Rocks

When I got home from camp today,
My parents almost died.
They asked me how I got this way,
And here's what I replied:

This little cast from heel to hip
Is nothing much at all.
Some broken shingles made me slip
From off the dining hall.

The poison ivy's not too bad.
It missed my back and chest.
Of course, I guess I oughta add
Mosquitoes got the rest.

I tried to eat some hick'ry nuts
And cracked a tooth or two.
And all these bruises, scabs, and cuts?
I haven't got a clue.

I got the lump that's on my head
From diving in the lake.
I should've watched for rocks instead
Of grabbing for the snake.

That leaves this bandage on my chin
And these three finger sprains,
Along with lots of sunburned skin
And sniffles from the rains.

I also got a muscle cramp
And very nearly drowned.
It's some terrific summer camp,
The coolest one around.

(By Richard Thomas)
“I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more--that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangn
Geology rocks but Geography is where it's at.
Where do rocks like to sleep? In bedrocks!
Where do rocks like to sleep?
In bedrocks!
What do rocks eat?
Pom-a-granites.
How do Penguins drink their cola?
On the rocks.
There was an Old Man on some rocks,
Who shut his wife up in a box;
When she said, 'Let me out!'
He exclaimed, 'Without doubt,
You will pass all your life in that box.'
What did the rock say after it rolled into a tree? Nothing because rocks can’t talk.
God's Hunter
God's Hunter A hunter lived alone in the middle of a forest, in a small house by the river. A short distance down a slope in front of his house, he had a garden where he would grow vegetables to supplement his diet of forest game and fish. One morning, he awoke to the sounds of a thunderstorm and rushing water. Quickly getting dressed and stumbling outside, he saw the river had flooded. Overflowing its banks, the waters swelled and flowed past, getting ever so closer to the hunter's abode. It would not reach the house, the hunter observed, for it had the higher ground. But there was no hope for the vegetable garden -- it was only a matter of minutes before the floodwaters would wash over it, ruining his harvest for that season. "Godda**it," the hunter muttered. Right before the hunter's eyes, a bolt of lightning struck the bank at the other side of the river, followed by a deafening clap of thunder and a massive explosion. Trees, rocks and chunks of dirt flew hundreds of feet into the air! No sooner had the debris started falling back to the ground when a monstrous tornado blew in from parts unknown and scooped them right up again. The tornado headed straight towards the river, uprooting more trees and rocks in its path, carving a deep gouge into the earth. As soon as the tornado blew across the river, there was another flash of lightning and deafening clap of thunder. The tornado disappeared as quickly as it had materialized. The uprooted trees, rocks and dirt crashed into the river, diverting its waters into the deep gouge in the earth. The floodwaters receded, having come within inches of the hunter's vegetable garden. Having witnessed the whole extravaganza from start to finish, the hunter could only stare, wide eyed, his legs shaking and mouth hanging stupidly open. It was a while before he finally managed to speak. "Whoa." Then, from above him, a voice boomed: ”YOU'RE WELCOME."
I'll bet your father spent the first year of your life throwing rocks at storks.
Groucho Marx