Joke 952

How can you tell an Italian witch from an English one?
By her suntan.

Who won the skeleton beauty contest?
No body.

When is it unlucky to see a black cat?
When you’re a mouse.

What’s the ratio of a pumpkin’s circumference to its diameter?
Pumpkin Pi.

What do you get if you cross a hairdresser with a werewolf?
A monster with an all over perm. 

 Why are banshees good tennis players?
They make a good old racket.

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These were all lifted straight from Tom Merriman’s blog, Within the Sphere, because I have no shame – in intellectual property theft or in sharing terrible jokes.  I love ’em.

Bits

In my inbox this morning: an opportunity for Vaseline Etching at Hot Bed Press. 

And it’s not even spam.   Some people are weird, and I write that as a woman who must use one particular set of cutlery to eat egg and chips, even though I don’t care what I use for any other meal.

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Trawling my drafts section, I came upon these unpublished responses to long-forgotten prompts:

What do you want your tombstone to say?

‘The dust bunnies are having the last laugh.’

What is a strength you have that you haven’t used? Recently? Maybe a secret skill, or perhaps an ability that only surfaces under tough times?

My ability not to make fun of stupidity. For some reason, I don’t know why, it hasn’t been around since January.

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Spud was voted Most Like Odysseus by the overwhelming majority of his Classics class.  He was particularly pleased because Odysseus’s notable feature (I apologise; he’s fifteen) is to have…erm…male parts like a tree trunk…

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There’s many a true word spoken in jest:

Sew What? He Can’t Spell Like I Can

Spud as Grabber Dan (top, second right).

 

Halloween.

Sikh and ye shall find.

Ironically, one of the Hub’s favourites of all the costumes he’s made over the years.

You know who...

O, be one…

I’ve got more but I don’t want to spoil you.

Hallowmoan

Common Sense, R.I.P.

Don’t talk to strange women.
No sweets from strange men.
Those are the rules, three-sixty-four.

Yet

when the dead come alive
on day three-sixty-five,
it’s fine to knock on a stranger’s door?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We never let our kids go trick-or-treating.  For one thing, we’re not American.  For another, it seemed hypocritical to warn them not to take sweets from strangers, and then send them out into the night to do just that.

We did let them dress up to frighten the children who came to our door.  There were never many because it is not a real English tradition, but an American import by British retailers.  The boys usually went to parties organised by the church (but not dressed as zombies and axe murderers).

I don’t know if we deprived them of an important childhood ritual, but it occurs to me that the retailers are the ones who enjoy Halloween the most; the boys were always happy to play duck apple at home, and eat the leftover treats.