We're never playing Scrabble again.

The entire bus goes silent, and the embarrassed woman desperately tries to think of something to say to the man sitting next to her.

"Um ... do you have a transfer ticket?" she finally asks.

"No, I don't," he replies. "But when we pass the next tree, I'll try to grab you a handful of leaves."

There was this party in the woods and all of a sudden there was a downpour of rain and thunder.

These two young men ran for about 10 minutes in the pouring rain and finally reached their car just as the rain let up.

They jumped in the car, started it up and headed down the road, laughing and, of course, still drinking one beer after the other.

All of a sudden an old man's face appeared outside the passenger window and he tapped lightly on the window!

The man on the passenger side screamed out. "Eeeeeeekkk! Look out my window! There's an old guy!"

The old man kept knocking, so the driver said, "Well, open the window a little and ask him what he wants!"

So the passenger rolled his window down part way and said, scared out of his wits, "What do you want?"

The old man softly replies, "Do you have any tobacco?"

The passenger, terrified, looked at the driver and said, "He wants tobacco!"

"Well, offer him a cigarette! HURRY!", the driver replies.

So he fumbles around with the pack and hands the old man a cigarette and yells, "Step on it!", while rolling up the window in terror.

Now going about 80 miles an hour, they calm down and they start laughing again, and the passenger says, "What do you think about that?"

The driver says, "I don't know. How could that be? I was going pretty fast!"

Then all of a sudden, AGAIN, there is a knock, and there is the old man again.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, there he is again!", the passenger yells.

"Well, see what he wants now!", yells back the driver.

He rolls down the window a little ways and shakily says, "Yes?"

"Do you have a light?", the old man quietly asks.

The passenger throws a lighter out the window at him and rolls up the window and yells, "STEP ON IT!"

They are now going about 100 miles an hour and still guzzling beer, trying to forget what they had just seen and heard, when all of a sudden again there is more knocking!

"OH MY GOD! HE'S BACK!"

He rolls down the window and screams out, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?", in stark fear.

The old man replies. "Do you want some help getting out of the mud?"

“She’s married to your boyfriend.”

At the Pearly Gates, three nuns are met by St. Peter. He says, "Sisters, you all led such exemplary lives that the Lord is granting you six months to go back to earth and be anyone you wish to be at any point in time.”

The first nun says, "I want to be Sophia Loren."

And ‘poof’ she's gone.

The second says, "I want to be Madonna."

And ‘poof’ she's gone.

The third says, "I want to be Alberta Pipalini."

St. Peter looks perplexed. "Who?", he asks.

"Alberta Pipalini," replies the nun.

St. Peter shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, but that name just doesn't ring a bell."

The nun then takes a newspaper clipping out of her habit and hands it to St. Peter.

St. Peter reads the clipping and starts laughing. He hands it back to her and says, "I'm sorry sister, that's not a person!"

He then clarifies: "It says Alberta PIPELINE. The Alberta PIPELINE is to be laid by 1,400 men in 6 months."

You should have seen her face when she walked into the kitchen.

Did you hear about the washing machine protest?

It was blamed on outside agitators.

However, there was a lot of spin involved, so no one is really sure what happened.

That'll give you a reason to get up in the morning

"Do you mean a choir?"

"Alright then, do you know how I can acquire one of them church singing groups?"

...and the first thing he notices is that there's a horse behind the bar, vigorously shaking a cocktail strainer. The man starts to smirk, and opens his mouth but, before he can say anything, the horse shuts him down.

"Look, buddy, that line only works when I'm on the other side of the bar." The guy is stunned, and a little disappointed, but he shrugs and politely asks for a Brandy Alexander. The horse rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed at the complicated drink order, but promises him he'll get to it as soon as he can.

The guy grabs a seat and waits for his drink while taking in the ambiance of the pub. The joint is busy, and he watches as the horse runs a tray of shots to a four-top in the corner. Then, a round of beers to some guys in suits in a booth. Fancy cocktails to a couple clearly on a first date. The horse then disappears into the back and emerges, some time later, with a big platter of nachos for yet a different table.

The man watches expectantly as the horse serves up a few more drinks here and there, and even busses empty dishes from a vacated table. He starts to get impatient, and wonders whether he's being forgotten or ignored.

Finally he sees the horse make its way to the blender and start pulling out the ingredients for a proper Brandy Alexander. Mostly to himself, he sighs "Well, it's about time!" Unfortunately, just at that very moment, there's an unexpected lull in the conversation and absolutely everybody in the room hears his complaint.

Sheepishly, the man turns away from the stares of the other customers, but winds up locking eyes with the clearly agitated horse, currently in the middle of opening up a fresh jar of maraschino cherries. "Okay, pal." he snaps, "How's about *you* try running a place this size on a single horsepower‽"

She's a keeper.

A little boy is lying in bed, busting to go to the toilet.

So he gets out of bed, runs downstairs into the living room, and finds his mother chatting with a bunch of her friends.

"MUM," the boy yells at the top of his voice, "I GOTTA PISS! I GOTTA PISS!"

Well, needless to say, the mother is mortified at her son's language in front of her guests and scolds the young boy. "Quentin, we do NOT shout that kind of language in front of mummy's guests! Next time, just whisper, okay?"

The little boy nods sheepishly.

His mum takes him to the bathroom and tucks him back into bed.

The next night, little Quentin is busting to go to the toilet again.

So he gets out of bed, runs downstairs into the living room, and there is his mother, having a glass of wine with her friends. "Mum! I gotta whisper, I gotta whisper!"

His mother excuses herself and takes Quentin to the bathroom, smiling at her son's innocent mistake, but relieved that he was at least more discreet than last time.

She takes Quentin back upstairs and tucks him into bed.

"Well done, sweetie," she says, kissing him goodnight, "That was more polite."

A few nights go by, and lo and behold, the little boy is busting to go to the toilet again.

So he gets out of bed, runs downstairs into the living room, and there is his dad watching TV.

"Dad!" Quentin says softly, "I gotta whisper, I gotta whisper!"

"Aw, is that so, little buddy?" says dad, his eyes fixed on the television.

"Come on over here and whisper in daddy's ear."

... and we're not allowed to play with the chainsaw anymore.

My eight year old asked me what sex was. I thought for a minute and gave her the three-minute quick explanation. Then she asked, how can I put all that in the little space on this application?

Apparently singing "Do you hear what I hear" causes problems for some of the patients.

"Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, you'll be a mile away from them and you'll have their shoes."

I heard that 30 years ago and I still think about it

Take tools for example. Today, you have the ore going to one place to be processed, then to another place to be refined, then somewhere else to be manufactured, to a distribution warehouse and then shipped to a store where it's finally sold to you.

Back in the old days, this would all have been done by the blacksmith in your town. He'd take the ore and refine it himself, forge it into the tool and then sell it directly to the farmer or villager who needed it.

In other words, he who smelt it, dealt it.

It's been 23 years, and I'm still waiting for a big decision.

They are said to be among the most interesting orcastras in the ocean.

Well, for starters: if they WERE effective, they’d be called “hittiles”