Okay, this is the funniest joke I’ve read in years.

Once upon a time there was a young monk named Sam. He belonged to an order that was renowned for beautiful choral singing. They trained, hours every day, refining their voices and their art. Their song echoed down the mountainside, enriching the lives and souls of the townspeople below.

The order spoked regularly about an octave of rumored Magical Notes. Musicians had only theorized that these notes must exist, yet no one had ever reached one.

But Sam was particularly gifted, and on his 19th birthday, in mid-song, he hit upon a beautifully intricate note of pure magic. Everyone within miles just froze in mid action, stirred to the very core of their souls by the pure bliss of the tone. And they all realized, instantly, that Sam was the first person in history to hit one of the Magical Notes.

On Sam’s 20th birthday it happened again. This time no one in the town moved, spoke, or even blinked for several minutes after. As the golden sound finally tapered off and ceased, they knew that Sam had found the Second Note.

The next year on Sam’s 21st birthday, a pattern had emerged. This time all the townspeople were present, listening in awe as Sam hit the glorious Third Note. Words could not do justice to the experience. People cried out in pure joy as the sound grew to a glorious crescendo.

And on it went for the next few years, the Magical Notes growing sweeter and sweeter, year after year… that is until Sam’s 25th birthday. At first all seemed normal until Sam hit the next Magical Note. But this new sound was not beautiful; it was jarring and discordant. Sam was visibly uncomfortable, but doubled his resolve to get to the sweet part of the next Magical Note.

Suddenly, to the horror of all, Sam spontaneously combusted! The two closest monks on stage were burned by the flames coming off of his body, and he ignited the stage curtains. Soon the entire monastery was aflame. By a miracle everyone made it out, except for poor Sam.

The townsfolk were left staring at the burning monastery in sad, stunned disbelief. The mayor approached the lead monk. “What happened?” he asked.

The old monk shook his head sadly. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said.

“Sam sung Note 7.”


Think about this once, why don’tcha.

What if there really is a guy named John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt?

And he’s terrified to leave his home, because whenever he goes out, people yell at him?

 


The Godfather Part IV


What a difference.

Evangelicals during the Clinton Administration: “If he’ll cheat on his wife, he’ll cheat on his country.”

Evangelicals during the Trump Administration: * crickets *


The lesser-known Marx Brothers.

Some friends and I were riffing on this the other day: the unknown Marx Brothers.

Hash Marx – The family stoner, along with Hi Marx

Stretch Marx – The tallest one in the family

Punctuation Marx – Script editor

Check Marx – He kept the books

Registration Marx – Civil rights advocate

Pock Marx – The dermatologist

Skid Marx – Suffered from incontinence

Water Marx – Had a similar problem

Chalk Marx- Homicide detective

Nose Marx – The dog of the family

Bench Marx – Never was put in the game

Ear Marx – Someone was always giving him money

Bite Marx – A bit of a perv

Deutsch Marx – Their German cousin

Den Marx – Their Scandinavian cousin

Hall Marx – He never forgot a birthday

X Marx – Who didn’t like to be put on the spot

Scuff Marx – Never polished his shoes

Book Marx – He liked to bet on the ponies

Re Marx – He wouldn’t shut up

Trade Marx – Very possessive about his inventions

Birth Marx – Easy to spot when sunbathing

Land Marx – Led the way on expeditions

Beauty Marx – The family transvestite

Pencil Marx – Worked as a police sketch artist

Onya Marx – Their little-known Olympian sister

Post Marx – He always delivered

Guy Marx-Khin – Tattoo artist who married into the family

 


Yup.


Workplace humor.

This morning we discussed a grant proposal for the Indian Community Development Block Grant. The ICDBG.

I said, that sounds like something you’d say if you spotted Barry Gibb.

“I C D B G!”