the Daily Funnies

A man and his wife were lying in bed during a rain storm when suddenly they heard a knock on the door. The husband turned over, grumpily got out of bed and went downstairs to answer it.

When he opened the door, a man stinking of rum was drunkenly leaning against the wall and slurred “Excuse me mate, can I get a push?” The man replied “No, and you shouldn’t be driving in that state”. He slammed the door and went back upstairs.

Moments later another knock on the door. The man angrily went down and opened the door again. The drunk, now half way down the wall, asked again “Mate, mate, I really need a push”. The man told the drunk off again and slammed the door.

When he climbed back in bed, his wife asked what was wrong. The man explained the situation and said forget about it. His wife, in her best nagging tone, told the man to go downstairs and help the poor man. “In this weather, it is dangerous for someone to be broken down in the middle of the road.”

The man, grumpy as hell now, begrudgingly got out of bed and walked downstairs. When he opened the door, the drunk was gone. Knowing his wife would nag him again, he ventured out into the storm to search for the drunk.

He called out “Sir, sir, do you still need that push?” The drunk slurred out “Yeah maaaate, I’m over here”. The man, peering through the darkness said “Where? I can’t see you!”

The drunk replied “Over here, I’m on the swings.”

Familygrams when I was on the Jackson (SSN 634) were twenty-eight words long and each sailor got six of them. I think it was Lonnie Horowitz who either bought or talked some of the single unattached, couldn’t care less about family-grams crew members out of theirs and got called in to talk to the X.O. when he got so many that the radiomen couldn’t help but notice he had received more than his six. After that the radiomen were required to keep count on everyone.

I once got a family gram that made the gram of the month from my wife Carol, It read: “Sprayed for mosquitoes with roach spray. Bird, fish and turtle all dead. Trip to pet store in order. Bad day. Wish you were here” While I was on another SSBN one of her grams contained the words “I sold your truck” and “I love you.” That one was the talk of the patrol when more than a hundred Polaris submariners learned the meaning of the word oxymoron. It’s been more than 30 years since I received my first family-gram. I received all of my allotment from my dutiful wife and I read a lot of the messages received by my shipmates, but ever one I ever read pales when compared to the following family-gram story.

When I tell a story, I usually don’t make up names. When you read this one I’m sure you will understand why I am making an exception in this case and I know you will forgive me. However, if the parties concerned want to stand up and be identified, I will gladly publish their version with their real names. Until then, all I will say about this story is that it does belong totally to the Stonewall Jackson.

Shortly before flyaway, our semi-annual migration to Guam, the Stonewall Jackson received a new crew member. He was incredibly young then. He is young still today. His new bride was even younger. The couple barely had enough time to rent an apartment before the Blue crew was off too meet the boat.

In her small, sparsely furnish apartment Pam was left with an envelope her husband Petty Officer Hurley had left for her. She knew nothing about the navy or submarines. The family-grams must have been a mystery to her, but she figured out about the 28 words and she found out how and where she was to deposit them. She thought than since everything else she had encountered in her contact with the navy was top secret, her 28 word message to her lover-husband would be between them and confidential.

Her first message read “Uncle Harry is lonely” The radioman who delivered the message thought. “What the hell does Hurley care if his wife’s Uncle Harry is lonely” Had he know that uncle Harry was code for the newly married young lovers physical activities he would have spread it around the ship. It would have been a long patrol for Hurley.

The next message read: “I think uncle Harry is going to be sick.”

Then came “uncle Harry is definitely sick.”

Followed by “I think uncle Harry is going to die.”

At that point Mrs. Hurley received a phone call and an appointment to visit with the squadron 15 chaplain.

On her way to the sub base her mind raced through options she knew nothing about. Had the boat sunk? Was her husband hurt? Was she a widow at 18?

She was ushered into the chaplain’s office and seated across a large desk from the fully uniformed naval office with crosses on his collar. She was frightened. She was ready to cry. She was preparing to morn.

“Mrs Hurley,” the somber chaplain said. “Mrs. Hurley. We’re very concerned about your Uncle Harry.”

She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry to hide her crimson cheeks. I think her response as she all but ran from the office was “He got better.”

Two men from the city public works department were working their way down the street. One dug a hole in the ground between the sidewalk and the street.

The other followed close behind filling shoveling the dirt back into the holes.

After watching this for over an hour, a neighborhood resident finally asked them what they were doing.

“I’m impressed by the effort you two are putting in, but I don’t get it—why does one of you dig a hole and the other fill it in almost immediately?

“Well, we’re normally a three-man team, but the guy who plants trees called in sick today.”

I landed a job as a Wal-Mart greeter, a good find for many retirees.
Unfortunately, I lasted less than a day.

About two hours into my first day on the job a very loud,
unattractive, mean-acting woman walked into the store with her two
kids, yelling obscenities at them all the way through the entrance.

As I had been instructed, I said pleasantly, “Good morning, and
welcome to Wal-Mart. Nice children you have there. Are they twins?”

The ugly woman stopped yelling long enough to say, “Hell no, they
ain’t twins. The oldest one’s 9, and the other one’s 7. Why the
hell would you think they’re twins? Are you blind, or just stupid?”

So I replied, “I’m neither blind nor stupid, Ma’am, I just couldn’t
believe you got laid twice. Have a good day, and thank you for
shopping at Wal-Mart.”

My supervisor said I probably wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

An American, a Scot and a Canadian were in a terrible car accident. They were all brought to the same emergency room, but all three of them died before they arrived. Just as they were about to put the toe tag on the American, he stirred and opened his eyes.

Astonished, the doctors and nurses present asked him what happened.

“Well,” said the American, “I remember the crash, and then there was a beautiful light, and then the Canadian and the Scot and I were standing at the gates of heaven. St. Peter approached us and said that we were all too young to die, and said that for a donation of $50, we could return to earth. So of course I pulled out my wallet and gave him the $50, and the next thing I knew I was back here.”

“That’s amazing!” said the one of the doctors, “But what happened to the other two?”

“Last I saw them,” replied the American, “the Scot was haggling over the price and the Canadian was waiting for the government to pay his.”

A Quebecer staying in a hotel in Edmonton phoned room service for some pepper.

“Black pepper, or white pepper?” asked the concierge.

“Toilette pepper!” yelled the Quebecer.

One day an Englishman, an American, and a Canadian walked into a pub together. They proceeded to each buy a pint of Labatt Blue. Just as they were about to enjoy their beverages, three flies landed in each of their pints.

The Englishman pushed his beer away from him in disgust. The American fished the offending fly out of his beer and continued drinking it as if nothing happened. The Canadian picked the fly out of his drink and started shaking it over the pint, yelling, “SPIT IT OUT, SPIT IT OUT YOU BASTARD!!!”