THE MORAL: If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks.
When I was working at McLean Hospital, a very high priced laughing academy, there was a patient there who was a scion of one of the oldest blue-blooded clans. When the lady psychiatrist taking his history in a filled lecture hall asked him how many girls he had had intercourse with, he answered "About two thousand." She exclaimed "I meant different girls, not times!" He answered " I meant dfferent girls." He had a very expensive convertible, and would wait outside shoe factories as the girls came out, and offer them rides. He had no trouble finding girls who were "game" when they looked at the car, and his handsome face. But he never asked the same girl twice, and there were a lot of shoe factories back then. But his alcoholism prevented him from setting record Wilt Chamberlain could not beat. So you don't have to be hung like a horse if you've got a Mercedes.
THE MORAL: If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks.
Some years ago I was lamenting to the "stud" in my bicycle club about my lack of connubial connection, whereupon he, who had a new woman every week, made the following suggestion to me: "Buy a new, ultra high tech, $2,000 bike, buy the latest yuppie lycra outfit, and, to enhance your sex appeal, put a medium sized potato in your shorts." I complied with his suggestion, much to the chagrin of my bank account, and set out to try my luck. The bike chics I encountered, rather than being friendly, only pointed and laughed. Upon my return from my ride I told the Club Stud of my dismal failure. He looked me over, then suggested, "Put the potato in front."
I have been reading all of your stories over the past two days, and I must admit that I've thoroughly enjoyed them. Here's one I heard a while ago...
There was a British expedition exploring the depths of Africa in the late 19th century. The plan was for the group to start in South Africa and slowly make its way up the continent, cataloging various species of animals and taking notes on all of the tribes encountered. Towards the beginning of the trip, the group encountered a very generous tribe and camped for a few weeks with them. When the time came to travel on, the chief gave the group many gifts, including his grand mahogany throne. The group continued into the interior of the Dark Continent and, after a while, encountered a savage tribe of cannibals. In order to spare themselves, the members of the expedition granted the chief of the cannibals all of their acquired gifts, including the throne. The chief was completely enthralled with the chair, and decided to have it kept in his own private hut. Not having much floor-space, the chair was hoisted up to the primitive attic of the small hut. Over night, the weak woven grass floor of the attic gave way and the chair toppled to the ground, crushing the chief as he slept. The moral of the story is, "People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones."
The group continued into the interior of the Dark Continent and, after a while, encountered a savage tribe of cannibals.
Of course, Nathan, not all cannibals are from the Dark Continent. There is an obscure reference in the Hollinshead Chronicles, if memory serves, about Fitzgerald the Scot, who was a cannibal. When he defeated someone in battle, he would roast the foe and consume him. On one occasion he bested the Earl of Gatsby and his champion, an unnamed knight. Upon devouring them he exclamed, "Tender is the knight, and the Gatsby's great!"
ahhh, but you failed to mention how delectable his three comrades tasted...
Ahhh, b96, since you've obviously read this obscure footnote to ancient English history, why don't you tell us? It is, after all, a story into which we can sink our teeth. Well, so much for biting remarks... However, my mother, a prudish English teacher, would take umbrage to my suggesting that you do this, since she always told me never to end a sentence with a proposition
This hairy hound thread started with a story I sent privately to Jackie. Now here's one she sent to me privately. It's not original, but it, awful enough to print:
A man is dining in a fancy restaurant and there is a gorgeous redhead sitting at the next table. He has been checking her out since he sat down, but lacks the nerve to talk with her.Suddenly she sneezes and her glass eye comes flying out of its socket towards the man. He reflexively reaches out, grabs it out of the air, and hands it back. "Oh my, I am so sorry," the woman says as she pops her eye back in place. "Let me buy your dinner to make it up to you." They enjoy a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards the woman invites him to the theater followed by drinks. After paying for everything, she asks him if he would like to come to her place for a nightcap ...and stay for breakfast the next morning. She cooks a gourmet meal with all the trimmings, makes mad, passionate love to him, and prepares a sumptuous breakfast the next morning. The guy is amazed! Everything had been incredible! "You know," he said, "you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet?" "No," she replies......... "You just happened to catch my eye."
I used this as the toast at my cousin's wedding reception... apparently I sold it pretty well, because for the remainder of the evening, guests were approaching my cousin trying to appear casual in assessing which of her eyes was fake.
Over many years BBC radio had a literary quiz game called "My Word" in which two teams of two were posed questions. The regular team captains were Frank Muir and Dennis Norden. One of the regular questions involved each team being given a quotation at the start of the show, and the guest team member having to give the correct source, while Frank and Dennis would provide a shaggy dog story ending up with the quote. I have the utmost admiration for their skill, because the audience knew the punch line all the way through and yet the stories were so constructed as to hide the pun. Here are two examples (both I think from Frank who was the master). These are a lot shorter than the originals (which I shall now have to track down in the BBC publications, having been reminded of them).
Two Romans competed against each others at growing flowers. One of the Roman's gave strict instructions to the slaves that the roses be tended carefully, but while he was away, a lazy slave did not water the line of plants allocated to him and they shrivelled up in the sun. Realising he would get into terrible trouble, he sneaked over to the neighbouring villa that night and stole a complete line of roses which he planted in place of the dead ones, not realising that the dead ones were white and the replacements red. The next day when the Roman came to view the display, he saw line upon line of perfect roses, all white apart from a single line of red, and was heard to remark "Our roses arose. Is a row Cicero's?"
Frank was concerned about his neighbour who had a splinter in her bottom, which she got while watching the play which his kids put on his garden. They had formed the seating from planks which they had balanced in rows of increasing height; the first row balanced on bricks, the second on orange boxes, the third on oil drums. Unfortunately the planks had been left out in the garden over the winter, raising the grain, so that when the neighbour shuffled along to make room for someone, she pierced herself on the splinter. It was explained to Frank and his children that this all could have been avoided if they had stored the planks in a dry place over the winter. So if you have tiers, prepare to shed them now!
My aunt bought 25,000 tickets in the Florida lottery in the hopes of winning enough money for a geo-positioning-device to install in her desktop computer.
An article in the UK Times (?) this weekend bemoaned the new Sports Editor on the Sun tabloid newspaper having banned puns from the Sun's sports headlines. One example of their previous art (and it can be googled) was when Caledonians (unexpectedly) beat Celtic by a large margin in teh Scottish soccer league. The headline was: "Super Cally go ballistic, Celtic are atrocious". And they want to ban it?
2. Worst rabble-rouser in the UK, hiding behind freedom of the press laws.
3. Grudgingly concede an occasional felicity with the language, uncluding the creation of some surprising 'classics' (however politically objectionable they may be). Just two front page headlines as examples:
a. Gotcha!: when the British forces sank the Belgrano during the Falklands War
b. (Against snap of Labour party leader, prior to general election) If this man wins will the last person to leave England please turn out the lights: after the Conservative party won the election (fourth in a row?), the paper crowed: It woz the Sun wot won it
I didn't google, so I may have misquoted some bits.
The Lone Ranger and Tonto walked into a bar and sat down to drink a beer. After a few minutes, a big tall cowboy walked in and said "Who owns the big white horse outside?"
The Lone Ranger stood up, hitched his gun belt, and said, "I do...Why?"
The cowboy looked at the Lone Ranger and said, "I just thought you'd like to know that your horse is about dead out there!"
The Lone Ranger and Tonto rushed outside, and sure enough Silver was ready to die from heat exhaustion. The Lone Ranger got the horse some water and soon Silver was starting to feel a little better.
The Lone Ranger turned to Tonto and said, "Tonto, I want you to run around Silver and see if you can create enough of a breeze to make him start to feel better. Tonto said, "Sure, Kemosabe" and took off running circles around Silver.
Not able to do anything else but wait, the Lone Ranger returned to the bar to finish his drink. A few minutes later, another cowboy struts into the bar and asks, "Who owns that big white horse outside?"
The Lone Ranger stands again, and exclaims, "I do, what's wrong with him this time?"
The cowboy looks him in the eye and says, "Nothing, but you left your Injun runnin"
here's one I discovered whilst searching for the usage of endochronic...
(This is a one of those alternate universe tales) Now Josie/backwards was much the same as the Josie we know and love, but with a few significant differences. While Josie is a timecop, Josie/backwards is a time-criminal (or a daybreaker as they call them over there). And often, in order to avoid being caught by her world's timecops, she slips across the bridge to our universe. Normally she'd merely stay out of sight, but she's such a humor lover that she was irresistably drawn to Callahan's on a Punday Night. The Patrons pride themselves on being a pretty observant bunch, but they didn't catch on to Josie -- until the winning pun of the night was offered. Doc Webster told such a stinker that Josie/backwards forgot herself, and the fact is that while the time cop Josie groans at great/awful puns, the outlaw Josie wails.
I can go one similar. And this one's true. Someone I know name her child Cody William. And wondered when I just about collapsed from laughter when she told me ...
I can go one similar. And this one's true. Someone I know name her child Cody William. And wondered when I just about collapsed from laughter when she told me ...
Penny was a hard working, conscientious girl, who lived on her own. Her dream in life was to go on an ocean cruise around the world. So she scrimped, and she saved, and she saved, and she scrimped until finally, one day,she had enough money to go on her ocean cruise.
One night, after they had been at sea for a week, Penny was walking back to her cabin when the heel on her left shoe broke throwing her off balance. If that wasn't enough, the ship chose that moment to heave to the left. As a result, Penny was thrown overboard.
A hue and a cry were immediately raised and after about five minutes they found Penny. Hauling her aboard, the ship's crew realized that it was too late. Poor Penny's body was saved but she had drowned.
Normally, they would have performed a burial at sea, but Penny was a very conscientious girl, and had written a will. In it, she specified that she wished for her body to be cremated, and kept in a jar on her parent's fireplace mantle.
Her wishes were fulfilled, which just goes to show you that a Penny saved is a Penny urned.
Quote: The world was suddenly PennyLess? This story belongs OVER HERE
May I inquire as to, in your own oppinion, what makes my Shaggy Dog story more appropriate in your above mentioned forum and not here where I placed it to begin with?
Yes, it is a pun on words, but it is a Shaggy Dog Story none the less. So please help me understand.
First, it struck me as an excellent example of a pun. Fortunately, the very nature of the Internet (and web pages, and forums, et cetera) makes it a simple matter, with "links", for it to appear in both places!
"I am certain there is too much certainty in the world" -Michael Crichton
Pennyless, could you by any chance be descendant from good Ser Illifer The Pennyless?
This then could be your story.
William the Conquerer, who was crowned King of what could be called South-England in 1066 , was the son of the Duke of Normandy, Robert I, 'The Illustrious' and the not so dumb blonde Herleve also called Arlette, a tanner's daugther. Though not legitimite, Robert secured him for his succession which came to need soon enough. Robert died on his way back from Jerusalem (crusade nr. X) and the 7 year old William became Duke of Normandy. Some attempts to replace him were made but with the backing of king Henri I of France he stayed in the saddle. He became a good fighter and a lot of that was done right then and there.
At Hastings , where a battle was fought over the claim on the South-England throne, William was for some moments thougth slain and his army was retreating. " Take a good look at me ! ! I'm still alive by the grace of God and I will prove here and now that I will be victorious! " On saying that he pushed back his helmet and showed his face to his troops who at the sight of the ardent, determened face took new courage, surrounded their persuers non of whom survived.
But that's not the point.
It may have been with the grace of God but the fact is that it was a young brave squire who saved him from the fatal blow.
After all the figting was done and won, William rewarded the squire by knighting him. No keep, castle or land came with the knighthood as Willam was always in want of funds to do his conquering. The the new Knight called himself : Ser Illifer The Pennyless. ( Illifer beeing the rhoticized form of illustrious and Pennyless needs no further comment.)
He was an excellent storyteller , which helped him through hazardous battle situations by distracting his enemy with the "Wait a minute" tric ( mostly fatal to his adversery by a fatal swordblow from his fellow fighters in the midst of the tale.) With his captivating stories he always had the better of the pretty girls because his stories put them off their guard. And his famous saving King William got him to sit at any great Lord's table. (incl. servant whenches and sneaky ladies ). Bards and storytellers were wildly populair in those days.
The countless liltte Pennylesses and lads that issued from these numerous happy encounters he could not legitimate because of his chronic lack of money and his wayfarer's life. But those were the days before all the great moralists had said their say and nobody really held it against him. His offspring inherited his talents (most of the time)and they made their life just like he did, poor but always populair and well provided for. Some took his name , some didn't . But anyway , the world must be crowded with his far descendants and some still carry the name. Like you f.i. Many of them crossed the big ocean through the ages and some, I'm afraid crossed the Channel. All of them no doubt will sit at a hospitable, generous table for Christmas, all over the world.
The daughters BTW from the Pennyless 's lineage have the same talents and are extremely pretty and always marry wealthy husbands.
Alimae HP, I really liked your story , but it took me long to get the pun, because I did not know the saying. The others made clear that it was A penny saved is a penny urned (earned?) It was a pun well hidden to me.
Hey, BranShea! You just can't rattle a good story like that.... me hanging on every word... racking my feeble brain to discover the hidden and, as I anticipated, inevitable pending punchline ...!!! That's akin to our resident punster TEd telling us a true story!
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It is, after all, a story into which we can sink our teeth. Well, so much for biting remarks... However, my mother, a prudish English teacher, would take umbrage to my suggesting that you do this, since she always told me never to end a sentence with a proposition
.
. Thanks!
That's akin to our resident punster TEd telling us a true story!
