SPOILIN’ THE BROTH
F or our story-of-the-week, we choose this one submitted by a musician friend, Jay Taylor of Taylor.
A tough old cowboy from West Texas counseled his grandson that if he wanted to live a long and full life, the secret was to sprinkle a pinch of gun powder on his oatmeal every morning.
The grandson did this religiously to the age of 103 when he died.
He left behind 14 children, 30 grandchildren, 45 great-grandchildren, 25 great-great-grandchildren, and a 25-foot hole where the crematorium used to be.
The English language has some wonderfully anthropomorphic collective nouns for the various groups of animals.
We are all familiar with a herd of cows, a f lock of chickens, a school of fish and a gaggle of geese.
However, less widely known is a pride of lions, a murder of crows (as well as their cousins the rooks and ravens), an exaltation of doves and, presumably because they look so wise, a parliament of owls.
Now consider a group of Baboons. They are the loudest, most dangerous, most obnoxious, most aggressive and least intelligent of all primates.
And what is the proper collective noun for a group of baboons? Believe it or not...a congress!
Guess that pretty much explains a lot of the mess in Washington.
With school now in full swing, the following is dedicated to all the teachers at the Rockdale Elementary, as they’ve probably had similar experiences (but only in the dead of winter).
A teacher was helping one of her kindergarten students put on his cowboy boots. He had asked for help and she could see why.
Even w ith her pulling and pushing, the boots didn’t want to go on. Finally, when the second boot was on, she had worked up a sweat.
Then she noticed they were on the wrong feet. It wasn’t any easier pulling the boots off than it was putting them on. She managed to keep her cool and together they worked to gets the boots back on the correct feet.
Then the youngster said, “These aren’t my boots.”
She bit her tongue to keep from screaming and once again struggled to get the boots off.
Then the boy said, “They’re my brother’s boots. My Mom made me wear them.”
Now she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she mustered up the grace and courage to wrestle the boots on his feet again.
Helping him into his coat, she asked: “ Now, where are your mittens?”
He said, “I stuffed them in the toes of my boots.”