Ohhh, Bumba-baby, I’m glad to know that’s just a harp in your pocket (yeah, I could go for a less subtle line, but unlike swampy, I ain’t juvenile. Besides, I’m more interested in Bumbazine’s harmonica than I am in **swampy’s **bananas.)
Thanks to Bumbazine, you are all spared from more of my jokes at this time. But know that they are out there any time I’m forced to pout.
Okay, one last one for swampy (I love that he likes my jokes):
A man walks into a psychiatrist’s office wearing only underwear made of Saran Wrap.
The psychiatrist says: (You’re gonna love this)
First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you to FairyChatMom for coming back. We all missed you, and the children obviously need disciplining.
In the second place, the Giant Stupid Obstructive Canada Goose is most definitely migratory Lissla, tourists or no. I know this because twice a year the damned things show up at my house over the course of two weeks or so and crap all over my lawn. In the fall it’s always just before or just after hunting season too, or I’d fill my freezer.
Kallessa needs a spanking. I’m pretty sure swampy does too.
Finally, contrary to what dopey southerners think, a Yankee says “couple-three” instead of “couple-few” (which sounds stupid) but it means the same thing. I am not limited to just two or three items, hayseed.
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly. When they lit a fire in the craft it sank, proving once and for all that you can’t have your kayak and heat it too.
What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?
Frostbite.
How are a Texas tornado and a Tennessee divorce the same?
Somebody’s gonna lose a trailer.
<non-joke portion of post>
So, I decided last night that I was too tired to go out after work (it was a stressful but fruitful day) and deadhead my roses and pick blooms off the rhododendrens. “Do it tomorrow evening,” I said to myself. I agreed with myself and happily settled down to read my magazines (Why does Real Simple always arrived on the same day as Newsweek?) So now I’m looking out the window and it’s gonna rain. Can’t deadhead in the rain! (I am a native Pacific NorthCoaster, so in reality, I know that I can do anything in the rain; if not, this whole area would have to be abandoned. However, not doing things in the rain is a handy excuse.) An ambitious person would simply say, “Oh, I can’t work outside, so I’ll rearrange those books instead.” But I’m going to be stronger than that. I’m sticking to not being able to do yardwork and therefore unable to do any useful chore at all. One must be able to make a plan and stick to it. I planned to do yardwork, and by Gods, if I can’t do that, I’ll just get a DVD and make popcorn!
Oh and to Ex, Tupug and Kalley: BWAAAAAHAAAAAHAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAA
Y’all are killin’ me! If nobody hears from me by Tuesday morning after this weekend when I retell all these jokes, will one of you come look in my pool to see if I got drowned?
I wish I could be funny today! I’m working on getting my June newsletter accomplished. Then I give a class tonight! So for once I’m productively busy instead of just bored housewife!
Good news, Swampy, the Psychiatry Degree is in. (Looks like you need that note big time!) Now, what language would you like it in? You have a choice between Swahili and Gullah. (Can I help it if the school is out of the country? You want the note to look authentic, don’tcha?) How’s your Human Resources person’s language skills? Let me know.
I think Gullah would look cooler. We can always run it through babelfish.
STOP IT! You’re killin’ me here! BWAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAHAAAAAA!!!
I could use a burly man or six and a beer or 12 right now. So far today I have dealt with HVAC people and bids on a new unit, issued two written corrective discipline notices (yep, they are as bad as they sound), sat through an hour long meeting with someone who cannot comprehend English and signed approxmitely 350 checks. My left hand (yep, I am a lefty) hurts!
The jokes have been the only things that have kept me from climbing a tower with an uzi. Well, that and the fact that there is no tower here and I don’t own an uzi.
Yes, my roses are deadheads, I’m forever telling the to turn down A Touch of Grey and picking up all sorts of roaches off the grass. At least they no longer disappear for weeks at a time, hickhiking all over who knows where with who knows who and coming back loaded up with tie-dyed root covers and rainbow wind chimes! And those dancing teddy bears–we’re talking party animals, let me tell you. I had to borrow an ABBA album just to get rid of them. (Just between you and me, they left behind a bunch of ice cream–Cherry Garcia, I think–and I ate it without a bit of remorse. I deserved it for the trouble they caused!)
Now if I could only get those stones in my back yard to stop moving around all the time–first they roll one way, and then the other. What is the world coming to?
