Either or, I'm bambidextrous.
Because he didn't have the guts.
She says itβs my crow aggression.
but I don't really mind as the 24th of July is ages away
So it's been almost 3 weeks since a lockdown was triggered in the UK and there have been quite a few knock on effects.. Some good and some bad which I want to share in this post.
Firstly one of my friends lost his job. He worked as a psychic.. Never saw it coming. Its been a difficult couple of weeks and he is now considering a complete career change...considering becoming a baker of all things.. But I suppose he really kneads the dough. I suggested he focus on photography, but nothing ever developed.
Another of my friends was also made redundant. He managed to get a Skype interview for a position in Tescos within a few days. The interviewer asked him: "what is your biggest weakness?", he replied "I don't know when to quit". The interviewer said "OK, your hired". He said "I quit".
Work has been busy for me but since I can't enjoy the things I usually do I have been looking for some new things to do around the house. It's been nice have the thyme to do more cooking. I randomly started a boat building business in my garage.. Sails have gone through the roof.
In an unsettling reversal of my teenage years I am now shouting at my parents for leaving the house. I suggested they take up scrabble to keep them occupied.. Turned out to be a bad idea from the word go.
It's been great hearing about how world pollution levels have been failling. I read the story about fish now being visible in the canals in Venice.. I hope that story isnt a load of pollocks! Cod, these were eely bad. Will stop carping on now!
A police officer walks into a tattoo parlor, hoping to get something cool drawn onto his shoulder. He walks up to the artist and shows him a picture of what he wants. In large text on a ribbon it says, "Protect and Serve." Below it, is a picture of a a badge, a pair of handcuffs, and a pistol. The tattoo artist is very good at his job, and says he can get this done in one session, so the officer sits down and the artist gets started. A few hours later, the artist is just finishing up, inking the last details of his service weapon. Once the last line is inked on the trigger, the cop gets up from his chair and looks in the mirror to see his new tattoo. His face twists into a look of shock and terror, pulls out his gun and opens fire onto the tattoo artist, killing him in the process. He gets on his radio, calling for backup, and took a defensive position until a few more cops and the police chief showed to the parlor minutes later. The chief, while examining the scene asks the officer, "What the hell? Why did you shoot this guy?" The cop says, "What did you expect me to do? The guy drew a gun on me!"
Me: Huh, I forgot James Gunn directed this.
Dad: Yeah, the studio decided they'd give him a shot.
Me: ...thanks, dad.
Dad: Hey, I thought about it, and decided to pull the trigger.
My dad is really proud of this one. It's the only joke he's ever told that's been funny enough to make somebody laugh so hard that they spit out of their nose. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for this joke, so let me give you some context first:
He's been in a motorcycle accident (hit and run by an illegal immigrant), and had to have most of his vertebrae fused. They use titanium rods to hold your back from bending, so as you can imagine its kind of a major operation. His doctor prescribed a year (or longer if needed) of massage therapy, which he was thankful for. Twice a week he went in to a small clinic for a few hours at a time, and usually had the same masseuse. Let's call her Marge.
After four months of therapy they of course got to know each other very well. He was always faithful to my mother, but he was good friends with Marge. Their conversations range all the way from baseball to differentials, and everything stays platonic.
Here's where the story begins:
During a massage, they are having an energetic conversation, the time comes where he turns onto his back so that she can get to his knee ligaments (chainsawed his kneecap a few years prior, doc said may as well get there too). She goes at it like normal, and the conversation continues. Now here comes the part that made my dad wait to tell me this until recently: The "stimulation" in his knee for some reason, on that day out of all others, triggered a reflexive erection. There was nothing he could do to stop it.
The conversation goes quiet. Marge notices, but doesn't say a word. She remains professional. She continues working. My dad is more embarrassed than he's ever been. Several minutes of silence pass, and my dad cant take it anymore.
"Marge," he says, "I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room."
He raises his head to look down the table at her. He glances at it, then back to her. With a slight shake of his head he says:
"Wait nevermind, it's only his trunk"
Im helping clean out an old garage that's been filled with random storage for a couple decades. For the last 10ish years it's had a mouse problem.
A couple weeks ago I set out traps and none of us have had time to be there since. Came back today and three of the four had caught mice. Pretty happy with that.
I chucked out the carcasses and when I went to reset the traps I got a bit of a surprise and my comment drew my friend over.
"What's up?" he asks.
"Look at this," I reply, showing him the traps. "After the first three mice got caught another one came along, opened the lid, and ate the rest of the peanut butter. And then look at this! He stuck his nose into the fourth and are just enough of it not to trigger the trap!" Holding up the trap and showing the teeth marks in the peanut butter.
"That's...disturbing," he replies, "why'd you bait it with peanut butter though? Wouldn't fruit be better?"
"Well, I looked it up online, * and three out of four mice say it's to die for."
βββ
Until the * I genuinely intended to say why. But it was too good to pass up.
Also, anyone have a cat I can borrow?
Okay so I get off at 4:00 and I didn't waste any time leaving the office. Shut down my computer, grabbed my keys, and I was on the road by 4:05. It had been a pretty crazy day and I was ready to get home.
As I'm driving home I notice I'm running on Empty. I probably could have made it home but I was really craving a Coca Cola so I decide to stop at the nearest gas station.
Anyways I'm filling my tank I see an old lady a few gas pumps away putting gas in her old beat up station wagon but didn't really think anything of it and just continued to enjoy my icey cold Coca Cola.
Next thing I know I see this old lady holding the gas pump nozzle spewing gas everywhere. I guess she had taken the nozzle out of the vehicle w out disengaging the automatic trigger or whatever but it went EVERYWHERE. Her car, her arms, the ground, all over the place and by the time she got that thing to stop spraying there was at least a gallon of gas everywhere.
So I immediately run over to see if she's okay and she smells like straight up gas. I gave her napkins to dry off her hands and to clean what gas was spilled on the car. She said she was okay and thanked me for my help so I leave and head home.
So now I'm a few blocks from home, driving over the last hill right before my next turn and all of a sudden, almost out of nowhere, she comes flyin past me in that same old beat up station wagon with, I shit you not, her arm CAUGHT ON FIRE. And as if that's not bad enough there are two cops right behind her in hot pursuit. So while I'm freaking out trying to pull over to the side she zooms past so fast I barely catch a glimpse of her frantically flailing her arm out the window as they all go over the hill.
At that point couldn't believe what I was seeing it was just too crazy. So I quickly get back on the road and make my way over the hill and I spot her. She's pulled over in the emergency lane. I see the same old lady being handcuffed and put in the back of the squad car.
Yeah turns out she was arrested for waiving a fire arm in public.
Β―_(γ)_/Β―
He said to go get a gun, look down the barrel and pull the trigger.
I did it. It just killed all the fish.
Dad:I can't wait for hunting season. Mom: You never shoot anything, I don't get you. Dad:Its just nice being outside and sometimes I look through the scope and almost pull the trigger. Mom:Of course you do honey you're such a cute wuss sometimes. Dad:Good thing for you I am Mom:Why'd you say that honey? Dad: Sometimes you're very deer to me sweetheart
There was a boy in high school named Bonnie. As you can imagine, he was bullied and picked on because of his strange name. This lead to social anxiety and a few other issues, but there was one girl who helped him through all of his pain. He had a huge crush on this girl, and after weeks of psyching himself up, he asked her to the school dance coming up.
Much to his delight, he said yes, and off to the dance they went. They had a great time and shortly after, started dating. They spent a lot of time together, calling, texting and always hanging out. They were meant for each other. They continued dating after high school, into college. On their graduation day, he proposed to her on the stage. He was nervous about asking her in public like this, but as he got down on one knee, her face lit up, tears formed in her eyes. He asked her to marry him, she said yes and the crowd cheered.
Fast forward a few years, they've bought their own house, and she's now pregnant with their first child. In the delivery room, Bonnie is standing by her side, their newborn child in her arms.
"I love you so much, hon." Bonnie told his wife, holding one of her hands. "You can name our baby girl anything you wise." he told her.
"Love. I want to name her Love." she replied, looking into his eyes. Bonnie was surprised by the strange name, and at first hesitant to agree, but he told her she could name their daughter anything. He nods in agreement and they carry on with their lives.
Fourteen years later, as with what happened with Bonnie, Love was picked on in high school for her strange name. One day, Love came home crying.
"What's wrong, Love?" Bonnie asked her worriedly.
"I hate you! Why did you give me such a stupid name?!" she screamed at him. She was furious. She was tired of the teasing and the mockery in high school. In a fit of rage, she pulled out Bonnie's handgun she had found in his night stand. She pulled the trigger and a bullet passed into Bonnie's chest.
Love panicked and ran away, and Bonnie's wife came after hearing the gun shot. She ran to Bonnie's side, picking his head up in her hands. She asked him what had happened.
"Shot through the heart... And you're to blame..." He said, weakly. "You gave Love... A bad name."
My wife is reading a list of potential migraine triggers to me (we're trying to figure out what my triggers are; I'm a recent sufferer).
She asks me if I've ever taken an MAOI since, "They discovered that people who took them in the 50's have issues with tyramines [a known migraine trigger]."
I told her, "No, I've never taken one." She asks, "Are you sure?"
I say, "I'm sure, plus I wasn't alive in the 50's." rimshot
I look at my 11 y/o daughter and say, "Dad joke?"
She asks, "Did you say Dad joke or bad joke?"
I respond, "Isn't that the same thing?"
It's good to be king.
At my work, people say "so" a lot to jump into conversations. Like, "so, what I thought was . . . " For some reason, whenever people say this, the thought that is triggered in my mind is "sew buttons on your underwear."
Thanks Dad.
Back home yesterday preparing the supper.
Dad pumps a fake shotgun, pulls a fake trigger whilst farting. But the fart was more of a quiet "pfft" so he says, "oh, had the silencer on."
This was always one of my dad's favorites to tell us.
A long time ago, there was a beehive in the middle of a forest. Every day, as worker bees do, they would go out into their fields, gather pollen from the flowers, and bring it back to make honey.
The bees had a problem, though, because every so often an intruder would come around, such as a bear who wanted the honey, or kids who thought it'd be fun to throw rocks at the hive. Finally, the bees got tired of it.
Being the intelligent bees that they are, they built an alarm system for the hive. They built it such that one bee pulls a lever, which triggers the alarm that the bees will hear from the fields, and then the bees can come back to protect their home.
There was one bee who was exclusively assigned that job, and he was aptly named the "Lever Bee." His job was to watch for potential adversaries, and pull the lever to raise the alarm.
Now clearly, the safety of the hive depends on this one Lever Bee. So it stands to reason that he has to be constantly ready and on the alert so that he can do his job.
And that, friends, is why people say, "I'm as ready as a Lever Bee."
