I saw a woman drop her purse in the high street this morning, so I quickly followed her. As I was just about to tap her on the shoulder she started running for a bus.
So I ran after her shouting, “You dropped your purse! You dropped your purse!”
She didn’t hear me and proceeded to get onto the bus, so I got on the bus too. As I walked to the back of the bus I breathlessly said, “You floor your purse on the floor outside McDonald’s."
"Thank you so much!" She exclaimed. "Where is it?"
"I just told you, on the floor outside McDonald’s."
Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook is wedged in the window, His sweater’s been thrown on the floor. His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV, And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door. His books are all jammed in the closet, His vest has been left in the hall. A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed, And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall. Whosever room this is should be ashamed! Donald or Robert or Willie or— Huh? You say it’s mine? Oh, dear, I knew it looked familiar! (Shel Silverstein)
There’s been a murder, a woman was killed, found in a bathtub, partially filled. A pair of policemen went into the house and questioned the poor woman’s spouse. He’d just come home from working all night and found her like that, a terrible sight. The younger policeman looked on with dismay. He’d never forget that terrible day. He saw the young woman from behind the door and empty milk cartons all over the floor, Scattered strawberries, slices of fruit, and spoonfuls of sugar and honey to boot. ”Who could have done this terrible thing?” His voice had a horrified, pitiful ring. ”Just look at the clues,” replied Sargeant Miller. ”It looks like the work of a cereal killer.” (Albert Van Hoogmoed)
A long time ago, a wealthy man was having an affair with an Italian woman.
One night, during one of their rendezvous, she confided in him that she was pregnant.
Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he paid her a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to have the child. If she stayed in Italy, he would also provide child support until the child turned 18.
She agreed, though she wondered how he would know when the baby was born. To keep it discrete, he told her to mail him a postcard, and write "Spaghetti" on the back. He would then arrange for child support.
One day, about 9 months later, he came home to his confused wife. "Honey," she said, "you received a very strange postcard today."
"Oh, just give it to me and I'll explain it later," he said. The wife handed the card over and watched as her husband read the card... then promptly turned white and fainted.
Alarmed, she picked up the card on the floor and read aloud: "Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. Two with meatballs, one without."
Stanley is looking for a new desk for his office and he spots one that looks perfect in an antique shop window. He goes inside and asks the shopkeeper how much it is.
“That desk is going for $5000,” says the shopkeeper.
“$5000 for an old desk? That’s outrageous!” exclaims Stanley.
“Ah,” says the shopkeeper, “but this is a magic desk.” He turns to the desk and asks, “Desk, how much money do I have in my pocket?”
The desk taps one of its legs on the floor four times. The shopkeeper turns out his pocket and, sure enough, there are four dollar coins there.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” says Stan. “Alright, desk, how much money does my wife have in her bank account?”
At this, the desk goes wild, manically banging all four of its legs up and down repeatedly for over five minutes non-stop.
“Darn, where did she get all THAT from?” wonders Stanley.
The desk’s legs slide apart and its drawers drop down.
“Watching a dog try to chew a large piece of toffee is a pastime fit for gods. Mr. Fusspot’s mixed ancestry had given him a dexterity of jaw that was truly awesome. He somersaulted happily around the floor, making faces like a rubber gargoyle in a washing machine.”—Terry Pratchett
A duck goes into a store and waddles up to the manager.
He asks him if he sells duck food. The shopkeeper tells him no. The duck then leaves.
The next day the duck returns and asks the same question again. The shopkeeper tells him, testily, that the store still doesn’t sell duck food. The duck leaves.
The following day the duck returns again and asks the same question. The shopkeeper is getting pissed off, so says no and warns the duck if he asks one more time, he will staple the duck’s feet to the floor.
The next day the duck goes back into the store. He waddles up to the (now red faced) shopkeeper and asks ‘Do you sell staples?’
'No'. The puzzled shopkeeper says.
'Great.' Says the duck. 'Do you sell duck food?’
Mother doesn’t want a dog. Mother says they smell, And never sit when you say sit, Or even when you yell. When you come home late at night And there is ice and snow, You have to go back ou because The dumb dog has to go. Mother doesn’t wat a dog. Mother says they shed, And always let the strangers in And bark at friends instead They do disgraceful things on rugs, And track mud on the floor, And flop upon your bed at night And snore their doggy snore. Mother doesn’t want a dog. She’s making a mistake. Because, more than a dog, I think She will not want this snake.
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