D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
July
2008
Speeding Tickets, Men of the Cloth and Warm Cookies
Plus signs you're no longer "cool" and
what not to ask before your trip to Australia.
Annals of law enforcement. . . New correspondent A.E. kicks us off with a tale that needs no cruise control:
"A New Mexican senior citizen drove his brand new BMW convertible out of the car salesroom. Taking off down the highway, he floored it to 90 mph, enjoying the wind blowing through what little hair he had left. 'Amazing!' he thought as he flew along, pushing the pedal to the metal even more. Looking in his rear view mirror, he saw a police car behind him, blue lights flashing and siren blaring. 'I can get away from him — no problem!' he thought as he floored it to 110 mph, then 120, then 130 mph.
"Suddenly, he thought, 'What on earth am I doing? I'm too old for this nonsense!' So he pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the police car to catch up with him.
"Pulling in behind the BMW, the police officer walked up to the driver's side, looked at his watch and said, 'Sir, my shift ends in 10 minutes. Today is Friday and I'm heading off for the weekend. If you can give me a reason why you were speeding that I've never heard before, I'll let you go.'
"The senior citizen looked very seriously at the policeman and replied, 'Years ago, my wife ran off with a policeman. I thought you were bringing her back.'
"'Have a good day, sir,' said the policeman."
Got a favorite funny to share? Send it to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com.
Putting starch in your collar. . . These two tales both come courtesy of Old Grumps and both mention the clergy. We couldn't resist pairing them up. . .
"A priest from Ireland was assigned to a Texas diocese. One morning, Father O'Malley rose from his bed. It was a fine spring day in his new Texas mission parish. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the beautiful day outside. He then noticed there was a jackass lying dead in the middle of his front lawn. He promptly called the local police station.
"The conversation went like this:
"'Good morning, this is Sergeant Jones, how might I help you?'
"'And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O'Malley at St. Brigid's . There's a jackass lying dead in me front lawn. Would ye be so kind as to send a couple o' yer lads to take care of the matter?'
"Sergeant Jones, considering himself to be quite a wit, replied with a smirk, 'Well now, Father, it was always my impression that you people took care of last rites!'
"There was dead silence on the line for a long moment. Father O'Malley then replied, 'Aye, 'tis certainly true, but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin.'"
"A woman takes a lover home during the day while her husband is at work. Her nine-year-old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them and hides in the bedroom closet to watch. The woman's husband also comes home. She puts her lover in the closet, not realizing the little boy is in there already. The little boy says, 'Dark in here.' The man says, 'Yes, it is.' Boy: 'I have a baseball.' Man: 'That's nice.' Boy: 'Want to buy it?' Man: 'No, thanks.' Boy: 'My dad's outside.' Man: 'OK, how much?' Boy: '$150.' Man: 'Sold.'
"In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover are in the closet together. Boy: 'Dark in here.' Man: 'Yes, it is.' Boy: 'I have a Wilson infielder's glove.' The lover, remembering the last time, asks the boy, 'How much?' Boy: '$350.' Man: 'Highway robbery. Sold.'
"A few days later, the father says to the boy, 'Grab your gloves, let's go outside and have a game of catch.' The boy says, 'I can't, I sold my ball and my glove.' The father asks, 'How much did you sell them for?' The boy says, '$500.' The father says, 'That's terrible to overcharge your friends like that. That is way more than those two things cost. I'm going to take you to church and make you confess your greed.'
"They go to the church and the father makes the little boy sit in the confession booth and he closes the door. The boy says, 'Dark in here.' The priest says, 'Don't start that crap again, you're in my closet now!'"
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . Our ongoing reportage from the front lines of the gender wars continues with this installment from Huntswoman:
"While attending a marriage seminar dealing with communication, Tom and his wife Grace listened to the instructor say, 'It is essential that husbands and wives know each other's likes and dislikes.'
"The instructor addressed Tom, 'Can you name your wife's favorite flower?'
"Tom leaned over, touched his wife's arm gently and whispered, 'It's Pillsbury, isn't it?'"
Postcardsrom the edge. . . Our cup runneth over with reader photos submitted from hither and yon, so this month we present two.
The photo above arrived with this note: "Hola from Sucre, Bolivia. Barbara and Gilbert Mora, Silver City residents, are spending two years in the Peace Corps here. Jeanie McLerie was kind enough to send us the Desert Exposure, as well as many other treats from home."
The photo below comes from Karen Dunn, who writes: "This photo of me on a camel showing DE amongst the 'Blue Men' in the Sahara was taken in Morocco."
Going places? Take us with you on your next trip and send home a snapshot of yourself holding "the biggest little paper in the Southwest." Send to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, or by email to diary@desertexposure.com
You're only as old as you feel. . . Another new correspondent, Scoggin, reminds us that perhaps it's time to take the Partridge Family records off the stereo:
"You are no longer 'cool' when. . .
"You find yourself listening to talk radio.
"Your daughter says she got pierced and you look at her ears.
"The pattern on your shorts and couch match.
"You fondly remember your powder-blue leisure suit.
"You think Tragically Hip is when a middle-aged man gets a new sports car, hair piece and a 20-year-old girlfriend.
"You criticize the kids of today for their satanic suicide-inducing music, forgetting that you rocked to Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath.
"You call the police on a noisy party next door instead of grabbing a beer and joining it.
"You turn down free tickets to a rock concert because you have to work the next day.
"Grass is something that you cut, not cultivate.
"Jogging is something you do to your memory.
"All the cars behind you flash their headlights.
"You bought your first car for the same price you paid for your son's new running shoes.
"You actually ASK for your father's advice.
"You don't know how to operate a fax machine.
"When someone mentions 'surfing' you picture waves and a surf board.
"'Getting a little action' means your prune juice is working."
Share your lists, yarns and jokes with Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, fax 534-4134, email diary@desertexposure.com.
The joke's on us. . . This tale of the last laugh, so to speak, comes to us courtesy of Ned Ludd:
"An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate-chip cookies wafting up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort forced himself down the stairs, gripping the railing with both hands.
"With labored breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven: There, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table, were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate-chip cookies. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
"Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
"His aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife.
"'Stay out of those!' she said. 'They're for the funeral.'"