Ehh - what did you say Marie??? :o)
extraordinarily handsome man decided he had the
responsibility to marry the perfect woman so
they could produce beautiful children beyond
compare.With that as his mission he
began to search for the perfect
woman.Shortly thereafter he met a
Redneck who had three stunning, gorgeous
daughters that positively took his breath away.
So he explained his mission to the Redneck and
asked for permission to marry one of
them.The Redneck simply replied, "
They're lookin' to get married, so you came to
the right place. Look 'em over and pick the one
you want."The man dated the first
daughter. The next day the Redneck asked for the
man's opinion. "Well," said the man,
"she's just a weeeeee bit, not that you can
hardly notice ... pigeon-toed."The
Redneck nodded and suggested the man date one of
the other girls; so the man went out with the
second daughter.The next day, the
Redneck again asked how things went.
"Well, "the man replied, "she's just a
weeeee bit, not that you can hardly tell,......
cross-eyed."The Redneck nodded and
suggested he date the third girl to see if
things might be better. So he did.The
next morning the man rushed in
exclaiming,"She's perfect, just perfect.
She's the one I want to marry." So they
were wed right away. Months later the baby was
born. When the man visited the nursery he was
horrified: the baby wasthe ugliest, most
pathetic human you can imagine. He rushed to his
father-in-law and asked how such a thing could
happen considering the beauty of the
parents."Well," explained the Redneck,
"she was just a weeeee bit, not that you could
hardly tell ......pregnant when you met
OH Marge, roflol
Another one from my dear warped minded friends.
A large woman, wearing a sleeveless sundress,
walked into a Bar. She raised her right arm, revealing a huge, hairy
armpit as she pointed to all the people sitting at the bar and asked,
"What man here will buy a lady a drink?"
The bar went silent as the patrons tried to ignore her.
But down at the end of the bar, an owl-eyed drunk slammed his hand down
on the counter and bellowed, "Give the ballerina a drink!"
The bartender poured the drink and the woman chugged it down. She turned
to the patrons and again pointed around at all of them, revealing the
same hairy armpit, and asked, "What man here will buy a lady a drink?"
Once again, the same little drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, "Give the ballerina another drink!"
The bartender approached the little drunk and said, "Tell me, it's your
business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep
calling her a ballerina?"
The drunk replied, "Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!"
Dh has been watching classic horror flicks all month. 'Got me to thinking about what would happen if a Gardener fallowed Frankenstien's example and made a monster.
Quilters are people who strip so they won't go topless.
Very very clever, CC! LOL for the melons.
CarlCarl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, No one could really say
they knew him very well. Before his retirement, he
took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, He may notMake it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity. When
he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring
for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed
up. He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he
simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailantsStole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow
and sighed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that CarlReally was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place. A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When
had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the
street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another
laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering. The
summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when
he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regainHis
footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors
reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.
"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The
young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand
to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from
his pocket and handed it to Carl. "What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?" The
man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned
something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people
like you we picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it
But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling
back, you tried
to give us a drink.You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He
paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to
say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I
guess." And with that, he walked off down the street. Carl
looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took
out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his
wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the
young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago. He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall
young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In
a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make
your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his
garden." The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door. Opening
the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands
holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the
young man said. The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He
knew that Carl's kindness had
turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to
the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor
him." The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers andvegetables just as Carl had done. During
that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent
member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's
memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have
kept it. One day he approached the new minister and told him
that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a
shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's
bringing him home on Saturday." "Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's
name?" "Carl," he replied.
Marie - you are so bad. :o)
Cute veggie Frankenstein CC
Marge I know I'm bad, I'll try to behave. It's the crowd I hang out with. We're going strait to h--l! : )
But you are good with the Carl story and all the others that give me goose bumps and make me feel warm all over, thanks. (((((HUGS)))))
Marie, your a hoot roflol
EAT!! SLEEP !! QUILT!!
Love the story, Barbara. Ginny
what a way to start the day, with tears and smiles. Thanks Marge and Barbara.