Hopefully a little humor.

A police officer pulls over a speeding car and says, "Sir, I clocked you at 80 miles per/hour ."

The driver says, "Gee, officer, I had it on cruise control, perhaps your radar gun needs calibrating."

Not looking up from her knitting in the passenger seat, the wife says, "Now don't be silly dear, you know that this car does NOT have cruise control."

As the officer writes out the ticket, the driver looks over at his wife and growls, "Can you please keep your mouth shut for once?"

The wife smiles demurely and says, "Dear, you should just be thankful your radar detector went off when it did."

As the officer makes out a second ticket for the illegal radar detector unit fitted in the car he had just pulled over, the man glowers at his wife and says through clenched teeth , " ###### , woman, can't you just keep your big mouth shut ???"

The officer frowns and says, "Hmmm, and I notice that you're not wearing your seat belt , sir. That's another automatic $75 fine."

The driver says, "Yeah, well, you see officer, I had it on, but I took it off when you pulled me over so that I could get my license out."

The wife says, "Now, dear, you know very well that you didn't have your seat belt on. You NEVER wear your seat belt when you're driving."

And as the police officer is writing the third ticket the driver turns to his wife and bellows at her, "WILL YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT UP???"

The officer looks over at the wife and asks, "Pardon me Ma'am, but does your husband always talk to you this way?"

"Only when he's been drinking."

BengalBilly

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For some reason MyFav, that joke reminds of a poem I read

May 15, 2020, 10:28 PM

as a kid:

"St. Peter At The Gate"

St. Peter stood guard at the golden gate,
With a solemn mien and air sedate,
When up to the top of the golden stair,
Maggie and Jiggs ascending there,

Applied for admission. They came and stood
Before St. Peter, so great and good,
In hope the City of Peace to win,
And asked St. Peter to let them in.

Now Maggie was tall, and lank, and thin,
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin.
Jiggs was short, and thick, and stout,
His stomach was built so it rounded out.

His face was pleasant, and all the while
He wore a kindly and genial smile.
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke,
And Jiggs kept still while Maggie spoke.

"O thou who guardest this gate," said she,
'We two came hither, beseeching thee
To let us enter the heavenly land
And play our harps with the angel band.

Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt.
There is nothing from heaven to bar me out;
I've been to meeting three times a week,
And almost always I'd rise and speak.

'I've told the sinners about the day
When they'd repent of their evil way;
I've told my neighbors-I've told 'em all
'Bout Adam and Eve and the Primal Fall;

I've shown them what they'd have to do
If they'd pass in with the chosen few;
I've marked their path of duty clear-
Laid out the plan for their whole career.

'I've talked and talked to 'em loud and long
For my lungs are good, and my voice is strong,
So, good, St. Peter, you'll clearly see
The gate of heaven is open for me.

But Jiggs here, I regret to say,
Hasn't walked in exactly the narrow way-,
He smokes and he swears, grave faults he's got,
And I don't know whether he'll pass or not.

"He never would pray with an earnest vim,
Or go to revival, or join in a hymn,
So I had to leave him in sorrow there
While I, with the chosen, united in prayer,

He ate what the pantry chanced to afford,
While I, in my purity, sang to the Lord.
And if cucumbers were all he got
It's a chance if he merited them or not.

But, Oh St. Peter, I love him so.
To the pleasures of heaven, please let him go.
I've done enough, a saint I've been,
Won't that atone? Can't you let him in?

By my grim gospel I know 'tis so
That the unrepentant must fry below.
But isn't there some way you can see
That he may enter, who's dear to me?

It's narrow gospel by which I pray,
But the chosen expect to find some way
Of coaxing, or fooling, or bribing you
So that their relation can amble through,

And say, St. Peter, it seems to me
The gate isn't kept as it 'ought to be.
You 'ought to stand by the opening there,
And never sit down in that easy chair.

"And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed,
But I don't like the way your whiskers are trimmed;
They're cut too wide and outward toss;
They'd look better narrow, cut straight across.
Well, we must be going, our crown to win,
So open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in."

St. Peter sat quiet and stroked his staff,
But, in spite of his office, he had to laugh,
Then said with a fiery gleam in his eye,
"Who's tending this gateway, you or I?"

And then he arose in his stature tall,
And pressed a button upon the wall,
And said to the imp, who answered the bell
"Escort this female around to hell!."

Jiggs stood still as a piece of stone-
Stood sadly, gloomily, there alone.
A lifelong settled idea he had
That Maggie was good and he was bad.

He thought if Maggie went down below
That he would certainly have to go;
That if she went to the regions dim
There wasn't the ghost of a show for him.

Slowly he turned, by habit bent,
To follow wherever Maggie went.
St. Peter, standing on duty there,
Observed that the top of his head was bare.

He called Jiggs back and said:
"Friend, how long has thou been wed?"
"Thirty years" (with a weary sigh),
And then he thoughtfully added, 'Why?'

St. Peter was silent. With head bent down,
He raised his hand and scratched his crown.
Then, seeming a different thought to take,
Slowly, half to himself, he spake:

"Thirty years with that woman there?
No wonder the man hasn't any hair.
Swearing is wicked; smoke's not good;
He smoked and swore-I should think he would!

"Thirty years with that tongue so sharp?
Ho! Angel Gabriel! give him a harp,
A jeweled harp with a golden string.
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing;

Gabriel, give him a seat alone-
One with a cushion-up near the throne.
Call up some angels to play their best;
Let him enjoy the music-and rest.

'See that on finest ambrosia he feeds;
He's had about all the hell he needs;
It isn't just hardly the thing to do-
To roast him on earth and the future, too."

They gave him a harp with golden strings,
A glittering robe and a pair of wings,
And he said as he entered the Realms of Day:
"Well, this beats cucumbers, anyway."

And so the Scriptures had come to pass-
"The last shall be first and the first shall be last."

- With apologies to Joseph Bert Smiley

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Re: Hopefully a little humor.

Re: Hopefully a little humor.

Re: Hopefully a little humor.

For some reason MyFav, that joke reminds of a poem I read

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