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Cop Talk and Blond Guys

Plus finding Grandpa and ringing a bell.

 

Kids say the darnedest things... From the mouths of babes — and the email of GeeRichard — we have this first yarn:

"While shopping with his grandfather, a small boy became separated from the elderly man. Remembering what he was taught about safety around strangers, the child sought out a uniformed mall security officer. 'I've lost my Grandpa,' the boy told him.

"'What's his name?' the officer asked.

"'Grandpa,' the boy replied.

"The officer smiled, then asked. 'What's he like?'

"The boy pondered for few moments, then his face brightened and he said, 'Single-malt whisky and women with big chests!'"

 

Annals of law enforcement... Southern cops have a way with words, says Old Grumps, who sends along what are purported to be "actual comments made by South Carolina troopers that were taken off their car videos":

"'You know, stop lights don't come any redder than the one you just went through.'

"'Relax, the handcuffs are tight because they're new. They'll stretch after you wear them a while.'

"'If you take your hands off the car, I'll make your birth certificate a worthless document.'

"'If you run, you'll only go to jail tired.'

"'Can you run faster than 1,200 feet per second? Because that's the speed of the bullet that'll be chasing you.'

"'You don't know how fast you were going? I guess that means I can write anything I want to on the ticket, huh?'

"'Yes, sir, you can talk to the shift supervisor, but I don't think it will help. Oh, did I mention that I'm the shift supervisor?'

"'Warning! You want a warning? OK, I'm warning you not to do that again or I'll give you another ticket.'

"'The answer to this last question will determine whether you are drunk or not. Was Mickey Mouse a cat or a dog?'

"'Fair? You want me to be fair? Listen, fair is a place where you go to ride on rides, eat cotton candy and corn dogs and step in monkey poop.'

"'Yeah, we have a quota. Two more tickets and my wife gets a toaster oven.'

"'No, sir, we don't have quotas anymore. We used to, but now we're allowed to write as many tickets as we can.'

"'I'm glad to hear that the chief (of police) is a personal friend of yours. So you know someone who can post your bail.'

"'You didn't think we give pretty women tickets? You're right, we don't. Sign here.'"

 

Don't make us issue a warrant for your jokes! Send them to diary@desertexposure.com and maybe we'll go easy on you.

 

 

A close shave... Thanks to Ned Ludd for sharing this grooming tale:

"An old cowboy walks into the barbershop for a shave and a haircut and he tells the barber he can't get all his whiskers off because his cheeks are wrinkled from age. The barber gets a little wooden ball from a cup on the shelf and tells the old cowboy to put it inside his cheek to spread out the skin.

"When he's finished, the old cowboy tells the barber that was the cleanest shave he's had in years. But he wanted to know what would have happened if he had swallowed that little ball.

"The barber replied, 'Just bring it back in a couple of days like everyone else does.'"

 

Losing the battle of the sexes... We have several reports from the front lines of the gender wars this month, beginning with this courtesy of the Silver City Greek:

"The mother-in-law arrives home from shopping to find her son-in-law boiling angry and hurriedly packing his suitcase. 'What happened?' she asks anxiously.

"'What happened!? I'll tell you what happened. I sent an e-mail to my wife telling her I was coming home from my fishing trip today. I get home and guess what I found? Yes, your daughter, my Jean, with a naked guy in our marital bed! This is unforgivable, the end of our marriage. I'm done. I'm leaving forever!'

"'Calm down, calm down!' says his mother-in-law. 'There is something very odd going on here. Jean would never do such a thing! There must be a simple explanation. I'll go speak to her immediately and find out what happened.'

"Moments later, the mother-in-law comes back with a big smile. 'I told you there must be a simple explanation,' she says. 'Jean didn't get your e-mail!'"

 

On a more philosophical note, there's this submission from Toni in the Vet's Office:

"No dictionary has ever been able to define the difference between 'complete' and 'finished.' However, in a linguistic conference, held in London and attended by some of the best linguists in the world, Samsundar Balgobin, a Guyanese, was the clever winner. His final challenge was this:

"Some say there is no difference between 'complete' and 'finished.' Please explain the difference in a way that is easy to understand.

"His response was:

"'When you marry the right woman, you are "complete." If you marry the wrong woman, you are "finished." And, when the right one catches you with the wrong one, you are "completely finished."'

"His answer received a five-minute standing ovation."

 

Finally, CharlesC passes along this romantic yarn:

"A wife, being the romantic sort, sent her husband a text: 'If you are sleeping, send me your dreams. If you are laughing, send me your smile. If you are eating, send me a bite. If you are drinking send me a sip. If you are crying, send me your tears. I love you!'

"The husband replied, 'I am on the commode. Please advise.'"

 

Persons of the blond persuasion... Finally, says The Santa Claran, jokes about blond (note there's no "e") men! Nonetheless, as always you are free to substitute the hair hue of your choice:

"A friend tells the blond man: 'Christmas is on a Friday this year.' The blond man then says, 'Let's hope it's not the 13th.'"

 

"Two blond men find three grenades, and they decide to take them to a police station. One asks: 'What if one explodes before we get there?' The other says: 'We'll lie and say we only found two.'"

 

"A blond man is in the bathroom and his wife shouts: 'Did you find the shampoo?' He answers, 'Yes, but I'm not sure what to do. It's for dry hair, and I've just wet mine.'"

 

"A blond man goes to the vet with his goldfish. 'I think it's got epilepsy,' he tells the vet. The vet takes a look and says, 'It seems calm enough to me.' The blond man says, 'Wait, I haven't taken it out of the bowl yet.'"

 

"A blond man shouts frantically into the phone: 'My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart!' 'Is this her first child?' asks the doctor. 'No,' the blond shouts, 'this is her husband!'"

"A blond man is driving home, drunk as a skunk. Suddenly he has to swerve to avoid a tree, then another, then another. A cop car pulls him over, so he tells the cop about all the trees in the road. The cop says, 'That's your air freshener swinging about!'"

 

"A blond man's dog goes missing and he is frantic. His wife says, 'Why don't you put an ad in the paper?' He does, but two weeks later the dog is still missing. 'What did you put in the paper?' his wife asks. He replies, 'Here, boy!'"

 

"A blond man is in jail. The guard looks in his cell and sees him hanging by his feet. 'Just WHAT are you doing?' he asks. 'Hanging myself,' the blond replies. 'It should be around your neck,' says the guard. 'I tried that,' he replies, 'but then I couldn't breathe.'"

 

The friendly skies... Put your seat backs and tray tables in the full upright and locked position for this funny from Shanty Shaker:

"Shortly after a British Airways flight had reached its cruising altitude, the captain announced: 'Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. Welcome to flight 293, non-stop from London Heathrow to New York. The weather ahead is good, so we should have a smooth, uneventful flight. So, sit back, relax, and — OH, MY GOD!'

"Silence followed.

"Some moments later, the captain came back on the intercom. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry if I scared you. While I was talking to you, a flight attendant accidentally spilled coffee in my lap. You should see the front of my pants!'

"From the back of the plane, an Irish passenger yelled, 'For the luvva Jaysus, you should see the back o' mine!'"

 

 

Capital pun-ishment... The puns toll for thee in this tale from Jess Hossinaround in Arenas Valley:

"After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally, and went up into the belfry to begin the screening process.

"After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day. Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous: 'You have no arms!'

"'No matter,' said the man. 'Observe!' And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment, convinced he had finally found a replacement for Quasimodo.

"But suddenly, as he rushed forward to strike the bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below.

"The stunned bishop rushed down 295 church steps. When he reached the street, a crowd, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before, had gathered around the fallen figure. As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, 'Bishop, who was this man?'

"'I don't know his name,' the bishop sadly replied, 'but his face rings a bell.'

"The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame.

"The first man to approach him said, 'Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch who fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty.'

"The bishop agreed to give the man an audition. But, as the armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest, twirled around, and died on the spot.

"Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side. 'What has happened? Who is this man?' the first monk asked breathlessly.

"'I don't know his name,' sighed the distraught bishop, 'but he's a dead ringer for his brother.'"

 

 

 


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