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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A variety of very short pieces or jokes or reflections...


Not my quote..but a great one

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"






A man escapes from a prison where he had been kept for 15 years. As he runs away, he finds a house and breaks into it, looking for money and guns, but only finds a young couple in bed. He orders the guy out of bed and ties him up in a chair. While tying the girl to the bed, he gets on top of her, kisses her on the neck, then gets up, and goes to the bathroom. While he's in there, the husband tells his wife,

"Listen, this guy is an escaped prisoner, look at his clothes! He probably spent lots of time in jail, and hasn't seen a woman in years. I saw how he kissed your neck. If he wants sex, don't resist, don't complain, just do what he tells you, just give him satisfaction. This guy must be dangerous, if he gets angry, he'll kill us. Be strong, honey. I love you".

To which the wife responds, "He wasn’t kissing my neck. He was whispering in my ear. He told me he was gay, you were cute, and asked if we kept any Vaseline in the bathroom. Be strong, honey, I love you, too".




Lovely Little Passage


From a wonderful book by Robert Fulghum. The book is titled "Maybe (Maybe Not)"


On a hot summer's day, late in August, I sought shade and a cool drink under the canvas awning of a waterfront cafe in the old harbor of the town of Chania, on the Greek island of Crete. More than 100 degrees in still air. Crowded. Tempers of both the tourists and waiters had risen to meet the circumstances, creating a tensely quarrelsome environment.


At the table next to mine sat an attractive young couple. Well dressed in summer fashions of rumpled linen and fine leather sandals. The man: stocky, olive-complexioned, black hair, and mustache. The woman: lanky, fair, blond. Waiting for service, they held hands, whispered affections, kissed, giggled, and laughed.


Suddenly, they stood, picked up their metal table and, carrying it with them, stepped together off the edge of the quay to place the table in the shallow water of the harbor. The man waded back for two chairs. He gallantly seated his lady in the waist-high water and sat down himself.


The onlookers laughed, applauded, and cheered.


A sour-faced waiter appeared. He paused for the briefest moment. Raised his eyebrows. Picked up a table cloth, napkins and silverware. Waded into the water to set the table and take their order. Waded back ashore to the ongoing cheers and applause of the rest of his customers. Minutes later he returned with a tray carrying a bucket of iced champagne and two glasses. Without pausing, he waded once more into the water to serve the champagne. The couple toasted each other, the waiter, and the crowd. And the crowd replied by cheering and throwing flowers from the table decorations.


Three other tables joined in to have lunch in the sea.


The atmosphere shifted from frustration to festival.


One does not wade into the water in one's best summer outfit. Why not?


Customers are not served in the sea. Why not?


Sometimes one should consider crossing the line of convention.





Thanksgiving Vignette


There is a wonderful museum on the campus of Stanford University (5 minutes from where I live), and in front of it there is an outdoor sculpture garden filled with Rodin's work. It is the biggest collection of his work outside of his Musee in Paris, which I have also been to.

So, this morning, I'm perched on the round stone seats in the garden, facing Rodin's famous Gates of Hell, contemplating the meaning of life. A young family approaches, a couple in their early thirties, with a 5 year old boy. The boy marches right past me up to within a couple of feet of the sculpture, cranes his neck to look up at it (it's about 20 feet high), and then turns and asks his mom, "What is it?”

“It’s the Gates of Hell."

"Really? Can we open it?"

And from behind me, the father quickly intones, "Uh, no. We definitely don't want to open those."

Cracked me right up.





Submitted: April 04, 2012

© Copyright 2022 Bill Rayburn. All rights reserved.

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