There was this guy in a mental hospital. All day long he had his ear to the wall, listening. The doctor would watch this guy do this day after day.

The doctor finally decided to see what the guy was listening to, so he put his ear up to the wall too, and doesn't hear a thing.

"I don't hear anything, Clyde."

"I know, it's been like that for months!"


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After a particularly inspiring worship service, a church member greeted the pastor. "Reverend, that was a wonderful sermon. You should have it published."

The pastor replied, "Actually, I'm planning to have all my sermons published posthumously."

"Great!" enthused the church member. "The sooner the better!"

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M&M's: The Theory of Evolution

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species.

To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger,I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theatre of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to: M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc. Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."

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Our manager at the restaurant where I worked was a friendly, jovial man.
But there was one subject you didn't dare discuss in front of him--his
height. Or, should I say... his very-obvious lack of it.

One day he stormed through the front door and announced angrily,

"Someone just picked my pocket!"

Most of my fellow waitresses and I were speechless, except for one who
just had to blurt out. . .

"How could anyone stoop so low?"