1. A husband was sitting on the sofa watching TV when he heard his wife's voice call from the kitchen, "What would you like for dinner, honey? Chicken, beef or lamb?" He yelled back, "Thanks, dear, I'll have the chicken." "Shut up. I was talking to the cat!"
Definition of alimony: the screwing you get for the screwing you got!
2. God: Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What's going on down there on Earth? What happened to my dandelions, violets, and milkweed? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Plants which grow in any soil, withstand drought, and multiply with abandon. Nectar from their long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and songbirds. There should be vast gardens of colors, but all I see are green rectangles. St. Francis: It's the Suburbanite tribe, Lord. They call your flowers 'weeds' and go to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass. God: Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want grass? St. Francis: Apparently so. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin by fertilizing it and poisoning any other plants that appear. God: Spring rains and warm weather make grass grow fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy. St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it down -- sometimes twice a week. God: They cut it? So then they bale it? Like hay? St. Francis: Not exactly. They rake it into bags. God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? St. Francis: No, just the opposite; they pay to throw it away. God: Now, let me get this straight: they fertilize grass so it will grow, then, when it does grow, they cut it and pay to throw it away? St. Francis: Yes, Sir. God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when I cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That lack of growth must save them a lot of work. St. Francis: You won't believe this, but when the rain stops, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it. God: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. My trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. St. Francis: Not really. When the leaves fall, the Suburbanites bag them, too, and pay even more to have them hauled away. God: No! Then how do they protect the roots through the winter and keep the soil moist? St. Francis: After throwing away the leaves, they buy mulch, haul it home, and spread it around in place of the leaves. God: And where do they get this mulch? St. Francis: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch. God: Enough! How's the Middle East going ?
One guy walked up to another guy in a crowded gay bar and asked, "Mind if I push your stool up a little?"
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