Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

The Jewish Parrot…

January 20, 2008

The Jewish Parrot (Only on Yom Kippur )

 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,

“Quawwwwk…vus machts du?”

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? Kenst sprechen 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 Tfillin, 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 tfillin 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 the 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 tfillin 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!”

Funny (though depressing) joke…

January 16, 2008

A frog needed to get across the River Jordan and a scorpion offered to help. `No` said the frog, `if I`m stupid enough to climb on your back you`ll sting me`. `If I`m stupid enough to sting you your wieght will drag me under the water and I`ll drown`. replied the scorpion. So the frog got on the scorpion`s back and together they set off from the shore. After a short swim the scorpion stung the frog. `Why did you do that?` asked the dying frog as they started to sink below the water. The scorpion replied `This is the Middle East`.

Stinkfoot…

January 10, 2008

…by Frank Zappa…

Frank Zappa – Stink-Foot Lyrics

In the dark
Where all the fevers grow
Under the water
Where the shark bubbles blow
In the mornin’
By yer radio
Do the walls close in t’ suffocate ya
You ain’t got no friends . . .
An’ all the others: they hate ya
Does the life you been livin’ gotta go, hmmm?
Well, lemme straighten you out
About a place I know . . .
(Get yer shoes ‘n socks on people,
It’s right aroun’ the corner!)
Out through the night
An’ the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases,
Out through the night
An’ the whispering breezes
To the place where they keep
The Imaginary Diseases, mmm . . .

This has to be the disease for you
Now scientists call this disease
Bromidrosis
But us regular folks
Who might wear tennis shoes
Or an occasional python boot
Know this exquisite little inconvenience
By the name of:
STINK FOOT
Y’know, my python boot is too tight
I couldn’t get it off last night
A week went by, an’ now it’s July
I finally got it off
An’ my girl-friend cry
“You got STINK FOOT!
STINK FOOT, darlin’
Your STINK FOOT puts a hurt on my nose!
STINK FOOT! STINK FOOT! I ain’t lyin’,
Can you rinse it off, d’you suppose?”
Here Fido . . . Fido . . .
C’mere little puppy . . . bring the slippers
“Arf, arf, arf!” (crash-crumble-bump-bump-bump)
Heh heh heh . . . sick . . .

Well then Fido got up off the floor an’ he rolled over
An’ he looked me straight in the eye
An’ you know what he said?
Once upon a time
Somebody say to me
(This is a dog talkin’ now)
What is your Conceptual Continuity?
Well, I told him right then
(Fido said)
It should be easy to see
The crux of the biscuit
Is the Apostrophe(‘)
Well, you know
The man who was talkin’ to the dog
Looked at the dog an’ he said: (sort of staring in disbelief)
“You can’t say that!”
He said:
“IT DOESN’T, ‘n YOU CAN’T!
I WON’T, ‘n IT DON’T!
IT HASN’T, IT ISN’T, IT EVEN AIN’T
‘N IT SHOULDN’T . . .
IT COULDN’T!”
He told me NO NO NO!
I told him YES YES YES!
I said: “I do it all the time . . .
Ain’t this boogie a mess!”
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
(POO-DLE . . . )
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
( . . . BITES)
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
(POO-DLE . . . )
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
( . . . BITES)
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
(POO-DLE . . . )
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
( . . . BITES)
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
(POO-DLE . . . )
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
( . . . BITES)
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES
THE POODLE CHEWS IT
THE POODLE BY-EE-ITES

The Torture Never Stops…

January 9, 2008

…by Frank Zappa…

Frank Zappa – The Torture Never Stops Lyrics


Flies all green ‘n buzzin’ in his dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumble and piss their clothes and scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window hole a hundred yards away
Is all they ever get to know about the regular life in the day;
An’ it stinks so bad the stones been chokin’
‘N weepin’ greenish drops
In the room where the giant fire puffer works
‘N the torture never stops
The torture never stopsSlime ‘n rot, rats ‘n
In the room where the snot ‘n vomit on the floor
Fifty ugly soldiers, man, holdin’ spears by the iron door
Knives ‘n spikes ‘n guns ‘n the likes of every tool of pain
An’ a sinister midget with a bucket an’ a mop where the blood goes down the drain;

An’ it stinks so bad the stones been chokin’
‘N weepin’ greenish dropsgiant fire puffer works
‘N the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops.

Flies all green ‘n buzzin’ in his dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin’ pig in a chamber right near there
He eats the snouts ‘n the trotters first
The loin’s ‘n the groin’s is soon dispersed
His carvin’ style is well rehearsed
He stands and shouts
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
All men be cursed
And disagree, well no-one durst
He’s the best of course of all the worst
Some wrong been done, he done it first

(Well, well) An’ he stinks so bad, his bones been chokin’
(Yeah) ‘N weepin’ greenish drops,
(Well) In the night of the iron sausage,
(Well) Where the torture never stops
The torture never stops
The torture
The torture
The torture never stops.

Flies all green ‘n buzzin’ in his dungeon of despair
Who are all those people that he’s locked away up there
Are they crazy?,
Are they sainted?
Are they zeros someone painted?,
It has never been explained since at first it was created
But a dungeon like a sin
Requires naught but lockin’ in
Of everything that’s ever been
Look at hers
Look at him
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealing in
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealing in
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealing in
That’s what’s the deal we’re dealing in

What’s wrong with America…

December 20, 2007

Helmsley’s Dog Gets $12 Million

in Will The Associated Press

August 29, 2007

Leona Helmsley’s dog will continue to live an opulent life, and then be buried alongside her in a mausoleum. But two of Helmsley’s grandchildren got nothing from the late luxury hotelier and real estate billionaire’s estate.Helmsley left her beloved white Maltese, named Trouble, a $12 million trust fund, according to her will, which was made public Tuesday in surrogate court.

She also left millions for her brother, Alvin Rosenthal, who was named to care for Trouble in her absence, as well as two of four grandchildren from her late son Jay Panzirer _ so long as they visit their father’s grave site once each calendar year.

Otherwise, she wrote, neither will get a penny of the $5 million she left for each.

Helmsley left nothing to two of Jay Panzirer’s other children _ Craig and Meegan Panzirer _ for ‘reasons that are known to them,’ she wrote.

But no one made out better than Trouble, who once appeared in ads for the Helmsley Hotels, and lived up to her name by biting a housekeeper.

‘I direct that when my dog, Trouble, dies, her remains shall be buried next to my remains in the Helmsley mausoleum,’ Helmsley wrote in her will.

The mausoleum, she ordered, must be ‘washed or steam-cleaned at least once a year.’ She left behind $3 million for the upkeep of her final resting place in Westchester County, where she is buried with her husband, Harry Helmsley.

She also left her chauffeur, Nicholas Celea, $100,000.

She ordered that cash from sales of the Helmsley’s residences and belongings, reported to be worth billions, be sold and that the money be given to the Leona M. and Harry B. Helmsley Charitable Trust.Her longtime spokesman, Howard Rubenstein, had no comment.Helmsley died earlier this month at her Connecticut home. She became known as a symbol of 1980s greed and earned the nickname ‘the Queen of Mean’ after her 1988 indictment and subsequent conviction for tax evasion. One employee had quoted her as snarling, ‘Only the little people pay taxes.’