There is no better panacea for sorrow, no better reviving tonic, and no greater beauty than a genuine smile. —Paramhansa Yogananda
PAUL REVERE’S MOTHER: “I don’t care where you think you have to go, young man. Midnight is past your curfew!”
HUMPTY DUMPTY’S MOTHER: “Humpty, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times not to sit on that wall. But would you listen to me? Noooo!”
COLUMBUS’ MOTHER: “I don’t care what you’ve discovered, Christopher. You still could have written!”
BABE RUTH’S MOTHER: “Babe, how many times have I told you–quit playing ball in the house! That’s the third broken window this week!”
BATMAN’S MOTHER: “It’s a nice car, Bruce, but do you realize how much the insurance is going to be?”
ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S MOTHER: “Again with the stovepipe hat, Abe? Can’t you just wear a baseball cap like the other kids?”
GOLDILOCKS’ MOTHER: “I’ve got a bill here for a busted chair from the Bear family. You know anything about this, Goldie?”
ALBERT EINSTEIN’S MOTHER: “But, Albert, it’s your senior picture. Can’t you do something about your hair? Styling gel, mousse, something…?”
JONAH’S MOTHER: “That’s a nice story, but now tell me where you’ve really been for the last three days.”
SUPERMAN’S MOTHER: “Clark, your father and I have discussed it, and we’ve decided you can have your own telephone line. Now will you quit spending so much time in all those phone booths?”
THOMAS EDISON’S MOTHER: “Of course I’m proud that you invented the electric light bulb, Thomas. Now turn off that light and get to bed!”
Who is Watching Whom?
Late one night a burglar broke into a house and while he was sneaking around he heard a voice say, “Jesus is watching you.” He looked around and saw nothing. He kept on creeping and again heard, “Jesus is watching you.” In a dark corner, he saw a cage with a parrot inside. The burglar asked the parrot, “Was it you who said Jesus is watching me” The parrot replied, “Yes.” Relieved, the burglar asked, “What is your name?” The parrot said, “Clarence.” The burglar said, “That’s a stupid name for a parrot. What idiot named you Clarence?” The parrot answered, “The same idiot that named the Rottweiler, Jesus.”
GOD to ST. FRANCIS:
Francis, … You know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on that planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles.
It’s the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers “weeds” and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
Grass? But, it’s so boring. It’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It’s sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?
Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.
Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it – sometimes twice a week.
They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?
Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
No, Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
You aren’t going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay for more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
What nonsense. At least they kept some of my trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, the leaves fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. It’s a natural cycle of life.
You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
No!? What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch made from the same leaves they paid to have hauled away. They haul it back home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
And where do they get this mulch?
They cut down trees and shrubs, mix and grind them up with the same leaves they paid to have hauled away to make the mulch.
Enough! I don’t want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you’re in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
‘Dumb and Dumber’, Lord. It’s a story about….
Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Better safe than sorry.
Look before you leap.
He who hesitates is lost.
Clothes make the man.
Don’t judge a book by its cover.
The more, the merrier.
Two’s company; three’s a crowd.
Actions speak louder than words.
The pen is mightier than the sword.
No wonder we’re all confused!