Born on a Farm, Saddled with Guilt, and More Humor
Grins and Groans from The Old Farmer's Almanac
November 14, 2017
It’s time for another edition of “Humor Me” from The Old Farmer’s Almanac! Consider yourself warned.
Barking Up the Wrong Tree
’Twas Harry who the silence broke:
“Miss Kate, why are you like a tree?”
“Because … because I’m board,” she spoke
“Oh, no, because you’re woo’d,” said he.
“Why are you like a tree?,” she said.
“I have a … heart?,” he asked, so low,
The answer made the young man red:
“Because you’re sappy, don’t you know?”
“Once more,” she asked, “why are you now
A tree?” He couldn’t quite perceive.
“Trees leave sometimes, and make a bough,
And you may also bow and leave.”
“I want to engage your services,” said the man to a lawyer.
“All right, sir, be seated. What is the case?”
“There’s a man in my neighborhood. I want you to prove that he stole a saddle.”
“Did the saddle belong to you?”
“But you would be the prosecuting party?”
“No, I don’t propose to have anything to do with the case.”
“Then why do you want me to prove that he stole the saddle?”
“You see, I stole the saddle myself, and if I can prove that he stole it, I’m all set.”
“Ah, I see. But we can’t do that.”
A woman was testifying on behalf of her son and swore that “he had worked on a farm ever since he was born.”
Sensing an opening, the lawyer who cross-examined her said:
“You assert that your son has worked on a farm ever since he was born, then?”
Pouncing, the lawyer responded: “Well, then what did he do the first year?”
“Well … well … ,” responded the woman, “… he milked.”
A doctor apologized for being late one day by saying that he had had to stop to see a man who had fallen down a well.
Responded his friend: “Did he kick the bucket, then?”
“If Your Honor please, I’d like to get off the jury,” said a prospective juror to a judge in New Hampshire.
“You can’t get off without a good cause,” said the judge.
“I have a good reason.”
“You must say it or serve.”
“But Your Honor, I don’t believe that the other jurors would care to have me serve.”
“Why not? Out with it!”
“I’ve got the itch.”
“Mr. Clerk,” said the judge, “scratch that man.”