She leaned over whispered in my ear and sure enough, I turned into the next motel.

Unlike those other comments, this one is true.

A guy goes to see his psychiatrist wearing nothing but Saran Wrap. The doctor looks up and says, “Well, I can clearly see you’re nuts.”

A dyslexic man walked into a bra.

A guy walks into a bar with a chunk of asphalt under his arm and says, “Give me a beer, and one for the road.”

DAMN!

Now Miss Crabtree had taught grammar school for
thirty-some years. So she asked little Sammy what he
meant by that, despite her mounting fears.

Full of grins and mischief, and in the flower of
his youth, little Sammy and trouble were old friends,
but he always told the truth. “You see, Miss
Crabtree, at the ranch we got this here lowdown
coyote. The last few night he done et six hens and
killed Ma’s best milk goat. And last night, when Dad
heard a noise out in the chicken pen, he grabbed his
16 guage shotgun and said to Ma “that coyote’s back
again, I’m gonna git him.”

“Stay back, he yelled to all us kids!” He was
naked as a jaybird, no boots, no pants, no shirt! To
the hen house he crawled, just like an injun on the
snoop. Then he stuck that double barrel through the
window of the coop with his finger on the triggers.

As he stared into the darkness, with coyotes on
his mind, our old hound dog, Zeke had done woke up and
come asneakin’ up behind Dad. Then we all looked on
plumb helpless as Dad was cold-nosed without warnin’.”

Miss crabtree, we been acleanin’ chickens since
three o’clock this mornin’! That’s why I’m late.

In the days of the Wild West, there was a young cowboy who wanted more than anything to be the greatest gunfighter in the world. He practiced every
minute of his spare time, but he knew that he wasn’t yet first-rate and that
there must be something he was doing wrong. Sitting in a saloon oneSaturday night, he recognized an elderly man seated at the bar who had the reputation of being the fastest gun in the West in his day. The young cowboy took a seat next to the old-timer, bought him a drink, and told him the story of his great ambition.

“Do you think you could give me some tips?” he asked.

The old man looked him up and down and said, “Well, for one thing, you’re
wearing your gun too high. Tie the holster a lil’ lower down on your leg.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

“Sure will,” said the old-timer.

The young man did as he was told, stood up, whipped out his .44 and shot the bow tie off the piano player. “That’s terrific!” said the cowboy. “Got any more tips for me?”

“Yep,” said the old man. “Cut a notch out of your holster where the hammer
hits it. That’ll give you a smoother draw.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the younger man.

“You bet it will,” said the old-timer.

The young man took out his knife, cut the notch, stood up, drew his gun in a
blur, then shot a cufflink off the piano player. “Wow!” said the cowboy.
“I’m learnin’ somethin’ here. Got any more tips?”

The old man pointed to a large can in a corner of the saloon. “See that axle
grease over there? Coat your gun with it.”

The young man went over to the can and smeared some of the grease on the barrel of his gun.

“No,” said the old-timer, “I mean smear it all over the gun, handle and
all.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

“No,” said the old-timer, “but when Wyatt Earp gets done playin’ the piano,
he’s going to shove that gun up your ass and it won’t hurt as much.”

Thanks, I’ll be here all week, try the veal.

Q: What do you call a fish with no eyes?

Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet?

I give.

You can always tell when joke-tellers have young children, by the way.

Why did Tigger stick his head in the toilet?