Born on a Farm, Saddled with Guilt, and More Humor
Grins and Groans from The Old Farmer's Almanac
November 14, 2017
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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.”