John went to visit his 90-year-old grandfather in a very secluded, rural area of Saskatchewan. After spending a great evening chatting the night away, the next morning John's grandfather prepared a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. However, John noticed a film-like substance on his plate, and questioned his grandfather asking, 'Are these plates clean?' His grandfather replied: 'They're as clean as cold water can get ‘em. Just you go ahead and finish your meal, Sonny!' For lunch, the old man made hamburgers. Again, John was concerned about the plates, as his appeared to have tiny specks around the edge that looked like dried egg and asked: 'Are you sure these plates are clean?' Without looking up the old man said: 'I told you before, Sonny, those dishes are as clean as cold water can get them. Now don't you fret, I don't want to hear another word about it!' Later that afternoon, John was on his way to a nearby town and as he was leaving, his grandfather's dog started to growl, and wouldn't let him pass. John yelled: 'Grandfather, your dog won't let me get to my car'. Without diverting his attention from the football game he was watching on TV, the old man shouted: 'Coldwater, go lay down now, ya hear me!?!'

A tourist driving across rural England decided to stay the night in a small town. The only place with rooms available was a quaint English pub, The George and Dragon, which had a lovingly painted sign with a Knight beside a defeated dragon blowing in the evening breeze. Entering the bar room, which while empty had a roaring fire against the back wall, leather padded booths, and a mahogany bar with brass rails, polished to a shine, they went up to the bar and asked for a room. "Rooms cost £20 per night, we don't accept euros, and you must be out by 7am tomorrow, or else you pay for both days." "Alright then, could I get something to eat ma-" "Kitchen closed at 6, and I am not going back there until 11am tomorrow, no matter what you say. Anything else?" "Yes, could I please talk to George?"

One dark night in Dublin, a fire started inside the local chemical plant. In the blink of an eye, it exploded into massive flames. The alarm rang in all surrounding fire departments. When the firefighters arrived on the scene, the chemical company president rushed to the fireman in charge and said, "All our secret formulas are in the vault in the center of the plant. They must be saved. I will give 50,000 pounds to the fire department that brings them out intact." But the roaring flames held the firefighters off. Soon more fire departments had to be called in as the situation became desperate. As the firemen arrived, the president shouted out that the offer was now 100,000 pounds to the fire station that could bring out the company's secret files. But the firefighters still couldn't get through. From a distance, a lone siren was heard as another fire truck came into sight. It was the nearby rural township volunteer fire brigade, composed mainly of old men over 65. To everyone's amazement, that small run-down fire engine roared right past all the new sleek engines that were parked outside the plant. Without even slowing down it drove straight into the middle of the inferno. Outside, the other firemen watched as the old timers jumped off right in the middle of the fire and fought it back on all sides. It was a performance and effort never seen before. Within a short time, the old timers had extinguished the fire and had saved the secret formulas. The grateful chemical company president announced that for such a superhuman feat he was upping the reward to 200,000 pounds. He walked over to personally thank each of the brave firefighters. The local TV station caught the thank you on film and asked the chief, "What are you planning to do with all that money?" "Well," said Paddy, the 70-year-old fire chief, "the first thing we're going to do is fix the brakes on that bloody fire truck."

A rather attractive woman goes up to the bar in a quiet rural pub. She gestures alluringly to the barman who comes over immediately. When he arrives, she seductively signals that he should bring his face close to hers. When he does so, she begins to gently caress his beard, which is full and bushy. "Are you the manager?" she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands. "Actually, no," he replies. "Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him." she purrs, running her hands up beyond his beard and into his hair. "I'm afraid I can't" breathes the barman, evidently getting a bit hot under the collar by this point. "Is there anything I can do?" "Yes there is. I need you to give him a message," she continues huskily, touching his lips. "Tell him," she says, "that there is no toilet paper or hand soap in the ladies' room."

In a rural program for farmers, a female TV reporter seeking the main cause of Mad Cow disease, arranged for an interview with a farmer who might have some theories on the matter. This “TRUE” interview went as follows: The lady reporter: “I am here to collect information on the possible sources of Mad Cow Disease. Can you offer any reason for this disease?” The farmer stared at the reporter and said: “Did you know that a bull mounts a cow only once a year?" Reporter: (obviously embarrassed): “Well, sir, that's a new piece of information but what's the relation between this phenomenon and Mad Cow disease?” Farmer: “Miss, did you know that we milk a cow twice a day?” Reporter: “Sir, this is really valuable information, but what about getting to the point?” Farmer: “I am getting to the point, Miss.” “Just imagine, if I was playing with your breasts twice a day... and only screwing you once a year, wouldn't YOU get mad?” THE TV INTERVIEW WAS NEVER AIRED.

A very attractive woman goes up to the bar in a quiet rural pub. She gestures alluringly to the bartender, who comes over immediately. When he arrives, she seductively signals that he should bring his face closer to hers. When he does so, she begins to gently caress his full beard. “Are you the manager?”, she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands. “Actually, no” the man replies. “Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him,” she says, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair. “I’m afraid I can’t,” breathes the bartender. “Is there anything I can do?” “Yes, there is. I need you to give him a message,” she continues, slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently. "Ah..what should I tell him?” the bartender manages to squeak. “Tell him,” she whispers, “there is no toilet paper or hand soap in the ladies room.”

A big city lawyer went duck hunting in rural North Alberta. He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer's field on the other side of a fence. As the lawyer climbed over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing. The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I'm going to retrieve it." The old farmer Peter replied, "This is my property, and you are not coming over here." The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial lawyers in Canada and, if you don't let me get that duck, I'll sue you and take everything you own." The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we settle disputes in Alberta. We settle small disagreements like this with the 'Three Kick Rule.' The lawyer asked, "What is the 'Three Kick Rule'?" The Farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, I get to go first. I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on back and forth until someone gives up." The lawyer thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger. He agreed to abide by the local custom. The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel-toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees! His second kick to the midriff sent the lawyer's last meal gushing from his mouth. The lawyer was on all fours when the farmer's third kick to his rear end, sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie. Summoning every bit of his will and remaining strength the lawyer very slowly managed to get to his feet. Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, you old fart. Now it's my turn." The old farmer smiled and said, "You can have the duck."