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Archive for March, 2008

One homeless person to another: “I thought of turning a new leaf; but the winter set in early.”

The other: “I was so low on the job market.  so I took a couple of degrees. But now I am overqualified for the jobs available”.

2.

At a Hallow’n party

one in the costume of  Headless Horseman,  “I am not sticking my neck out for any one.”

His companion in a Dracula dress: ” Ichabod, you lost your head and I my dentures. We will take off from there during the party. Remember we are here for a good time.”

benny

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*In case a piece of a bone gets stuck in your throat, don’ t panic: get your dog to fetch it. Invariably he does it.
If more than three or four bones have become stuck, it is pretty serious. Lie down quietly for help to arrive.
(To the next of kin: Phone for your undertaker. He shall know what to do with a bag of bones.)
*If you are in the habit of rubbing hands in glee it can often leave an unpleasant impression on others. Here is a cure: wring hands in counter clockwise for a week. Or try this: If you find one with the name Roth you wax him forthwith and see how it develops (caution: may prove at times rather inconvenient. I tried this on one Philip Roth and I heard Portnoy complaining on his behalf. I could only reply: Jerk off.)

*I have a book full of such simple remedies.
All the entries are by courtesy of my grandma who lived till 103.
Her secret? A plateful of spinach for lunch, she said. Even when died she kept her good eye open. For those who are exacting her last word was ‘popeye.’
Did she mean the sailor or her good eye blinking open? I can’ t say. 
After these 20 years I am still mystified. Any remedy for mystification, which is a chronic case? If any of my readers have one let me know. I shall add it to my list. What shall I do with it in the end? Blimey! I am mystified.
benny

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How We Make A Mess Of The Message ©
Monk Anselmo once received a monk of exceptional parts and he spoke eight languages and had translated the Holy Writ in each. I was present the time he explained to the yokels of The Pie-In-the Skye the manner God had blessed him. He was sure it was to spread the word of God to people of all tongues all over the earth.
After all the excitement died he said with a very woebegone expression that it set off a bitter feud among nations as to the day when the Lord God rested from his labor. ‘Eight times I have been burnt in effigy’ said the visiting scholar monk, ‘and it makes me sad.’
After a week he asked Monk Anselmo pointing to me and Master Crapper, “This two have been idling for a week.” The venerable monk asked his host, “Are they sick or something?”
Monk Anselmo called me and asked me to answer the monk. I explained.
“ We got the Holy Writ by all accounts on Sunday. The day our Good Lord rested after creation. On Sunday, the Lord enjoins us to take rest. So we refuse to work as matter of principle.”
“One cycle of cosmos is one day in Lord’s calender,” added Master Crapper, “Come next cycle we shall work our butts off.”
We, if endowed with some sense shall use our heads according to our best knowledge and abilities. So don’t go on trying to drive some sense into me how to think or make meaning out of what I see as crystal clear. Tomorrow perhaps I may find out something else and change my opinion I hold today. In other words teaching a dog old or young what you think as new tricks is quite useless.

benny

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I met a rich wise man. He said he didn’t know if he were wise or not. But he knew he was certainly rich. He had much to show me around by way of his wealth. Then I met a poor wise man. He knew he had to be wise since he was not rich. All that he made up for his lack he displayed in our conversation and it was more of a monologue, I should say.
Much later I met a wise man sitting on a mat out in the open enjoying the setting Sun.
“Are you happy sir?” I asked him. He took time from his contemplation and said, “ I never got around to ask myself that.” He adjusted himself to face me and said, “ Now that you asked me let me tell you, sir, you make me happy.”
I spent a happy hour or two in his company and during which we would have hardly exchanged ten words. I knew I was a happy man.
benny

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How free is a Western society overdriven by market economy? See for yourself what a man on the street must do without: can he afford his medical costs? or what are essential for his security or for his well-being while some can afford the luxuries they do not really need?

benny

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THE SOURCE OF HAPPINESS ©

Aesop went with the solemn crowd into the House of Mourning. A great many of the family of the dead were gathered there. The dead was a youth of tender age, the only son to a devout couple. This made the occasion very poignant. Nobody spoke but watched the last rites for the dead with sorrow. At last the crowd made their way from the dead and one old man broke the silence saying: “I only wish my son were dead. It would have brought an end to my misery.” So sudden was his outburst that the crowd was stunned.
“He is a never-do-well and a wastrel”, the old man continued. “Drink, drink is all he cares… my fortune, he has already wasted away. And now I have the misfortune, of tasting the sharpness of his knuckles, woe is me!”
The old man began to sob. Aesop could see how much oppressed the old man was. He mused thus: “On one hand I see the sorrow of parents for the loss of their son; on the other the misery of a father for a son who is alive.”
Another man confided: “My son was not bad at all. The only fault was that he was a strapping young fellow. So he was drafted by the army and is now away on a foreign soil…. desolate I am. Each day I dread I might next see him brought home, feet first.”
Each man connected in some fashion with the sorrow of the parents: each one was sad for something or the other. One was sad for not winning the Olympic games that had just came to a close. Another for winning a lottery that made him a prey to his friends’ envy and spite.
Aesop mused upon all that he had heard that day. Before he blew out the candle for the night he said to himself: “Neither children, nor material wealth can guarantee happiness. Neither failure nor success in an enterprise does in itself hold key to happiness. Had my deformed foot held the key to my happiness I ought to have said gods are fools. No god has allowed a deformity to make me unhappy but to find happiness in spite of it.”

benny

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*My heart is on the right place but my foot isn’t.  It gets stuck in the mouth when I least expect it..
While visiting the victims of Hurricane Katrina, I said,  “Life is a swim. You must ride the wave, you must.”

*I watch endless soaps and am yet to decide if I kill time or the TV is killing me.
*I was a crybaby. It hasn’t changed much. Except that now I  cry for hours just to see tears fall.

benny

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counterclockwise3.jpg

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I was the cup-bearer to King Sint Bernard. In the Constellation CTA 579 there is only one who expects respect. He as the king demands and gets it from his queen, and his subjects. He is a lucky dog, really. You see we Hatsheputians are all dogs. But some are more lucky than others, I guess.
The day I thought I will search new pastures I went to him and pulled him by his snout and kissed him on both cheeks. Nothing more I needed to do. It was as good as a letter of resignation.
He shoved me down the 180 steps, and happy as a lark I went.
A few galaxies I visited and then I went to a constellation that was pretty strange. Not knowing how to get past the beasties who surrounded me and growled I did the next best thing. The one who looked as very important, since he remotely suggested King Sint Bernard, I grabbed him by his tail and kissed his both cheeks.
That saved my skin I am sure. Hardly I stood up the whole crowd exploded into laughter. “ You are a lucky dog!” said the one who got kissed and introduced himself as the leader of the pack. He said in the end rather friendly,” Here you kiss my ass, the whole door opens before you.” After a while I thought I would escape while the going was good. So I took leave kissing once again and left.
Back among the Hatesheputians I once again called on the king. King Sint Bernard II was not like his sire but a growling hulk of a monster. I had to improvise and I took by his tail and kissed his ass. It came as a flash of inspiration. But the king just threw me out of his kingdom and closed the city gate.
Initiative is good up to a point I suppose.
benny

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*They call me Bleeding Heart. I never have once bled hearts: I am a tree surgeon.
The other day I barked at the wrong tree only to have a terrier bite me.

*They say I am so self-absorbed that even tissues don’t help.

* Online shopping isn’t perfect: the other day I bought a pair of Bermuda shorts but I could find it a perfect fit only when I landed in Bermuda.

benny

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