You've Got To Be Joking - Emery L. Campbell (read any book .TXT) 📗

Title page


You’ve Got To Be Joking

by

Emery L. Campbell


Dedication page


For Hettie with Love


Contents

Indian Instinct 1
The Devil’s Dictionary 2
Snake Charming Cajun Style 3
A Bottle To the Rescue 4
Curses! Foiled Again 5
Chicken Farming 101 6
A Family Matter 7
La Fin de la Faim du Fin Gourmet 8
Circulation Information 9
Class Action in Jackson 10
It Stands to Reason 11
The Large Richard Contest 12
A Lawyer More Compassionate Than Most 13
Mars Bars Non-Martians from Mars Bars 14
Not Only the Wrong Aisle… 15
No Wonder 16
One Less Problem to Worry About 17
Wafflers Aren’t Winners 18
Remembrance (?) of Things Past 19
Oops! 20


Indian Instinct

One autumn members of an Indian tribe
approached their newly-chosen chief to know
if he'd consult the gods and then describe
how cold the coming winter winds would blow.

The product of our modern age, the chief
had never learned the ancient secrets, so
he feared that he would only come to grief
by trying on his own to be a pro.

To play it safe, he said they could expect
the coming season would be very cold,
so they had better hasten to collect
a lot of wood. They did as they were told.

The leader, being blessed from birth with smarts,
conceived a plan so he would know for sure.
He phoned the weather service. "Check your charts.
In view of all your data, what is your

prediction of how cold it's going to be
next winter." They replied, "You'll find it raw."
The leader then put out a new decree
commanding able-bodied men to saw

and store an even greater hoard of wood.
Two weeks went by. The chieftain called again
to ask the weather service if they could
confirm they still foresaw bleak weather when

the winter's force had firmly settled in.
They echoed what they'd told him once before:
"We have no doubt the freeze will soon begin.
We're certain months-long, numbing cold's in store."

The chief insists: "I'd like to know how you
can pledge the coming winter will be bad?"
"The facts are clear," they said. "We're sure it's true,
'cause Indian men are stocking wood like mad."


The Devil’s Dictionary

There was a cool Ambrose named Bierce,
whose cynical barbs airs did pierce.
He and Satan conspired
with words honed and hell-fired
to spear sacred cows something fierce.


Snake Charming Cajun Style

A Cajun name of Boudreaux like to fish.
He spend all day wid hook an’ line down by
de bayou. Now he outta bait. He wish
he got more worms. He cast an eye

aroun’ an’ spy a snake dat’s caught a frog
an’ hol’ it in his mouf. He know dem bass
dey fond of frogs dey catches in de bog,
so he got plans. He reach down in de grass,

but careful coz dat snake’s a water moc.
Real fast he grab de snake behin’ his head
an’ hol’ him tight. De snake he twist an’ lock
hisself roun’ Boudreaux’s arm. He seein’ red,

coz Boudreaux got him wid a real close grip.
B. pry his mouf an’ steal de frog an’ stick
it in his can. Dat snake he squirm an’ whip
aroun’ ‘til Boudreaux wonder how he quick

can lose de snake widout get bit. He chew
it over, den he ‘member dat he got
a pint a moonshine likker in his blue
jean pocket, so he pour a little shot

in snakie’s mouf. De snake go limp ‘n’ roll
his eyes, so Boudreaux free him wid a throw
an’ keep on fish’n. As he ten’ his pole
he feel a tappin’ on his barefoot toe.

Surprised, he take a look an’ what he see?
Dat snake he back an’ draped along two logs.
When Boudreaux squint to see him clear, what be
dat in his mouf but two more wiggly frogs!


A Bottle to the Rescue.

It was a dark and foggy night as Jake
was walking home alone. Behind him bumped
a bump, and then another. This would break
a braver man than Jake whose jitters jumped.

The bumps continued thump by thump. Jake quick-
ened pace. A glance toward the rear revealed
an upright casket coming on. Made sick
with fear, his funk-fueled panic far from healed,

he broke into a trot, increasing speed.
The casket’s weird galumping matched his pace.
Jake neared his home but could not stretch his lead.
He reached his house, threw wide the door, his face

a tortured mask. Inside, he closed and locked
the door but all to no avail; the cas-
ket, not deterred a bit, crashed through and stalked
its prey. He dashed along the hallway pass-

age to the bathroom. Heartbeats’ rate accru-
ing, Jake slammed shut the door and turned the key.
The clumping casket once again burst through
and rocked toward him. Terror stricken, he

sought any means to make a goal-line stand
with which to thwart this force that bumped and clopped.
He grabbed and hurled an anti-cough med brand,
and to his vast relief the coffin stopped.


Curses! Foiled Again

The Prince of Darkness and the son of God
each thinks himself more gifted in the use
of his computer. Jesus says, “You clod,
you’re clumsy as a rearing, roaring moose.

“I’m much the best at plying my machine.”
“Oh no you’re not,” says Satan. “I’m the best.”
But God is not amused. “I’ve never seen
such irksome quibbling. I can get no rest.”

“We’ll have a two-hour test, then I’ll decide
the winner. I can’t stand it any more.”
So Jesus and the Evil One abide
by God’s command to wage computer war.

They use the mouse, they fax and e-mail, too.
They download, send attachments, write reports
containing charts and graphs. They also do
hard spreadsheets, labels, letters, and all sorts

of projects, deal with problems that they pose,
face all the hi-tech issues that exist.
Lord Jesus is a whirlwind, heaven knows,
and Satan’s fast as hell, no detail missed.

The testing time is almost at an end
when sudden thunder rolls and lightning streaks
the sky. As these conditions often tend
to do, the power’s cut as lightning peaks.

The Evil One is stunned, then screams and swears
because his screen goes blank. He’s livid, raves,
“My work is gone! I’ve lost it all!”. He glares.
His rival’s calm. God shrugs, says “Jesus Saves.”


Chicken Farming 101

A slicker from the city bought some land,
convinced that he’d outshine the local hicks.
Researching every leading poultry brand,
he bought one hundred cheeping baby chicks.

Two weeks had hardly passed when he returned.
“I need another hundred chicks to go.”
The dealer thought his buyer looked concerned,
but off the latter went, his chicks in tow.

Within a few more weeks the man was back.
He pondered, then he bought one hundred more.
The dealer said, “I see you’ve got the knack
of raising birds. For some it’s quite a chore.”

“In fact, I’ve got no crop at all to reap,”
the buyer said. “Instead I’m losing heart.
Could I be setting out the chicks too deep
or am I planting them too far apart?”


A Family Matter


I’m out one night and meet an older gal
of sixty. She is very well-preserved.
In fact she really isn’t bad at all,
with shapely legs and body nicely curved.

I’ll bet she’s got a daughter, young and hot,
I think. We have some drinks and she says, “Hon,
you turn me on.” She snuggles up. “I thought,”
she adds, “you’d like to try a two-on-one.”

“What’s that?” I ask. “A mother-daughter thing,”
she says. ”You’d love it. One more drink and then
we’ll go . I’ve got a king-size inner-spring.
My place is not so far away, and when

we get there you will have a ball. You’ll see.”
The taxi ride is short. It doesn’t take
much time. We’re at her door. She turns the key.
We’re in. She shouts, “Hey Mom, you still awake?”


La Fin de la Faim du Fin Gourmet I *

He’s savored each delicious bite, each bit
of tender, nicely-seasoned rack of lamb,
but now this most outrageous slight, to wit,
a sad soufflé not worth a tinker’s damn,

is proffered as dessert. How less than grand!
Mere gourmandise alone does not accord
the right to deal gauche host a reprimand;
yet, such injustice cannot be ignored.

Our epicure surveys the scene anew.
His glass of wine’s there on the field of play.
With studied stealth he plays it mean. Oops! Ooh!
The goblet’s spilled to everyone’s dismay.

Good grief! Dessert afloat in muscatel!
And not a single serving left? What hell…

* The keen gourmet loses his appetite


Circulation Information

In science class one’s blood flow is the text
the teacher makes an effort to explain.
“If I were standing upside-down, the next
thing you would notice is my blood would drain

“into my head and make my face turn red.
Now, if I’m standing in the normal way,
why does the blood not fill my feet instead?”
“Your feet aren’t empty,” several pupils say.


Class Action in Jackson

Dim Bubba calls his lawyer on the telephone.
“Ah heared thet smokers sued tobacco coz they got
the cancer. Is thet so?” “Why yes, it’s widely known,”
the lawyer says. “An’ some ol’ local boys thet bought

them double burgers and them fries is suin’, too,”
asks Bubba, “coz they gettin’ fat an’ artries clogged,
is thet the case?” His lawyer says, “Indeed, that’s true.”
“An’ then thet whiny woman gets McDonalds bogged

way down fer coffee burned her lap thet she was gave?”
“That’s right.” And Bub goes on, “On top uh thet there was
thet Ol’ Miss football player played the game real brave
an’ gradgiated good but sued the place because

“they still ain’t learned his arse tuh read a word?” “You’re quite
correct,” the lawyer says. “But why? What’s in your head?”
“The thing Ah want tuh know is have Ah got the raht
tuh sue Coors beer? Uh ugly woman’s in mah bed.”


It Stands to Reason

The town’s police department has just one
detective job to fill. They advertise.
No sooner has their ad begun to run
than this attractive blonde with big blue eyes

comes in the station door to seek the post.
The officer assigned to head the quest
invites her to sit down. She is a most
intriguing prospect, tall and neatly dressed.

He tells her if she wants to be a cop
she has to be observant and have skill
in spotting suspects by their scars or crop
of hair or other features. “If you will,

please, scan this photograph and tell me: Do
you notice special things about this man?”
“His sight is poor. He’s wearing contacts, too.”
The