I respond with, “Yes, but it is not in the unabridged and that is what really counts.”
My hubby looks it up in the unabridged and says, , “Is too!” He chided me that I should know that all the words in the abridged dictionary are in the unabridged Dictionary.
I’ve done this twice. He has a short memory.
me: I have a great Knock! Knock! joke, wanna hear it?
hubby: sure!
me: Ok, you start!
hubby: Knock! Knock!
me: Who’s there?
hubby: Stunned and confused pause followed by, " You said you had a Knock! Knock! joke."
I have lost track of how many times he has fallen for this. He sometimes remembers in time now.
Occasionally I run into people who’ve never been to Texas that think the entire state is one big desert filled with oil derricks and cattle ranches, and that everyone drives a caddy with rack of longhorns mounted on the hood. That’s always a lot of fun. I put on the thickest, fakest accent I can manage (I wasn’t raised here) and regale them with wild stories and facts until they figure out I’m messing with them.
"Well, I was out on my pappy’s ranch and ah had jest gotten back in from ropin’ some runaway renegade bulls. I had taken mah boots off fer the day, and I wuz settlin’ down to have me some five alarm chili fer supper, when one a tha roughnecks bursts into the place all covered in oil and yells at me “Wellhead #6 just blew her top!”
"Quicker’n you kin say greased lightnin’, I was outta my chare and runnin out the door. I jumped on mah horse and with a ‘hyeah!’ we took off for that well as fast as the dickens. ‘Course, it was getting pretty late by this time and there weren’t much daylight left. We was gallopin’ along when my horse, may he rest in peace, got hisself tripped up in a gopherhole, and I went flyin’ outta the saddle.
"I took a pretty hard landin’, but it didn’t feel like no bones were broken. I was just fixin’ to get up and dust myself off when I heard a rattler. I looked up and not five feet in front of me was a big, mean sidewinder, all coiled up and ready to strike. Quick as the devil, I reached down and drew my .45 out of its holster… "
One I have used before …
(to a girl) Actually, my left leg was amputated at birth. Fortunately the hospital had one of the world’s best plastic surgeons on staff who was able to use some of my other parts to fashion a new leg for me. I had to wear braces and corrective shoes for a long time, but it really works quite well. The only real problem is that sometimes when I see a really hot girl, it stiffens up a bit and makes me walk with a limp.
For a number of years, I worked in a gourmet deli, behind the cheese counter. Serving a ditz (who seemed to be blonde, but I couldn’t swear to it’s being absolutely natural), I suggested a hunk of a hard cheese called Sap Sago as an alternative to parmesan. As I finished extolling it’s virtues, I noted that it was, in fact, green.
“Wow,” she said. “Why?”
“Because it comes from the moon,” I deadpanned.
Her eyes widened. "Really?!?
She seemed disappointed when I admitted to having kidded her.*
Another woman wanted to know how a certain cheese got to be so creamy and so white.
“It’s main ingredient is toothpaste,” I said.
“Huh! And it’s not minty at all!” said she.
People just don’t get pregnant women and the 10 months gestation they go through.
When I was checking in for an international flight at about 7.5 months pregnant ( okayed by my doc.) they asked me how far along I was. Completely straightfaced, I said, " 86 weeks."
No joke, recently, I had a woman (my best friend’s wife) casually refer to the “10-month process” of pregnancy. Man, you hear that shit twice, you just gotta ask. Huh?
Oh yeah, and I like to tell people the reason they will never hear me fart: I was born without a fartbox. It’s a birth defect. I can’t fart.
Some have believed it.
“I don’t!”