Their words, not mine.
Thứ Năm, 31 tháng 10, 2019
After my grandfather died, I inherited some of his clothes.
He was a farmer and he loved getting dressed up every year for the local fair and exhibiting his prize chickens.
For this occasion, my grandmother would spend the entire year searching through thrift shops looking for silly neckties for him to wear, and she loved finding ones with chickens on them.
After a few decades of this, my grandfather had amassed several dozen neckties, each one with cartoony images of chickens flying around, laying eggs, and doing other chicken things. I always complimented him on the newest addition to his collection.
When he died a couple of years ago, he bequeathed them to me in his will. When my grandmother handed me the bag full of them, my eyes welled with tears and I smiled, thinking about my grandfather looking in the mirror and straightening his tie.
Why am I telling you all of this? Because the last time I tried to tell this to someone and I didn't give context, they thought it was weird that I was so excited about inheriting my dead grandfather's hen tie collection.
A young lad walks into a pharmacy and says to the pharmacist I need a pack of 3 condoms.
The pharmacist replies “are you really going to need 3?”
The young lad says “yeah, I’ve got a meal at my girlfriend’s place tonight and I think her mum and her sister both fancy me so I’m gonna smash all three of them, they’re really sexy!” The pharmacist gives him the condoms and says “lucky you!”
Later that night, the young lad is sat at the dinner table with his girlfriend and her mum and sister when her dad comes in and sits down at the table. The young lad sinks into his chair and starts to pray.
The girlfriend says “I didn’t know you were religious.” The young lad replies “I didn’t know your dad was a pharmacist!”
A teacher gave her class
of 11 year olds an assignment: To get their parent to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.
Ashley said, 'My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg-laying hens. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on the front seat of the car when we hit a big bump in the road and all the eggs got broken.'
'What's the morale of that story?' asked the teacher.
'Don't put all your eggs in one basket!'
'Very good,' said the teacher.
Next little Sarah raised her hand and said, 'Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. One day we had a dozen eggs, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to this story is, 'Don't count your chickens before they're hatched'.'
'That was a fine story Sarah.'
Johnny, do you have a story to share?'
'Yes. My daddy told me this story about my Auntie Barbara. Auntie Barbara was a flight engineer on a plane in the Gulf War and her plane got hit.
She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whisky, a machine gun and a machete.
She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break and then she landed right in the middle of 100 enemy troops.
She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she
ran out of bullets.
Then she killed twenty more with the machete until the blade broke.
And then she killed the last ten with her bare hands.'
'Good heavens,' said the horrified teacher, 'what kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?'
'Stay the fuck away from Auntie Barbara when she's had a Drink
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