Out of the Mouths of Babes. . . Plus Creative Funerals and Giving Up on Adulthood
Along with more ways to know you live in New Mexico and if your body were a car.
Persons of the blonde persuasion. . . We begun this month's extended edition of Desert Diary with a yarn that comes to us courtesy of Ned Ludd, and with our usual admonition that readers may feel free to substitute the hair color of their choice in the following:
"Bob, a handsome dude, walked into a sports bar around 9:58 p.m. He sat down next to a blonde at the bar and stared up at the TV. The 10 p.m. news was coming on. The news crew was covering a story of a man on a ledge of a large building preparing to jump. The blonde looked at Bob and said, 'Do you think he'll jump?'
"Bob said, 'You know, I bet he'll jump.'
"The blonde replied, 'Well, I bet he won't.'
"Bob placed a $20 bill on the bar and said, 'You're on!'
"Just as the blonde placed her money on the bar, the guy on the ledge did a swan dive off the building, falling to his death. The blonde was very upset, but willingly handed her $20 to Bob, saying, 'Fair's fair. Here's your money.'
"Bob replied, 'I can't take your money, I saw this earlier on the 5 p.m. news and so I knew he would jump.'
"The blonde replied, 'I did, too, but I didn't think he'd do it again.'"
Ashes to ashes. . . For reasons we'd rather not even know about, Iguana Lady says this funny she passed along made her think of us:
"A cardiologist died and was given an elaborate funeral. A huge heart, covered in flowers, stood behind the casket during the service. Following the eulogy, the heart opened, and the casket rolled inside. The heart then closed, sealing the doctor in the beautiful heart forever.
"At that point, one of the mourners burst into laughter.
"When all eyes stared at him, he said, 'I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my own funeral—I'm a gynecologist.'
"The proctologist fainted."
Does a favorite joke make you think of Desert Diary? Send it our way—and no, we don't need to know why, just to laugh. Email diary@desertexposure.com, fax 534-4134 or mail to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062. Remember, the best submission each month gets rewarded with a highly collectible Desert Exposure coffee mug!
You know you live in New Mexico when. . . Continuing one of our perennial themes here at Desert Diary, Pat passes along this list of ways you know you do indeed live in the Land of Enchantment:
"You know you live in New Mexico when. . .
"You have been told by at least one out-of-state vendor that they are going to charge you extra for international shipping.
"You know what it means when they say it's from Hatch.
"Your Christmas decorations include red chiles, a half-ton of sand and 200 paper bags.
"You pass on the right because that is the fast-lane.
"All your out-of-state friends and relatives ask if they can drink the water when they come to visit.
"You're relieved when the pavement ends because the dirt road has fewer potholes.
"You've seen the bat flight at Carlsbad Caverns and have a T-shirt that says, 'Bats need friends, too!'
"You know what the night sky looks like full of stars and not pollution.
"You've gone swimming in an arroyo or an acequia.
"You've cooked an egg on the sidewalk.
"You can identify a quail, peacock, coyote, roadrunner, cricket, etc. by the sound they make.
"You stop in the road when quail are crossing to wait for the whole family to get across."
Norwegian would. . . Perhaps this one from Old Grump strikes our funny bone because we grew up on Norwegian jokes about "Ole" and "Lena." Thin-skinned Norskies and the easily offended should, however, skip ahead:
"Ole is walking home late at night, through the park, and sees a woman in the shadows. 'Twenty dollars,' she whispers. He'd never been with a hooker before, but decides, what the heck, it's only 20 bucks and no one ever has to know. So Ole and the woman hide in the bushes.
"The woman begins earning her 20 bucks, but then all of a sudden a light flashes on them—it's a police officer. 'What's going on here, people?' asks the officer.
"'I'm making luff to my vife,' Ole answers indignantly.
"'Oh, I'm sorry,' says the cop. 'I didn't know.'
"'Vell,' says Ole, 'I din't neder, 'til you shine that damn light in her face!'"
Postcards from the edge. . . Our latest reader photos come all the way from Japan. Richard and Ruth Roth of Las Cruces responded to our call to take a photo of yourself on vacation holding up a copy of Desert Exposure with a bunch of charming pictures, including the two seen here.
|
Take us with you on your next trip—to the other side of the world or just to Hoboken—and send home a snapshot of yourself holding "the biggest little paper in the Southwest"! Send it to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, or by email to diary@desertexposure.com.
Kids say the darnedest things. . . It's stories like this, sent our way by Dakota Duaine, that make us both sorry and glad we no longer have a loose-lipped youngster in the house:
"A mother took her five-year-old son with her to the bank on a busy lunchtime. They got behind a very fat woman wearing a business suit, complete with pager. As they waited patiently, the little boy said loudly, 'Gee, she's fat!' The mother bent down and whispered in the little boy's ear to be quiet.
"A couple of minutes passed by and the little boy spread his hands as far as they would go and announced, 'I'll bet her butt is this wide!' The fat woman turned around and glared at the little boy. The mother gave him a good telling off, and told him to be quiet.
"After another brief lull, the large woman reached the front of the line. Just then her pager began to emit a 'beep, beep, beep.'
"The little boy yelled out, 'Run for your life, she's backing up!'"
Feeling your age? Share your thoughts on the joys of getting older with Desert Diary at diary@desertexposure.com, fax 534-4134 or PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062.
School daze. . We seem to have no shortage of "darnedest-thing"-spouting youngsters this month. Consider this yarn sent by Toni in the Vet's Office:
"The sixth-grade science teacher, Mrs. Parks, asked her class, 'Which human body part increases to 10 times its size when stimulated?'
"No one answered until little Mary stood up, angry, and said, 'You should not be asking sixth-graders a question like that! I'm going to tell my parents, and they will go and tell the principal, who will then fire you!' With a sneer on her face, she then sat back down.
"Mrs. Parks ignored her and asked the question again, 'Which body part increases to 10 times its size when stimulated?'
"Little Mary's mouth fell open. Then she said to those around her, 'Boy, is she going to get in big trouble!'
"The teacher continued to ignore her and said to the class, 'Anybody?' Finally, Billy stood up, looked around nervously, and said, 'The body part that increases 10 times its size when stimulated is the pupil of the eye.'
"Mrs. Parks said, 'Very good, Billy,' then turned to Mary and continued. 'As for you, young lady, I have three things to say: One, you have a dirty mind. Two, you didn't read your homework. And three, one day you are going to be very, very, disappointed!'"
Our pets, ourselves. . . That emailing fiend Ned Ludd returns with this canine saga:
"One day out in the Texas panhandle, a guy sees a sign in front of a house: 'Talking Dog for Sale.' He rings the bell and the owner tells him the dog is in the backyard.
"The guy goes into the backyard and sees a black Lab just sitting there. 'You talk?' he asks.
"'Yep,' the Lab replies.
"'So, what's your story?'
"The Lab looks up and says, 'Well, I discovered this gift pretty young and I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable spies eight years running. The jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn't getting any younger and I wanted to settle down. So I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings there and was awarded a batch of medals. Had a wife, a mess of puppies, and now I'm just retired.'
"The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.
"'Ten dollars.'
"The guy is dumbfounded. 'This dog is amazing,' he says. 'Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?'
"The owner replies, 'He's a liar. He didn't do any of that stuff.'"
Who's your daddy? We can't vouch for the veracity of these entries passed along by Real McCoy, but they're entertaining nonetheless. Purportedly, these are all answers that Dallas women have written on child-support agency forms in the section for listing "father's details":
"Regarding the identity of the father of my twins, child A was fathered by Jim M——-. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of child B, but I believe that he was conceived on the same night.
"I don't know the identity of the father of my daughter. He drives a BMW that now has a hole made by my stiletto in one of the door panels. Perhaps you can contact BMW service stations in this area and see if he's had it replaced.
"I cannot tell you the name of child A's dad as he informs me that to do so would blow his cover and that would have cataclysmic implications for the economy. I am torn between doing right by you and right by the country. Please advise.
"Peter S—— is the father of child A. If you do catch up with him, can you ask him what he did with my AC/DC CDs? Child B who was also borned at the same time. . . well, I don't have a clue.
"From the dates it seems that my daughter was conceived at Disney World; maybe it really is the Magic Kingdom.
"So much about that night is a blur. The only thing that I remember for sure is Delia Smith did a program about eggs earlier in the evening. If I had stayed in and watched more TV rather than going to the party, mine might have remained unfertilized."
Annals of capitalism. . . Continuing this month's thread on the, er, joys of childhood, erstwhile correspondent JackB returns with this tale of enterprising Little Johnny:
"The kids filed into class Monday morning. They were very excited. Their weekend assignment was to sell something, then give a talk on productive salesmanship. Little Sally led off: 'I sold Girl Scout cookies and I made $30,' she said proudly. 'My sales approach was to appeal to the customer's civil spirit and I credit that approach for my obvious success.'
"'Very good,' said the teacher. Little Jenny was next: 'I sold magazines,' she said. 'I made $45 and I explained to everyone that magazines would keep them up on current events.'
"'Very good, Jenny,' said the teacher. Eventually, it was Little Johnny's turn. The teacher held her breath.
"Little Johnny walked to the front of the classroom and dumped a box full of cash on the teacher's desk. '$2,467,' he said.
"'$2,467!' cried the teacher, 'What in the world were you selling?'
"'Toothbrushes,' said Little Johnny.
"'Toothbrushes?' echoed the teacher. 'How could you possibly sell enough toothbrushes to make that much money?'
"'I found the busiest corner in town,' said Little Johnny. 'I set up a Dip & Chip stand. I gave everybody who walked by a sample. They all said the same thing, "Hey, this tastes like crap!" Then I would say, 'It is crap. Wanna buy a toothbrush?'"
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . This update from the front lines of the war between men and women comes to us courtesy of Bob in the Garage:
"Larry was in trouble. He forgot his wedding anniversary. His wife was really angry. She told him, 'Tomorrow morning, I expect to find a gift in the driveway that goes from 0 to 200 in less than six seconds—AND IT BETTER BE THERE!'
"The next morning Larry got up early and left for work. When his wife woke up, she looked out the window and, sure enough, there was a box gift-wrapped in the middle of the driveway. Confused, the wife put on her robe and ran out to the driveway. She brought the box back in the house. She opened it and found a brand-new bathroom scale.
"Larry has been missing since Friday."
Pondering the imponderables. . . Finally, we confess that there are days when we feel like signing on to this official "resignation," sent our way by Lorenzo:
"I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an eight-year-old again.
"I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four-star restaurant. I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks. I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them. I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
"I want to return to a time when life was simple—when all you knew were colors, multiplication tables and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
"I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good. I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
"I want to live simply again. I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones. I want to believe in love, smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.
"So here are my checkbook and my car keys, my credit card bills and my 401(k) statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood. And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, because. . . Tag! You're it!"
Even self-proclaimed eight-year-olds can share with Desert Diary! Send your jokes, puns, heartwarming anecdotes and cosmic ponderings to:
Desert Diary
PO Box 191
Silver City, NM
88062, fax 534-4134
email diary@desertexposure.com
Remember, the best submission
each month gets a highly collectible Desert
Exposure coffee mug.
