A Boy at Mittippi Tate and an Irishman

Any of my sweet aunts reading this blog might want to skip this entry...

A young Southern boy goes off to college at Mittippi Tate, but about 1/3 way through the semester (taking a tough 6-hour load), he has foolishly squandered what money and beef jerky his parents gave him.

Then he gets an idea. He calls his distinguished father, the town seed salesman and himself a huge Mittippi Tate fan. "Dad," he says, "you won't believe the wonders that modern education here at Tayeeet are coming up with! Why, they actually have a program here that will teach Fido how to talk!"

"That's absolutely amazing!" his father says. "How do I get him in that program?"

"Just send him down here with $1000," the boy says, "I'll get him into the course here in the Honors College of Mittippi Tate." So, his father sends the dog and the $1000. About 2/3 way through the semester, the money runs out. The boy calls his father again.

"So how's Fido doing, son?" his father asks. "Awesome, dad, he's talking up a storm," he says, "but you just won't believe this - they've had such good results with this program, that they've implemented a new one to teach the animals how to READ!" "READ!?" says his father, "No kidding! What do I have to do to get him in that program?"

"Just send $2,500, I'll get him in the class." His father sends the money.

Now, the boy has a problem. At the end of the year, his father will find out that the dog can neither talk nor read. So he shoots the dog.

When he gets home, his father is all excited. "Where's Fido? I just can't wait to see him talk and read something!"

"Dad," the boy says, "I have some grim news. This morning, when I got out of the shower, Fido was in the living room kicking back in the recliner, reading the morning paper, like he usually does. Then he turned to me and asked, 'So, is your daddy still messin' around with that little Ole Miss redhead who lives on Oak Treet?'

The father says, "I hope you SHOT that lyin' son of a bitch!"

"I sure did, Dad!"

That's my boy!"

And, from my friend Nirupa M., a good Democrat, the following...

An Irishman in a wheel chair entered a restaurant near afternoon and asked the waitress for a cup of coffee. The Irishman looked across the restaurant and asked, "Is that Jesus sitting over there?" The waitress nodded "yes," so the Irishman told her to give Jesus a cup of coffee on him.

The next patron to come in was an Englishman with a hunched back. He shuffled over to a booth, painfully sat down, and asked the waitress for a cup of hot tea. He also glanced across the restaurant and asked, "Is that Jesus over there?" The waitress nodded, so the Englishman said to give Jesus a cup of hot tea, my treat.

The third patron to come into the restaurant was a Redneck on crutches. He hobbled over to a booth, sat down and hollered, "Hey there, sweet thang, how's about gettin' me a cold glass of Coke!" He, too, looked across the restaurant and asked, "Is that God's boy over there?" ! The waitress nodded, so the Redneck said to give Jesus a cold glass of coke, on my bill.

As Jesus got up to leave, he passed by the Irishman, touched him and said, "For your kindness, you are healed."

The Irishman felt the strength come back into his legs, got up, and danced a jig out the door. Jesus also passed by the Englishman, touched him and said, "For your kindness, you are healed." The Englishman felt his back straightening up, and he raised up his hands, praised the Lord and did a series of back flips out the door.

Then Jesus walked towards the Redneck. The Redneck jumped up and yelled, "don't touch me......I'm drawin' disability!!!!!"