Jokes and Anecdotes

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Jokes and Anecdotes

While Floyd was on vacation up in the high mountains, he came across a shoebox full of old post cards.

He never bought this one, but he swears it's the truth.

Front side was a bouquet of violets with a pink ribbon tied around the stems.

Back side read "For Sweet Betsy

From Pike"

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Overheard from our front porch:

Floyd says, "I'm disgusted."

Granny says, "Why, Floyd? What you got to be disgusted about?"

Floyd says, "I told them painters I wanted a pea-colored outhouse."

Mae says, "What's wrong with that?"

Floyd answers in an agrieved tone, "It ain't green."

A pause. He finishes, "It's y e l l e r."

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This'n's probably not true, but I heard it on good authority.

Seems Floyd bought what's called a "collision avoidance system" for his old green Traveling Yard Sale truck. He turned the thing on and was drivin' back across the mountain from a trip over into the next covey place one night and fell asleep. Somebody woke him up hollering "Help! Help! Help!" and he found hisself in the truck, charging down through the trees toward Piney Creek. The high-pitched woman's voice was still crying "Help Help Help!!! when he got his foot on the brake and steered the truck onto the sandy shoreline.

Later he told this feller I know, who swears it's the truth, says Floyd, "That thing musta been some furr-in knockoff. And the seller claimed he couldn't refund my money, 'cause he said, "It worked, din'it?"

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Daddy here again. If you came through the Recipe link, you might already know all about deglazing. But listening to the young'uns try out this kitchen trick made even the cat laugh.

Mae: Josie, hand me that water jug. I'm gonna dee-glaze this pan.

Bob (in the other room): You say you're making a glaze, Mae? I like peach, myself. What are you going to put it on?

Josie: Water jug's empty, Mae. Wait'll I get a new one out of the pantry.

Mae: Hurry up! It's burning!

Josie: Well turn off the heat!

Bob (still in the other room): Mae, are you burning up the "stickies" again? Why don't you make doughnuts? And a peach glaze.

Josie: Here's the water.

Mae: About time. Stand back!

loud zizzle

Bob (taking off out the front door): I sure wish that girl would learn to cook.

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If you missed Josie's April story, "Floyd Packs a Picnic" which was a typical Floyd anecdote, check out the book offer under the link Josie's Stories. It's in there, and I'll bet you laugh as much as I did.

And since Mawie's handed-down recipe is a story in itself, be sure to check out her link above as well.

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One time Floyd decided to visit the nearby state park to hear a lecture on birds of prey. Naturally he took Bob and the girls along. Mawie, Mama and I drove behind him, so I got this story second hand. But since it was Mama telling it, I'm sure it's true.

Floyd says, "With all this rain and mud, we'll prob'ly be the only folks there."

Josie (my smart one) pipes up with, "Oh, I'd think all the bird people would FLOCK to it."

When we all piled out of our vehicles in the parking lot, nobody else was there yet, and we sat in the lecture room by ourselves till time to start. Sure enough, Floyd was right as rain, but at least there was enough of us that the ranger didn't cancel his talk. The sad part was the stuffed owls and such, dusty with age and missing feathers from being used to Show and Tell.

Maybe that's why the "bird people" stayed away.

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Floyd used to know a feller who talked real slow. One time he was helping a friend move a wagon. The feller bent down to see under the wagon to make sure there weren't no animal under there, and happened to lay his hand on the ground. Well, the friend didn't know that, and backed that wagon right over the feller's hand.

(note: this is not recommended, since backing a wagon loosens the wheels)

This feller never screamed or hollered. All he said in a mild slow voice was, "Back up a little, Gus. You're on my finger."

(another note: Floyd never has told me who the slow-talking feller was, but I have my suspicions about who "Gus" was.)

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Seems there was a feller raised chickens fer a living, back up in behind Buck Ridge.

One night he heered a ruckus in one of his hen houses, so he grabbed up his shotgun,

run out the door in his longjohns, and down the rain-slick yard to the chicken lot.

The gate was open. One hen house door was open, chickens squawking up a storm.

"Hey, you!" the man shouted. "Come on outta there, with your hands up!"

Somebody inside answered, "Ain't nobody in here but us chickens."