On a farm near the sea lived a man and a woman and their three sons. Early one morning, the woman awoke, and while looking out of the window onto to the pasture, she saw that the family’s only cow was lying dead in the field. The situation looked hopeless. How could she possibly continue to feed her family now? In a depressed state of mind, she hanged herself from a tree near the barn.When the man awoke to find his wife dead – as well as the cow – he too saw the hopelessness of the situation, and took his life with a pistol shot to his head.

Then the oldest son awoke, and discovered his parents dead – and the cow – and decided to go down to sea and drown himself. When he arrived at the shore, he discovered a mermaid lying on the wet sand. She said, “I know the reason for your despair. But if you will make love to me five times in a row, I will restore your parents – and the cow – to you.” The son agreed to try, but after four times, he was unable to satisfy her again, regardless of the reward. So the mermaid drowned him in the surf.

Next the second oldest son woke up. After learning what had happened he too decided to throw himself into the waters. The mermaid was still on the shore. She said to him, “I know of your losses. If you will make love to me ten times in a row, I will make everything right.” And while the son tried his best, it was not enough to satisfy the mermaid, so she drowned him as well.

The youngest son woke up to find his parents dead, the cow dead and his brothers missing. He saw life to be a hopeless prospect, and, like his brothers, set out for the sea to end his suffering. And there he also met the mermaid. “I have seen what has happened, and I can make everything right if you will only make love to me fifteen times in a row.” The young son replied, “Is that all? Why not twenty times in a row?” Surprised, the mermaid pondered his question for a moment. “Why not twenty-five times in a row, then?”, she proposed, mermaid heart all aflutter. And the young son replied, “How do I know that twenty-five times in a row won’t kill you like it did the cow?”

The worst job I ever had was working for the Pacific Railroad, doing a thing called “gandy-dancing.” Now most of you know the railroad was built partially by Irish labor. Well, back then the workers would use this long handled shovel, made by the Gandy Shovel Company of Great Neck New York. Well, they’d shove one end of the shovel under a railroad tie, and then run out to the other end of the shovel, when they could find it, and do a little jig on it, and they called it “gandy-dancin’”. This would lift the tie up so they could shove gravel under it, which would level the roadbed, so when the train came along, it wouldn’t tip over, which would be a real drag for everyone.Well, nowadays, they run three cars out on the rail: a bunk car, an equipment car, and a mess car. The only thing they don’t give you is a cook. The bosses figure you’ll find out who the best cook is, and use him. Well, they were wrong. Y’see, they just find out who complains the loudest about the cooking, and he gets to be the cook. Well, that was me, see. Ol’ aligator mouth. That was the worst food I’d ever had, and I complained about it. Things like “dog bottom pie” and “pheasant sweat.” I thought it was garbage. So I complained. And everyone said, “alright, you think you can do better? You’re the cook.” Well, that made me mad, see? But I knew, that anyone who complained about my cooking, they were gonna have to cook.

Armed with that knowledge, I sallied forth, over the muddy river. I was walking along, and I saw just this hell of a big moose turd, I mean it was a real steamer! So I said to myself, “self, we’re going to make us some moose turd pie.” So I tipped that prairie pastry on its side, got my sh*t together, so to speak, and started rolling it down towards the cook car: flolump, flolump, flolump. I went in and made a big pie shell, and then I tipped that meadow muffin into it, laid strips of dough across it, and put a sprig of parsley on top. It was beautiful, poetry on a plate, and I served it up for dessert.

Well, this big guy come into the mess car, I mean, he’s about 5 foot forty, and he sets himself down like a fool on a stool, picked up a fork and took a big bite of that moose turd pie. Well he threw down his fork and he let out a bellow, “My God, that’s moose turd pie!”

“It’s good though.”

An old timer is talking to a young man in a bar in Scotland.”Laddy, look oot there ta the field. Do ya see that fence? Look how well it’s built. I built that fence stone by stone with me own two hands. Piled it for months. But do they call me McGregor-the-Fence-Builder? Nooo…”

Then the old man gestures at the bar. “Look here at the bar. Do ya see how smooth and just it is? I planed that surface down by me own achin’ back. I carved that wood with me own hard labour, for eight days. But do they call me McGregor-the-Bar-builder? Nooo…”

Then he points out the window. “Eh, Laddy, look out to sea. Do ya see that pier that stretches out as far as the eye can see? I built that pier with the sweat off me back. I nailed it board by board. But do they call me McGregor-the-Pier-Builder? Nooo…”

He looks around nervously and mutters under his breath, “But ya screw one lousy sheep… “

A philosophy professor stood before his class; before him were some items on a table. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with small rocks. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.He then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

He picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. It found the open space between the rocks and pebbles. He asked once more if it was full. The students responded with a unanimous “yes”. The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and proceeded to pour their contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the grains of sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The rocks are the important things – your family, your partner, your health, your children – things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else – the small stuff.

“If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party, fix the disposal.

“Take care of the rocks first – the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised his hand and inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of beers.”

A guy goes on a trip into the heart of Africa. Not long after he and his native guide leave the port in their small boat on their long journey upriver into the deep jungle, the drumming starts. The traveler is spooked.”What does all that mean?!” he asks his guide.

“Okay as long as drums keep going”, is the answer.

All day long the first day, the drums are heard with not a single respite. The pounding continues through the night, unabated, to the hunter’s discomfort – he’s still not too happy with this, despite the guide’s assurance. All day long, the second day, they continue. He asks, again, if this isn’t something they should be concerned about. Once more he’s told that the drums are no problem. Shortly after dawn on the third day, the drums stop!

Now the guy’s freaked, and asks, “What happens now?!”

“Worst part now…” replies the guide, “…bass solo!”

The hurricane came unexpectedly. The ship went down and was lost.The man found himself swept up on the shore of an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing to do. Only bananas and coconuts.

So for the next four months he ate bananas, drank coconut juice and longed for his old life. He fixed his gaze on the sea, hoping to spot a rescue ship. One day, as he was lying on the beach, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. It was a rowboat, and in it was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. She rowed up to him.

In disbelief, he asked her: “Where did you come from? How did you get here?

“I rowed from the other side of the island,” she said. “I landed here when my cruise ship sank.”

“Amazing,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone else survived. How many are there? You were lucky to have a rowboat wash up with you.”

“It’s only me,” she said, “and the rowboat didn’t wash up; nothing did.”

He was confused. “Then how did you get the rowboat?”

“Oh, simple,” replied the woman. “I made the rowboat out of materials that I found on the island. The oars were whittled from Gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches and the sides and stern came from a eucalyptus tree.

“B-B-But that’s impossible,” stuttered the man. “You had no tools or hardware. How did you manage?”

“Oh, that was no problem,” replied the woman. “On the other side of the island there is a very unusual rock formation exposed. I found that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into iron. I used that for tools, and used the tools to make the hardware. “But enough of that,” she said. “Where do you live?”

Sheepishly, he confessed that he had been sleeping on the beach the whole time. “Well, let’s row over to my place, then.” she said.

After a few minutes of rowing she docked the boat at a small wharf. As the man looked to the shore, he nearly fell out of the boat. Before him was a stone walk leading to an exquisite house painted in blue and white. While the woman tied up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man could only stare ahead, dumbstruck.

As they walked into the house, she said casually, “It’s not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please; would you like a drink?” “No, no thank you,” he said, still dazed. “I can’t take any more coconut juice.”

“It’s not coconut juice,” the woman replied. “I have a still. How about a Piña Colada?”

Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted, and they sat down on her couch to talk . After they had exchanged their stories, the woman announced, “I’m going to slip into something comfortable.

Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom.”

No longer questioning anything, the man went into the bathroom. There in the cabinet was a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge were fastened onto its end. “This woman is amazing,” he thought, “What next?”

When he returned, she greeted him wearing nothing but vines and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckoned for him to sit down next to her. “Tell me,” she began, suggestively, slithering closer to him, “we’ve been out here for a very long time. You’ve been lonely. There’s something I’m sure you really feel like doing right now, something you’ve been longing for all these months. You know…” She stared into his eyes.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean…” he replied, “I can check my e-mail from here?”

Meyer, a lonely widower, was walking home along Delancy Street one day wishing something wonderful would happen in his life, when he passed a pet store and heard a squawking voice shouting out in Yiddish, “Qwawwwk … vus machts du?” (how’re ya doin’) “Yeah, du.” (Yeah, you.)Meyer rubbed his eyes and ears. Couldn’t believe it. Perfect Yiddish.

The proprietor urged him, “Come in here, fella, and check out this parrot…”

Meyer did. An African Grey cocked his little head and said: “Vus? Kenstsprechen Yiddish?” (What? Can you speak Yiddish?)

In a matter of moments, Meyer had placed five hundred dollars on the counter and carried the parrot in his cage away with him. All night he talked with the parrot. In Yiddish. He told the parrot about his father’s adventures coming to America. About how beautiful his late wife, Sarah, was when she was a young bride. About his family. About his years of working in the garment district. About Florida. The parrot listened and commented. They shared some walnuts. The parrot told him of living in the pet store, how lonely he would get on the weekends. They both went to sleep.

Next morning, Meyer began to put on his tefillin, all the while saying his prayers. The parrot demanded to know what he was doing and when Meyer explained, the parrot wanted to do the same. Meyer went out and had a miniature set of tefillin hand made for the parrot.

The parrot wanted to learn to daven, and learned every prayer. He even wanted to learn to read Hebrew.

So Meyer spent weeks and months, sitting and teaching the parrot, teaching him Torah. In time, Meyer came to love and count on the parrot as a friend and fellow Jew.

One morning, on Rosh Hashanah, Meyer rose and got dressed and was about to leave when the parrot demanded to go with him. Meyer explained that Shul was not a place for a bird, but the parrot made a terrific argument, so Meyer relented and carried the bird to Shul on his shoulder.

Needless to say, they made quite a spectacle, and Meyer was questioned by everyone, including the Rabbi and the Cantor. They refused to allow a bird into the building on the High Holy Days, but Meyer persuaded them to let him in this one time, swearing that parrot could daven.

Wagers were made with Meyer.

Thousands of dollars were bet that the parrot could NOT daven, could not speak Yiddish or Hebrew, etc.

All eyes were on the African Grey during services. The parrot perched on Meyer’s shoulder as one prayer and song passed – Meyer heard not a peep from the bird. He began to become annoyed, slapping at his shoulder and mumbling under his breath, “Daven!”

Nothing.

“Daven…parrot, you can daven, so daven…come on, everyone is looking at you!”

Nothing.

After Rosh Hashanah services were concluded, Meyer found that he owed his Shul buddies and the Rabbi over four thousand dollars..

He marched home, so upset he said nothing to the parrot.

Finally several blocks from the Temple, the parrot began to sing an old Yiddish song, as happy as a lark.

Meyer stopped and looked at him.

“Why? After I had tefillin made for you and taught you the morning prayers, and taught you to read Hebrew and the Torah. And after you begged me to bring you to Shul on Rosh Hashana, why? WHY?!? Why did you do this to me?”

“Meyer, don’t be a schmuck,” the parrot replied. “Think of the odds we’ll get on Yom Kippur.”

A guy sticks his head into a barber shop and asks, “How long before I can get a haircut?” The barber looks around the shop full of customers and says, “About two hours.” The guy leaves.A few days later the same guy sticks his head in the door and asks, “How long before I can get a haircut?” The barber looks around and says, “About three hours.” The guy leaves.

A week later the same guy sticks his head in the shop and asks, “How long before I can get a haircut?” The barber looks around and says, “About an hour and half.” The guy leaves.

The barber turns to a friend and says, “Hey, Bill, do me a favor. Follow that guy and see where he goes. He keeps asking how long he has to wait for a haircut, but then he doesn’t ever come back.”

A little while later Bill returns to the shop, laughing hysterically. The barber asks, “So where does that guy go when he leaves?” Bill replies, “Your house”.

A Texas cowboy stops at a local restaurant following a day roaming around in Mexico. While sipping his tequila, he notices a sizzling, scrumptious looking platter of food being served at the next table. Not only does it look good, its aroma is wonderful. He asks the waiter, “What is that you just served?”The waiter replies, “Ah! You have excellent taste! Those are called Cojones de Toro – they are the bull’s testicles from this morning’s bullfight. A delicacy!”

The cowboy says, “What the heck – bring me an order.”

The waiter replies, “I am so sorry. There is only one serving per day because there is only one bullfight each morning. If you come early and place your order, we will be sure to save you this delicacy.”

The next morning, the cowboy returns, places his order, and that evening is served the special delicacy of the day. After a few bites, inspecting his platter, he calls to the waiter and says, “These are delicious, but they are much, much smaller than the ones I saw you serve yesterday.”

The waiter shrugs his shoulders and replies, “Si. Sometimes the bull wins.”

This woman has her bridge club every Thursday and after a peaceful game or two with the ladies, she goes home to fix her husband dinner when he gets home from work. One day, she’s playing a great game and she has an incredible hand when she notices the time. “Oh, no! I have to go fix my husband his dinner! He’s going to be so angry if it’s not ready on time.” And she dashes out of her friend’s house, her great hand lying forgotten on the table.When she gets home, she realizes she has very little time – not enough time to go to the grocery store – and all she has in the cupboard is a wilted lettuce leaf, an egg and a can of cat food. In a panic, she opens the can of cat food, stirs in the egg, and garnishes it with the lettuce leaf just as her husband is pulling up. She watches in horror as he sits down to his dinner, and then she realizes he’s loving it.

“Mmmm, Honey…this is the best dinner you have made for me in forty years of marriage. You can make this for me any old day. Mmmm!” And that night they have sex for the first time in months and it’s great.

Every Thursday from then on she makes this dinner for her husband. She tells her bridge cronies about it and they’re all horrified. “You’re going to kill him,” they say, or “He’s just yanking your chain,” but she continues to make him his cat food dinner and then, afterwards, they would boink like fiends.

Two months later, her husband dies and the Thursday after the funeral all of the bridge ladies attack the new widow for being so callous. “You killed him! We told you that feeding him that cat food every week would do him in. How can you just sit there so calmly and play bridge knowing you murdered your husband?”

The wife stoically replies, “I didn’t kill him. He broke his neck. He fell off the mantel while he was lying there there licking his ass.”