Jethro Tull is the name of a band that contains quite a few letters. I�ve never counted all of them, but I have seen a pile of dirty underwear that would make a nun run, screaming for mercy. Of course, I have no idea what that means, but when you fix toasters all day long you are bound to find a few crustaceans. Well, that�s what Billy Graham told me. Did you know that he was a black man? Surprised the hell out of me. That and the tentacles.
Where was I? Oh, yeah! The tractor started all by itself and plowed 33 rows, before I could stop it. I learned something from the experience, though. Cemetery curators get cranky, just like everybody else. That calm exterior of theirs hides a seething hatred for all things that start with the letter �R� and broccoli. There is no way to explain it. Well, not without speaking in half sentences and farting continuously. Don�t get me started!
Caroline Kennedy was in the news, again, today, but nobody seem to give a damn and the story was buried on the back page, with the secret diagrams to Dan Rather�s nostrils. Queen Elizabeth was unmoved by the suppository and is considering using a rabid weasel. Cold and flu season hits the Midwest ... phlegm at eleven. There�s no business like show business, but if I have to hear that song one more time, I will beat the hell out of the nearest rabbi. Trix are for kids.
Two Jews walk into a bar and bust their heads wide open. One has a duck under his arm and the other has truck (it wasn�t a very big one). Both the duck and truck hit the floor, just a split second before the Jews. The sound draws the attention of a policeman, who runs up and says �I sure do like the purple panties!�. The rest of the story seems to go nowhere, but involves an unexpected chorus of �American Pie�, but not the song by Don Mclean. This seems to be an obscure tune by Sally Field, who used to scream it into an oil soaked paper sack. Man, I hate baseball!
Checkers or pistols at dawn? I just couldn�t decide!
Never volunteer to look at somebody�s surgery scar. That is straight out of the Boy Scout handbook and a wiser piece of advise has never existed. It�s on page 23, right below the detailed diagram of a tampon. Did you ever find it odd, that they don�t want homosexuals in the scouts, but have no problem with the idea of men dressed as up as birds that throw up half digested food into the mouths of their chicks? Why do women put up with that, anyway? I�ll never understand it. Well, that and tree limbs.
Ever spend much time thinking about your esophagus? I have. (Not mine ... just yours.) I don�t want to keep bringing this up, but this is supposed to be an introduction to the John Deere line of microwave ovens. They may be loud, but they sure do stink up a room. We�d try to guess what we were eating, but it was pointless. After the second week, we began to gnaw at the tires. I wanted to call someone and hang up, but I was just too sleepy. The fumes, the fumes! Who would have ever guessed that Richard Simmons was a man?!
Well, I�ve run out of page and haven�t said a single word about poodles! I�ll take care of that!
�I hate �em and their stupid little seed pods! I hate the way they breathe air and levitate! I hate the way they sit in dark rooms and plan ahead! I just hate �em!�
Robert N. Kirkpatrick
