Gems from Friends

Well, as I had mentioned earlier, I shamelessly copy emails and SMSs in this blogs. So I ever I would get prize for this blog (some NOBEL sort of prize), in my speech I would dedicate that to "Ctrl+C" and "Ctrl+V". Just to show how serious I am, here are some cuts and pastes...:( I would also thank Sharon, Kamlesh, Bhaswati, Aditi and all others whose writings made me a writer, not now, but at the time of that prize)

A beggar to another beggar : I had a grand dinner at Taj yesterday.

2nd beggar : How?

First begger : Someone gave me a Rs. 100/- note yesterday.
I went to Taj and ordered dinner worth Rs 1,000/-, and enjoyed the dinner.
When the bill came, I said, I had no money.
The Taj manager called the police man and handed me over to him.
I gave the Rs. 100/- note to the police fellow and he set me free.

A wonderful example of financial management indeed.

An Italian Boy's Confession ................





“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have been with a loose girl.”


The priest asks, “Is that you, little Joey Pagano?”


“Yes, Father, it is.”


“And who was the girl you were with?”


“I can’t tell you, Father. I don’t want to ruin her reputation.”


“Well, Joey, I’m sure to find out her name sooner or later so you may as well tell me now. Was it Tina Minetti?”


“I cannot say.”


“Was it Teresa Mazzarelli?”


“I’ll never tell.”


“Was it Nina Capelli?”


“I’m sorry, but I cannot name her.”


“Was it Cathy Piriano?”


“My lips are sealed.”


“Was it Rosa DiAngelo, then?”


“Please, Father, I cannot tell you.”


The priest sighs in frustration. “You’re very tight lipped, and I admire that. But you’ve sinned and have to atone. You cannot be an altar boy now for 4 months. Now you go and behave yourself.”


Joey walks back to his pew, and his friend Franco slides over and whispers, “What’d you get?”


“Four months vacation and five good leads.”

Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this as much as I do. THE OUTHOUSE POEM The service station trade was slow The owner sat around, With sharpened knife and cedar stick Piled shavings on the ground. No modern facilities had they, The log across the rill Led to a shack, marked His and Hers That sat against the hill. "Where is the ladies restroom, sir?" The owner leaning back, Said not a word but whittled on, And nodded toward the shack. With quickened step she entered there But only stayed a minute, Until she screamed, just like a snake Or spider might be in it. With startled look and beet red face She bounded through the door, And headed quickly for the car Just like three gals before. She missed the foot log - jumped the stream The owner gave a shout, As her silk stockings, down at her knees Caught on a sassafras sprout. She tripped and fell - got up, and then In obvious disgust, Ran to the car, stepped on the gas, And faded in the dust. Of course we all desired to know What made the gals all do The things they did, and then we found The whittling owner knew. A speaking system he'd devised To make the thing complete, He tied a speaker on the wall Beneath the toilet seat. He'd wait until the gals got set And then the devilish tike, Would stop his whittling long enough, To speak into the mike. And as she sat, a voice below Struck terror, fright and fear, "Will you please use the other hole, We're painting under here!"