit, and since I’m quite skilled in that area, I’ve always been able to oblige.  (I actually hold the World’s Record for “Hiney Getting,” a title that I wear with pride.)

Speaking of titles…I’ve held a few in my day.  

I’ve been a devoted daughter, an energetic teenager, a WCU graduate (summa cum laude), a loving wife, a comforting mother, a dedicated teacher, a true and loyal friend, and a spoiling grandmother.  And if you don’t believe it, just ask me.  Oh wait, I’m afraid it’s too late for questions.  Sorry.

So … I was born; I blinked; and it was over.  

No buildings named after me; no monuments erected in my honor.  But I DID have the chance to know and love each and every friend as well as all my family members.  How much more blessed can a person be?  

So in the end, remember… do your best, follow your arrow, and make something amazing out of your life.  Oh, and never stop smiling.

If you want to, you can look for me in the evening sunset or with the earliest spring daffodils or amongst the flitting and fluttering butterflies.  You know I’ll be there in one form or another.  

Of course that will probably comfort some while antagonizing others, but you know me… it’s what I do.

I’ll leave you with this…please don’t cry because I’m gone; instead be happy that I was here.  (Or maybe you can cry a little bit.  After all, I have passed away).

Today I am happy and I am dancing.  Probably naked.

Love you forever

Religious confusion

Communion charmed me.  It pained me to see the perfect little glasses and morsels of wafer in the gleaming trays pass me by.  I suspect Mother’s thoughts weren’t sacred as she warned me off with dark looks and shaking head.  It seemed wrong to waste communion on adults when those cups were obviously child-sized.  Glenda Parker boldly reached in and took two tiny cups right under her mother’s eye.  She slurped the juice from one cup, then poured the juice from the other back and forth a few times before spilling it.  Her mother sweetly wiped up the pew with a dainty hanky, never shooting her “the look.”  With my head bowed during prayer, I saw Glenda stack and restack those cups and slip them in and out of the little slots on the back of the pew in front of her while her mother piously bowed her head in prayer.  Why couldn’t God have given me to a mother like that?

Baptism was even more interesting.  The first baptism I witnessed took place in a pond.  The congregation gathered around as the preacher led the candidates in one by one and dipped them backwards into murky water.  I yearned to get in that line, but had been warned not to move from Mother’s side.  The next baptism took place in our church’s new sanctuary.  The curtains behind the choir loft opened to reveal a glass-fronted tank before a lovely mural of the Jordan River.  The preacher stepped  in and spoke a few words before assisting Miss Flora Mae down the steps into the tank.  Miss Flora Mae’s full-skirted white skirt ballooned on the surface of the water as she descended, revealing chubby legs and white panties, an unexpected thrill for me and other less-holy onlookers.  A few even snickered as Miss Flora Mae struggled to recover her dignity.

By the next baptism, the baptistry’s glass front had been painted.