A teacher gave her class of 11 year olds an assignment: To get their parent to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.

Ashley said, ‘My father’s a farmer and we have a lot of egg-laying hens. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on the front seat of the car when we hit a big bump in the road and all the eggs got broken.’

‘What’s the morale of that story?’ asked the teacher.
‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket!’

‘Very good,’ said the teacher.

Next little Sarah raised her hand and said, ‘Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. One day we had a dozen eggs, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to this story is, ‘Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched’.’

‘That was a fine story Sarah.’

Johnny, do you have a story to share?’

‘Yes. My daddy told me this story about my Auntie Barbara. Auntie Barbara was a flight engineer on a plane in the Gulf War and her plane got hit.

She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whisky, a machine gun and a machete.

She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn’t break and then she landed right in the middle of 100 enemy troops.

She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out of bullets.

Then she killed twenty more with the machete until the blade broke.

And then she killed the last ten with her bare hands.’

‘Good heavens,’ said the horrified teacher, ‘what kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?’

‘Stay the fuck away from Auntie Barbara when she’s had a Drink.

“““““

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A boy hears a loud commotion outside his window. He looks outside and sees a circus procession going down the street. The circus is in town! He runs downstairs and asks his father for some money so that he could go see all that the circus has to offer. He father obliges, and the boy runs off to the big top. He buys himself some popcorn and cotton candy, and he is overjoyed when he finds a spot in the front row.

He is enthralled by the various acts and becomes giddy with excitement when the clowns come out. One clown in particular stand out. He is wearing the front half of a two man horse costume and seems to be looking for someone. Suddenly the spotlight falls on the boy and the clown approaches him. “Excuse me”, said the clown. “Could you stand behind me? Because you look like a horse’s ass!” All the boy could do is stammer. The crowd erupted in laughter.

The boy turns scarlet and runs out of the tent, tears streaming from his face. He gets home and hurries to his room, slamming the door behind him. He was so ashamed that he did not have a comeback for that stupid clown. To calm himself, he took out one of his comic books and began reading. Finding himself unable to concentrate on the plot, he flips through to the advertisements and finds the answer to his problems. One of the ads was for the prestigious academy, The Oxford Boarding School for Wit and Retort. It stated that it would teach young boys all that there is to learn about the art of Wit and Retort and all it asked was for an essay and a 20 pound processing fee. The boy immediately went to his desk, smashed his piggy bank, then began writing his essay.

The boy took a week of his own summer vacation time to write that essay, and it took another two weeks to hear a response. The Boarding School For Wit and Retort was so impressed by his essay that they offered him a full scholarship to attend there. While there, he dedicated himself and strived to be top of the class in the subject of Wit and Retort. After a few years he was finished with the Boarding School for Wit and Retort and went on to the Secondary School for Wit and Retort where he once again received a full scholarship.

He graduated from the Secondary School for Wit and Retort a valedictorian and went to America to study at Harvard in the subject of Wit and Retort. While there, he turned the whole subject on its head with his expertise and theories on Wit and Retort. His dissertation on Wit and Retort was sung in high praises around the world, he became somewhat of a celebrity in certain circles. By the time he returned home, his name was well known in his town and he even had an article about him in the paper concerning his achievements in the field of Wit and Retort.

Soon after he got back, the same circus that broke his heart so long ago returned to town. The boy, now young man, grabbed his coat and made his way to the big top once more. He once again sat in the front row and amused himself with the performances of the circus troupe. After the trapeze act was finished, the clowns made their way to the center stage. There in the center, was the same clown from all those years ago doing the exact same act with the top half of the two man horse costume. He searched around and the spotlight fell on the young man. The clown approaches the man and says, “Excuse me sir. Could you stand behind me? Because you look like a horse’s ass!” The croud grew deathly silent for the Master of Wit and Retort. The man stood up, cleared his throat, leaned forward, and replied
FUCK YOU, CLOWN.

“““““

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There was an old man who lived by a forest. As he grew older and older, he started losing his hair, until one day, on his deathbed, he was completely bald. That day, he called his children to a meeting.

He said, “Look at my hair. It used to be so magnificent, but it’s completely gone now. My hair can’t be saved. But look outside at the forest. It’s such a lovely forest with so many trees, but sooner or later they’ll all be cut down and this forest will look as bald as my hair.”

“What I want you to do,” the man continued, “is, every time a tree is cut down or dies, plant a new one in my memory. Tell your descendants to do the same. It shall be our family’s duty to keep this forest strong.”

So they did. Each time the forest lost a tree, the children replanted one, and so did their children, and their children after them. And for centuries, the forest remained as lush and pretty as it once was, all because of one man and his re-seeding heirline.

“““““

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Recently a routine police officer was parked outside a bar in the Outback.

After last call, the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so apparently intoxicated that he could barely walk.

The man stumbled around the parking lot for a few minutes, with the police officer quietly observing.

After what seemed an eternity, in which he tried his keys on five different vehicles, the man managed to find his car and fall into it. He sat there for a few minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off.

Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off; it was a fine, dry summer night, flicked the blinkers on and off a couple of times, honked the horn and then switched on the lights. He moved the vehicle forward a few inches, reversed a little, and then remained still for a few more minutes as some more of the other patrons’ vehicles left. At last, when his was the only car left in the parking lot, he pulled out and drove slowly down the road.

The police officer, having waited patiently all this time, now started up his patrol car, put on the flashing lights, and promptly pulled the man over and administered a breathalyser test.

To his amazement, the breathalyzer indicated no evidence that the man had consumed any alcohol at all!

Dumbfounded, the officer said, “I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the police station. This breathalyser equipment must be broken.”

“I doubt it,” said the truly proud Redneck. “Tonight I’m the designated decoy.

“““““

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