Milo Yield: Laugh Tracks in the Dust 9-9-13
Folks, I’ve written my columns on a computer for more than 25 years and this week is the first time my computer has failed me. But, thanks to four sessions with the technical support folks in south Florida, I might have a temporary fix that will let me write this column.
A retired farmer is walking along a Florida beach when he comes across a lamp partially buried in the sand. He picks up the lamp and gives it a rub.
A genie appears and tells the farmer he has been granted one wish.
The guy thinks for a moment and says, “I want to live forever.”
“Sorry,” said the genie, “I’m not allowed to grant eternal life.”
“OK, then,” the farmer says, “I want to die after Congress and the President balance the budget, get us out of wars in the Middle East and eliminate the federal debt of $17 trillion.”
“You are a crafty one,” says the genie. You’ve learned to outsmart the system. You must be a farmer.”
“You are correct,” the farmer says smugly.
The same retired farmer left the Florida beach and started playing golf. The club paired him off with an experienced golfer from New York City. On the first tee, the farmer stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity.
He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn’t start his back swing.
Finally his exasperated partner asked, “What the heck is taking you so long?”
“My wife is watching me from the clubhouse balcony,” the farmer explained. “I want to make a perfect shot.”
His playing partner drew in a long breath and said, “That’s 200 yards behind you. You don’t have a chance of hitting her from here!”
Later that evening, the same farmer and his wife were walking from a seafood restaurant when a mugger wearing a ski mask jumped into his path and stuck a gun in his ribs.
“Give me your money,” he demanded.
Indignant, the farmer thought quickly and replied, “You can’t rob me! I am a United States congressman!”
“In that case,” replied the mugger, “give me MY money.”
The local bar in western Nebraska was so sure that its bartender was the strongest man around that it offered a standing $1,000 bet. Here’s how the bet went:
The bartender would squeeze a lemon until all the juice ran into a glass, and hand the lemon to a patron. If the patron could squeeze one more drop of juice, the patron would win the money. Over the years, many people had tried — weightlifters, husky farmer, Cornhusker football players, etc. — but nobody could win the bet.
Then, one day, a scrawny little fellow came into the bar, wearing thick glasses and a polyester suit, and said in a small voice, “I’d like to try the bet.”
After the laughter had died down, the bartender said, “OK!” He grabbed the lemon and squeezed away. Then he handed the wrinkled remains of the rind to the little fellow. But the bar crowd’s laughter turned to total silence as the little man clenched his little fists around the lemon and six drops immediately fell into the glass. As the crowd cheered, the bartender reluctantly paid the $1,000, and asked the little man, “What do you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, a weight-lifter, or what?”
The little fellow replied: “I work for the IRS.”
Back in the old days, a traveling salesman drove the rural back roads trying to talk farmers into buying bicycles, but was meeting with considerable sales resistance from the farmers and ranchers he stopped to give his sales pitch.
At one such stop, the grizzled farmer listened intently to the sales pitch, then replied, “Shucks, mister, I’d sooner spend my money on a cow.”
“Ah,” replied the salesman, “but think how silly you’d look riding around on a cow.”
“Humph!” retorted the farmer. “Not near as silly as I’d look trying to milk a bicycle!”
Well, this computer has limped along this far, so I think I’ll quit and see if my e-mail will send it along. So, I’ll close with these words of wisdom from famed newscaster Edward R. Murrow. He said, “To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful. It is as simple as that.”
Amen, have a good ’un. ❖