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 to 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 the dollar. ‘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 and says ; ‘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’s over!’
Our teacher asked us what our favorite animal was, and I said, “Fried chicken.”
She said I wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t have been right, because everyone else in the class laughed.
My parents told me to always be truthful and honest, and I am. Fried chicken is my favorite animal. I told my dad what happened, and he said my teacher was probably a member of PETA. He said they love animals very much.
I do, too. Especially chicken, pork, and beef.
Anyway, my teacher sent me to the principal’s office. I told him what happened, and he laughed, too. Then he told me not to do it again.
The next day in class my teacher asked me what my favorite live animal was. I told her it was chicken. She asked me why. I told her it was because you could make them into fried chicken.
She sent me back to the principal’s office again. He laughed, and told me not to do it again. I don’t understand. My parents taught me to be honest, but my teacher doesn’t like it when I am.
Today, my teacher asked us to tell her what famous person we admire most.
I told her, “Colonel Sanders.”
Guess where I am now …
A mother was teaching her 3-year-old the Lord’s prayer. For several evenings at bedtime she repeated it after her mother. One night she said she was ready to solo. The mother listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer. “Lead us not into temptation,” she prayed, “but deliver us some e-mail, Amen.”
A woman invited some people over for dinner. At the table she turned to her six-year-old daughter and said, “Would you like to say the blessing?” The girl replied, “I wouldn’t know what to say.” “Just say what you heard Mommy say,” the mother answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, “Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?”
A 5 year old boy was sitting down to eat when his mother asked him to pray for his meal. He replied, “Mom we don’t have to. We prayed over this last night.” His mother had prepared leftovers from the day before.
A 4-year-old boy was asked to return thanks before Christmas dinner. The family members bowed their heads in expectation. He began his prayer, thanking God for all his friends, naming them one by one. Then he thanked God for Mommy, Daddy, brother, sister, Grandma, Grandpa, and all his aunts and uncles. Then he began to thank God for the food. He gave thanks for the turkey, the dressing, the fruit salad, the cranberry sauce, the pies, the cakes, even the Cool Whip. Then he paused, and everyone waited–and waited. After a long silence, the young fellow looked up at his mother and asked, “If I thank God for the broccoli, won’t he know that I’m lying?”
A daddy was listening to his child say his prayer “Dear Harold,” At this, dad interrupted and said, “Wait a minute, “How come you called God, Harold? The little boy looked up and said, “That’s what they call Him in church. You know the prayer we say, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Harold be Thy name.”
One night Mike’s parents overheard this prayer. “Now I lay me down to rest, and hope to pass tomorrow’s test, if I should die before I wake, that’s one less test I have to take.”
A five-year-old said grace at family dinner one night. “Dear God, thank you for these pancakes.” When he concluded, his parents asked him why he thanked God for pancakes when they were having chicken. He smiled and said, “I thought I’d see if He was paying attention.”
A little boy’s prayer: “Dear God, please take care of my daddy and my mommy and my sister and my brother and my doggy and me. Oh, please take care of yourself, God. If anything happens to you, we’re gonna be in a big mess.”
Johnny had been misbehaving and was sent to his room. After a while he emerged and informed his mother that he had thought it over and then said a prayer. “Fine,” said the pleased mother. “If you ask God to help you not misbehave, He will help you.” “Oh, I didn’t ask Him to help me not misbehave,” said Johnny. I asked Him to help you put up with me.”
A little boy was overheard praying: “Lord, if You can’t make me a better boy, don’t worry about it. I’m having a real good time like I am!”
A little boy was saying his bedtime prayers with his mother: “Lord, bless Mommy and Daddy, and God, GIVE ME A NEW BICYCLE!!!” Mom: “God’s not deaf, son.” Boy: “I know, Mom, but Grandma’s in the next room, and she’s hard of hearing!
Little Johnny was softly saying his night prayers kneeling down, and his mother was beside him. “Say your prayers louder, darling, I can’t hear you,” Said Little Johnny’s mother. “But I’m not talking to you” was the instant reply.
And this particular four-year-old prayed: “And forgive us our trash baskets as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets.”
A 6-year-old and a 4-year-old are upstairs in their bedroom.
“You know what?” says the 6-year-old. “I think it’s about time we start cussing.”
The 4-year-old nods his head in approval. The 6-year-old continues.
“When we go downstairs for breakfast I’m going to say hell and you say ass.”
“OK!” The 4 year old agrees with enthusiasm.
Their mother walks into the kitchen and asks the 6-year-old what he wants for breakfast.
“Aw hell, Mom, I guess I’ll have some Cheerios.”
WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out, with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear every step.
The mom locks him in his room and shouts “You can just stay there till I let you out!”
She then comes back downstairs, looks at the 4-year-old, and asks with a stern voice, “And what do YOU want for breakfast young man?
“I don’t know,” he blubbers, “But you can bet your ass it won’t be Cheerios!”
My two year old grand daughter, Emma, spent the night with me last night. When we awoke this morning, all snuggled together, she playfully pointed to my stomach and asked,” What’s that Mamaw?”
I said, “My fat belly.”
Again she pointed and questioned me. “What’s that Mamaw?”
I answered,” That’s Mamaw’s belly button. Do you have a belly button?”
Emma proudly pulled her shirt up and told me, “There’s my belly button Mamaw! Just like yours!”
She then pointed one last time, this time to my chest.” You have boobs Mamaw. Mine are all gone.”
I explained and assured her that her chest would grow as she grew.
She then informed me, “Well Mamaw, I want purple ones!”
Dear Lord don’t let me get Alzheimers! I want to remember this precious moment!
Funny Weirdo Haircuts Drive Us Nuts!
The problem with young people today is that they have crazy haircuts.
In my day, a lad had two choices for a haircut – a crew cut or a flat top and both cost 50 cents. You went to the barber every Saturday morning with your old dad, had your ears raised and were grateful to look like every other kid on your block.
But these young people today. They all want to “express themselves” with their weirdo hairdos!
They walk around with their spiky bangs, corn rows, streaky uplifts, mohawks, faux hawks and wigged out sideburns. It’s a carnival freak show but without the popcorn.
If I had ever come home with a multi-colored mullet and a bum fluff goatee my old dad would have used me as a stump and split a cord of wood on my back.
It’s showy and disrespectful. Plumped and preening like a bunch of randy roosters let loose in a hen house. Disgraceful. I say they should round those damned young people up and sheer them down like the sheep they’re supposed to be.
It’s dangerous I tell you and it leads to anarchy and loose morals. It won’t be long before willy nilly hair styles aren’t enough for them anymore and they start frothing at the mouth, burning down post offices, practicing communism and forcing seniors to sport dreadlocks, rattails, moptops and worse.
And mark my god damned words, when that day comes we are all going to be well and truly sorry.
They have crazy haircuts. That’s the problem with young people today.
Oh God! Young People Need to Toughen the Hell Up
The problem with young people today is that they’re too damned soft.
In my day, young people were tough, damn it. We were gristly, sinewy and hard as nails. My generation was forged in a furnace of fiery parents, sweltering outhouses, creamed chip beef and the type of childhood diseases that either killed you or put some damned hair on your chest.
We had to be hard – conditions demanded it. There was no room for mollycoddling and teenaged slackassery. We couldn’t lie around in our underpants all day levelling up in Donkey Kong and text messaging our idiot friends. We were too busy rendering sheep fat, toting ice blocks and extracting our own teeth for that kind of foolishness. Our “down time” was getting dressed up in flour sack suits and attending the funerals of siblings who had died of dust pneumonia.
But these young people today? They’re marshmallows. And the similarity extends beyond their squishy plumpness and incredible lack of taste. Most have never done a lick of honest work and wouldn’t recognized a calloused palm if you clapped them across the ear with one.
They don’t understand what it means to sacrifice or to go without. For them, sacrifice is eating an unfrosted pop tart, fornicating with an unflavored condom or settling for less than an unlimited phone plan. Take away their cushy duvets, parental fawning and Junior Shopper credit cards and they wouldn’t last 5 damned minutes in the cold hard world.
And they’re emotionally soft too. Call a young person a worthless ninnyhammer and he’ll whinge, cry and fold up like a house of cards just to prove you right. Criticism’s considered some form of abuse instead of what it’s supposed to be – a practical assessment of your obvious limitations and some damned motivation to prove me wrong.
Face facts, this country is deep in the toilet and one flush away from becoming “Runningdoghai” the 23rd Province of the People’s Republic of China. If we ever want to return our nation to its former glory we need to stop raising a generation of spongy cry-babies and get back to work on hardening our resolve, our bodies and our minds.
They’re too damned soft. That’s the problem with young people today.
Sensible Careers – A Joke!
It’s high time we brought back good old fashioned jobs like costermongers, spittleman, wheeltappers, pettifoggers, pig jobbers, quarrel pickers and knock knobblers.
American Barbershop Idol
Surely to God we’ve exhausted this nation’s supply of caterwauling nancy boys and are ready to bring some damned decent singing back to the national stage. Four part harmonies plus straw boaters equals toe-tapping, good clean family fun.
And I don’t mean swearing. I mean putting pen to paper. They may be able to text 80 words a minute but ask them write a sentence longhand and it comes out looking like something a chimp would produce with a pointed stick and mitt full of mashed blackberries.
The Power of Positive Gumption
All this new age, positive-thinking hokum smacks me as being the worst kind of bumph since Clark Stanley sold his first bottle of snake oil elixir back in 1893.
Positive thinking as a means to an end is like the American Dream – it’s fine in theory but really only helpful to those with good genes, rich families and access to a decent education. For everyone else – it’s sleight of hand and empty platitudes.
For 2012, instead of folks assuming they can set their life right with little more than a combination of visualizations, affirmations and positive mental brainwaves, I’d like to see people attempting to set reasonable goals and then achieving them through a combination of hard work, determination and the power of positive gumption.
Enjoy your New Year’s Eve but keep the damned noise down. I’ll be in bed by 9:30.
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