A farm kid from the Kentucky hills joined the United States Marine Corp and after six weeks wrote the following letter home:
Dear Ma & Pa
I am well. Hope you are too.
Tell brother Elmer and brother Walt that the Marine Corps sure beats working for old man Finch by a mile. They should join up quick before all of the places are filled.
I was restless for the first couple of weeks because you get to stay in bed until 5.00 am. But I am getting used to sleeping late. Tell Elmer and Walt all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine your shoes.
No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.
Men got to shave but it is not so bad - there's warm water if you can believe.
Breakfast is strong on the trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon and tomatoes. But there is no grits, chops, potatoes, fried eggplant, steak, pie or other regular food. But tell Elmer and Walt that you can always sit by some of the city boys. They never eat all of their food and you can always have their leftovers. They just seem to live on coffee.
Your food, plus theirs, holds you until noon when you get fed again! It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much.
We go on "route marches" which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.
The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.
The next bit will kill Elmer and Walt with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is as big as a chipmunk's head and it don't move. All you have to do is lie comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.
Then we have what's called hand to hand combat. You get to wrestle with the city boys. I have to be real careful cause they break so easily. It ain't like fighting old man Finch's bull. I'm about they best they got except for 'Tug" Jordan from Tennessee. I only beat him once. He joined up at the same time as met, but I'm only 5' 6" and 130 pounds while he is 6' 8' and nearly 300 pounds dry.
Be sure to tell Elmer and Walt to hurry up and enlist before it's too late.
Your loving daughter,
Alice
Thanks to Rotarian Maurie Selth for this story:
Time is like a river. You cannot touch the water twice, because the flow that has passed will never pass again. Enjoy every moment of life.
As a piper, I play many gigs. Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in
the Nova Scotia back country.
the Nova Scotia back country.
As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn't stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologised to the men for being late.
I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I started to play.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I've never played before for this homeless man.
And as I played "Amazing Grace", the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished, I packed up my bagpipes and started for my car. Though my head was hung
low, my heart was full.
low, my heart was full.
As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, "I never seen anything like that before, and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."
Apparently, I'm still lost....it's a man thing.
Thanks to Rotarian Alex Anderson for this story:
Cleitus was so excited. He had finally convinced a member of the opposite sex to accompany him to the end of year college ball.
Betty had finally said yes and he was determined to make it a night to remember and decided to leave nothing to chance.
First up was the appropriate attire so he went downtown to the hire shop for a tuxedo. Everybody else in town had the same idea and the queue was right out the door. Frustrated but determined, Cleitus waited in line for half an hour before successfully arranging his suit hire and he then drove to the other side of town to get a corsage for his date. Again a very long queue greeted him and he had to line up for another half an hour to complete his purchase.
Next on the list was a limousine and lo and behold another queue and another half an hour wait in line to arrange that.
By now Cleitus was getting very sick of lining up in a queue but he was hoping that it would all be worth it.
The big day finally arrived and Cleitus arrived to pick up Betty resplendent in an immaculate tux and with a gorgeous corsage for her.
He held open the door of the black limo and off they went to the ball.
Things were going very well with Betty and they talked and danced for a while before Betty asked for a glass of punch.
Cleitus sighed, just knowing that there was going to be a long queue for a drink but off he went to get the glass for his darling Betty.
But to his delight there was no punchline!
Thanks to Rotarian Ross Schweitzer for this story:
Two university students were traveling on a train.
As they passed one compartment, one student stopped.
“Look. In there! I say! That’s the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
The other student looks, “No, don’t think so.”
“Want to bet?”
“Sure.” “Five pounds.”
“You’re on. Find out.”
So the first student slides open the door and asks, “Excuse me, sir, we were wondering, are you —”
The old man roars, “Get out of my compartment, you filthy disgusting puke! Take your ratty face and your smelly friend and sod right off!” He then slams the compartment door.
The second student sighs: “Huh. Now we’ll never know who won the bet.”
A punter had gone to the Mornington races and after four races had almost lost his shirt.
Just before the fifth race he noticed a priest step up to a horse in the mounting yard and bless the horse's forehead.
Taking this as an omen he placed his last $10 on the horse. Lo and behold, it won at long odds.
The punter started following the priest around and just before the sixth race he watched as the priest went up and blessed one of the horses.
The punter quickly put $20 on this horse and it duly came home first.
Excitedly the punter watched as the priest blessed another horse in the seventh race. Sure enough that horse, another long shot, won easily.
The punter quickly ran to an ATM and withdrew all of the money in his savings account.
He then quickly returned to the mounting yard and waited for the priest as the horses came in for the eighth and last race of the day.
This time the priest went up to a horse and blessed its forehead, and its eyes, ears, legs and hooves.
The horse was another long shot.
Both elated and excited the punter raced to the nearest bookmaker and put every last cent that he had on the horse.
He watched dumbfounded as the old nag came in last.
In a state of shock he went up to the priest and confronted him, demanding to know what had happened.
"All day long", the punter said, "you blessed a horse in each race and it won."
"Then", he continued, "In the last race the horse that you blessed was flogged. Now, thanks to you, I've lost everything!"
The priest nodded wisely and with a little sympathy.
He then said, "Son, that the problem with you atheists, you can't tell the difference between a simple blessing and the last rites!"
