God, the Devil, Golfers and Human Resources Execs in Hell
Plus fashion tips for new AARP members, useful euphemisms and how to know when technology has taken over your life.
Going to heck. . .Commencing what for reasons we can't fathom (perhaps it's divine inspiration) somehow seems to be an unusually nonsecular edition of Desert Diary, Poet Lodge offers this tale of "Improvements in Hell":
"An engineer died and ended up in Hell. He was not pleased with the level of comfort in Hell, and began to redesign and build improvements. After awhile, they had toilets that flushed, air conditioning and escalators. Everyone grew very fond of him.
"One day God called to Satan to mock him, 'So, how's it going down there in Hell?'
"Satan replied, 'Hey, things are great. We've got air conditioning and flush toilets and escalators, and there's no telling what this engineer is going to come up with next.'
"God was surprised. 'What? You've got an engineer? That's a mistake. He should never have gotten down there in the first place. Send him back up here.'
"'No way,' replied Satan. 'I like having an engineer, and I'm keeping him.'
"God threatened, 'Send him back up here now or I'll sue!'
"Satan laughed and answered, 'Yeah, right. And just where are YOU going to get a lawyer?'"
The future's not what it used to be. . . Continuing our celebration of the sometimes-dubious joys of modern technology, Toni in the Vet's Office sends along this list of "You know you are living in 2006 when. . .
If all this sounds wayyy too familiar, why not share your own tales of technology with us at Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134 or (of course!) email diary@desertexposure.com.
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . This humorous volley in the gender wars comes courtesy of Ned Ludd:
"A lady walked into a pharmacy and told the pharmacist that she needed some cyanide.
"The pharmacist said, 'Why in the world do you need cyanide?'
"The lady then explained she needed it to poison her husband.
"The pharmacist's eyes got big and he said, 'Lord, have mercy! I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband! That's against the law! I'll lose my license, they'll throw both of us in jail and all kinds of bad things will happen! Absolutely not, you can NOT have any cyanide!'
"The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist's wife.
"The pharmacist looked at the picture and replied, 'Well, now. You didn't tell me you had a prescription.'"
Political corrections. . . Rising to our challenge to suggest new euphemisms for our times, new correspondent Blue Meany writes:
"He's not 'supersizing his meal'—he's 'casting the carbon vote for upgrading his wardrobe to a size of greater amplitude.'
"He's not a 'compulsive liar'—he's 'dedicated to not overburdening others with a multiplicity of facts.'
"He's not overweight—he's 'unfairly discriminated against by gravity.'
"He's not going after a fast-food fix—-he's 'including his vehicle in the dining experience.'
"He's not a lottery player—he's 'learning to conceptualize probability the hard way.'
"He's not buying a lottery ticket—he's 'purchasing a $1 certification of stupidity.'
"He's not an adulterer—he's 'conscientiously verifying that the spousal selection was indeed optional.'
"He's didn't get a speeding ticket—he 'received a signed official recognition of successful minimalization of the distance between two discrete points.'
"He is not guilty of sexual harassment—he 'infringed upon the rights of women safeguarding them from the advances of unattractive men.'
"She is not bulimic—she's 'double-checking food for quality and taste.'
"He is not exaggerating the truth—he's 'reducing the likelihood of failing to communicate some essential concern.'
"He's not doing sloppy work—he's 'allowing chaos theory to play a prominent role in his personal growth experience.'
"He didn't fail a sobriety test—he was 'overly concerned that a demonstration of his ability to touch the tip of his nose with his fingertips would doom him to an appearance on "America's Got Talent."'"
Inspired by Blue Meany's example? Or merely envious of the highly collectible 10th-anniversary Desert Exposure mug he'll shortly be receiving (see the end of this column for details). Either way, send your own fresh takes on political correctness to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134 or email diary@desertexposure.com.
Is that your putter or are you just happy to see me?. . . We are assured that the following is an actual sign posted at a golf club in Scottsdale, Ariz. If not, it should be:
"Back straight, knees bent, feet shoulder width apart.
"Form a loose grip.
"Keep your head down.
"Avoid a quick backswing.
"Stay out of the water.
"Try not to hit anyone.
"If you are taking too long, please let others go ahead of you.
"Don't stand directly in front of others.
"Quiet, please, while others are preparing to go.
"Don't take extra strokes.
"Well done! Now flush the urinal, go outside, and tee off."
Capital pun-ishment. . . We're withholding the identity of the contributor of the following groaner for his or her own protection:
"There was a tradesman, a painter named Jack, who was very interested in making a dollar where he could. So he often would thin down his paint to make it go a wee bit further. As it happened, he got away with this for some time.
"Eventually the local church decided to do a big restoration project. Jack put in a painting bid and, because his price was so competitive, he got the job. And so he started, erecting the trestles and putting up the planks, and buying the paint and thinning it down with turpentine.
"Jack was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly done, when suddenly there was a horrendous clap of thunder. The sky opened and the rain poured down, washing the thin paint from all over the church and knocking Jack off the scaffold to land on the lawn.
"Jack was no fool. He knew this was a judgment from the Almighty, so he fell on his knees and cried, 'Oh, God! Forgive me! What should I do?'
"And from the thunder, a mighty Voice spoke, 'Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!'"
The joke's on us. . . Didn't we warn you that this month's Desert Diary had a certain religious (or sacrilegious) theme? That continues with the following favorite funny sent in by Gila Hiker:
"Murphy showed up at Mass one Sunday and the priest almost fell down when he saw him. Murphy had never been seen in church in his life. After Mass, the priest caught Murphy and said, 'Murphy, I am so glad you decided to come to Mass, but what made you come?'
"Murphy said, 'I've got to be honest with you, Father. Awhile back, I misplaced me hat and I really, really love that hat. I know that McGlynn had a hat just like me hat, and I knew that McGlynn came to church every Sunday. I also knew that McGlynn had to take off his hat during Mass and I figured he would leave it in the back of church. So, I was going to leave after Communion and steal McGlynn's hat.'
"The priest said, 'Well, Murphy, I notice that you didn't steal McGlynn's hat. What changed your mind?'
"Murphy replied, 'Well, after I heard your sermon on the 10 Commandments, I decided that I didn't need to steal McGlynn's hat.'
"The priest gave Murphy a big smile and said, 'After I talked about 'Thou shalt not steal,' you decided you would rather do without your hat than burn in Hell, right?'
"Murphy shook his head and said, 'No, Father, after you talked about 'Thou shalt not commit adultery,' I remembered where I left me hat.'"
You're not getting older. . . For those of you who are, as they say, "getting along in years," frequent correspondent Grumps thoughtfully shares this "Senior Dress Code":
"Many of us 'Old Folks' (those over 50, way over 50 or hovering near 50) are quite confused about how we should present ourselves. We are unsure about the kind of image we are projecting and whether or not we are correct as we try to conform to current fashions. Despite what you may have seen on the streets, the following combinations DO NOT go together and should be avoided:
- A nose ring and bifocals
- A pierced tongue and dentures
- Spiked hair and bald spots.
- Mini-skirts and support hose.
- Ankle bracelets and corn pads.
- Speedos and cellulite.
- A bellybutton ring and a gall-bladder surgery scar.
- Unbuttoned disco shirts and heart monitor.
- Midriff shirts and midriff bulge.
- bikinis and liver spots.
- Short shorts and varicose veins.
- Inline skates and a walker.
- Thongs and Depends.
Par for the course. . . We also seem to have a bit of a golfing theme going this month, as evidenced by this anonymous submission:
"A man and his wife walked into a dentist's office. The man said to the dentist, 'Doc, I'm in one hell of a hurry! I have two buddies sitting out in my car waiting for us to go play golf. So forget about the anesthetic and just pull the tooth and be done with it. We have a 10 a.m. tee time at the best golf course in town and it's 9:30 already. I don't have time to wait for the anesthetic to work!'
"The dentist thought to himself, 'My goodness, this is surely a very brave man asking to have his tooth pulled without using anything to kill the pain.' So the dentist asked the golfer, 'Which tooth is it, sir?'
"The man turned to his wife and said, 'Open your mouth, honey, and show him.'"
Climbing the corporate ladder. . . Lawyer jokes, sure. But Human Resources Manager jokes? Barb Up North may be helping to launch a whole new genre here:
"One day while walking down the street, a highly successful Human Resources Manager was tragically hit by a bus and she died. Her soul arrived up in heaven, where she was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself.
"'Welcome to Heaven,' said St. Peter. 'Before you get settled in, though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a Human Resources Manager make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you.'
"'No problem, just let me in,' said the woman.
"'Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven, and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in.'
"'Actually, I think I've made up my mind. I prefer to stay in Heaven', said the woman.
"'Sorry, we have rules. . .' And with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell.
"The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends—fellow executives she had worked with—and they were well dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed a wonderful steak and lobster dinner.
"She met the Devil, who was actually a really nice guy (kind of cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave.
"Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as she got on the elevator. The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates, where she found St. Peter waiting for her.
"'Now it's time to spend a day in Heaven,' he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. She had a great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St. Peter came and got her.
"'So, you've spent a day in Hell and you've spent a day in Heaven. Now you must choose your eternity,' he said.
"The woman paused for a second and then replied, 'Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell.'
"So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-down back to Hell.
"When the doors of the elevator opened, she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks.
"The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"'I don't understand,' stammered the woman. 'Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable.'
"The Devil looked at her, smiled and said, 'Yesterday we were recruiting you. Today you're an employee.'"
Share your favorite jokes, heavenly or otherwise, anecdotes and pithy observations on life with Desert Dairy at PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com. Remember, the best submission each month gets rewarded with a 10th-anniversary Desert Exposure coffee mug, soon to be a priceless collectible!