John on May 29th, 2010

Sex Therapist

A couple, both 67, went to a sex therapist’s office. The doctor asked, “What can I do for you?” The man said, “Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?” The doctor looked puzzled, but agreed. The doctor examined them and then directed them to disrobe and go at it. When the couple finished, the doctor reexamined them and, upon completion, advised the couple, “There’s nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse.” He then charged them $32. This happened several weeks in a row. The couple would make an appointment, have intercourse with no apparent problems other than the lack of vigor which is to be expected in 67 year-olds, get dressed, pay the doctor, and then leave. Finally after almost two months of this routine, the doctor asked, “Just exactly what are you trying to find out?” The old man said, “Oh, we’re not trying to find out anything. She’s married and we can’t go to her house. I’m married, so we can’t go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $60. The Hilton charges $78. We do it here for $32 and I get $28 back from Medicaid.

A few days later, the doctor saw the man walking down the street with a gorgeous young lady on his arm.

At his follow up visit, the doctor talked to the man and said, “You’re really doing great, aren’t you?”

The man replied, “Just doing what you said Doctor:’Get a hot mamma and be cheerful.'”

The Doctor said, “I didn’t say that. I said you’ve got a heart murmur. Be careful!

older man joke

John on May 29th, 2010

An Octogenarian, who was an avid golfer, moved to a new town and joined the local Country Club.

He went to the Club for the first time to play, but he was told there wasn’t anyone with whom he could play because they were already out on the course. He repeated several times that he really wanted to play.

Finally, the Assistant Pro said he would play with him and asked how many strokes he wanted for a bet. The 80 year old said, “I really don’t need any strokes, because I have been playing quite well. The only real problem I have is getting out of sand traps.”

And he did play well. Coming to the par four 18th they were all even. The pro had a nice drive and was able to get on the green and 2-putt for a par. The old man had a nice drive, but his approach shot landed in a sand trap next to the green. Playing from the bunker, he hit a high ball which landed on the green and rolled into the hole! Birdie, match and all the money!

The Pro walked over to the sand trap where his opponent was still standing in the trap. He said, ” Nice shot, but I thought you said you have a problem getting out of sand traps?”

Replied the Octogenarian, “I do. Please give me a hand.”

John on May 29th, 2010

THE OLD PHONE
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was ‘Information Please’ and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my thro bbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the Parlor and dragged it to the landing climbing up; I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
‘Information, please,’ I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

‘Information.’

‘I hurt my finger,’ I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

‘Isn’t your mother home?’ came the question.

‘Nobody’s home but me,’ I blubbered.

‘Are you bleeding?’ the voice asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.’
‘Can you open the icebox?’ she asked.

I said I could.

‘Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,’ said the voice.

After that, I called ‘Information Please’ for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where  Philadelphia  was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, ‘Information Please,’ and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, ‘Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?’

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘  Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.’

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, ‘Information Please.’
‘Information,’ said in the now familiar voice.
‘How do I spell fix?’ I asked.

All this took place in a small town in thePacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to  Boston . I missed my friend very much. ‘Information Please’ belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in  Seattle  I had about a ha lf-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, ‘Information Please.’

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. ‘Information.’

I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, ‘Could you please tell me how to spell fix?’

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, ‘I guess your finger must have healed by now.’

I laughed, ‘So it’s really you,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’

‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.’

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

‘Please do,’ she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’

Three months later I was back in  Seattle  a different voice answered:  Information.’ I asked for Sally.

‘Are you a friend?’ she said.

‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I answered.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ she said. ‘Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.’

Before I could hang up she said, ‘Wait a minute, did you say your name was  Wayne ?’
‘Yes.’ I answered.

‘Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.’ The note said, ‘Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.’

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

Why not pass this on? I just did….

Lifting you on eagle’s wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.

Life is a journey . NOT a guided tour. So don’t miss the ride and have a great time going around.  You don’t get a second shot at it.

I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it and get a blessing from it just as I did.

John on May 29th, 2010

MOTHERS

Real Mothers don’t eat quiche;
They don’t have time to make it.

Real Mothers know that their kitchen utensils
Are probably in the sandbox.

Real Mothers often have sticky floors,
Filthy ovens and happy kids.

Real Mothers know that dried play dough
Doesn’t come out of carpets.

Real Mothers don’t want to know what
The vacuum just sucked up…

Real Mothers sometimes ask ‘Why me?’
And get their answer when a little
Voice says, ‘Because I love you best.’

Real Mothers know that a child’s growth
Is not measured by height or years or grade…

It is marked by the progression of Mommy to Mom to Mother…..

The Images of Mother

4 YEARS OF AGE – My Mommy can do anything!

8 YEARS OF AGE – My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!

12 YEARS OF AGE – My Mother doesn’t know everything!

14 YEARS OF AGE – My Mother? She wouldn’t have a clue.
.
16 YEARS OF AGE – Mother? She’s so five minutes ago.

18 YEARS OF AGE – That old woman? She’s way out of date!

25 YEARS OF AGE – Well, she might know a little bit about it!

35 YEARS OF AGE – Before we decide, let’s get Mom’s opinion.

45 YEARS OF AGE – Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?

65 YEARS OF AGE – Wish I could talk it over with Mom.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes,
Because that is the doorway to her heart,

The place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole,

But true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.

It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she
Shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

Please send this to 5 Moms today.

If you don’t, nothing bad will happen,
But if you do, something good
will:
You’ll boost a Mother’s spirits.

Five Surgeons…Leave it to the Newfie

Five surgeons are talking:

The first, an Ontario surgeon, says: “I like to see accountants on my operating table, because when you open them up, everything inside is numbered.”

The second, a Quebec surgeon, responds: “Yeah, but you should try electricians!  Everything inside them is colour coded.”

The third, a B.C. surgeon, says: “No, I really think librarians are the best; everything inside them is in alphabetical order.”

The fourth, an Alberta surgeon, chimes in: “You know, I like construction workers… those guys always understand when you have a few parts left over.

But the fifth, a Newfie surgeon, shut them all up when he observed: “You’re all wrong. Politicians are the easiest to operate on.  There’s no guts, no heart, no balls, no brains and no spine, and the head and rear end are interchangeable.”

John on May 29th, 2010

John on May 29th, 2010

John on May 29th, 2010

ESPN  One Game Changes Everything

John on May 29th, 2010