At the nudist colony for communists, two men are sitting on the front porch. One turns to the other and says, “I say, have you read Marx?” The other replies, “Yes … I believe it’s these wicker chairs.”
None of my grandsons share my corny sense of humor. When the family is eating lasagna, I say, “Lean over your plate, boys. You’ll get less-on-ya.” I say to the ten-year-old, “Don’t yell through the screen; you’ll strain your voice.” And when I took another grandson to the zoo, I asked, “Do you know why that snake’s not pressed against the glass? He doesn’t want to be a windshield viper.”
They’ll probably laugh later.
Homer Adams, Nashville, Tennessee