TGIF

The sun is shining, there is a mild breeze, the trees are bursting into bloom, and the birds are singing. It is a perfect day to sit down with a longneck and enjoy some relaxation. In  keeping with this spirit I propose you get into the mood with a few funny stories.

Married 50 years 
After being married for 50 years, I took a careful look at my wife one day and said, “Fifty years ago we had a cheap house, a junk car, slept on a sofa-bed and watched a 10-inch black and white TV.  But hey I got to sleep every night with a hot 23-year-old girl.
Now … I have a $750,000 home, a $45,000 car, a nice big bed and a large screen TV, but I’m sleeping with a 73-year-old woman.
So I said to my wife “it seems to me that you’re not holding up your side of things.”
My wife is a very reasonable woman.  She told me to go out and find a hot 23-year-old girl and she would make sure that I would once again be living in a cheap house, driving a junk car, sleeping on a sofa bed and watching a 10-inch black and white TV.
Aren’t older women great?
They really know how to solve an old guy’s problems!
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No one believes seniors . . . everyone thinks they are senile.
An elderly couple was celebrating their sixtieth anniversary.  The couple had married as childhood sweethearts and had moved back to their old neighborhood after they retired.  Holding hands, they walked back to their old school.  It was not locked, so they entered, and found the old desk they shared, where Andy had carved ‘I love you, Sally’.

On their way back home, a bag of money fell out of an armored car, practically landing at their feet.  Sally quickly picked it up and, not sure what to do with it, they took it home.  There, she counted the money – fifty thousand dollars!

Andy said, “We’ve got to give it back.”

Sally said, “Finders keepers.”  She put the money back in the bag and hid it in their attic.

The next day, two police officers were canvassing the neighborhood looking for the money, and knocked on their door, “Pardon me, did either of you find a bag that fell out of an armored car yesterday?”

Sally said, “No.”

Andy said, “She’s lying. She hid it up in the attic.”

Sally said, “Don’t believe him, he’s getting senile.”

The agents turned to Andy and began to question him.  One said: “Tell us the story from the beginning.”

Andy said, “Well, when Sally and I were walking home from school yesterday … “

The first police officer turned to his partner and said, “We’re outta here!”
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A Jewish  grandmother   is giving directions to her grown grandson who is coming  to visit with his   wife.

“You come to the front door of the apartment. I am in apartment 301 .   There is a big panel at the front door. With your elbow, push button  301.  I will buzz you in. Come inside, the elevator is on the right.  Get in, and with your elbow, push 301. When you get out, I’m on the  left. With your elbow, hit my doorbell.”

“Grandma, that sounds easy, but, why am I hitting all these  buttons with my elbow

………”What . . . .. .. You’re coming empty handed?”

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Why Italian Fathers and Grandfathers pass their handguns down through the family.
An old Italian man is dying. He calls his grandson to his  bedside, Guido,   I wan’ you lissina me. I wan’ you to take-a  my   chrome plated ..38 revolver so you will always remember  me.””But grandpa, I really don’t like guns.. How about you leave  me your   Rolex watch instead?”

“You lissina me, boy. Somma day you gonna   be runna  da business, you gonna have a beautiful   wife, lotsa money, a big-a  home and maybe a couple   of bambinos. Somma day you gonna come-a
home and maybe finda  you   wife inna bed with another man.  Whatta you gonna do then? Pointa to you watch and say, ‘times up’ “?

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An attractive blonde from Cork, Ireland , arrived at the casino. She seemed a little intoxicated and bet twenty thousand dollars in a single roll of the dice.

She said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel much luckier when I’m completely nude.”
With that, she stripped from the neck down,  rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, “Come on, baby,  Mama needs new clothes!”

As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed. “Yes! Yes! I won, I won!” She hugged each of  the   dealers, picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly  departed.

The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded.

Finally, one of them asked, “What did she roll?”

The  other answered, “I don’t know – I thought you were watching.”

MORAL OF THE STORY

Not all Irish are drunks, not all blondes are dumb,

…… but all men…are men!

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COLONOSCOPY IN SAN FRANCISCO

Being nervous, and embarrassed about my up-coming colonoscopy, 
on a recommendation, I decided to have it done while visiting friends
in San Francisco where the beautiful nurses are allegedly more gentle and accommodating.As I lay naked on my side on the table, the gorgeous nurse began my
procedure. 

“Don’t worry, at this stage of the procedure it’s quite normal to
get an erection,” the nurse told me.

“I haven’t got an erection,” I replied.

“I have,” replied the nurse.

Don’t get a colonoscopy in San Francisco

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An Irishman moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers.

The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone.

An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more.

This happens yet again.

The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. “I don’t mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers?”

‘Tis odd, isn’t it?” the man replies, “You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond.”

The bartender and the whole town was pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening – he orders only two beers. The word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, “Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know-the two beers and all…”

The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, “You’ll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well… It’s just that I, myself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent.”

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A young Arab boy asks his father, “What is that weird hat you are wearing?”

> 
> The father said, “Why, it’s a ‘chechia’ because in the desert it 
> protects our heads from the intense heat of the sun.”
> 
> “And what is this type of clothing that you are wearing?” asked the 
> young man.
> 
> “It’s a ‘djbellah’ because in the desert it is very hot and it 
> protects the body,” said the father.
> 
> The son asked, “And what about those ugly shoes on your feet?”
> 
> His father replied, “These are ‘babouches’ which keep us from burning 
> our feet from hot sand in the desert.”
> 
> “So tell me then,” added the boy.
> 
> “Yes, my son?”
> “Why are you living in Dearborn Michigan and still wearing all this shit

Pour Me A Stiff One

You Have to Love Those Irish

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Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important
meeting and couldn’t find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said,
‘Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass
every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!’

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said, ‘Never mind, I found one.’

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Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and asks the first man he meets,
‘Do you want to go to heaven?’

The man said, ‘I do, Father…’

The priest said, ‘Then stand over there against the wall.’

Then the priest asked the second man, ‘Do you want to go to heaven?’

‘Certainly, Father,’ the man replied.

‘Then stand over there against the wall,’ said the priest.

Then Father Murphy walked up to O’Toole and asked, ‘Do you want to go to
heaven?’

O’Toole said, ‘No, I don’t Father.’

The priest said, ‘I don’t believe this. You mean to tell me that when you
die you don’t want to go to heaven?’

O’Toole said, ‘Oh, when I die, yes. I thought you were getting a group
together to go right now.’

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Paddy was in New York.

He was patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street
crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, ‘Okay,
pedestrians.’ Then he’d allow the traffic to pass.

He’d done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.

After the cop had shouted, ‘Pedestrians!’ for the tenth time, Paddy went over
to him and said, ‘Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?’

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Gallagher opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to read in the
obituary column that he had died. He quickly phoned his best friend, Finney.
‘Did you see the paper?’ asked Gallagher. ‘They say I died!!’

‘Yes, I saw it!’ replied Finney. ‘Where are ye callin’ from?’

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An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in
Connecticut .. The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest’s breath and
then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.

He says, ‘Sir, have you been drinking?’

‘Just water,’ says the priest.

The trooper says, ‘Then why do I smell wine?’

The priest looks at the bottle and says, ‘Good Lord! He’s done it again!’

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Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender, ‘Pour me a stiff one
– just had another fight with the little woman.’

‘Oh yeah?’ said Charlie, ‘And how did this one end?’

‘When it was over,’ Mike replied, ‘She came to me on her hands and knees.’

‘Really,’ said Charles, ‘Now that’s a switch! What did she say?’

She said, ‘Come out from under the bed, you little chicken.’

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David staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy,
Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.

He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs
bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the
banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey
bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.

Managing not to yell, David sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in
the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He
managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid
as best he could on each place he saw blood..

He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his
way to bed.

In the morning, David woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and
Kathleen staring at him from across the room.

She said, ‘You were drunk again last night weren’t you?’

David said, ‘Why would you say such a mean thing?’

‘Well,’ Kathleen said, ‘it could be the open front door, it could be the
broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood
trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly ……
it’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.
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Technology, Ain’t it Great?

My heart got an unexpected workout this week. This is a long story so, pull up your chair and relax with your favorite beverage in hand.

Wednesday, was the day of our Steppenwolf subscription. The play we saw is Penelope, written by Irish play right Enda Walsh. At first, I thought that name was mis-spelled and should have read Edna. It wasn’t, the guy has a weird name. His name may explain this weird play. The story is based on Homer’s “Odyssey”. Imagine four guys clad in Speedos having a conversation for ninety-minutes.

The evening began with a smooth uneventful fifty minute drive with our friends. Unlike the last time when we were locked in a one-hundred-fifty minute traffic jam and just made it in time for the curtain. That night we dined on Sweet Miss Givings chocolate chip cookies. This night the traffic was light and the sky was clear, although the prediction was for snow. I parked the Death Star in the valet spot in front of Gianni’s Ristorante on Halstead Street; one of our favorite restaurants. I asked the valet to keep the car close by, as we would be bringing out left-over food and I wanted to store it in the trunk rather than carry it into the theater. He was gracious and said he would.

We met a third couple inside the restaurant and had a lovely time over a liesurely dinner. We left Gianni’s a half hour before the curtain. I asked the valet to open the car which he had parked in front. He took the bag, and I watched as he fumbled trying to open the trunk. He kept pushing the button on the key fob but nothing happened. I went to his rescue. I said, watch this. I held the fob in my hand and pushed the tiny, well concealed, button on the right tail light lens. Nothing happened, nada. “That’s strange,” I exclaimed. I went to the car door, the same thing happened. The key fob which is the miraculous technological wand with which I play “Open Sesame,”  stopped functioning. Luckily, Toyota thought this might happen and provided a conventional “key” to open the driver’s door manually. I showed the valet what I did and instructed him on how to start the car with a dead key fob. We crossed Halstead Street to Steppenwolf and  forgot about the incident. Before I left the Valet, I asked him to move the car to the other side of the street so we would be positioned for a fast getaway at the end of the show. Again, he graciously agreed to do so. I left him knowing full well that he could have major problems locking, opening, and starting the car.

The six of us suffered through Penelope and had some lively discussion about what the heck we saw. The third couple, agreed to stick around until they saw us safely underway in the Death Star. The suspense of not knowing if the car would start was killing me. As I stepped out of the theater, I searched Halstead looking for the white car. At first my view was blocked by other patrons leaving, then I spotted it. The valet started the engine while we walked toward it. He reported the key worked again, but stopped the next time they tried to use it.

The drive home went as quickly as the drive there. Our conversation about the play continued. All agreed that we didn’t understand a damn thing. I commented that the last time we saw a play we were baffled by, it too was by an Irish playwright. His name was Thomas Beckett. It must be the effect of the Irish whiskey being swilled in Irish pubs.

A new light appeared on my dashboard. A yellow icon of a key with a line through it indicated that the car did not see a key anywhere within range of it’s wirelss signal. The light stayed on during the entire drive. I kept praying the Death Star would remain running until we arrived.

Once we were home, I found my extra key fob and tested it with the car. It worked fine. The next morning, I bought a new battery for the fob and now the Death Star  is happy again, and so am I. The doors work, the trunk opens, and the motor starts, all by pushing buttons, but we still don’t have a clue about the message of Penelope.