Two Stolen Jokes

An old country preacher had a teenage son, and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession. Like many young men his age, the boy didn't really know what he wanted to do, and he didn't seem too concerned about it. One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy's room and placed on his study table four objects.

1. A bible.
2. A silver dollar.
3. A bottle of whisky.
4. And a Playboy magazine.

"I'll just hide behind the door," the old preacher said to himself. "When he comes home from school today, I'll see which object he picks up. If it's the bible, he's going to be a preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be! If he picks up the dollar, he's going to be a business man, and that would be okay, too. But if he picks up the bottle, he's going to be a no-good drunken bum, and Lord, what a shame that would be. And worst of all if he picks up that magazine he's going to be a skirt-chasing womanizer."

The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son's foot- steps as he entered the house whistling and headed for his room. The boy tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.

Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He picked up the silver dollar and dropped into his pocket. He uncorked the bottle and took a big drink, while he admired this month's centerfold.

"Lord have mercy," the old preacher disgustedly whispered to himself. "He's gonna run for Congress."

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The Pope and George W. Bush are on the same stage, in front of a huge crowd. ‘W’ and ‘His Holiness’, however, have seen it all before so to make it a little more interesting the President says to the Pope, “Did you know that with just one little wave of my hand I can make every Republican in this crowd go wild?”

The Pope doubts this, so W shows him. Sure enough, the wave elicits rapture and cheering from every Republican in the crowd. Gradually, the cheering subsides.

The Pope, not wanting to be outdone by such arrogance, considers what he should do.

“That was impressive. But did you know that with just one little wave of MY hand I can make EVERY person in the crowd go crazy with joy? This joy will not be a momentary display like that of your subjects, but will go deep into their hearts, and they will forever speak of this day and rejoice.”

The President seriously doubts this, and tells the Pope this. So the Pope slaps W upside the head.

Smackdown With an Otter

It is an irregular habit of mine to wander across the railroad tracks that divide my yard from the Connecticut river, scramble down the steep banking and sit for a while beside the gently flowing water. The serenity of this scene in the early evening of a late spring day is perfectly delightful and so the other day I did just that. My buddy Sukey and I perched ourselves on a flat spot, breathed in the fresh air and relaxed while watching a variety of birds flitter across the water's surface in pursuit of an evening meal.


After just a few minutes there, I was surprised to see a river otter poke its head up. Now those of you who have seen a river otter before, you should skip right over to the next paragraph. But those of you who have not, let me describe it for you. Regardless of what you might find at Wikipedia, the river otter, an amphibian (not that there's anything wrong with that), is a fearsome creature with long, sharp fangs and razor-like claws. They can grow to ten feet in length and are reputed to have stolen cats, small dogs and even unattended babies from backyards. With fur as tough as steel and lightning fast reflexes they are in short, viciously ruthless killers.

As I was saying, this bloodthirsty creature popped out of the water and began to swim towards the center of the river, moving slightly upstream. He (I say he, but that's really just a literary convenience, it could just as easily have been a little lady otter) appeared at first to give me nary a glance, but as I watched him, a curious thing happened. With obvious annoyance he raised his head slightly, looked towards the bank in my direction, then dove beneath the water with a loud slap of his tail against its surface.


Now on the face of it, this action might be considered as just some cute little animal fun. But I had seen the look in his eye and I knew the truth. Without the benefit of vocal cords, this otter was talking trash at me. Any doubt I might have had about this supposition (not that there was any), was entirely erased moments later (or would have been had there been any). Having taken a deep dive, he resurfaced slightly downstream, turned and headed back towards me, this time coming closer to the bank.


Somewhat taken aback by his behavior, I hesitated, and for doing so received another audible assault. It was nearly a repetition of the early incident, but this time he whacked the water even harder. It was clear, that tail slapping was meant for me, and it wasn't a friendly "Hello." At this point I knew I couldn't just sit back on my heels. So I watched carefully to see when and where he would come up next. It didn't take long. He had taken advantage of his secret submarine skills and drawn himself even closer to the shoreline. But I was ready for him. You see my highly evolved human mind also took advantage of his secret submarine skills and so by the time he had resurfaced, I was at the water's edge. Before he had a chance to lash out at me again, I slapped my hand down on the surface of the river and relished the smacking sound it produced. If he wanted to talk trash, well I was down with that.


So I got his attention (along with wet pants). He tread water for a moment, raised his arrogant head slightly, and then plunged down again with totally tame tail slap. Clearly I had him rattled. When he popped up next he was well upstream and he continued swimming that way, the ripples of his motion rolling gently away from his body towards both shores. I had called his bluff and he backed down, the wimp.



River otters aren't particularly social critters but they can cover a fairly large territory and are bound to run into each other now and again. So by now I'd guess most of his buddies have heard about the guy who won't take any lip from trash talking river otters and I don't expect my peaceful evening reverie will be spoiled again for a while. You know who owns this river now Mistuh Ottuh, and you'd best be glidin' by nice and quiet next time your on my turf or we'll see who really knows how to slap some tail...

Today's Lessons

Today I learned a few things the hard way. The real hard way. I learned that cars, even small ones, are actually fairly hard and can be somewhat immovable objects. And I learned that something I always suspected is actually true. The people who drive cars aren't necessarily paying attention to what's going on around them. I also learned that you should never underestimate the kindness of strangers, or the dependability of friends.

When I first started riding a motorcycle almost everyone I spoke with said it is inevitable that someday I'd "lay it down". "It happens to everyone," they all said. This was very similar to something I had been told when I first started running sled dogs, "everyone loses their team sometime." When I first heard that I thought, "how could you lose your team?" Of course I figured it would never happen to me. Then one day I was training in the Groton, Vermont state forest. It was fairly early in the day, about 10 degrees below zero, but a lovely, sunny January morning. The air was cold, but crisp in that invigorating winter sort of way. I reached a turnaround point about 5 miles from where we started, swung my team 180 degrees to head back to the truck and then stood back to admire the special beauty of a happy sled dog team. Then I watched in horror as they jerked forward, pulled the snowhook (kind of like a boat anchor for dogsleds), and bolted down the trail without me.

It is difficult enough to get one dog to respond to the command "come", but convincing a team of huskies to turn around for their driver is a special talent that very few mushers possess. Sure, I had read about people who could, but apparently I wasn't one of them. So, I ran down the trail after them, shouting (pleading, really) for them to come back, but to no avail. By the time they slipped out of sight around a corner I'm afraid my yelling was colored by words that might make even a sailor blush. With nothing else to do, I just kept running, and running, and running, until I finally reached the truck to see them all sitting in a bunch, tails wagging and eyes concurrently laughing at me while clearly saying, "where have you been? We're hungry!" It was around that point that I remembered something else I had been told by the sages of the sport. Never let go of the sled. Never. Ever.

But I digress...because that was a long time ago and what happened today had nothing to do with dogs. No, today I had the misfortune of discovering just how exposed one can be when riding on an open, 2-wheeled vehicle instead of being wrapped more safely within the confines of what bikers call "cages". Cars, you see, despite all their fallibilities, are still a heck of a lot safer than motorcycles. I suppose I knew that intuitively before, but now I have the experience to prove it. Kind of like an experiment that validates a theory. The final proof of my theorem is best shown by the photograph here. This is what can happen when a relatively small object with many plastic parts hits a much larger one at a certain velocity. If this photo by itself doesn't help much in giving you the perspective, compare it to the one in my earlier post below.

Now the good news to all this is that I miraculously avoided serious injury. It could have been so much worse and so in seeking a silver lining to this black cloud I can happily say I am so glad to be writing this post from my home and not a hospital bed. I was fortunate enough to be attended to on the spot of the accident by both a nurse and an EMT who just happened to be driving by. A very kind fellow whose name but not generosity I've forgotten, was kind enough to bring a pair of ramps that were an invaluable aid in loading the bike into a truck. And I was lucky enough to have a very good friend, Jack, who without a second thought, dropped everything he was doing to come pick up me and the shattered remains of my motorcycle and bring it and me back to my apartment. I am indebted to all of these people for their assistance and though it is unlikely that I will ever be able to repay all of them directly, you can be sure I will do the same for someone else if, God forbid, the opportunity comes my way someday in the future.

Oh, and I learned something else, too. There is no price tag to high for a good helmet and jacket. Both were worth every single penny...

A Friend

As I was driving home one night a little while ago, a nearly full orange moon was sneaking through the treetops as I wove my way East. I considered my riding companion and decided a tribute might be in order.

Who is a friend,
Who asks no questions,
Tells no lies,
Gives no suggestions,
Carries a smile,
When one's really needed,
Dwells never long,
If ever defeated,
Offers sympathy,
When it's required,
Knows how to sleep,
Yet, never gets tired,
It surely must be,
When day's finally done,
For a man's best friend,
A dog is the one.