Open and empty
heart with a full measure of
empathy and love.
Wise author Paul Coelho writes: Contrary to glasses and windows, a broken heart remains intact.
Unwise wit responds: That’s because it’s a pain of a different sort.
The window pain ... in The Twilight Zone.
Filed under pain, Paul Coelho, wit, Woirds to live by, word play, words, writer
A little old lady went to the grocery store to buy cat food. She picked up four cans and took them to the checkout counter.
The girl at the cash register said, “I’m sorry, but we cannot sell you cat food without proof that you have a cat. A lot of old people buy cat food to eat, and the management wants proof that you are buying the cat food for your cat.”
The little old lady went home, picked up her cat and brought it back to the store.
They sold her the cat food.
The next day, she tried to buy two cans of dog food.
Again the cashier said “I’m sorry, but we cannot sell you dog food without proof that you have a dog. A lot of old people buy dog food to eat, but the management wants proof that you are buying the dog food for your dog.”
So she went home and brought in her dog.
She then was able to buy the dog food.
The next day she brought in a box with a hole in the lid.
The little old lady asked the cashier to stick her finger in the hole.
The cashier said, “No, you might have a snake in there.”
The little old lady assured her that there was nothing in the box that would harm her.
So the cashier put her finger into the box and quickly pulled it out.
She said to the little old lady, “That smells like poop.”
The little old lady said, “It is. I want to buy three rolls of toilet paper.”
Don’t mess with old people.
The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just gotten married for the fourth time.
The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband’s occupation.
“He’s a funeral director,” she answered.
“Interesting,” the newsman said.
He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.
She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years.
After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20s, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40s, and a preacher when in her 60s, and now – in her 80′ – a funeral director.
The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.
(wait for it)
She smiled and explained, “I married
one for the money,
two for the show,
three to get ready,
and four to go.”
And that’s the box you leave in.
Or as the young grocery bagger who introduced the funeral director and the 80-year-old lady put it: “Will that be paper or plastic?”
Some things endure fall
If love the answer,
do I know the right question?
Silence enfolds me.
The blathering idiot sat in the coin-operated launder mat watching his clothes dry. It had been a tough time since Valentine’s Day. He had forgotten to get his girl friend anything: no card, no flowers, no gift no matter how inexpensive, and though she was willing to forgive him, she said they needed to talk, and they would do so on the day he brought his laundry over.
The blathering idiot knew what talk meant. It meant that he, the blathering idiot, would need to make amends. He came prepared to offer everything: two-dozen flowers, three cards, an expensive dinner, an entire weekend watching “chick flicks.” Only thing she had to do was tell him what she wanted.
What she wanted from him was something he hadn’t anticipated. She simply said he wasn’t being romantic enough in the relationship and what did he intend to do about it?
The blathering idiot thought about it.
His girl friend waited.
“If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
He stared at his pile of dirty laundry, hoping for inspiration.
Finally, he remembered that she’d often told him that while she wore her heart on her sleeve, he seemed to keep his tucked away somewhere, so he said something he thought was witty, something he thought would break the tension, something that might make her laugh and then they would forget about the question.
He said, “If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
For the foreseeable future, the blathering idiot was laundering his own heart at a coin-operated place of his choosing.
He found no inspiration as he watched his shirts tumble dry.
Filed under blathering idiot, Cartoon, humor, observation, satire, story, words, writing
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