Mother Teresa (my Granny’s old mucker) died and went to heaven. God greeted her at the Pearly Gates. “Be thou hungry, Mother Teresa?” asked God.
“I could eat,” Mother Teresa replied.
So God opened a can of tuna and reached for a chunk of rye bread and they began to share it. While eating this humble meal, Mother Teresa looked down into Hell and saw the inhabitants devouring huge steaks, lobsters, pheasants, and pastries. Curious, but deeply trusting, she remained quiet.
The next day God again invited her to join him for a meal. Again, it was tuna and rye bread. Once again, Mother Teresa could see the denizens of Hell enjoying lamb, turkey, venison, and delicious desserts. Still she said nothing.
The following day, mealtime arrived and another can of tuna was opened. She couldn’t contain herself any longer. Meekly, she asked, “God, I am grateful to be in heaven with you as a reward for the pious, obedient life I led. But here in heaven all I get to eat is tuna and a piece of rye bread and in the Other Place they eat like emperors and kings! I just don’t understand it…”
God sighed. “Let’s be honest Teresa,” He said, “for just two people, it doesn’t pay to cook.”
Now you’re probably wondering how women burn calories in France?
Three ways. Wine, cigarettes and… surprise, surprise… exercise bikes. But not as you know it.
A man enters a barber shop for a shave. While the barber is foaming him up, he mentions the problems he has getting a close shave around the cheeks.
“I have just the thing,” says the barber taking a small wooden ball from a nearby drawer. “Just place this between your cheek and gum.”
The client places the ball in his mouth and the barber proceeds with the closest shave the man has ever experienced. After a few strokes the client asks in garbled speech.
“And what if I swallow it?”
“No problem,” says the barber. “Just bring it back tomorrow like everyone else does.”
Perhaps Sylvia and Wanda will do the trick.
They’re both dead, but still keen to chat.
SYLVIA: Hi! Wanda.
WANDA: Hi! Sylvia. How’d you die?
SYLVIA: I froze to death.
WANDA: How horrible!
SYLVIA: It wasn’t so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold, I began to get warm and sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?
WANDA: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was cheating, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead, I found him all by himself in the den watching TV.
SYLVIA: So, what happened?
WANDA: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over with a heart attack and died.
SYLVIA: Too bad you didn’t look in the freezer — we’d both still be alive.
You probably saw that one coming. So before you lose patience entirely, I’ll finish with an old traditional story from Ireland – from more innocent days.
A golfer playing in Ireland hooked his drive into the woods. Looking for his ball, he found a little Leprechaun flat on his back, a big bump on his head and the golfer’s ball beside him. Horrified, the golfer got his water bottle from the cart and poured it over the little guy, reviving him.
“Arrgh! What happened?” the Leprechaun asked.
“I’m afraid I hit you with my golf ball,” the golfer says.
“Oh, I see. Well, ye got me fair and square. Ye get three wishes, so whaddya want?”
“Thank God, you’re all right!” the golfer answers in relief. “I don’t want anything, I’m just glad you’re OK, and I apologize.” And the golfer walks off.
“What a nice guy,” the Leprechaun says to himself. I have to do something for him. I’ll give him the three things I would want… a great golf game, all the money he ever needs, and a fantastic sex life.”
A year goes by and the golfer is back. On the same hole, he again hits a bad drive into the woods and the Leprechaun is there waiting for him.
“’Twas me that made ye hit the ball here,“ the little guy says. “I just want to ask ye, how’s yer golf game?”
“My game is fantastic!” the golfer answers. “I’m an internationally famous golfer now.” He adds, “By the way, it’s good to see you’re all right.”
“Oh, I’m fine now, thank ye. I did that fer yer golf game, you know. And tell me, how’s yer money situation?”
“Why, it’s just wonderful!” the golfer states. “When I need cash, I just reach in my pocket and pull out 100 Euro notes I didn’t even know were there!”
“I did that fer ye also.” And tell me, how’s yer sex life?”
The golfer blushes, turns his head away in embarrassment, and says shyly, “It’s okay.”
“C’mon, c’mon now,” urged the Leprechaun, “I’m wanting to know if I did a good job. How many times a week?”
Blushing even more, the golfer looks around then whispers, “Once, sometimes twice a week.”
“What?” responds the Leprechaun in shock. “That’s all? Only once or twice a week?”
“Well,” says the golfer, “I figure that’s not bad for a Catholic priest in a small parish.”
Are you smiling now (even if it’s with relief that this ordeal is over).
Or do I have to take even more radical action? (See picture of smiling dog.)