A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

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Re: A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Postby aquarius123esoteric » Wed Dec 27, 2017 4:50 pm

Facts About Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually in late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer, however, retain their antlers till after they give birth in spring. Therefore, according to the historical presentations of Santa’s reindeer, every single one of them, from Rudolph to Donner and Blitzen, could only be a female. They alone would be willing and able to drag a fat old man in a red velvet suit round our whole world in one night without getting lost.Santa Claus’s reindeer form the team of flying reindeer that pull the sleigh of Santa Claus and help him deliver Christmas gifts. The names of the reindeer are Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. The last two names are the German words for Thunder and Lightning.

The names are based on those used in the 1823 poem ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’, commonly called ‘The Night Before Christmas’, the origin of the reindeer’s popularity as Christmas symbols.

Merry Christmas to everybody.

With love and a chuckle - Aquarius

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Re: A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Postby aquarius123esoteric » Thu Dec 28, 2017 7:24 pm

Recipe For A Christmas Cake

Ingredients:
1. 2 cups flour
2. 1 stick butter
3. 1 cup water
4. 1 tsp baking soda
5. 1 cup sugar
6. 1 tsp salt
7. 1 cup brown sugar
8. Lemon juice
9. 4 large eggs
10. Nuts
11. 2 bottles wine
12. 2 cups dried fruit

Sample the wine to check its quality. Take a large bowl, test the wine again. To be sure it is of the highest quality, first pour one level cup of it and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point it’s best to make sure the wine is still okay. Better try another cup.

Just in case, turn off the mixerer thingy. Break two eggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the dried fruit. Pick the fruit off the floor. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the wine to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt or something. Check the wine. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table, then a spoon of sugar or some fink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window. Finish the wine and wipe counter with the cat. Then walk to the nearest supermarket and buy a cake.

Bingle Jells and Merry Christmas to all.

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Re: A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Postby aquarius123esoteric » Wed Jan 03, 2018 4:08 pm

Thoughts For The Festive Season

To get you into the right mood,
please follow the link below:

‘Christmas Dinner For The Elderly’
https://www.youtube.com/embed/TX9EAavxrus

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Then read this:

Getting On A Bit

Review your life said Socrates – no doubt he had a point.
One dwells on this when old and grey with creaks in every joint.
The great man didn’t quite mean that – he dwelt on higher planes,
And grappled with philosophy far more than aches and pains.

But he’s been gone two thousand years so will not mind a bit,
If I tamper with his discourses and try to make them fit.
Adapt them to the physical, those matters of the flesh,
That press upon us ever more when we’re not young and fresh.

The old boy downed a hemlock drink – some say he didn’t care.
Most likely he was wondering what more he’d have to bear.
He’d just about got to the end of three-score years and ten.
So probably he deemed it wise to end things there and then.

So passed from the Hellenic world a thinker of renown,
A fellow upon whom today the scholars seldom frown.
But enough of ancient Athens, let us now get up to date.
I have a little tale to tell – bet you can hardly wait.

My first six decades went quite well, the seventh wasn’t bad,
But number eight has been so hard, it’s made me rather sad.
It started promptly on the day, the big seven-o came round.
While walking through a local park, I tumbled to the ground.

At first it didn’t seem severe, I strode along all right.
My trouble started later, in the middle of the night.
Rib-cage, back and abdomen hurt like they were on fire.
Hips and shoulders joined in too, the situation dire.

It took three weeks to simmer down, four more to disappear.
A very inauspicious start to such a landmark year.
Two further months without a hitch and life seemed fairly kind,
Until I was oppressed again, this time it was the mind.

My landlady assailed me with some nasty allegations,
Backed up by a battery of vicious imprecations.
She’d always been so reticent, I never thought she’d try
To scold me, then I realised that her mind had gone awry.

Her son turned up that evening, confirming what I thought.
He apologised profusely, poor fellow was distraught.
I calmed him down but told him that our ways would have to part.
Though hardly a spring chicken, I was game for one more start.

Why stop at domicile I thought, I’ll try something more grand.
So as well as changing residence, I also swapped the land.
Left the Emerald Isle behind and made for Albion’s shores,
Excitement making me forget that when it rains it pours.

I got a house and settled down, but not for very long.
A few months in my new abode then something else went wrong.
The waterworks failed suddenly, a bolt out of the blue.
What hitherto was crystal clear took on a different hue.

My visits to the smallest room caused maximum dismay.
I’d started passing pure vin rouge instead of Chardonnay.
I scuttled off to see the doc, whose face betrayed some worry.
He wanted me in hospital, and said we’d better hurry.

The surgeon spoke harsh words to me of baccy, booze and diet.
I had an argument in mind, then thought I’d best keep quiet.
He seemed a formidable lad, not wise to make him cross.
I was prostrate, he had a knife, so that made him the boss.

He did his work then called on me and seemed in better humour.
I’d soon be on my feet, he said, he’d shaved away a tumour.
So back to domesticity – all quiet for a spell,
Until another happening, that rendered me unwell.

While out on foot one winter night, I sought a litter bin,
But came upon a flower tub, located with my shin.
A strip of me three inches long and nearly half as wide
Had vanished, and though in some pain I sought it far and wide.

I had no luck, so limped off home and got another shock.
The missing rasher wasn’t lost but rolled up in my sock.
I tried to fix it back in place, with plaster and saliva,
Plus some herbal ointment that had set me back a fiver.

I got it right and turned my mind to sprucing up the dwelling
And overdid the labouring, but quite how there’s no telling.
This time a whopping lump emerged above the right-side groin.
It felt much like a cricket ball embedded in the loin.

So off to the GP again – by then it was a habit.
‘Spread out upon the couch,’ he said, ‘we’ll just let dog see rabbit.’
He diagnosed a hernia, no cause for great alarm.
The surgery was simple and I needn’t have a qualm.

The sawbones was a gloomy chap but knew well what to do.
Got through four jobs like mine that day, with me last in the queue.
I’m back and in the saddle now, at work with pen and ink,
With senses honed by recent woes, or so I like to think

Carved up twice in fourteen months, I’m wondering what’s next.
Another in the lower regions, that would get me vexed.
But providence is on my side, I feel it in my bones.
It won’t be liver, pancreas, or even kidney stones.

I’m going for lobotomy, if fate will let me choose.
The old grey matter’s addled, so I haven’t much to lose.
When this thought occurred I guessed my brain would just go reeling,
Then I got the point that where’s there’s no sense there’s no feeling.

From ‘Madazine’

The Season’s Greetings from

Courtjester & Aquarius

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Re: A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Postby aquarius123esoteric » Thu Jan 18, 2018 7:19 pm

The Tale Of The Church Squirrels

Once upon a time, there was a small town with five different religious establishments.

They were:
The Presbyterian Church
The Baptist Church
The Lutheran Church
The Catholic Church
The Jewish Synagogue.

Each of them was over-run by squirrels. One fine day, the Presbyterians called a meeting to decide what could be done about them. After many prayers and deep reflections they came to the decision that the squirrels were destined to be there and as such, they had no right to interfere with God’s sacred will.

In the Baptist Church the squirrels had taken over the baptistery. The deacons thought it would be best to put a cover on this part of the church and then drown the squirrels in it. However, the squirrels escaped and it did not take long until there were twice as many of them in this church.

The Lutheran Church believed they had no right to harm any of God’s creatures. So they humanely trapped the squirrels, took them a few miles outside of town and set them free. Three days later, all of them had returned.

The Catholic Church came up with what, to them, appeared to be the best and most effective solution. They baptised each squirrel and registered all of them as members of their church. As a result, the squirrels can now only be seen at Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter.

Not bad, not bad at all, thought those in charge of the Jewish Synagogue. The head rabbi rubbed his hands and said: ‘We can do better!’ Quietly, they caught one of the male squirrels and after a short service of dedication circumcised him. No more squirrels were ever seen anywhere near the Synagogue.

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