My mailbox is totally full, so I’ve been deleting old emails from the past 22 years. I had deleted about 2,000 without reading them, when I chanced to read a couple and realized that there are some real gems there, so I’m going to share a few with you. (2,000 down, 37,000 to go! No exaggeration.). Here is one from 2010:
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While walking down the street one day a corrupt Senator was hit by an automobile and tragically died.
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
“Welcome to heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.”
“No problem, just let me in,” says the Senator.
“Well, I’d like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity.”
“Really?, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,” says the Senator.
“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.
They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.
They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go.
Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, “Now it’s time to visit heaven…
So, 24 hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
“Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity.”
The Senator reflects for a minute, then he answers: “Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell.”
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell…
Now the doors of the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” stammers the Senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?”
The devil smiles at him and says,
“Yesterday we were campaigning, Today, you voted..”
Vote wisely in November 2020
Thanks to my friend Joan for sending me this joke!
SPEAKING GERMAN IN TEXAS
In Texas there is a town called New Braunfels, where there is a large German-speaking population.
One day, a local rancher driving down a country road noticed a man using his hand to drink water from the rancher’s stock pond.
The rancher rolled down the window and shouted: “Sehr angenehm! Trink das Wasser nicht. Die kuehe haben darein geschissen.”
(This means: “Glad to meet you! Don’t drink the water. The cows have shat in it.”)
The man shouted back: “I’m from New York and just down here campaigning for Trump’s Presidential run. I can’t understand you. Please speak in English.”
The rancher replied: “Use both hands.”\
Fuitless Interrogation
When they lampooned the bully, he nearly slipped a gasket.
They had made his effigy and put it in a casket.
When he finds out exactly who engineered this jaunt,
He’ll know whose school locker that he’ll have to haunt
to find retribution—to torture and harass.
When he finds out who did it, he’ll surely have their ass!
But when it comes to sleuthery, he’s not doing so well.
The entire school was in on it. Nobody’s going to tell!
Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash. Used with permission. Prompt words today are bully, lampoon, jaunt and basket.
When to Laugh
Some jokes make me chuckle and others make me laugh,
but others are not funny, and their telling a mere gaffe.
Do not joke about my weight, friends. Do not make fun of my age,
for instead of prompting chortles, it will just occasion rage.
Do not tell me racial jokes or laugh at the infirm.
Cruelty’s an illness and jokes like this its germ.
We all know the subjects to avoid when telling jokes,
but we also know those insensitive crude blokes
who think they are so clever in breaking all the rules
and thereby are the jokes themselves, just proving they’re the fools.
Forgive me if the thing about them that might prompt my chuckles
is when other listeners respond to them with knuckles!
More about chuckling here: https://judydykstrabrown.com/category/laughter/
The prompt word today is “chuckle.”
Out-joked
Everyone must know a joker––
plotter, trickster, laugh-provoker
who doesn’t know quite when to stop.
Who needs, in fact, a humor cop
to tell him when he’s done enough––
pulled his ultimate ruse or bluff.
The dribble glass, the rubber poop
placed upon your house’s stoop?
Definitely adolescent
if not actually prepubescent.
Yet still this buffoon thinks he’s funny.
With lists of jokes, he’s over-punny.
Every occasion, every rumor
is met by him with off-base humor.
It’s his role to create sensation
in the most serious conversation.
Exploding cigars, salty gum,
whoopee cushions ‘neath your bum.
No matter how you beg this friend
to bring these antics to their end,
he never seems to listen to
what he’s requested to “not” do.
so when he streaked my garden party,
elegant, refined and arty,
he finally found himself undone
when he’d half-completed his naked run.
Dear friend, when you chose where you stepped,
you should have veered or should have leapt.
When he replaced your rubber poo,
my dog just pulled a joke on you!
The prompt today is “Joke.”
So, Who’s Laughing?
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Too Soon?” Can anything be funny, or are some things off limits?
I think some things are definitely off-limits. Child molestation, child abuse and animal abuse, for instance. Racial jokes, jokes about physical infirmity and weight, jokes about appearance, starvation, torture, atrocities against women–none are on my list of what should be joked about.
Some types of humor that would be totally unacceptable to me, however, seem to gain acceptance according to the person who tells the joke. If you are telling it about yourself and a group you belong to, jokes that would not be acceptable told by someone else, suddenly win acceptance. But I can think of no situation where a joke about child molestation, child abuse or animal abuse would be in the least bit acceptable!
“This Bear Walks into a Bar in Alaska”
I sit and wait for their cessation–
these blocks to actual conversation
that make me want to sputter, choke,
and leave before another joke
escapes the lips of that lame teller
who thinks his dumb jokes are so stellar
that they stand in for actual
statements that are factual.
It makes me want to take a toke,
to whinny, bark, meow or croak.
I don’t like jokes too awful much.
I find they are another crutch
that keeps at bay words intimate
with words that entertain or cut.
Make no mistake, I love a pun,
and humor is a lot of fun.
Laughter’s not the problem, see.
It’s jokes that really bother me.
Using someone else’s words
is what I find slightly absurd.
What’s more, there’s always just one more
joke to tell. It’s such a bore.
I want to hear your mind at work–
not jokes retold by every jerk.
Even so, I’m prompted to
find a joke to tell to you.
So rather than betray my taste,
and hoping you’ve some time to waste,
I’m going to give a punch line here
and though I know it’s kind of queer,
I hope you’ll try to take a poke.
Here’s a punch line. Please write the joke:
“You see, I’m a bipolar bear.”
(Write me the joke now if you dare.
Don’t feel you have to make it rhyme.
A joke in prose takes half the time.)
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 