Adrian Bacon

While riding one day a cowboy met an Indian riding along with a dog and a sheep and began a conversation.

Cowboy: “Hey, cool dog you got there. Mind if I speak to him?”

Indian: “Dog no talk.”

Cowboy: “Hey dog, how’s it going?”

Dog: “Doin’ alright.”

Indian: Look of shock.

Cowboy: “Is this Indian your owner?” pointing at the Indian.

Dog: “Yep”

Cowboy: “How does he treat you?”

Dog: “Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food, and takes me to the lake once a week to play.”

Indian: Look of total disbelief.

Cowboy: “Mind if I talk to your horse?”

Indian: “Horse no talk.”

Cowboy: “Hey horse, how’s it going?”

Horse: “Cool.”

Indian: Extreme look of shock.

Cowboy: “Is this your owner? ” pointing at Indian

Horse: “Yep”

Cowboy: “How’s he treat you?”

Horse: “Pretty good, thanks for asking. He rides me regularly, brushes me down often, and keeps me in a shed to protect me.”

Indian: Total look of utter amazement.

Cowboy: “Mind if I talk to your sheep?”

Indian: “Sheep liar.”

While playing golf, the man finds a corked bottle on the green. Upon opening it, a genie appears and grants the fellow one wish. After thinking about it for a while, the man says, “I’d like to shoot par golf regularly.”

“No problem,” says the genie, “But understand that your sex life will be greatly reduced as a side effect.”

I can handle that,” the man says, and POOF, the deed is done. Several months later, the genie reappears on the same golf hole and asks the man how his golf game is doing.

“Fantastic!” says the man, “I’m now carrying a scratch handicap.” “And what effect has it had on your sex life?” the genie inquires. “I still manage to have relations 2-3 times a month,” the fellow answers calmly.

“2-3 times a month,” the genie says, “That’s not much of a sex life.”

“Well,” the fellow responds, “I don’t think it’s too bad for a middle-aged priest with a very small parish.”

On the first day of school, the children brought gifts for their teacher.

The florist’s son brought the teacher a bouquet of flowers.

The candy-store owner’s daughter gave the teacher a pretty box of candy.

Then the liquor-store owner’s son brought up a big, heavy box.

The teacher lifted it up and noticed that it was leaking a little bit.

She touched a drop of the liquid with her finger and tasted it.

“Is it wine?” she guessed.

“No,” the boy replied. She tasted another drop and asked, “Champagne?.

“No,” said the little boy… “It’s a puppy!”

A woman brought a very limp bird into a veterinary surgeon. As she lay her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird’s chest.

After a moment or two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, “I’m so sorry, your bird, Tweety, has passed away.” The distressed owner wailed, “Are you sure? “Yes, I am sure. The bird is dead,” he replied.

“How can you be so sure,” she protested. “I mean, you haven’t done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something.” The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room, and returned a few moments later with a black Labrador Retriever.

As the bird’s owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the bird from top to bottom. He then looked at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog and took it out, and returned a few moments later with a cat.

The cat jumped up on the table and also sniffed delicately at the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, “I’m sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead bird.”

Then the vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman. The bird’s owner, still in shock, took the bill. “$150!”, she cried, “$150 just to tell me my Tweety is dead!!

The vet shrugged. “I’m sorry. If you’d taken my word for it, the bill would have been $20 but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it’s now $150.00

A young doctor had moved out to a small community to replace the retiring country doctor. The older doctor suggested the young one accompany him on his rounds so the community could become used to a new doctor.

At the first house a woman complained, “I’ve been a little sick to my stomach.”

The older doctor said, “Well, you’ve probably been overdoing the fresh fruit. Why not cut back on the amount you’ve been eating and see if that does the trick?”

As they left the younger man said, “You didn’t even examine that woman. How did you arrive at your diagnosis so quickly?”

“I didn’t have to. You noticed I dropped my stethoscope on the floor in there? When I bent over to pick it up, I noticed a half-dozen banana peels in the trash. That was what was probably making her sick.”

“Huh,” the younger doctor said, “pretty clever. I think I’ll try that at the next house.”

Arriving at the next house, they spent several minutes talking with a younger woman. She complained that she just didn’t have the energy she once did. “I’m feeling terribly run down lately.”

“You’ve probably been doing too much work for the church,” the younger doctor told her. “Perhaps you should cut back a bit and see if that helps.”

As they left, the elder doc said, “Your diagnosis is almost certainly correct, but how did you arrive at it?”

“Well, just as you did at the last house, I dropped my stethoscope and when I bent down to retrieve it, I noticed the preacher under the bed.”

Anyone who has ever had a loved one in the hospital will enjoy this…

A woman called a local hospital “Hello. Could you connect me to the person who gives information about patients. I’d like to find out if a patient is getting better, doing as expected, or getting worse.”

The voice on the other end said, “What is the patient’s name and room number?”

“Sarah Finkel, room 302.”

“I’ll connect you with the nursing station . . . “

“3-A Nursing Station. How can I help You?”

“I’d like to know the condition of Sarah Finkel in room 302.”

“Just a moment. Let me look at her records. Mrs. Finkel is doing very well. In fact, she’s had two full meals, her blood pressure is fine, she is to be taken off the heart monitor in a couple of hours and, if she continues this improvement, Dr. Cohen is going to send her home Tuesday at noon.”

The woman said, “What a relief! Oh, that’s fantastic . . that’s wonderful news!”

The nurse said, “From your enthusiasm, I take it you are a close family member or a very close friend!”

“Neither! I AM Sarah Finkel in 302! Nobody here tells me crap!

While working on a message the pastor heard a knock at his office door. “Come in,” he invited.

A contrite-looking man in threadbare clothes came in, pulling a goat on a rope, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” asked the man with his hat in his hand.

Wordlessly, the pastor indicated the chair and the man sat down in it gingerly. The goat proceeded to sniff around the office.

With one eye on the animal and one on the man, the pastor folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward, curious to hear the fellow’s story, “What can I do for you?”

“My family is hungry,” started the man. “So I stole this goat. But I feel that I have sinned. Would you please take it?”

“Certainly not,” said the minister.

“Then what should I do with it?” asked the man.

“Give it back to the man you stole it from, of course!” the pastor explained.

“I offered it to him, but he refused to take it. Now what should I do?”

“In that case,” the minister said, “It would be all right for you to keep it and feed your family.”

That seemed to settle things as far as the man was concerned.

“Thank you for your help, sir.”

With a lighter step, he walked out of the office, leading the goat on the rope behind him.

Later that afternoon when the minister returned home, he said to his wife as he walked in, “I have got a story to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you first,” she exclaimed. “Someone has stolen your goat!”

A man decided that he was going to ride a 10-speed bike from Phoenix to Flagstaff. He got as far as Black Canyon City before the mountains just became too much and he could go no farther.

He stuck his thumb out, but after 3 hours he hadn’t gotten a single person to stop. Finally a guy in a Corvette pulled over and offered him a ride. Of course, the bike wouldn’t fit in the car. The owner of the Corvette found a piece of rope lying by the highway and tied it to his bumper. He tied the other end to the bike and told the man that if he got to going too fast to honk the horn on his bike and he would slow down.

Everything went fine for the first 30 miles. Suddenly, another Corvette blew past them. Not to be outdone, the Corvette pulling the bike took off after the other. A short distance down the road, the Corvettes — both going well over 120 mph — blew through a speed trap. The police officer noted the speeds from his radar gun and radioed to the other officer that he had 2 Corvettes headed his way at over 120 mph. He then relayed, “And you’re not going to believe this, but there’s a guy on a 10-speed bike honking to pass.”

A man in Phoenix calls his son in New York the day before Thanksgiving and says, “I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; forty-five years of misery is enough.”

“Pop, what are you talking about?” the son screams.

“We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the father says. “We’re sick of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her.”

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone. “No way they’re getting divorced!” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this.” She calls Phoenix immediately and screams at her father, “You are not getting divorced. Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back, and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up.

The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says, “they’re coming for Thanksgiving and paying their own way.”

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife good-bye and said, “Well, I’m off now. The man should be here soon.”

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.

“Good morning, Ma’am”, he said, “I’ve come to…” “Oh, no need to explain,” Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Have you really?” said the photographer. “Well, that’s good. Did you know babies are my specialty?”

“Well that’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat.”

After a moment she asked, blushing, “Well, where do we start?”

“Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there.”

“Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work out for Harry and me!”

“Well, Ma’am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results.”

“My, that’s a lot!” gasped Mrs. Smith.

“Ma’am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but I’m sure you’d be disappointed with that.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Mrs. Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. “This was done on the top of a bus,” he said.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.

“And these twins turned out exceptionally well – when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.”

“She was difficult?” asked Mrs. Smith.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look.”

“Four and five deep?” said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.

“Yes”, the photographer replied. “And for more than three hours too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling – I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.”

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. “Do you mean they actually chewed on your, um…….equipment?”

“It’s true, Ma’am, yes. Well, if you’re ready, I’ll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.”

“Tripod?”

“Oh yes, Ma’am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big to be held in the hand very long.”

Mrs. Smith fainted.