Hi friends and family,
I’m sorry I didn’t publish this story on Saturday as usual. After cutting the lawn (it was a beautiful day) I became obsessed with the violin I’m building (pics and story will be posted, soon) 
and found it hard to stop sanding, scraping, etc. Really, the only way to do projects like these is to become obsessed with it. Finishing is the next process after I’m satisfied with the sanding. That will require lots of waiting for the surface to dry between coats with sanding and polishing. As many times as I can stand . . . Oh boy! That may take weeks but, it will be so worth it.
The beginning of this story is a blunt reminder to me of what’s coming . . . Brrrr!!! It also shows dad’s wonderful sense of humor. He especially liked when the joke was on him. I guess I inherited dad’s need for humor. I have very little tolerance for people who think life should be drama all the time. My philosophy on life is: All humans want to be happy . . . Period . . . If you wake up unhappy . . . Fix it. Become happy. Find a reason for happiness in your life.
So . . . Here it goes . . .
Enjoy,
David T
“For Your Funny Bone”
By Don Tschirhart
Excerpted from the unpublished book “It’s a Wonderful World: A Retired Reporter Looks At Life“
For Your Funny Bone
On a cold wintry day a little mirth goes a long way.
Sitting here in my front-room office watching the wind sweep the overnight snow off the roofs of nearby condo townhouses and temperatures in single digits, I reached into my file to find stupidly funny items friends and family have sent me.
They all know I enjoy a chuckle or two that I might pass on to my friends in Lapeer’s media land.
Someone, who obviously isn’t from the Humane Society, told me about a little girl named Amber seen by a neighbor filling a large hole in her yard.
Asked what she was doing, Amber said she was burying her pet goldfish.
“That’s a big hole for a goldfish, isn’t it?” the neighbor said.
Amber patted the mound and replied, “That’s because he’s inside your cat.”
I was driving in Pennsylvania when I saw a sign on a horse-drawn Amish carriage.
A hand-printed sign on the back of the carriage said, “Runs on oats and grass. Caution: Do not step in exhaust.”
My son, Dave, sent me a news story about the fired AT&T president who had served for only nine months. Critics said the prexy lacked “intellectual leadership.” The board of directors then voted to give him a $26 million severance package.
Dave asked, “Who’s lacking intelligence?”
Here’s a couple from police blotters:
A man called the cops and spoke frantically: “My wife is pregnant and contractions are only two minutes apart.”
The police officer asked, “Is this her first child?” “No,” the man answered. “This is her husband.”
In the criminals-aren’t-rocket-scientist department: Police in Los Angeles held a lineup of robbery suspects. When detectives asked each man to repeat the words: “Give me all your money or I’ll shoot,” one of the suspects shouted, “That’s not what I said!”
Irish-people usually laugh at Irish jokes:
For instance, Mary Clancy goes up to Father O’Grady after Sunday Mass. She’s in tears and Fr. O’Grady asks, “What’s bothering you, dear?”
Mary says, “I’ve got terrible news. My husband passed away last night.” Fr. O’Grady said, “That’s terrible, Mary. Did he have any last requests?”
“That he did, Father . . .” “What did he ask, Mary.” She replies, “He said, ‘Please Mary, put down that gun.’”
Have you heard these?
Only in America: Do drugstores make the sick walk to the back of the store to get prescriptions while healthy people buy cigarettes at the front. Do banks leave both doors open and chain pens to the counter. Do they have drive-up ATM machines with Braille lettering.
And then from the world of “Have you ever wondered . . .?” Why women can’t put on mascara with their mouths closed? Why we haven’t seen the headline, “Psychic Wins Lottery.” Why is a man who invests all your money called a “broker” and doctors call what they do “practice.” Why they sterilize needles for lethal injections. If flying is so safe, why they call the airport a terminal.
And then there’s the story of a minister who agonized over asking his congregation for money to repair the roof.
Before church service he told a substitute organist to play what she thought would be appropriate.
At the end of the service the minister asked the people to stand up if they could pledge at least $100.
At that moment the organist played “The Star Spangled Banner.” That’s how the substitute became the regular organist.
Someone sent me religious one-liners. Ministers of the cloth, take note:
“Don’t let your worries get the best of you. Remember, Moses started out as a basket case.”
Some people are kind, polite and sweet-spirited — until you try to sit in their pews.
Quit griping about your church; if it was perfect, you couldn’t belong.
I found many non-living things having a gender to be alarmingly correct:
Freezer bags are male: They hold everything in, but you can see right through them. Copy machines are female. Once turned off, it takes awhile to warm them up again. Tires. Male because they go bald and are often over-inflated. Hourglass. Female because over time, the weight shifts to the bottom. Remote control: Female . . . Ha! You thought it’d be male. Remotes give a man pleasure, he’d be lost without it, and while he doesn’t always know the right buttons to push, he keeps trying.
This will keep you chuckling until next time.
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