One thing about my Aunt Nadie: She was gruff on the outside, but if you ever needed something, like a spanking or a scolding, she'd give it to you.
I think the mistake a lot of us make is thinking the state-appointed psychiatrist is our "friend."
Instead of putting a quarter under a kid's pillow, how about a pinecone? That way, he learns that "wishing" isn't going to save out national forests.
If you go parachuting, and your parachute doesn't open, and your friends are all watching you fall, I think a funny gag would be to pretend you were swimming.
It's interesting to think that my ancestors used to live in the trees, like apes, until finally they got the nerve to head out onto the plains, where some were probably hit by cars.
If you ever feel like you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown, just follow these simple rules: First, calm down; second, come over and wash my car; third, shine all my shoes. There, isn't that better?
You know what would make a good story? Something about a clown who makes people happy, but inside he's real sad. Also, he has severe diarrhea.
Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.
The sound of fresh rain run-off splashing from the roof reminded me of the sound of urine splashing into a filthy Texaco latrine.
It's probably not a good idea to be chewing on a toothpick if you're talking to the president, because what if he tells a funny joke and you laugh so hard you spit the toothpick out and it hits him in the face or something.
Too bad there's not such a thing as a GOLDEN skunk, because you'd probably be PROUD to be sprayed by one.
The old-timers around here still shake their heads and chuckle about that city slicker who came through, trying to peddle "hair restorer." He took everyone's money in a poker game, so when he tried to sell the bottles of hair restorer, nobody had any money left to buy it!
You know what would be the most terrifying thing that could ever happen to a flea? Getting caught inside a watch somehow. You don't even care, do you.
Some folks say it was a miracle. Saint Francis suddenly appeared and knocked the next pitch clean over the fence. But I think it was just a lucky swing.
When this girl at the museum asked me who I liked better, Monet or Manet, I said, "I like mayonnaise." She just stared at me, so I said it again, louder. Then she left. I guess she went to try to find some mayonnaise for me.
Despair is like a cable that is buried just under the surface of the ground. You pull it up and pull it up, but that cable just keeps right on going, clear across a field, until you come to a bunch of guys who are burying the cable. Then just walk up to them and go, "Hey, have you seen Fred?" And they'll say, "Fred who?" And you say, "Fred of snakes?" Then cover your ears, because big laughs are coming.
I bet if you were a mummy wrapper in ancient Egypt, on thing you would constantly find yourself telling people would be, "Be sure, before I start, you have all the jewelry and so forth on the body, because I am NOT unwrapping him later."
The face of a child can saytoupee, why not let your friends try it on for a while? Come on, we're not going to hurt it.
Why do the caterpillar and the ant have to be enemies? One eats leaves, and the other eats caterpillars. Oh, I see now.
Just as bees will swarm about to protect their nest, so will I "swarm about" to protect my nest of chocolate eggs.
If you see an animal and you can't tell if it's a skunk or a cat, here's a good saying to help: "Black-and-white, stinks all right. Tabby-colored, likes a fella."
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "Probably because of something you did."
If any man says he hates war more than I do, he better have a knife, that's all I have to say.
If you go through a lot of hammers each month, I don't think it necessarily means you're a hard worker. It may just mean that you have a lot to learn about proper hammer maintenance.
I bet one legend that keeps recurring throughout history, in every culture, is the story of Popeye.
If someone told me it wasn't "fashionable" to talk about freedom, I think I'd just have to look him square in the eye and say, "Okay, YOU TELL ME what's `fashionable'." But he won't. And you know why? Because you can't ask someone what's fashionable in a smart-alecky way like that. You have to be friendly and say, "By the way, what's fashionable?"
Here's a good gag if you go swimming in a swamp and when you com out you're all covered with leeches. Just say, "Hey, has anybody seen my raisins?" (Because leeches kind of look like big raisins.)
To me, truth is not some vague, foggy notion. Truth is real. And, at the same time, unreal. Fiction and fact and everything in between, plus some things I can't remember, all rolled into one big "thing." This is truth, to me.
A good way to keep a mob of peasants from killing your monster is when they break into your castle, make them be real quiet, then open a door and there's the monster, sound asleep.
Isn't it funny how we'll look out the window at the moon, and then we notice it's not the moon but a streetlight? Also what's funny is how we do this every night.
Too bad you can't just grab a tree by the very tip-top and bend it clear over the ground and then let her fly, because I bet you'd be amazed at all the stuff that comes flying out.
It seemed to me that, somehow, the blue jay was trying to communicate with me. I would see him fly into the house across the way, pick up the telephone, and dial. My phone would ring, and it would be him, but it was just this squawking and cheeping. "What?! What?!" I would yell back, but he never did speak English.
Today I accidentally stepped on a snail on the sidewalk in front of our house. And I thought, I too am like that snail. I build a defensive wall around myself, a "shell" if you will. But my shell isn't made out of a hard, protective substance. Mine is made out of tinfoil and paper bags.
My new millionaire idea is one regular shoe and one "swollen" shoe, for when you get bit by a rattlesnake.
I think somebody should come up with a way to breed a very large shrimp. That way, you could ride him, then after you camped at night, you could eat him. How about it, science?
I wish everybody would have to have an electric thing implanted in our heads that gave us a shock whenever we did something to disobey the president. Then somehow I get myself elected president.
Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what if I was an ant, and she fell on me. Then it wouldn't seem quite so funny.
I remember when I was in the army, we had the toughest drill sergeant in the world. He'd get right up next to your face and yell, and if you didn't have the right answers, mister, you'd be peeling potatoes or chainging the latrine. Hey, wait. I wasn't in the army. Then who WAS that guy?!
I bet the sparrow looks at the parrot and thinks, yes, you can talk, but LISTEN TO YOURSELF!
If you're ever selling your house, and some people come by, and a big rat comes out and he's dragging the rattrap because it didn't quite kill him, just tell the people he's your pet and that's a trick you taught him.
I think there probably should be a rule that if you're talking about how many loaves of bread a bullet will go through, it's understood that you mean lengthwise loaves. Otherwise, it makes no sense.
I bet a fun thing would be to go way back in time to where there was going to be an eclipse and tell the cave men, "If I have come to destroy you, may the sun be blotted out from the sky." Just then the eclipse would start, and they'd probably try to kill you or something, but then you could explain about the rotation of the moon and all, and everyone would get a good laugh.
He was a cowboy, mister, and he loved the land. He loved it so much he made a woman out of dirt and married her. But when he kissed her, she disintegrated. Later, at the funeral, when the preacher said, "Dust to dust," some people laughed, and the cowboy shot them. At his hanging, he told the others, "I'll be waiting for you in heaven---with a gun."
If there's ever an amusement park called Bag World, I bet it would really start to annoy you after a while how they really sort of stretch the definition of "bag."
Instead of trying to build newer and bigger weapons of destruction, mankind should be thinking about getting more use out of the weapons we already have.
I don't think I'm ever more "aware" than I am right after I hit my thumb with a hammer.
Worship the potato? The idea seemed silly to me. But then I thought,ike killing someone, I do a little trick to calm myself down. I'll go over to the person's house and ring the doorbell. When the person comes to the door, I'm gone, but you know what I've left on the porch? A jack-o'-lantern with a knife in the side of its head with a note that says "You." After that, I usually feel a lot better, and no harm done.
Happiness is not a circus clown rolling around in a big tractor tire so that his arms and legs form "spokes." Happiness is when he stops.