“No matter how hard I try,” Ralph lamented to Sam, “I can never tell Timothy Leary and Andy Warhol apart,”
“Oh I have the same problem with Doris Day and Debbie Reynolds,” his friend replied.
“Imagine the confusion if they would have ever married,” the former pondered.
“Boys,” Hildegarde chided, “This is supposed to be a leisurely day in the park for you, Clementine and me.
The ladies never could get over their husbands’ offbeat collective sense of humor.
“I just hope they don’t start another fight with a waiter over the importance of the Oxford comma,” Clementine moaned.
Reginald and Rachel were making their annual Thanksgiving pilgrimage to Wyoming, Pennsylvania, to see Queen Esther’s Rock.
As always they went from Route 80 onto Route 115 and stopped at their favorite coffee shop in Bear Creek Township.
This year, though, things were different.
It was under new management.
“How dare they?!” he shrieked aloud.
“Mark my words, Governor Wolf will regret this!”
“Honey, he can’t control this.”
He made such a scene the employees asked them to leave.
“I just hope they don’t find out about this in Wyoming,” Rachel shrieked.
It’s July 17, 1794 in Compiegne. Sister Teresa and her fifteen Discalced Carmelite companions are on their way to the guillotine.
“Come, Sisters,” demands Teresa. “Out of fidelity to Catholic orthodoxy, to Jesus and Mary, and to constituted authority, we go to our deaths.”
Calmly they intone the Miserere, Salve Regina, and Te Deum.
Each is decapitated, after which her body is merely thrown into a common grave.
“Well, Citizen,” an onlooker is overheard to explain joyously, “We can’t have their God and Robespierre’s and David’s goddess of reason, you understand.”
“La Marseillaise” plays in the background.
Larabie and Miz Kitti had a long standing friendly rivalry.
One Saturday morning she truly overwhelmed him.
“Go through the tunnel. I double dip defy you,” was her ultimatum.
“No thanks. I’ll have to face God in there and I haven’t been to confession in a few weeks.”
“Heaven, Purgatory, Hell,” he stammered. “I’m in no hurry.”
“Nobody likes a sissy,” she chanted.
“People only call it Death’s Vestibule as a joke. You don’t honestly believe that crock, do you?
Torn between cold logic and traditional local legend, Larabie was stumped. He couldn’t wait to
settle this score but good.
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<!– end InLinkz script –> Charlie Kramden was head over heels for his sweetheart, Cindy Norton.
One day he finally decided to ask for her hand officially.
Always an offbeat soul, he’d planned for over a year in advance to devise absolutely the ultimate avant-garde tribute to the girl of his dreams.
Knowing all about her beau’s eccentricities, Cindy was ready for practically anything.
He drove her to their favorite rural picnic hideaway.
When they arrived her jaw dropped.
“Do you like it, my love?” he asked. “I call it ‘Carhenge’.
“O honey it’s fabulous!” she stammered.
“A mere ring would have been so ordinary!”