While dipping his sheep one afternoon, an old sheepherder with eagle eyes noticed a bulge on the southwestern horizon. Texas Big Bend heat casts mirages, so he kept staring, but sure enough the hump grew into a slowly towering column.
Thunder shook earth under his feet and trembled in his bones, but he managed to scurry to meagre shelter in a shallow Arroyo as all hell headed closer.
A hail of sand, pebbles and then stones rained momentarily before sudden silence descended, interrupted only by scraping and loud snorting.
Then boomed what had to be the Devil himself, "YOU SMELL GOOD!"
The next instant a great snarling bear wearing a spiked collar found him, bit his shirt collar, pulled him from the ditch and dragged him before the ugliest giant of worst nightmares astride a massive bull.
Meanwhile, the last of the dust was still settling a bit.
"GET ME A DRINK," bellowed the bull rider.
The sheepherder got some water, but this only annoyed his guest.
"That sheep dip is the only other..." he began to explain, but the thirst beat him to the punch line where the mad hulk dipped hatfulls of sheep dip lustfully guzzled.
He then hastily ate two sheep before climbing back up on the bull.
"What, er... who are you?"
"No time to GAB," came the strangely suddenly subdued hoarse whisper, as if ghosts could hear years away, and next, "gotta go pronto."
The friendly old sheepherder was very curious, so he just asked, "What the rush, pard'?"
"Someone's after me," he said in an astonishingly altered voice not quite yet prepared to meet its maker, continuing, "In few minutes you're gonna see the biggest, meanest bastard that ever walked..."
He sobbed, and his wake raised more earth.
William Shatner sat on an old plug while regaling us with his version of this sporting yarn:
Tommy LaSorta was beating the Bush leagues for a power hitter for fourth up in the batting order. Word was out, and all sorts tried out, but none made the old manager happy.
Then one day, a horse showed up with his agent, who explained how "this horse can do it all most."
Unbelievably, the horse was great. In practice, he could catch, pitch, play any base or field, but best of all, his hitting average was astronomical.
So, at his first game, with a man on first, the horse was fourth up, and on the first pitch, he knocked a line drive out to the fence right between left and center, and then just stood there.
LaSorta lost his mind, screaming, "RUN! RUN!"
The horse replied, haughtily, "Run?"
"Yeah, bonehead, RUN," LaSorta bellowed at the top of his lungs.
The horse simply chuckled, and then said matter-of-factly, "If I could run, I'd be at Hialeah."
Mrs. Smith had invited her lady friends over to her house for a get-together one afternoon, but she wouldn't be quite finished getting changed into more appropriate attire before her guests started arriving. So, she gave
Mr. Smith strict instructions to greet them when they arrived without again demonstrating that he had foot-in-mouth syndrome.
However, when she finally appeared to meet with her friends, they had already left. She asked him why, so he tried to explain that Mrs. Jones had told Mrs. Brown about annoying mice in her house, and Mrs. Brown had said that she just stuffed steel wool in their little holes. All he had asked was who held their little legs apart.
Serendipity may strike suddenly, as when a compact car wheel came off next to a hospital mental ward building one day in downtown LA. The driver pulled over as he stopped, got out, retrieved the wheel, and then looked in vain for the four missing lugnuts. As he scratched his head, a calm voice emanated from an open window where a smiling patient had been watching. The patient very patiently suggested, "You can get a nut from the other three wheels, use them for that wheel, and you have three on each wheel to at least get to a parts store or garage for more."
"That's a good idea," replied the driver, continuing, "You seem to be on the ball, so, what are you doing in a place like this?"
The patient just laughed and said, "I'm crazy, not STUPID!"
The Kee-kee bird discovered by my dad, as he was ordered to report what he was known for during WWII USAAC cadet training, went something like this:
"Sir, I am known for discovering the Kee-kee bird. It flies around in ever-diminishing concentric circles* until it flies up its own keester, where it cries, "Kee-kee-RIST! It's DARK in here," Sir!"
Among other things, as words mark Steyn, an author of fact and fiction, who writes professionally, for a living, while routinely waiting for a ride on his way to work one morning, on a New York City subway platform he had been making a note about another writer when he heard a woman scream. Looking up instinctively toward the source of an evermore commonly disturbing sound of terror on the subway platform all the way across the floor from where he was, his eyes were first drawn to behold a dead body crumpled in a seeping gore heap, and then next instantly met and transfixed briefly by a vacant pair of vague pits steep as sunk in the dark face of the deep void borne by a gruesomely grotesque wraith staring back. Steyn felt suddenly numb yet rigidly petrified, but this passing nauseous palsy was almost as abruptly seized by panic when this... thing... sprang up, to immediately as deftly silence the screams. The beast then turned to pursue Steyn, the only other life plainly present there and then. The tracks would be his only escape route, but with the approaching express subway in view scarce moments far away behind them, that option seemed critically contingent as certain radically varying factors and perilously perplexing conditions present.
Mainly, besides as clear and present obvious urgency to most rapidly distance himself from this double homicide and it's plural perpetrator, were room for the subway train enough to accommodate also his body intact at once occupying the narrow passageway he wouldn't have to run like hell for any chance at all to just reach the nearest niche before the subway sped by, but, not knowing, he just ran like hell.
He made it just in the nick of time, so, later that morning the New York Post featured his front page headline:
A Niche In Time Saves Steyn!
The madman had perished, however. Alas...
A young guy walks into a bar, orders a beer, and, just as he's about to take his first swig, a tiny dude about a foot high just suddenly shows up out of nowhere, kicks the guy's mug, spills his beer to splash all over his face, and then the little jerk runs away to hide behind an older man sitting next to the young guy. The man quietly just pulls a Ben Franklin from his right shirt pocket, hands this to the guy, smiles a bit, apologizes, and wishes him well. The guy orders another draw, but the same thing happens again. This really pissed the guy off, but this time the man pulls out an ounce of ghanja from his left pocket and hands it over, sort of smiling once again, but he looks very tired...
The younger guy settled back down, but before he got another brew, he just had to say, "Thanks for keeping the peace, but why are you sticking up for this little maniac?"
"I was a Navy combat pilot long ago. One day my plane got shot down, I bailed and landed on a desert island where I found an ancient bottle. When I opened it, a genie came out and granted me three wishes. I told the genie I wanted one pocket that always had a hundred dollar bill handy, another pocket that would always have one more ounce of ghanja..."
"So," asked the guy, "what was your third wish?"
"I wanted a twelve-inch prick."