Deep, Dad. Deep.

24 Oct

Last month while my parent’s were here in Michigan I was working on a post.  As usual I was stuck.  My mistake was in letting my Blogger’s Block become public.  Dad, always quick to the punch, or possibly just punchy, had this sterling advice:

Plant it deep and pack it in.

It’s a post.  Get it?

Don’t worry, the next time you go out to help build a fence you’ll get the joke.  If not, well, don’t feel bad, Dad’s jokes have been lost on us for years.

It's been this way all my life, I tell you.

And so today, since you’re already deeply mired in the mud of a Memory Dirt Road Monday I’d like to share with you two special jokes that our father wrote.  I guarantee that you have never heard these before (unless you know our father, in which case you’ve probably heard them anywhere between 6-422 times in your life.)  Are you ready?  Okay, here’s the first:

Q:  If you’re flying down the road in your canoe and a wheel fell off how many flapjacks would it take to cover a doghouse?
A:  Nine, because ice cream doesn’t have bones.

What?  You don’t get it?  Try this one instead:

Q:  What’s the difference between an orange?
A:  A bicycle because a vest doesn’t have sleeves.

Still nothing?

Okay, fine, we don’t understand them either.  But we never let on.  We just laughed and laughed . . .

You should probably do the same.

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4 Responses to “Deep, Dad. Deep.”

  1. Jeannette October 24, 2011 at 4:31 pm #

    I really see Celia in this picture! She looks so much like you did at that age.

    • Christina October 25, 2011 at 10:32 am #

      I just ran across a bunch of my one-year pictures and for the first time I can see it too!

  2. Rachel October 24, 2011 at 11:11 pm #

    I still ask for a good Brian joke now and again. Always makes my day. The latest: A man walks into a butcher’s shop and inquires of the butcher, “Are you a gambling man?” The butcher says, “Yes.” So the man said, “I bet you $50 that you can’t reach up and touch that meat hanging on the hooks up there.” The butcher says, “I’m not betting on that.” “But I thought you were a gambling man,” the man retorts. “Yes, I am,” says the butcher, “but the steaks are too high.”

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