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| From the Jokester | Have a Look at This Joke & Matching Picture at www.thejokester.net |
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| Questions To Ask Yourself Before Ordering a Burger "Are my papers in order?" "Can I get it supersized?" "Will I have time to run 298 miles to burn off the calories?" "Could this have anything to do with why the rest of the world hates us?" "Should I talk to my doctor about Lipitor?" "Can I get it on a low-carb bun?" "How come there isn't any sausage on this bad boy?" "Why is Burger King making me sign a release form?" "Do I have my cardiologist on speed dial?" I Want a Cheeseburger A crusty old biker out on a long summer ride in the country pulls up to a tavern in the middle of nowhere parks his bike and walks inside. As he passes thru the swinging' doors, he sees a sign hanging over the bar: COLD BEER: $2.00 HAMBURGER: $2.25 CHEESEBURGER: $2.50 CHICKEN SANDWICH: $3.50 HAND JOB: $50.00 Checking his wallet to be sure he has the necessary payment, the ole' biker walks up to the bar and beckons to the exceptionally attractive female bartender serving drinks to a couple of sun-wrinkled farmers. She glides down behind the bar to the ole biker. 'Yes?' she inquires with a wide, knowing smile, 'may I help you?' The ole biker leans over the bar, "I was wondering young lady," he whispers, "are you the one who gives the hand-jobs?" She looks into his eyes with that wide smile and purrs "Why yes, Yes, I sure am". The ole' biker leans closer and into her left ear whispers softly, "Well, wash your hands real good, cause I want a cheeseburger". Why Are We Here? So we were lying on our backs on the grass in the park next to our hamburger wrappers, my 14-year-old son and I, watching the clouds loiter overhead, when he asked me, "Dad, why are we here?" And this is what I said: "I've thought a lot about it, son, and I don't think it's all that complicated. I think maybe we're here just to teach a kid how to bunt or eat sunflower seeds without using his hands. "We're here to pound the steering wheel and scream as we listen to the game on the radio, 20 minutes after we pulled into the garage. We're here to look all over, give up, and then find the ball in the hole. "We're here to wear our favorite sweat-soaked Boston Red Sox cap, torn Slippery Rock sweatshirt, and the Converse sneakers we lettered in on a Saturday morning with nowhere we have to go and no one special we have to be. "We're here to tie the perfect fly, make the perfect cast, catch absolutely nothing, and still call it a perfect morning. "We're here to nail a yield sign with an apple core from half a block away. We're here to win the stuffed bear or go broke trying. "I don't think the meaning of life is gnashing our bicuspids over what comes after death but tasting all the tiny moments that come before it. We're here to be there when our kid has three goals and an assist. And especially when he doesn't. "I don't think we're here to make SportsCenter. The really good stuff never does. Like finding ourselves with a free afternoon, a little red 327 fuel-injected 1962 Corvette convertible and an unopened map of Vermont's back roads. "None of us will find ourselves on our deathbeds saying, 'I wish I'd spent more time on the Hibbings account.' We're going to say, 'That scar? I got that scar stealing a home run from Consolidated Plumbers!' "See, grown-ups spend so much time doggedly slaving toward the better car, the perfect house, the big day that will finally make them happy, when happy just walked by wearing a bicycle helmet two sizes too big for him. We're not here to find a way to heaven. The way is heaven. "Does that answer your question, son?" And he said, "Not really, Dad." And I said, "No?" And he said, "No, what I meant is, why we are here when Mom said to pick her up 40 minutes ago?" | ||
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