Sunday, January 26, 2014

My Private Parts

An old man, Mr. Wallace, was living in a nursing home. 

One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed.
 
Nurse Tracy asked him if there was anything wrong,
 
"Yes, Nurse Tracy," said Mr. Wallace.
 
"My Private Part died today, and I am very sad."
 
Knowing her patients were a little forgetful and
sometimes a little crazy, she replied, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Wallace. Please accept my condolences."
 
The following day, Mr. Wallace was walking down the hall with his Private Part hanging out of his pajamas.
 
He met Nurse Tracy. "Mr. Wallace," she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall like that. 
 
Please put your Private Part back inside your pajamas."

"But, Nurse Tracy I can't," replied Mr. Wallace. " I told you yesterday that my Private Part died.

 
"Yes," said Nurse Tracy, "you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your pajamas?"
 
(You've gotta love this ....)
 
"Well," he replied, "Today is the viewing."

 IF YOU ARE NOT LAUGHING SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU 

Sunday, January 19, 2014

The Old Pilot

A ragged, old, derelict shuffled into a down and dirty bar. Stinking of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands shook as he took the "Piano Player Wanted" sign from the window and handed it to the bartender.

"I'd like to apply for the job," he said. "I was an F-4 driver, flying off carriers back in ' Nam , but when they retired the Phantom all the thrill was gone, and soon they cashed me in as well.

I learned to play the piano at O-Club happy hours, so here I am."

The barkeep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was falling off. So, why not give him a try.

The seedy pilot staggered his way over to the piano while several patrons snickered.

By the time he was into his third bar of music, every voice was silenced.

What followed was a rhapsody of soaring music unlike anything heard in the bar before.

When he finished there wasn't a dry eye in the place.  The bartender took the old fighter pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song he had just played.

It's called "Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I'm Going Balls To The Wall For You" he said.

After a long pull from the beer, leaving it empty, he said "I wrote it myself."

The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but the piano player just went on into a knee-slapping, hand-clapping bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. After he finished, the fighter pilot acknowledged the applause, downed a second proffered mug, and told the crowd the song was called, "Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light.

He then launched into another mesmerizing song and everyone in the room was enthralled.

He announced that it was the latest rendition of his song, "Spread 'em Baby, It's Foggy Out Tonight and I Need To See The Centerline", excused himself and headed for the john.

When he came out the bartender went over to him and said, "Hey fly boy, the job is yours, but do you know your fly is open and your pecker is hanging out?"

"Know it?" the old fighter pilot replied, "Hell, I wrote it!"

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Cold Wife

Just got off the phone with a friend who lives in Minot, ND .He said
that since early this morning the snow has risen to nearly waist high and is still falling. 

The temperature is 12 below zero and wind chill is -29.  

His wife has done nothing but look through the kitchen window and just stare.

He says that if it gets much worse, he may have to let her in.