Effects of THC on the Balance of Seabirds. 

When I was a biology student I conducted a study on the balance in sea birds with a specific focus on Royal Terns.

I proposed that giving measured doses of THC (marijuana) and observing their flight patterns would give some clutch to the problems of balance in 3D space.

This proposal being given in a more liberal era, I got the funding.

I filled out thousands of forms, set up a lab with a ready supply of terns, and proceeded on my way.

After a year of diligent work, groveling monthly before the review committee to get my stipend, and living with drugged terns, I completed my study.

With trembling hands, I delivered my 347-page report, complete with charts and graphs, to the review committee.

The august body perused my study, asking penetrating questions and reducing me to jello. Finally, the department head spoke.

The light reflected off her horn-rimmed glasses as she stared down at me.

“There is a lot of good work here,” she said. “But we can’t accept this report. You have detailed marvelously the effects of THC on terns but you forgot one essential step: you have no control group.”

I turned pale and said, “You don’t mean…”

“Yes. I’m afraid so. You left no Tern unstoned.”


Melania was awakened by a strange noise in the middle of the night. “Wake up, Donald,” she whispered, “I think there are thieves in the house.” “Wha….,” said Donald sleepily, “You woke me for this? They’re not in the House, they’re in the Senate.”


 

 


The family of an elderly Arab gentleman have searched everywhere for a nursing home for him. At last they find one – a Jewish home. Some days pass, and his son calls to visit. “How is it here?” he asks.

“It’s great”, the old man replies. “Do you know, they address everyone here by their title, no matter how long it is since they practiced their vocation. There’s a conductor who hasn’t stood in front of an orchestra for 30 years, but they still call him Maestro. And a doctor who hasn’t lifted a stethoscope for 20 years, but is still addressed as Doctor Cohen. An academic who retired 25 years ago is still called Professor.”

“What about you?” the son asks.

“It’s the same with me”, replies the old man. “I haven’t had sexual intercourse for 40 years, but they still call me the fucking Arab.”


I’m Off…

To my new job as a test pilot for preparation H


 

Funny you should ask, my brother-in-law just died.

“Woah, what the hell happened to him?”

“Well he was on his way over to my house, when he arrived he didn’t brake properly and boom he hit the curb. The car flipped over, he crashed through the sunroof, went flying through the air and smashed through my upstairs bedroom window.”

“What a horrible way to die!”

“No no, he survived that, that didn’t kill him at all. So, he’s landed in my upstairs bedroom and he’s all covered in broken glass on the floor. Then, he spots the big old antique wardrobe we have in the room and reaches up for the handle to try to pull himself up. He’s just dragging himself up when bang, this massive wardrobe comes crashing down on top of him, crushing him and breaking most of his bones.”

“What a way to go, that’s terrible!”

“No no, that didn’t kill him he survived that. He managed to get the wardrobe off him and crawls out onto the landing, he tries to pull himself up on the banister but under his weight, the banister breaks and he goes falling down on to the first floor. In mid air, all the broken banister poles spin and fall on him, pinning him to the floor, sticking right through him.”

“Now that is the most unfortunate way to go!”

“No no, that didn’t kill him, he even survived that. So he’s on the downstairs landing, just beside the kitchen. He crawls in to the kitchen, tries to pull himself up on the stove, but reached for a big pot of boiling hot water, whoosh, the whole thing came down on him and burned most of his skin off him.”

“Poor guy, what a way to go!”

“No no, he survived that, he survived that! He’s lying on the ground, covered in boiling water and he spots the phone and tries to pull himself up, to call for help, but instead he grabs the light switch and pulls the whole thing off the wall and the water and electricity didn’t mix and so he got electrocuted, wallop, 10,000 volts shot through him.”

“Now that is one awful way to go!”

“No no, he survived that…”

“Hold on now, just how the hell did he die?”

“I shot him!”

“You shot him? What the hell did you shoot him?”

“He was wrecking my house.”

Oops

In the bar the other day I was telling that old joke about what do you do if you see an epileptic having a fit in the bathtub. The answer, of course, being…throw in your wash.

We were all having a good laugh about this when this big bastard tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I don’t find that very funny. My brother was an epileptic and he died in the bath during one of his fits.”

I said, “I Sorry, buddy. Did he drown?”

“No,” he replied, “He choked on a sock.”