The Monday Morning Mirth

Category: Uncategorized

  • The Password

    Many years ago I was acting as the system administrator for a test system in a large publicly held company. Periodically I would receive a call from someone who had not accessed the system recently, forgot their password and locked themselves out trying to logon. I would look up their password and unlock the system for them and they would go on their merry way.

    One day I received a call from a young lady who was in just such a predicament. I looked up her password and informed her that it was ‘DOME’ and, just to be playful, told her the price for me being gracious enough to unlock her sign-on was an explanation of the meaning of her password.

    She became very embarrassed over the phone and pleaded that she could never reveal her secret. I of course replied that I would not give her system access until she did.

    After negotiating for several minutes she finally acquiesced but made me promise to never reveal her password meaning to any of her colleagues to which I gladly agreed.

    "Well, what does it mean?" I asked.

    She hesitated and then replied, "It’s two words."

    There was pregnant pause. I unlocked her system and simply said, "Have a nice day."

  • Mary’s New Year Letter

    Yikes! What a year! Joseph forgot to make reservations at the Bethlehem Inn. (His carpentry projects aren’t the only thing made out of wood!) So they stick us in this stable full of stale hay and stinking animals and guess what?

    I go right into labour! "No problem," my obstetrician said, "make the trip."

    Anyway, we have a new baby boy that we think is truly special, but it’s been a madhouse ever since. First, we can’t agree on a name. Joseph likes Immanuel; I’m holding out for Jesus. Next, all these shepherds stop by to gawk (as if the smell wasn’t bad enough already!). At least these three camel jockeys brought gifts (ever try to exchange myrrh without a receipt?). We can’t get a good night’s sleep with that stupid star shining through the cracks in the ceiling, and every store in town is sold out of swaddling.

    Well, got to go. Joseph had another one of his goofy visions, so I guess we’re off to Egypt. This time, I make the reservations!

    All my love,

    Mary

  • The Biker and the Lady

    A biker stops by the Harley Shop to have his bike fixed. They couldn’t do it while he waited, so he said he didn’t live far and would just walk home.

    On the way home he stopped at the hardware store and bought a bucket and an anvil. He stopped by the feed store/livestock dealer and picked up a couple of chickens and a goose. However, he now had a problem: How to carry his entire purchases home. The owner said, "Why don’t you put the anvil in the bucket, carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand?" "Hey, thanks!" the biker said, and out the door he went.

    But in the parking lot he was approached by a little old lady who told him she was lost. She asked, "Can you tell me how to get to 1603 Mockingbird Lane?"

    The biker said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I live at 1616 Mockingbird Lane. Let’s take my short cut and go down this alley. We’ll be there in no time."

    The little old lady looked him over cautiously then said, "I am a lonely widow without a husband to defend me. How do I know that when we get in the alley you won’t hold me up against the wall, pull up my skirt, and ravish me?"

    The biker said, "Holy smokes lady! I am carrying a bucket, an anvil, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly hold you up against the wall and do that?"

    The lady said, "Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the anvil on top of the bucket, and I’ll hold the chickens."

  • Grandma and Grandpa

    A teacher asked her young pupils how they spent their vacation. One child wrote the following:

    "We always used to spend the holidays with Grandma and Grandpa. They used to live here in a big brick house, but Grandpa got retarded and they moved to Florida and now they live in a place with a lot of other retarded people.

    They live in a tin box and have rocks painted green to look like grass. They ride around on big tricycles and wear name tags because they don’t know who they are anymore. They go to a building called a wrecked centre, but they must have got it fixed, because it is all right now.

    They play games and do exercises there, but they don’t do them very well. There is a swimming pool, too, but they all jump up and down in it with their hats on. I guess they don’t know how to swim.

    At their gate, there is a doll house with a little old man sitting in it. He watches all day so nobody can escape. Sometimes they sneak out. Then they go cruising in their golf carts.

    My Grandma used to bake cookies and stuff, but I guess she forgot how. Nobody there cooks, they just eat out. And they eat the same thing every night: Early Birds. Some of the people can’t get past the man in the dollhouse to go out. So the ones who do get out bring food back to the wrecked centre and call it pot luck.

    My Grandma says Grandpa worked all his life to earn his retardment and says I should work hard so I can be retarded some day, too. When I earn my retardment I want to be the man in the doll house. Then I will let people out so they can visit their grandchildren."

  • Venus and Mars

    I never have quite figured out why the sexual urges of men and women differ so much. And I never have figured out the whole Mars & Venus thing.

    And, I never have figured out why men think with their head and women with their heart. And, I never yet have figured out how the sexual desire gene gets thrown into a state of turmoil, when it hears the words "I do."

    One evening last week, my wife and I were getting into bed. Well, the passion starts to heat up, and she eventually says, "I don’t feel like it, I just want you to hold me."

    I said, "WHAT?" So she says the words that I and every husband on the planet dreads. She explains that I must not be in tune with her emotional needs as a Woman. I’m thinking, "What was her first clue?" I finally realize that nothing is going to happen that night, so I went to sleep.

    The very next day we went shopping at a big unnamed department store.

    I walked around while she tried on three very expensive outfits. She couldn’t decide which one to take, so I told her to take all three of them.

    She then tells me that she wants matching shoes worth $200 each to which I say OK. And then we go to the Jeweller Dept. where she gets a set of diamond earrings. Let me tell you. She was so excited. She must have thought that I was one wave short of a shipwreck, but I don’t think she cared.

    I think she was testing me when she asked for a tennis bracelet because she doesn’t even play tennis. I think I threw her for a loop when I told her that it was OK. She was almost sexually excited from all of this and you should have seen her face when she said, "I’m ready to go, let’s go to the cash register."

    I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No, honey. I don’t feel like buying all this stuff now." You should have seen her face … it went completely blank.

    I then said, "Really honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while." And just when she had this look like she was going to kill me, I added, "You must not be in tune with my financial needs as a Man."

    I figure that I should be having sex again sometime during Spring 2006.

  • The Preacher’s Expanding Family

    There was a preacher whose wife was expecting a baby. The preacher went to the congregation and asked for a raise. After much consideration and discussion, they passed a rule that whenever the preacher’s family expanded, so would his pay check.

    After 6 children, this started to get expensive and the congregation decided to hold another meeting to discuss the preacher’s pay. There was much yelling and bickering about how much the clergyman’s additional children were costing the church.

    Finally, the preacher got up and spoke to the crowd, "having children is an act of God!" Silence fell on the congregation.

    In the back of the room, a little old man stood up and in his frail voice said …. "snow and rain are also acts of God, but when we get too much, we wear rubbers."

  • The Government Job

    A guy goes to the Government to interview for a job.

    The interviewer asks him, "Are you a veteran?"

    The guy says, "Why yes, in fact, I served two tours in Vietnam."

    "Good," says the interviewer, "That counts in your favour. Do you have any service-related disabilities?"

    The guy says, "In fact I am 100% disabled. During a battle, an explosion removed my private parts so they declared me disabled, it doesn’t affect my ability to work, though."

    "Sorry to hear about the damage, but I have some good news for you, I can hire you right now! Our working hours are 8 to 4. Come on in about 10, and we’ll get you started."

    The guy says, "If working hours are from 8 to 4, why do you want me to come at 10?"

    "Well, here at the government, we don’t do anything but sit around and scratch our balls for the first two hours. No point of your coming in for that…

  • The Departing Rabbi

    There is a story about a popular young Rabbi, who on Sabbath eve announces to the congregation that he will not renew his contract and is moving on to a larger congregation that will pay him more.

    There is a hush.

    No one wants him to leave.

    Epstein, who owns several car dealerships, stands up and announces, "If the Rabbi stays, I’ll provide him with a new sedan every year, and his lovely wife with a minivan, to transport their children!"

    The congregation sighs, and applauds.

    Goldstein, the entrepreneur and investor stands and says, "If the Rabbi stays, I’ll double his salary, and establish a foundation to guarantee the college education of his children!!"

    More sighs and applause.

    Mrs. Goldfarb, aged 70, stands and announces, "If the Rabbi stays, I’ll give him SEX!!"

    There is a hush. The Rabbi, blushing, asks, "Mrs. Goldfarb, whatever possessed you to say that?"

    Mrs. Goldfarb answers, "I just asked My husband how we could help, and he said, ‘Fuck the Rabbi.’"

  • A Father’s Rules on Dating his Daughter

    Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

    Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

    Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

    Rule Four: I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

    Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

    Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

    Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

    Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

    Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pot-bellied, balding, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

    Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car – there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

  • Surrogate Fathering

    The Smiths were unable to conceive children, and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I’m off. The man should be here soon".
    Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning madam. I’ve come to ……"
    "Oh, no need to explain. I’ve been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in.
    "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good! I’ve made a specialty of babies."
    "That’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat. After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"
    "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun, too — you can really spread out!"
    "Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work for Harry and me."
    "Well, madam, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results."
    "My, that’s a lot of ……" gasped Mrs. Smith.
    "Madam, in my line of work, a man must take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but you’d be disappointed with that, I’m sure."
    "Don’t I know it," Mrs. Smith said quietly.
    The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a bus."
    "Oh, my God!!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, tugging at her handkerchief.
    "And these twins turned out exceptionally well — when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with."
    "She was difficult?" asked Mrs. Smith.
    "Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep, pushing to get a good look."
    "Four and five deep?" asked Mrs. Smith, eyes widened in amazement.
    "Yes", the photographer said. "And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling I could hardly concentrate. Then darkness approached and I began to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just packed it all in."
    Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "You mean they actually chewed on your um… equipment?"
    "That’s right. Well madam, if you’re ready, I’ll set up my tripod so that we can get to work."
    "Tripod??"
    "Oh yes, I have to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big for me to hold very long. Madam? Madam? — Good Lord, she’s fainted!"