Short Funny Jokes |
| Posted: 05 Nov 2009 10:34 PM PST The friend had dropped in to see D'Auber, the great animal painter, put the finishing touches on his latest painting. He was mystified, however, when D'Auber took some raw meat and rubbed it vigorously over the painted rabbit in the foreground. "Why on earth did you do that?" he asked. "Why you see," explained D'Auber, "Mrs Millions is coming to see this picture today. When she sees her pet poodle smell that rabbit, and get excited over it, she'll buy it on the spot." A young artist once persuaded Whistler to come and view his latest effort. The two stood before the canvas for some moments in silence. Finally the young man asked timidly, "Don't you think, sir, that this painting of mine is—well—er—tolerable?" Whistler's eyes twinkled dangerously. "What is your opinion of a tolerable egg?" he asked. The amateur artist was painting sunset, red with blue streaks and green dots. The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching. "Ah," said the artist looking up suddenly, "perhaps to you, too, Nature has opened her sky picture page by page! Have you seen the lambent flame of dawn leaping across the livid east; the red-stained, sulphurous islets floating in the lake of fire in the west; the ragged clouds at midnight, black as a raven's wing, blotting out the shuddering moon?" "No," replied the rustic, "not since I give up drink." Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being both the servants of His providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nature hath made one world, and art another. In brief, all things are artificial; for nature is the art of God.—Sir Thomas Browne.  |
| Posted: 05 Nov 2009 10:29 PM PST On the occasion of the annual encampment of a western militia, one of the soldiers, a clerk who lived well at home, was experiencing much difficulty in disposing of his rations. A fellow-sufferer nearby was watching with no little amusement the first soldier's attempts to Fletcherize a piece of meat. "Any trouble, Tom?" asked the second soldier sarcastically. "None in particular," was the response. Then, after a sullen survey of the bit of beef he held in his hand, the amateur fighter observed: "Bill, I now fully realize what people mean when they speak of the sinews of war."—Howard Morse.  |
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