Carol's E-mail Humor & Such
WHY MEN ARE JUST HAPPIER PEOPLE
IS SPELLING IMPORTANT?
I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid. Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas thought slpeling was ipmorant!
THE COWBOY WAYThree strangers strike up a conversation in the airport passenger lounge in Bozeman, Montana, awaiting their flights. One is an American Indian passing through from Lame Deer. Another is a Cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show and the third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at Montana State University from the Middle East.
Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon, the two Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim and the conversation falls into an uneasy lull.
The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside is blowing tumbleweeds around, and the old windsock is flapping; but still no plane comes.
Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and softly he speaks, "At one time here, my people were many, but sadly, now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward, "Once my people here were few," he sneers, "and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet, but I do believe it's a-comin."
Thought for the DayThere is more money being spent on breast implants and viagra than on Alzheimer's research.
This means that by 2020, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and hugh erections aand absolutely no recollection of what to do with them!
THE CURTAIN RODShe spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases. On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things. On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candlelight, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar, into the hollow of the curtain rods. She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.
When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days. Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything, cleaning, mopping, and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned. Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days, and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting.
Nothing worked. People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit. Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move. A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house.
Word got out, and eventually, even the local realtors refused to return their calls. Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place. The ex-wife called the man, and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely, and said that she missed her old home terribly, and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back. Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.
She agreed, and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork. A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home, including the curtain rods.
I love a happy ending, don't you???
CARNATION MILKA little old lady from Iowa had worked in and around family dairy farms since she was old enough to walk. There were hours of hard work and little compensation.
When canned Carnation Milk became available in grocery stores (1940s or 50's), she read an advertisement offering $5,000 for the best slogan. The rhyme began with "Carnation Milk is best of all...." She said to herself, "I know all about milk and dairy farms... I can do this." So she sent in her entry.
About a week later, a black limo drove up in front of her house. A man got out and came to her door, saying, "Carnation LOVED your entry so much we are here to award you $1000, even though we will NOT be able to use it..."
Here is her entry:
"Carnation milk is best of all,
No tits to pull, no shit to haul,
No buckets to wash, no hay to pitch
Just poke a hole in the son-of-a-bitch."
SKINNY DIPPINGAn old farmer in Kansas had owned a large farm for several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up nice; picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple and peach trees. The pond was properly shaped and fixed up for swimming when it was built.
One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond as he hadn't been there for a while and look it over. He grabbed a five gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee.
As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping in his pond. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end of the pond.
One of the women shouted to him, "We're not coming out until you leave!"
The old man frowned, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked." Holding the bucket up he said, "I'm here to feed the alligator."
Moral: Old age and cunning will triumph over youth and enthusiasm every time.
A parish priest was being honored at a dinner on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his arrival in that parish. A leading local politician, who was a member of the congregation, was chosen to make the presentation and give a little speech at the dinner, but he was delayed in traffic, so the priest decided to say his own few words while they waited.
"You will understand," he said, "the seal of the confessional, can never be broken." "However, I got my first impressions of the parish from the first confession I heard here. I can only hint vaguely about this, but when I came here twenty-five years ago I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place."
"The very first chap who entered my confessional told me how he had stolen a television set, and when stopped by the police, had almost murdered the officer."
"Further, he told me he had stolen money from his parents, embezzled money from his place of business,had an affair with his boss's wife, taken illegal drugs, and gave VD to his sister."
"I was appalled. But as the days went on I knew that my people were not all like that, and I had, indeed come to a fine parish full of understanding and loving people."
Just as the priest finished his talk, the politician arrived full of apologies at being late. He immediately began to make the presentation and give his talk. "I'll never forget the first day our parish priest arrived in this parish," said the politician. "In fact, I had the honor of being the first one to go to him in confession."
Moral: DON'T EVER BE LATE
DO YOU EVER WONDER...
GREAT TRUTHS LITTLE KIDS HAVE LEARNED:
GREAT TRUTHS ADULTS HAVE LEARNED:
GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT GROWING OLD:
THE FOUR STAGES OF LIFE:
Always remember to forget the troubles that pass your way BUT never forget to remember the blessings that come each day.