quelle fete poeme Jokes

The animal I really dig, Above all others is the pig. Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever, Pigs are courteous. However, Now and then, to break this rule, One meets a pig who is a fool. What, for example, would you say, If strolling through the woods one day, Right there in front of you you saw A pig who'd built his house of STRAW? The Wolf who saw it licked his lips, And said, 'That pig has had his chips.' 'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!' 'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!' 'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' The little pig began to pray, But Wolfie blew his house away. He shouted, 'Bacon, pork and ham! Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!' And though he ate the pig quite fast, He carefully kept the tail till last. Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated. Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted Another little house for pigs, And this one had been built of TWIGS! 'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!' 'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!' 'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!' The Wolf said, 'Okay, here we go!' He then began to blow and blow. The little pig began to squeal. He cried, 'Oh Wolf, you've had one meal! Why can't we talk and make a deal? The Wolf replied, 'Not on your nelly!' And soon the pig was in his belly. 'Two juicy little pigs!' Wolf cried, 'But still I'm not quite satisfied! I know how full my tummy's bulging, But oh, how I adore indulging.' So creeping quietly as a mouse, The Wolf approached another house, A house which also had inside A little piggy trying to hide. 'You'll not get me!' the Piggy cried. 'I'll blow you down!' the Wolf replied. 'You'll need,' Pig said, 'a lot of puff, And I don't think you've got enough.' Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew. The house stayed up as good as new. 'If I can't blow it down,' Wolf said, I'll have to blow it up instead. I'll come back in the dead of night And blow it up with dynamite!' Pig cried, 'You brute! I might have known!' Then, picking up the telephone, He dialed as quickly as he could The number of red Riding Hood. 'Hello,' she said. 'Who's speaking? Who? Oh, hello, Piggy, how d'you do?' Pig cried, 'I need your help, Miss Hood! Oh help me, please! D'you think you could?' 'I'll try of course,' Miss Hood replied. 'What's on your mind...?' 'A Wolf!' Pig cried. 'I know you've dealt with wolves before, And now I've got one at my door!' 'My darling Pig,' she said, 'my sweet, That's something really up my street. I've just begun to wash my hair. But when it's dry, I'll be right there.' A short while later, through the wood, Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood. The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze, And yellowish, like mayonnaise. His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw, And spit was dripping from his jaw. Once more the maiden's eyelid flickers. She draws the pistol from her knickers. Once more she hits the vital spot, And kills him with a single shot. Pig, peeping through the window, stood And yelled, 'Well done, Miss Riding Hood!' Ah, Piglet, you must never trust Young ladies from the upper crust. For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes, Not only has two wolfskin coats, But when she goes from place to place, She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELING CASE.

I cannot see I cannot pee I cannot chew I cannot screw. My memory shrinks My hearing stinks No sense of smell I look like hell. How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before the year's grown, my goodness, how the time has flown. The Golden Years have come at last The Golden Years can kiss my ass!

A priest and a shepherd from Australia participate in a TV game. After answering all the questions, there is a tie. So both are given one final assignment. It is to write a poem in three minutes, using the word "Timbuktu". It is city in Africa. The priest returns with the fruit of his inspiration: "I was a father all my life, I had no children, had no wife, I read the bible through and through on my way to Timbuktu ... " The poem makes a great impression, and the priest smells a sweet victory. But then comes the shepherd, with his winning masterpiece: "When Tim and I to Brisbane went We met three women cheap to rent. They were three and we were two, So I booked one and Tim Booked Two ... "

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray this cushy life to keep. I pray for toys that look like mice, and sofa cushions, soft and nice. I pray for gourmet kitty snacks, and someone nice to scratch my back, for windowsills all warm and bright, for shadows to explore at night. I pray I'll always stay cool, and keep the secret feline rule, to never tell a human that the world is really ruled by cats!

My new phone is "smart." I guess that I'm not. Amazing what all this here smart phone has got. TV and Weather and Internet, too. There's just no limits to what it can do. Check my blood pressure and my temperature Without even probing all my apertures. I now know the time in Paris or Greece. I can track the migration of thousands of geese Or find Chinese food; it's here on this map. Oops, my finger just slipped, now where was that at? A camera...a CAMERA! Now I can take shots Of everyone I know (who'd rather I not). Push this here button and take me a "selfie." (If it had a nose would this thing take a "smellfie"?) Email to pester with, video to shoot, Maps to drive 'round with, wow that's a hoot! A compass to guide me home if I'm lost. Thank God work paid for this thing (what it COSTS!). The things that it does would amaze Mr. Bell. What he would have thought of it, no one can tell, But one question's still stuck in my middle-aged craw. Despite all the gizmos that strike me with awe, They're fun and they're useful and "techy" and all ...but how do I just simply make a phone call?

Ahhmmm ahhhmmm! I have written a little poem, it's called: "Same Old Me". It goes like this: "When I was in my younger days, I weighed a few pounds less. I needn’t hold my tummy in To wear a belted dress. But now that I am older, I’ve set my body free; There’s the comfort of elastic Where once my waist would be. The inventor of those high-heeled shoes My feet have not forgiven I have to wear a size nine now, But I used to wear a seven. And how about those pantyhose They’re sized by weight, you see, So how come when I put them on, The crotch is at my knees? I need to wear these glasses. As the prints were getting smaller; And it wasn’t very long ago I know that I was taller. Though my hair has turned to silver And my skin no longer fits, and the outside, I’m not what I used to be. But here on the inside, I’m still the same old me!"