Yield: Nervous Nelly | TheFencePost.com

Yield: Nervous Nelly

Wish I’d thought of this holiday story, but I didn’t. It was passed along by a kindly reader.

Notice in a small town weekly newspaper: “Those of you who are placing Christmas lights/decorations in your yards, would you please avoid anything that has red or blue flashing lights together? Every time I come around the corner, I think it’s the police and I have a panic attack. I have to brake hard, toss my whiskey out the window, fasten my seat belt, throw my phone on the floor, turn my radio down and and push the pistol under the seat. All while trying to drive. It’s just too much drama, even for Christmas. Plus, it endangers me, you and yours. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding. Signed: Nervous Nellie.”


A middle-aged farm couple is having marital problems. The husband secretly goes to a marriage counselor to discuss the increasingly unhappy union.

The husband tells the marriage counselor, “Something terrible is happening and I have to talk to you about it.”

The counselor asks, “What’s wrong?”

The husband replies, “My wife is going to poison me.”

The counselor, very surprised by this, asks, “How can that be?”

The husband persists even louder, “I’m telling you. I’m certain she’s going to poison me. What should I do?”

The counselor then offers, “Tell you what. Let me talk to her. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll let you know.”

Surprisingly, the wife agrees to talk with the counselor in a phone conversation. The minute the phone call is over, the counselor calls the farmer and says, “I spoke to your wife on the phone for three hours. We discussed all her problems with your marriage and life in general. You still want my advice?”

The distraught farmer says, “Yes!”

The wise counselor replies, “Take the poison!”


Odds and ends: There’s a photo making the rounds on the internet of two “concerned shoppers” protesting in front of the milk display case in a supermarket. One caring lady is carrying a sign — with a picture of the head of what looks to me to be a Holstein steer — that reads: “I want to live.” The other concerned lady is carrying a protest sign that reads: “It’s not food. It’s violence.”

If those are true protestors, someone who cares about the truth should explain two things to them: one, Holstein steers don’t provide milk and, two, real milk cows don’t have to die to provide the milk in the supermarket display case.

I suspect that the combined IQ of both the protestors is about equal to that of the Holstein steer.


Odds and ends: If a telemarketer calls during the Christmas holiday, hand the phone to your small child or grandchild and tell them it’s Santa Claus.


Overheard at the local cafe: “Why are pre-packaged medicines so danged hard to open. Don’t they understand that if we need the medicine, we’ll be too tired and weak to open the package.


Overheard at the local coffee shop: “The best thing about being an adult is avoiding going to the doctor until you have to be hospitalized.”


Farmer to farmer at the coffee shop: “When I got up this morning, I wondered if I would win the big lottery today or if I could get through the day without the combine breaking down. The odds of either one happening are about the same.”


Sarcastic gray-haired farm wife to grizzled husband after he returns from the barber shop: “Oh, I love what he did with your hair. How did he get it to come out your nostrils and ears like that?”


The deer season has been open for a week and no suicidal deer has walked in front of my blind. Of course, it might help if I spent more time in the blind.


I read recently that agriculture ranks at the very bottom of the list of industries benefitting from digital technology. It might be right because I’ve never seen a digital pitchfork or hoe.

The article went on to explain how hard scientists are trying to find intelligent life on other planets. I guess they’ve moved on since they couldn’t find intelligent life here on Earth — witness the two milk protestors described above.


Rest in peace President George Herbert Walker Bush. You weren’t my favorite all-time president and sometimes I disagreed with your policies. But I never thought you were anything but a patriot and a caring, loving human being. Your family having Reba McIntyre and the Oak Ridge Brothers sing at your funeral in Houston proved to me that you were, indeed, a rare person: a blue-blooded New Englander, but a redneck Texan at heart. Sir, you earned your nation’s eternal gratitude for a lifetime of service. ❖

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