Wednesday, July 09, 2008

No joke here

Seems every blogger, regardless if woman or man is posting jokes today.

To make a difference, here's reality news.
This morning, near the graveyard I stumbled into a young man, or rather he hastened into me. Last time we met - it must have been late February, or so - he had just finished his studies for the teaching profession and got taught there's no need for him as a teacher.

The more delighted I was to see him smiling and in the best mood.

After both we had murmured our 'Sorry', he recognised me.

"Ah, Sean."

"An espresso at Vincenzo's?' I asked.

"Would be great, but I'm in a hurry."

"I see. What's her name?"

"Sorry, but ..." And off he speeded. All I could understand from what he shouted over his shoulder: "... 'll ... you ... ail."

Five minutes ago I received an email:

sorry about this mornings' hurry.
There was a very important press conferance at the chemistry. They are going to have an 'Open Door Day'. With bouncing castle for the kids and many more attractive sensations.

Imagine, Sean. End of March I'd not hardly know how to spell shornalyst, and only three months later I happen to be one. I could huck the whole world. Shornalism is the most wonderfull profashion in the world.

But now I have to stop. I am in hurry. In ten minutes I have to email the article (220 lines) to the lady owner, for authorisation.

In hurry,
Yours ...

Well, what can I say. I am so happy for the young chap. It's not easy to find a job in these times.


  1. No Jokes to offer. But here's the shortest poem, according to Guinness.

    'ad 'em.

    À la vôtre!

  2. :)
    not had'em?

    However, à la vôtre, Claude!

  3. On a flea note...

    So naturalists observe a flea
    as smaller fleas that on him prey,
    And these have smaller still to bite 'em,
    And so proceed ad infinitum.

    With thanks to Swift of course!

  4. Coincidence, Jams.
    I thought of this one, too.
    And it ends:

    Thus ever poet, in his kind,
    Is bit by him that comes behind.


  5. If you're talking of a louse
    you will say oh! the White House
    it is your sad obsession
    to daily post the mansion.

    Café at your place?
    or mine?

  6. Comme il vous plaira, poétesse au Canada. :)

  7. A pro fashion journalist?
    Ever met a journalist dressed well..))?
    Me not!

  8. You're in Germany, Sean?

  9. Hans,
    why would I when reading what some Turkish journalist are contributing to the well-being of their beloved people, suddenly think of Andersen's "The Emperor's New Clothes"? :)

    what is my reality against your joke? :)

    Oui, chère Madame Curieuse, this does not lack of correctness.
    It's interesting what one can learn on a trip to Istanbul, isn't it? :)

  10. Merci pour votre réponse.

    The Blogsphere is somehow indiscreet when one connects with another. That's why even if I seem to reveal a lot, it's very little with comments only. I also seldom give an email address although it's required at certain posts. A bit selective. A bit secretive. I remember well something I learned long ago:

    He is a perfect stranger, she said.
    Only strangers are perfect.

  11. Chère Madame Joyeuse,
    to start with the end.
    'If you want a good answer, ask the woman' said the poet.
    So I asked the woman, and this is what she said: "The perfect is the enemy of the good."

    As for my secrets: I have none. That's the secret. :)

    As for your précaution: This is very wise, the more when considering the 75 springs* you have behind you. :)

    [Dear uninvolved readers: To find the posting where 'Crying au Canada' mentioned 'I am 75', you do only need to search the archive. Make yourself feel at home. :)]

    À la vôtre, Madame Joyeuse. :)

  12. Cher Sean,

    Sadly, some of the springs have been winters...

    That's my secret.

    Que la nuit vous accorde sa paix et sa douceur.

  13. P.S. to the above comment.

    Your uninvolved readers would be far more interested in "Hiatus Interruptus". I doubt that one would approve my political views and sympathize with my tears.

  14. Wow. The comments are as good as the post. I forgot what I was going to say.

    My daughter sent me a very good joke which had me in hysterics and I considered briefly posting it but I thought I don't do things like that. Maybe I'll rethink it.

  15. Bonjour, chère Madame de Beauxnoms,
    now I know why I'd sleep like a baby tonight. Merci beaucoup.
    To make up for your good wishes I promise that I shall give my best in order to never ever mocking about wise and altruistic peacemakers such as Mr. Bush and Mr. Cheney et al.
    Apropos, ... where's my peacemaker?
    May you have a pleasant day, while I am digging the garden.

    PS: La pluie tombe à flots.

    I think I do not only speak for Madame Curieuse when I say: We are all very curious to hear what was able to let a Lady burst out in hysterical laughter, who's known for her unshakable contenance. :)

    Oh, and once you remember what we made you forget, please come back - we'd be pleased to read your thought.
    Apropos thinking: Did the 'old scientist' solve the problem he was pondering all day in Steveston? :)

  16. You ask: Where's my peacemaker? I'm not sure I understand the question. That wouldn't be new!

    Two quotes:

    Si vis pacem, para bellum. (César).

    You sleep safe in your beds because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would do you harm. (George Orwell).

    Que la paix soit avec vous dans votre jardin.
    Ici, une menace de pluie...

  17. Madame Curieuse,
    you would not remember from your time in the Wildwest what's a Colt "Peacemaker"? I am surprised. :)

    As for the quotes:
    - Caesar was undoubtedly a visionary. It took a while, but then, indeed, the Romans' Imperium found its peace. And there it's resting since.

    - No need. I can fight 28 nasty kids off by suggesting to conjugate 'fight'.

    As for your good wishes. Merci. Sa fait pleut. :)

    PS: Proposal: While I am digging in order to find my ancestor's 'Peacemaker', you could write a story of six words.
    See you later, alligator.

  18. Sir Jeating,

    Please do not abstain from political jibes on my account. You must indulge in one of your favourite hobbies.

    As for the safety of your nights, not much time to conjugate any verb when nasty kids are ready to blow themselves up with all around them. Good if someone stops them at the door.

    A short story? Six words? Excluding: he/she. Here it is:

    He arrived late. Her heart had grown cold.