Another Texan

[noknojon]

..

 

A man from Texas, driving a Volkswagen Beetle, pulls up next to a guy in an Arkansas licensed Rolls Royce at a traffic light.
Their windows are open and the Texan yells at the guy in the Rolls

"Hey, you got a telephone in that Rolls?"
The guy in the Rolls says, "Yes, of course I do!"
"I got one too. See?" the Texan says.
"Uh huh, yes, that's very nice."

"You got a fax machine?" asks the Texan in the VW..
"Why, actually, yes, I do." Replies the man from Arkansas
"I do too! See? It's right here!" brags the Texan.
The light is just about to turn green and the Texan in the Volkswagen says,
"So, do you have a double bed in the back ?"
The guy in the Rolls replies, "No! Do you ?"

"Yep, got my double bed right back here," the Texan replies.
The light turns green and the Texan in the Volkswagen takes off.

Well, the guy in the Rolls is not about to be one-upped, so he immediately goes to a customizing shop and orders them to put a double bed in the back of his car.
About two weeks later, the job is finally done. He picks up his car and drives all over town looking for the Volkswagen Beetle with the Texas plates.
Finally, he finds it parked alongside the road, so he pulls his Rolls up next to it.
The windows on the Volkswagen are all fogged up and he feels somewhat awkward about it, but he gets out of his newly modified Rolls and taps on the foggy window of the Volkswagen.
The man in the Volkswagen finally opens the window a crack and peeks out.

The guy with the Rolls says, "Hey, remember me?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember you," replies the Texan. "What's up ?"
"Check this out! I got a double bed installed in my Rolls."
The Texan exclaims, "You got me out of the shower to tell me that ?!

[sman]

This is something to think about when negative people are doing their best to rain on your parade. So remember this story the next time someone who knows nothing, and cares less, tries to make your life miserable.

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded:

" Rome ? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome . So, how are you getting there?"

"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. " That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're over priced.

So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"

"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant.

Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.

And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.

Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."

"Oh, really! What'd he say?"

He said: "Where'd you get the lousy hairdo?"

[sman]

If you enjoy word and puns this should delight (is that turn off the light?) you.

Author unknown

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,

But the plural of ox becomes oxen.

One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,

Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.

You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,

Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,

Shouldn't the plural of pan then be called pen?

If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,

And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?

If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,

Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,

Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,

And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.

We speak of a brother and also of brethren,

But though we say mother, we never say methren.

Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,

But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.

There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;

neither apple nor pine are found in pineapple.

English muffins weren't invented in England .

We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes,

we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square,

and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,

grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham.

Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.

If you have a bunch of odds and ends and

get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?

If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English

should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?

We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.

We have noses that run and feet that smell.

We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.

And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,

while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which

your house can burn up as it burns down,

in which you fill in a form by filling it out,

and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

So if Father is Pop, how come Mother isn't Mop?