Tag: Story

Saturday morning … Bob’s just about to set off on a round of golf when he realizes that he forgot to tell his wife that the guy who fixes the washing machine is coming around at noon. So, Bob heads back to the clubhouse and phones home.

“Hello?” says a little girl’s voice.

“Hi, honey, it’s Daddy,” says Bob. “Is Mummy near the phone?”

“No, Daddy. She’s upstairs in the bedroom with uncle Frank.”

After a brief pause, Bob says, “But you haven’t got an Uncle Frank, honey!”

“Yes, I do, and he’s upstairs in the bedroom with Mummy!”

“Okay, then. Here’s what I want you to do. Put down the phone, run upstairs and knock on the bedroom door and shout in to Mummy and uncle Frank that my car’s just pulled up outside the house.”

“Okay, Daddy!”

A few minutes later, the little girl comes back to the phone. “Well, I did what you said, Daddy.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, Mummy jumped out of bed with no clothes on and ran around screaming, then she tripped over the rug and went out the front window and now she’s all dead.”

“Oh my god … And what about uncle Frank?”

“He jumped out of bed with no clothes on too and he was all scared and he jumped out the back window into the swimming pool, but he must have forgot that last week you took out all the water to clean it, so he hit the bottom of the swimming pool and now he’s dead too.”

There is a long pause, then Bob says, “Swimming pool? Is this 555-7039?”

A father asked his son, Little Johnny, if he knew about the birds and the bees.

“I don’t want to know!” Little Johnny said, exploding and bursting into tears.

Confused, his father asked Little Johnny what was wrong.

“Oh Pop,” Johnny sobbed, “for me there was no Santa Claus at age six, no Easter Bunny at seven, and no Tooth Fairy at eight. And if you’re telling me now that grownups don’t really have sex, I’ve got nothing left to believe in!”

An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death’s agony, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs.

He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort forced himself down the stairs, gripping the railing with both hands. With labored breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the kitchen.

Were it not for death’s agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven: there, spread out upon newspapers on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted wife, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to life.

The aged and withered hand, shakingly made its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife.

“Stay out of those,” she said, “they’re for the funeral.”