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It's Almost Friday Humor Thread


Subdeacon Joe

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6 minutes ago, Subdeacon Joe said:

 

Almost as bad as the ant-EV zealots who repost the same meme dozens of times, eh?

Also looks like I hit a nerve.

Clueless fellow.  We will be cool or warm when you have nothing but ideology to wrap yourself in.  Even my ancient 4wd truck can surpass the range of the electric crap.  No lithium either.

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24 minutes ago, Subdeacon Joe said:

 

Almost as bad as the ant-EV zealots who repost the same meme dozens of times, eh?

Also looks like I hit a nerve.

Personally, I'm not anti EV Subdeacon.

I am however very skeptical about their efficacy in our cold and snowy Canadian winters. 

I think they have a place for shorter hauls and city use, but for winter Canadian driving and longer trips, I have concerns.

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A group of engineering students and their teacher were given free airplane tickets to go on a holiday.

Once on the plane, the captain announced that they were on the plane the students had built.

Everyone freaked and rushed out of the plane, except for the teacher who stayed there with calm.

When the flight attendant asked why he hadn't left, he responded

I know the abilities of my students. This crap won’t even start.

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On 11/30/2022 at 11:01 AM, Subdeacon Joe said:

Luddites never change.

If they did, they wouldn't be Luddites!

 

From the internet:

What is a Luddite today?
 
Image result for what is a luddite?
 
“Luddite” is now a blanket term used to describe people who dislike new technology, but its origins date back to an early 19th-century labor movement that railed against the ways that mechanized manufactures and their unskilled laborers undermined the skilled craftsmen of the day.
 
I'm becoming more and more Luddite-like as stores and restaurants try to force me to get their app! My phone screen is too small to read that app crap, anyway!
 
Dr. Seuss might say,
I don't want your app on my phone,
I don't want your app at my home.
I don't want your app in my hall,
I don't want your app crap at all.   
 
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On 11/30/2022 at 10:01 AM, Subdeacon Joe said:

Luddites never change.

unnamed-7-1.jpg

I guess I must be a Luddite: I don't want an electric vehicle and I don't understand my IPhone most of the time. 

 

PF

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27 minutes ago, Brazos John said:

 

 
 
I'm becoming more and more Luddite-like as stores and restaurants try to force me to get their app! My phone screen is too small to read that app crap, anyway!
 
Dr. Seuss might say,
I don't want your app on my phone,
I don't want your app at my home.
I don't want your app in my hall,
I don't want your app crap at all.   
 

 

21 minutes ago, Phantom Falcon, SASS # 46139 said:

I guess I must be a Luddite: I don't want an electric vehicle and I don't understand my IPhone most of the time. 

 

PF

I resemble that remark. There is SOME tech that I like, (my DVR for instance), but I simply don't have a need for a lot of it. Of course I have a confuser, as well as the aforementioned DVR, but not a lot else. People and places, as Brazos John mentioned, keep trying to get me to use their app. I just pull out my flip phone and don't say a word. They get the idea pretty quick. 

My newest vehicle is a 2006, so not so much in the way of computers in them, at least not compared to today's vehicles. As for EVs, I look at them like I look at most tech, if you want one, go for it. But don't try to push it on ME. EVs may be the future, but they're not there yet. For most people, they're just not practical. 

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It might be a little more practical if the power companies weren't already asking us not to charge them because we will have rolling black outs! Let's get a sufficient electric grid first and stop putting the cart before the horse.:ph34r:

Edited by Eyesa Horg
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A blonde woman visits her husband in prison.

Before leaving, she tells a correction officer:

"You shouldn't make my husband work like that. He's exhausted!"

The officer laughs and says,

"Are you kidding? He just eats and sleeps and stays in his cell!"

The wife replies:

"Bull! He just told me he's been digging a tunnel for months!"

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When a group of tourists visited a crocodile farm, the owner of the place launched a daring proposal;

-Whoever dares to jump, swim to shore and survive, I will give 1 million dollars.

Nobody dared to move, suddenly a man jumped into the water and desperately swam towards the shore while he was chased by all the crocodiles.

With great luck he arrived, taking the admiration of everyone in the place, then the owner announced;

-We have a brave winner.

After collecting their reward, the couple returned to the hotel, upon arrival, the manager told him; he was very brave to jump, then the man said;

-I didn't jump, someone pushed me!

His wife smiled ...

Moral: "Behind every successful man, there is a woman who pushes him."

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2C31E40E-B138-413C-9A49-456FC562DC05.jpeg

2D37F308-5FB8-45C4-B2E4-BACDEC29E1DE.jpeg

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A big city New York lawyer went duck hunting in rural Texas. He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer's field on the other side of a fence. As the lawyer climbed over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing.
The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I'm going in to retrieve it."
The old farmer replied. "This is my property, and you are not coming over here."
The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the U.S. and, if you don't let me get that duck, I'll sue you and take everything you own."
The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we do things in Texas. We settle small disagreements like this with the Texas Three Kick Rule."
The lawyer asked, "What is the Texas Three Kick Rule?"
The farmer replied, "Well, first I kick you three times and then you kick me three times, and so on, back and forth, until someone gives up."
The attorney quickly thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger. He agreed to abide by the local custom.
The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the city feller. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy work boot into the lawyer's shin and dropped him to his knees. His second kick landed square on the man's nose. The barrister was flat on his belly when the farmer's third kick to a kidney nearly caused him to give up.
The lawyer summoned every bit of his will and managed to get to his feet and said, "Okay, you old coot, now it's my turn!"
The old farmer smiled and said, "Naw, I give up. You can have the duck."
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On 11/30/2022 at 11:01 AM, Subdeacon Joe said:

Luddites never change.

unnamed-7-1.jpg

That was true at the time for some.    Grandpa's stud paid for himself nearly 3x in tow fees from cars in the mud.  Is wasn't beneficial for them to get an automobile until grandma started a milk run, getting a used model A pickup. 

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3 hours ago, sassnetguy50 said:

That was true at the time for some.    Grandpa's stud paid for himself nearly 3x in tow fees from cars in the mud.  Is wasn't beneficial for them to get an automobile until grandma started a milk run, getting a used model A pickup. 

 

You seem to have missed my point.

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The time was in the early hours of a new day; the place was the lobby of a hotel; the principal character was a well-dressed gentleman in an alcoholic fog, who had come in and registered for the night a few minutes earlier. Now, half dressed, he descended the stairway from the second floor and stood swaying slightly in front of the desk.

 

“Mish’ Night Clerk,” he said politely but thickly, “I’ll ’ave requesh you gimme ’nozzer room.”

 

“Well, sir,” stated the clerk, “we’re a little bit crowded. I don’t know whether I could shift you immediately. It’s pretty late, you know.”

 

“Mish’ Night Clerk,” said the guest in a courteous but firm voice, “I repeat—mush gimme ’nozzer room.”

 

“Isn’t the room I gave you comfortable?” parleyed the functionary.

 

“Sheems be perf’ly so,” admitted the transient. “Nev’less, mush ash be moved ’mediately.”

 

“Well, what’s the matter with your room?” demanded the pestered clerk.

 

The stranger bent forward, and with the air of one imparting a secret addressed the clerk in a husky half whisper:

 

“If you mush know, my room’s on fire!”

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One chilly evening in the early part of March the sheriff entered the county jail and addressing the prisoner who occupied the strongest cell, said:

 

“Gabe, you know that under the law my duty requires me to take you out of here to-morrow and hang you. So I’ve come to tell you that I want to make your final hours on earth as easy as possible. For your last breakfast you can have anything to eat that you want and as much of it as you want. What do you think you’d like to have?”

 

The condemned man studied for a minute.

 

“Mr. Lukins,” he said, “I b’lieves I’d lak to have a nice wortermelon.”

 

“But watermelons won’t be ripe for four or five months yet,” said the sheriff.

 

“Well, suh,” said Gabe, “I kin wait

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Mr. MacTavish attended a christening where the hospitality of the host knew no bounds except the capacities of the guests.

 

In the midst of the celebration Mr. MacTavish rose up and made the rounds of the company, bidding each person present a ceremonious farewell.

 

“But, Sandy, mon,” objected the host, “ye’re no’ goin’ yet, with the evenin’ just startin’?”

 

“Nay,” said the prudent MacTavish, “I’m no’ goin’ yet. But I’m tellin’ ye good night while I know ye.”

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 A Christmas entertainment was being planned in a remote Nevada town. The affair was to take place at the church, and the local Sunday school superintendent, a mild and gentle man, with a temperamental Adam’s apple and an aggravated habit of wearing white string ties on week days, had charge. Up until the eleventh hour it looked as though the manager of the show must depend exclusively upon home talent in making up the bill. But late in the afternoon of Christmas eve, as though directed by Providence, a shabby stranger dropped off a passing freight train carrying a slender instrument case under his arm. He sought out the superintendent, introduced himself—modestly—as a distinguished musician on tour and volunteered to take part in the night’s program.

 

Delighted at having enlisted a visiting star from out of the East, the superintendent assigned him the place of honor.


At the proper moment the pleased promoter in his rôle of master of ceremonies, came forth upon the improvised stage and announced that he had a delightful surprise and a wonderful treat for the audience. Prof. Bilbus, a famous clarinet player direct from New York city and at present sojourning temporarily in their midst, would now favor the assembled citizens with a solo. He stepped to one side and from the wings issued the visitor, who bowed low, and then, lifting his instrument to his lips, emitted one of the sourest and most dismal of notes.


In his shock and disappointment a big miner at the back of the house forgot the proprieties.


“Well, the blanketty blank!”he exclaimed in a voice which reached beyond the footlights.


Quivering with indignation the introducer sprang forward again to the centre.


“Wait!” he called out. “Who called the clarinet player a blanketty blank?”


From the audience a third voice was lifted:


“Who called the blanketty blank a clarinet player?”

 

 

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To a prosperous cloak and suit merchant on the lower East Side came an acquaintance of many years’ standing. The newcomer had made a failure of it as a pushcart huckster, and then as a dealer in castoff garments. But he was undismayed; his ambition still soared. It seemed that now he aspired to open a regular store—on borrowed capital.


“But I don’t want I should ask my friends for the money,” he explained. “So this morning I go by that bank over yonder on the other side of the street and I talk with the bank president, a feller named Howard, about it. But what should I know about banks? Nothing, that’s what. He says to me I should make him a note with indorsements. I asks him what is a note, and what is this here indorsement? So he asks me who do I know in this neighborhood what has plenty money, and I says to him that I know you—that we came over together, greeners, on the same ship from Poland eighteen years ago. And then he fixes up this here piece of paper, and he says to me I should bring it over here and get you to sign your name on the back of it, and then I should bring it back to him and he would right away give me the two thousand dollars I need. So, here I am, Goldberg.”


Mr. Goldberg’s voice was husky with emotion as he answered:


“Moe,” he said, “honestly for you I am positively ashamed that you should do this thing. Ain’t always we been friends both in the old country and over here? Ain’t always I loved you like a brother? And now when you need some money do you come to me and ask for it, man to man? No, you go to a goy like that Howard. Oy! Oy! for you I hang my head that you should do so!


“Listen: I am the one which is going to help you and not some feller in a bank. You get that Howard to sign his name on the back of this paper and then I give you the money!”

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