Storytelling

Drinking Jokes

My Little Sister’s Jokes is happily maintained
 by the Community of Emmitsburg, MD. 

Going On The Wagon

I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife that I had a drinking problem, and to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else. I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task. 

I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank. 

I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank. 

I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank. 

I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank. 

I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass. 

I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour. 

When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank. 

I’m not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I’m not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don’t know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.

Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England 
 

An angry wife was complaining about her husband…

…. spending so much of his free time in the local bar, so one night he took her along with him. “What’ll you have?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. The same as you I suppose,” she replied. So, the husband ordered a couple of Jack Daniel’s and threw his down in one shot.

His wife watched him, then took a sip from her glass and immediately spit it out. “Yuck, that’s TERRIBLE!” she spluttered. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff!”

“Well, there you go,” cried the husband. “And you think I’m out enjoying myself every night!”

Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England 
 

A man rushed into a bar and ordered a double martini. 

The man downed it with one swallow, put a five dollar bill on the bar, and turned and rushed out of the bar. 

The bartender picked up the five dollar bill, and folded it carefully and tucked it in his vest pocket. 

Just at that moment he looked up at the boss standing in the doorway staring at him. 

Doing a bit of fast thinking he said, “Hi boss, did you see that fellow just now? Came in here, bought a double martini, gave me a five dollar tip, and rushed out without paying.” 

Submitted by Bill, Ardmore, Pa.
 

A drunk walks into a bar and says, “Bartender, buy everyone in the house a drink…

…, pour yourself one, and give me the bill.” 

So, the bartender does just that, and hands the man the bill. The drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender slaps the guy around a few times then throws him out into the street. 

The very next day, the same drunk walks into the bar and once again says, “Bartender, buy everyone in the house a drink, pour yourself one, and give me the bill.” The bartender figures that he can’t possibly be stupid enough to pull the same trick twice, so he gives him the benefit of the doubt. He pours a round of drinks for the house, has a drink himself, and hands the drunk the bill. 

Again, the drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender can’t believe it. He picks the guy up, beats the living daylights out of him, and then throws him out into the street. 

The next day, the same drunk walks back into the same bar and says, “Bartender, buy every one in the house a drink and give me the bill.” 

In disgust, the bartender says, “What, no drink for me this time?” The drunk replies, “Nope! You get too violent when you drink.” 

Submitted by Bill, Ardmore, Pa.
 

A police officer pulls over this guy who had been weaving in and out of the lanes. 

He goes up to the guy’s window and says “Sir, I need you to blow into this breathalyzer tube.” 

The man says, “Sorry officer I can’t do that. I am an asthmatic. If I do that I’ll have a really bad asthma attack.” 

“Okay, fine. I need you to come down to the station to give a blood sample.” 

“I can’t do that either. I am a hemophiliac. If I do that, I’ll bleed to death.” 

“Well, then we need a urine sample.” 

“I’m sorry officer I can’t do that either. I am also a diabetic. If I do that I’ll get really low blood sugar.” 

“Alright then I need you to come out here and walk this white line.” 

“I can’t do that, officer.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m too drunk to do that.”

Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England 
 

12 Most common beer myths exploded

Myth #1: The Guinness served in Ireland is different to the rest of the world

Actually, the Guinness served in Ireland is most likely the same as that served in Boston or Berlin. However, many people will attest that Guinness simply tastes better in Ireland, which is why the myth spread. There’s a certain amount of sentimentality in this myth, but when you dig into it, most of the reasoning is pretty circumstantial.

There are a few reasons why it may taste better in Ireland – most likely freshness and rapid keg turnover (a pub in Dublin will serve the freshest Guinness in the world) – but the actual product is not any different to the black stuff served around the world. Also, a Guinness drinker in Ireland is guaranteed to have their drink poured correctly in Ireland than in some parts of the world, which will have an impact on the quality of the experience. 

Myth #2: Lite beers will help you lose weight

On average, a lite beer will have 90-100 calories, while a regular beer might have under 200. In the grand scheme of things, lite beers will contribute very little to your dietary goals, and considering their typical lack of taste, you’d be better off drinking one or two regular beers. 

Myth #3: Dark beers are stronger in alcohol

The color of beer has no relation to its alcohol content. For example, Guinness, one of the most popular dark beers has an alcohol volume of 4.2%, while several light-colored Belgian beers have alcohol content of 8%+. 

Myth #4: Corona beer contains urine

This was a nasty rumor claiming that Mexican brewery workers were relieving themselves into the beer. Allegedly, the rumor was spread by a Heineken distributor and was only refuted following a lawsuit by Corona. 

Myth #5: Imported beers are stronger than American beers

Traditionally, American beers measure their alcohol content by weight, while many other countries (across Europe and in Canada) measure by volume. The alcohol by weight figure will always appear lower than the alcohol by volume – for example, 4% ABW = 5% ABV, hence the myth creation. 

Myth #6: Beer should be served ice-cold for best flavor

This is an unfortunate myth perpetuated by the major commercial breweries – especially for their lite beers. The fact is, flavor typically diminishes when beer is served ice-cold. It may make for a thirst-quenching, refreshing beverage, but often bears little resemblance to traditional beer. Several beers are, in fact, best served much closer to room temperature or slightly cool and are considered undrinkable when icy cold – such as Guinness and many of the traditional English ales. 

Myth #7: The best beers have green bottles

Another myth that circulated imported beers. Brown glass is the best color to protect beer from light, which is why most beers are bottled with it. A shortage of brown glass in Europe during the last century led to many breweries using green glass to bottle their beer – therefore, green bottles represented imported beer for many years and people incorrectly assumed the color indicated a better beer. 

Myth #8: “Beer before liquor, never sicker – liquor before beer, in the clear”

This is common drinking advice shared but not scientifically true. In reality, alcohol is alcohol, and the overall quantity you imbibe will determine your resulting (in)sobriety or hangover. Drinking beer before drinking hard liquor may prolong the onset of inebriation. However, it won’t ultimately matter whether you drink beer first or last; it’s the quantity of alcohol that does the damage. 

Myth #9: You can’t get a hangover from drinking organic beer

If only being eco-friendly was this rewarding! This myth is based on the idea that organic beer is cleaner or purer than other beer, but there’s no existing proof that it manages to avoid giving hangovers when consumed in sufficient quantities. 

Myth #10: Beer will raise your cholesterol levels

Beer actually contains no fat and no cholesterol! Perhaps this is one reason that Guinness was originally advertised as good for your health. 

Myth #11: A good beer must be high in alcohol

Many people unfairly associate low alcohol with low flavor. There are plenty of poor quality beers that are high in alcohol content, and the opposite is also true. Some of the famous Belgian and German beers have traditionally high average alcohol content – perhaps 8% or 10%. However, the alcohol content is only one feature and doesn’t necessarily account for the good taste. In England, many of the best mild ales have alcohol content of 4% or less – resulting from a higher tax on stronger beer. Of course, the advantage is finding good-tasting, lower alcohol beers is that you can drink more of it! 

Myth #12: Beer kills brain cells

Possibly the most damning of all beer myths, and we’re happy to explode this for you. An Australian study has determined that beer is not responsible for killing brain cells as was once thought

Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England (and the English know their beer!)
 

Reasons To Like Beer by 7 Year Olds 

A handful of 7 year old children were asked, ‘what they thought of beer.’ Some interesting responses, but the last one is especially touching. 

  • Tim- ‘I think beer must be good. My dad says the more beer he drinks the prettier my mom gets.’ 
  • Melanie – ‘Beer makes my dad sleepy and we get to watch what we want On television when he is asleep, so beer is nice. 
  • Grady – ‘My Mom and Dad both like beer. My Mom gets funny when she drinks it and takes her top off at parties, but Dad doesn’t think this is very funny.’ 
  • Toby – ‘My Mom and Dad talk funny when they drink beer and The more they drink the more they give kisses to each other, which is a good thing.’ 
  • Sarah – ‘My Dad gets funny on beer. He is funny. He also wets his pants sometimes, so he shouldn’t have too much. 
  • Lilly – ‘My Dad loves beer. The more he drinks, the better he dances. One time he danced right into the pool.’ 
  • Ethan – ‘I don’t like beer very much. Every time Dad drinks it, he burns the sausages on the barbecue and they taste disgusting.’ 
  • Shirley – ‘I give Dad’s beer to the dog and he goes to sleep.’ 

Submitted by Jay, Long Island, NY
 

There’s a big conference of beer producers. 

At the end of the day, all of the presidents of all the beer companies decide to have a drink in a bar. 

The president of ‘Budweiser’ orders a Bud, the president of ‘Miller’ orders a Miller Lite, Adolph Coors orders a Coors, and the list goes on. 

Then the waitress asks Arthur Guinness what he wants to drink, and much to everybody’s amazement, Mr. Guinness orders a Coke! 

“Why don’t you order a Guinness?” his colleagues ask. 

“Naah. If you guys won’t drink beer, than neither will I.” 

Submitted by Deck, Williamsport, MD.
 

Opelousas, Louisiana: Heartbreaking Scene of Man and Dogs in Pouring Rain

I saw a disturbing site yesterday that still preys on my mind. In Opelousas, Louisiana we saw a man holding a panhandling sign in the pouring rain. I held no animosity toward him, since he likely suffers from addiction or mental health issues. I was disturbed that he held a drenched dog on a leash at his side. He hadn’t provided the dog a box or blanket for shelter. A few yards away next to a highway marker, a woman restrained three other drenched dogs, none covered or sheltered.

A large live oak that would have well-sheltered them all stood a couple of hundred yards away. A large shopping center with multiple covered areas stood directly across the busy highway. I was bothered for the poor people standing in the rain but can’t get those dogs out of my mind. The people were restrained by their minds but the dogs by people with leashes.

My heart was aching but I didn’t know what to do.

Aunt Ader’s Place Part 5

blackdog2

As the fire burned low, the lap babies had been put down and knee babies were sleeping quietly on pallets, the chatter from the older children slowed as they; too, drifted off to sleep at the feet of their mothers, aunts, and grandmother.  Desperate for ghost stories, I hung on the words of my superstitious Maw Maw. She held grandchildren spellbound with all the scary tales she knew.  Should she falter, one of my aunts urged her on…”Mama, remember about the big black dogs running through the house.” Her stories were more terrifying because she believed them with all her being.

“Oh yeah, lots of times, late at night, if the wind was still, and the night was dark, me and Granny could hear them ghost dogs, howling and scratching at the door, trying to get in…but once in a while, if the moon was full, we’d see them big, black devil dogs blowing right into the room where me and Granny was, made of black smoke from the fires of hell with blazing coals for eyes.  We hid under the covers, ‘cause Granny said ‘if you ever looked in them fiery eyes, you was bound for Hell’.”

Opportunities to hear scintillating stories like these were rare, usually limited to visits with Maw Maw, my paternal grandmother. Mother could hardly snatch her spellbound children from the writhing mass of cousins clustered around Maw Maw’s knees. Daddy ruled the roost, and he liked the stories as much as anyone.  Mother held the ridiculous notion that tender minds didn’t need to hear scary stories, more concerned about the nightmares she’d be dealing with in a few short hours than the extreme pleasure they afforded us at the time.

I do wish I could hear and savor those stories again, unmolested by that nagging voice in the background.  “There’s no such thing as ghosts.  Those stories are just pretend, like cartoons. Now, go on to sleep and forget about them.”

Maw Maw by CarMettie Swain Knight, a champion ghost storyteller

Appreciation


			

	
	



			
				


		

		
Aunt Ader’s Place
	


		

		
Aunt Ader’s House was reminiscent of the two pictured here. I am reposting a serial from 2016. Most of my followers have not seen this


dog-trotI had no idea who Aunt Ader was, or that her name should actually have been pronounced Ada, but her old farm house was a wonder.  Uncle C H, my Aunt Jenny’s on-again off-again husband apparently enjoyed some claim to it, because over the course of my childhood, several of my relatives rented it, probably when they’d fallen on hard times.  It stood high on a hill surrounded by several huge oaks.  A rutted red-dirt drive curved its way up toward the house, dusty in summer and rutted deeply in rainy weather.   In the spring and early summer weeds sprigged up between the tire tracks, kept short courtesy of the undercarriage of the vehicles making their way up the hill.  Though Aunt Ader’s forebears had been prosperous landowners a couple of generations back, the land had been subdivided and sold off long before I came to know it.  To the eyes of a small child, it was welcoming with its deep front and back porches and wide, breezy dogtrot.  An enormous living room and kitchen opened off one side with three bedrooms on the other.  Fireplaces on either side furnished the only heat.  Bare lightbulbs dangling on cords sufficed to light the big, high-ceilinged rooms, welcoming ghosts to the shadowy corners. Rain on the tin-roof could be pleasant or deafening, depending on the intensity of the storm.   I was never tempted to stray far from the light, though the sunshine from the huge windows flooded those rooms in the daytime.


A water heater stood in the corner of the enormous kitchen next to the galvanized bathtub hanging on the wall.  The old wood stove was still in use, though the only indoor plumbing was water piped in to the sink in the one piece enamel sink and cabinet combination standing beneath the window, looking out over a large field with several pear and fig trees.  Several unpainted shelves served as storage for everything that couldn’t fit into the sink cabinet and pie safe.  A cord exiting the round-topped refrigerator was plugged into an extension cord connected to bare light bulb dangling from the center of the kitchen ceiling.  The light was turned off and on by a long string.  Strips of well-populated fly-paper hung near the windows.   An unpainted toilet stood slightly downhill about three hundred yards off to the left of an old barn.  We were warned away from the hand-dug well, enclosed in a wooden frame with a heavy wooden trap cover that stood a few feet from the back porch.  Mother was so adamant we not go near, I was sure it was surrounded by quicksand, just waiting to suck a foolish child in.  A bucket hung from a chain from the roof of the creaky structure.  Pigs were pinned up near the barn, though not far enough away to miss their smell, explaining the fly problem.


To be continuedwarhome2

			

	
	



			
				


		

		
Hilarious Hospital Mishaps: Curtis and the Pecan Pie Escapade
	


		

		


Image courtesy of Pixabay


With thirty years in nursing, you can well imagine I have my share of strange stories.  I worked in acute dialysis in the hospital, so knew my patients very well.  We talked about their lives, familis, dogs, whatever was on their minds.  One of my favorite patients was Curtis, a huge man, perfectly delightful, but developmentally challenged.  His thinking was about on the level of a eight-year-old.  Curtis had somehow gotten credit at a furniture store, bought a houseful of furniture, and not made a single payment.  He was being hounded for payment, so decided the best course of action was to go in the hospital, where he wouldn’t be bothered. When he told the nurse at the outpatient dialysis clinic he needed to go to the hospital, she explained he couldn’t be admitted unless sick.  He did some thinking and called her back to his chair telling her he had something for her.  (I can’t imagine how she fell for that.). He dropped an impressive lump of excrement into her outstretched hand and was admitted into the psychiatric unit of the hospital in short order.


He was happily ensconced at the hospital, soon moved to the medical floor.  One day he walked into my unit asking for a large patient gown.  He went on his way.  Curtis was not on my mind when I heard a lady out in the hall exclaim. “Oh my God! Take it!”  It seems she had been bringing a pecan pie to her hospitalized friend from church when she encountered seven-foot-tall Curtis, walking naked down the hall, looking for hospital staff to help him with his gown.  Curtis, hadn’t seen a pecan pie in way too long.  He dropped the gown, grabbed the pie and raised a clumsy fist when the poor woman resisted.  She gave up on the pie and fled shrieking.  Eventually, the whole thing smoothed over.  Curtis had his pie and his gown.  The hospital gave the lady another pecan pie and an apology.  By the time Curtis got home, his furniture had been repossessed, so he wasn’t harassed any more.  They all lived happily ever after, except of course for the nurse who got a handful of doo-doo.

			

	
	



			
				
	

		
	



		

		
Family Drama: Confiscated Secrets and Sibling Rivalry
	


		

		


Mother and Daddy were bipolar, as a couple, not individually. Daddy was generous with tales of his life on the wild side intended to edify and occasionally entertain.  In his youth, he’d selfishly used up the family quota of sin, carousing, drinking, gambling, fighting, and honky-tonking to his heart’s content.  Reforming after marrying Mother, he put all that behind him so he could rest on his laurels, be a good example, and watch us like a hawk.  Knowing the bad apples probably wouldn’t fall too far from the tree, he was suspicious of the crop he was reaping.  Mother, on the other hand, apparently had always had an over-developed sense of guilt and expected we’d just naturally behave well.  When we did mess up, she was “hurt, not mad.”  With five kids, it’s a wonder she survived the casualties.


Once my brother Billy managed to snag some girly books and hide them under his mattress. Mother found them and righteously confiscated them.  Lecturing him in her squeaky Minnie Mouse voice, she plunged them in the trash destined for the burn barrel.  Connie and Marilyn, our younger sisters enjoyed the whole production off to the side, always glad to see Billy in trouble.  Pained at the loss of his valuable property, Bill tolerated her complaints while he considered a better place for his next treasure trove.  Mother went on about her housecleaning and foolishly sent Connie and Marilyn to burn the trash.


What a bonanza!  While the rest of us had had to rely on conjecture and misinformation from our ignorant friends, these two had been blessed with a virtual illustrated encyclopedia of forbidden knowledge and filthy jokes.  Life just isn’t fair.  Mother was always was partial to them!

			

	
	



			
				


		

		
Awful Friends Part 4
	


		

		

The barnyard turned out to be just a bedraggled fence enclosing a chicken house with a row of nesting boxes.  The chicken house had seen better days and leaned crazily to the left.  Someone had thoughtfully propped it up enough so the eggs didn’t roll out of the boxes.  Jamey picked up a pencil-marked egg and slung it against the barn.  “You’re not gonna believe this, guys!” It exploded with a nauseating sulfurous smell and resounding pop, whereupon Jamey explained, “ Them  ol’ rotten eggs explode just like a bomb!”  it had been left for the hen to “set on” and had rotted.  





I was familiar with the concept of “setting hens” and knew not to touch precious eggs.  Mother had made it clear eggs were precious, not playthings.  Nonetheless, Jamey took an egg from another nest and hurled it.  It also exploded and turned the air to sulphur to the delight of the party-goers.  Kids started flinging eggs madly.  Knowing they were older and wiser, I joined in.  Before long we’d exhausted the supply and moved across the road to the pig pen.





My parents had frequently complained about the malodorous pig pen, but in a rural community, only consideration governs location of noxious livestock.   “I ought to call Sheriff Copp on JP, but he ain’t gonna do nothin’” Daddy complained  “He don’t have to smell that porcine excrement.”(paraphrased) Fortunately for the Awfuls, a vacant house with an enclosed back lot stood between our place and theirs.  They had wisely appropriated the abandoned back lot for their pig pen.  It was much closer to our house than theirs, a wise decision on their part.  The small pen was home to a couple of sows, their extended families, and millions of flies. Due to their wise location of the pig lot, we undoubtedly got a lot more effect than they did.  My mother, in particular, was offended. 





Jamey, our fearless leader climbed on the rails.  The smaller of the sows and her babies fled, squealing.  The larger sow the size of a sofa, didn’t seem too disturbed from where she lounged in a muddy wallow across the pen.  The baby pigs were so adorable!  Jamey was generous “Let’s git us one!”Jamey was a wonderful host, dropping into the pen in pursuit of a little pig, followed by me and a couple more kids.    I was pretty lucky.  My dress tail caught on a fencepost, hanging me upside down from the top rail.  





“Help! Help Git me down!”  By this time I’d noticed Mama wasn’t taking any of this well.  She lunged directly under me with a guttural growl,  “Rrrrroofff!”  running them back over the fence.  Fortunately, suspended above the action,  adrenaline saved my hide, though my fancy dress was done for.  I wasn’t the only one who suffered wardrobe loss. As Jamey sailed over the fence, the mama pig got one of his new birthday tennis shoes.  





“Oh no! Mama’s gonna git you about that shoe!” Bugeater assured him, collapsing in merriment.  Clearly he anticipated his brother’s trouble amiably.





When we got back to the house, Mrs. Awful little into him. “ You  little devil!  Your daddy’s gonna tear you up when he gets in!  We just got them @83”&$! Shoes!  You ain’t had ‘em a day yet! Now you dang kids get out there so he can open them presents and get this )@/$!! party overwith!”  I rarely got to hear such language.





As I said, this was my first birthday party.  I was proud of the flashlight Mother had wrapped for me to bring to the party and couldn’t wait to get it back.  Mother showed up just as I learned I was expected to leave it for Jamey.  I wasn’t falling for that one.  I was wrestling with Jamey for possession of the flashlight just as she walked in the gate.  My behavior, coupled with the destroyed dress, put an end to the coffee-klatch.  Mother dragged me home bawling without the flashlight, my tattered dress tail dragging in the dirt, my first big social fail. She had plenty to say.

			

	
	



			
				


		

		
Bungarendeen
	


		

		

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.”





The response was sadly predictable.