D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
August 2009
No Truce in the Gender Wars
Plus Mafia bookkeeping, Australian bricklaying and technology that bites back.
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . We have a sort of off-and-on theme this month, as you'll see. This yarn from Judge Hazard A. Guess starts us off:
"A woman was leaving a 7-11 with her morning coffee when she noticed a most unusual funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery. A long black hearse was followed by a second hearse about 50 feet behind. Behind the second hearse was a solitary woman walking a pit bull dog on a leash. Behind her were 200 women walking single-file.
"The woman couldn't stand her curiosity. She respectfully approached the woman walking the dog and said, 'I am so sorry for your loss, and I know now is a bad time to disturb you, but I've never seen a funeral like this. Whose funeral is it?'
"The woman with the dog replied, 'Well, that first hearse is for my husband.'
"'What happened to him?'
"The woman replied, 'My dog attacked and killed him.'
"She inquired further, 'Well who is in the second hearse?'
"'His mistress. She tried to help my husband, then the dog turned on her.'
"A poignant and thoughtful moment of silence passed between the two women. At last, the curious woman asked, 'Can I borrow the dog?'
"'Get in line.'"
On a somewhat similar note, we suggest that the fellas out there clip out this handy guide, submitted by Tigger of Oz, and keep it with them at all times:
"Every woman knows that there are days when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his hands. This guide should be carried like a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, co-worker or significant other:
"DANGEROUS: What's for dinner? SAFER: Can I help you with dinner? SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner? ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some wine.
"DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that? SAFER: You sure look good in brown! SAFEST: Wow! Look at you! ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some wine.
"DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about? SAFER: Could we be overreacting? SAFEST: Here's my paycheck. ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some wine.
"DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that? SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left. SAFEST: Can I get you a piece of chocolate with that? ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some wine.
"DANGEROUS: What did you DO all day? SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today. SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe! ULTRA SAFE: Here, have some wine."
Persons of the blonde persuasion. . . As usual, feel free to reshuffle the hues of hair in this tale sent our way by new correspondent Cardmama in the Burros:
"Three women are about to be executed. One's a brunette, one's a redhead and one's a blonde. The guard brings the brunette forward and the executioner asks if she has any last requests. She says no and the executioner shouts, 'Ready! Aim!'
"Suddenly the brunette yells, 'EARTHQUAKE!' Everyone is startled and looks around as the brunette escapes.
"The guard brings the redhead forward and the executioner asks if she has any last requests. She say no and the executioner shouts, 'Ready! Aim!'
"Suddenly, the redhead yells, 'TORNADO!' Once again, everyone is startled and looks around, while the redhead silently slips away.
"By now the blonde has it all figured out, and the guard brings her forward. The executioner asks if she has any last requests, she says no and the executioner shouts, 'Ready! Aim!'
"And the blonde yells, 'FIRE!'"
Capital pun-ishment. . . Blame Little Margie for these painful wordplays:
'Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other: 'Does this taste funny to you?'
'Two cows are standing next to each other in a field. Daisy says to Dolly, 'I was artificially inseminated this morning.' 'I don't believe you,' says Dolly. 'It's true — no bull!' exclaims Daisy.
'I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day, but I couldn't find any.'"
Send us your puns, your jokes, your tired and poor anecdotes yearning to breathe
free! Mail to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, email diary@desertexposure.com or fax 534-4134. Remember, the best submission each month earns a Desert Exposure mouse
pad — not available in stores!
You're only as old as you feel. . . "A wee peek into our future?" CharlesC asks as he emails the following:
"Three sisters, ages 92, 94 and 96, live in a house together. One night the 96-year-old draws a bath. She puts her foot in and pauses. She yells to the other sisters, 'Was I getting in or out of the bath?'
"The 94-year-old yells back, 'I don't know. I'll come up and see.' She starts up the stairs and pauses. 'Was I going up the stairs or down?'
"The 92-year-old is sitting at the kitchen table having tea, listening to her sisters. She shakes her head and says, 'I sure hope I never get that forgetful, knock on wood.' She then yells, 'I'll come up and help both of you as soon as I see who's at the door.'"
Annals of crime. . . There's a lesson somewhere in this saga passed along by Toni in the Vet's Office:
"A Mafia Godfather finds out that his bookkeeper has cheated him out of 10 million bucks. His bookkeeper is deaf. That was the reason he got the job in the first place. It was assumed that a deaf bookkeeper would not hear anything that he might have to testify about in court.
"When the Godfather goes to confront the bookkeeper about his missing $10 million, he brings along his attorney, who knows sign language. The Godfather tells the lawyer, 'Ask him where the 10 million bucks he embezzled from me is.'
"The attorney, using sign language, asks the bookkeeper where the money is. The bookkeeper signs back: 'I don't know what you are talking about.'
"The attorney tells the Godfather, 'He says he doesn't know what you're talking about.'
"The Godfather pulls out a pistol, puts it to the bookkeeper's temple and says, 'Ask him again!'
"The attorney signs to the bookkeeper: 'He'll kill you if you don't tell him!'
"The bookkeeper signs back: 'OK! You win! The money is in a brown briefcase, buried behind the shed in my cousin Enzo's backyard in Queens!'
"The Godfather asks the attorney: 'Well, what'd he say?'
"The attorney replies, 'He says you don't have the guts to pull the trigger.'"
Stupid is as stupid does . . . According to the note that accompanied this account, forwarded by Ned Ludd, this is an actual bricklayer's accident report, which was printed in the newsletter of the Australian equivalent of the workman's compensation board. We're pretty sure they tested this one on "Mythbusters":
"Dear Sir: I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block 3 of the accident report form. I put 'poor planning' as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.
"I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found that I had some bricks left over which, when weighed later were found to be slightly in excess of 500 pounds. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley, which was attached to the side of the building on the sixth floor.
"Securing the rope at ground, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow descent of the bricks. You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form that I weigh 135 pounds. Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope.
"Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel, which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explained the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in section 3 of the accident report form. Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley.
"Fortunately, by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of beginning to experience pain. At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, that barrel weighed approximately 50 pounds. I refer you again to my weight.
"As you can imagine, I began a rapid descent, down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and several lacerations of my legs and lower body.
"Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks, and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked.
"I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope. I lay there watching the empty barrel begin its journey back down onto me.
"This explains the two broken legs.
"I hope this answers your inquiry."
Paying for the free-enterprise system. . . Think long and hard about this tale of capitalism in our time, brought to you courtesy of Aletteration:
"Almost every Independence Day I am reminded of this village that had an impressive World War II cannon in the park at the entrance to the burg. The council voted to hire the town's war hero to keep the cannon polished and the grounds around it clean and bright.
"He was well-paid by the village for his work, and did so well he was given regular yearly raises. The fellow was not only diligent but he was thrifty.
"So much so that after only a few years, he was able to buy a cannon and go into business for himself."
Isn't technology wonderful. . .? This e-missive was sent in by Bill in the Mimbres, who adds, "I hope I got the correct email address. I was very careful." You'll see why:
"A South Dakota couple decided to go to Florida to thaw out during a particularly icy winter. They planned to stay at the same hotel where they'd spent their honeymoon 20 years earlier. Because of hectic schedules, it was difficult to coordinate their travel schedules. So, the husband left South Dakota and flew to Florida on Thursday, with his wife flying down the following day. The husband checked into the hotel. There was a computer in his room, so he decided to send an email to his wife. However, he accidentally left out one letter in her email address, and without realizing his error, sent the email.
"Meanwhile, in Houston, a widow had just returned home from her husband's funeral. He was a minister who was called home to glory following a heart attack. The widow decided to check her email, expecting messages of condolence from relatives and friends. After reading the first message, she screamed and fainted. The widow's son rushed into the room, found his mother on the floor, and saw the computer screen, which read:
"'To: My Loving Wife
"'Subject: I've Arrived
"'I know you're surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now and you are allowed to send emails to your loved ones. I've just arrived and have been checked in. I've seen that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you then!!!! Hope your journey is as uneventful as mine was.
"'PS Sure is hot down here!'"
Speaking of computers, here's another yarn, successfully emailed by Old Grumps:
"I was having trouble with my computer. So I called John, the 11-year-old next door whose bedroom looks like Mission Control, and asked him to come over. John clicked a couple of buttons and solved the problem. As he was walking away, I called after him, 'So, what was wrong?
"John replied, 'It was an ID ten T error.'
"I didn't want to appear stupid, but nonetheless inquired, 'An, ID ten T error? What's that? In case I need to fix it again.'
"John grinned. 'Haven't you ever heard of an ID ten T error before?'
"'No,' I replied.
"'Write it down,' he said, 'and I think you'll figure it out.'
"So I wrote down: I D 1 0 T
"I used to like the little brat."
Losing the battle of the sexes, final round. . . Completing our tour of the gender-wars battlefield, we wrap up with this one from Jess Hossinaround in Arenas Valley, entitled "The secret to a lasting Italian marriage":
"At Saint Mary's Catholic Church, they have a weekly husband's marriage seminar. At the session last week, the priest asked Mario, who was approaching his 50th wedding anniversary, to take a few minutes and share some insight into how he had managed to stay married to the same woman all these years.
"Mario replied to the assembled husbands, 'Wella, I've a-tried to treat-a her nicea, spenda da money on her, but besta of alla is that I tooka her to Italy for the 25th anniversary!'
"The priest responded, 'Mario, you are an amazing inspiration to all the husbands here! Please tell us what you are planning for your wife for your 50th anniversary.'
"Mario proudly replied, 'I'ma gonna go get her.'"
Send your favorite jokes, anecdotes, puns and tall tales to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com The best submission each month gets a brand-new Desert Exposure mouse pad, scientifically proven to take the strain out of emailing jokes to Desert Diary.
Postcards from the edge. . . More "postcards" this month from our traveling readers, taking us up on our standing invitation to snap and send us a photo of yourself on a trip, holding a copy of "the biggest little paper in the Southwest."
First up is Helen Lemal from Silver City, who writes, "I recently got back from an extensive trip to Australia and New Zealand. This picture is from Melbourne, taken a week or so after the Australian Open. I'm a local tennis player." She adds, "It was fun trying to explain to the others on the trip why I needed to take these."
The second photo comes from Patricia Taber of Silver City, at the Lee Metcalf Wildlife Refuge in Stevensville, Montana. We thought it might provide a cooling vision in the heat of summer!
Whether you're headed Down Under or Over There, take along a copy of Desert Exposure and get a photo of yourself with it "on location." Send to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062 or email diary@desertexposure.com