Heart-stopping Question

There is a question asked by children that can strike fear into the heart of some parents or grandparents.

I would, if pushed, hazard a guess that the dad's out there will fear this question more than the mum's.

D'ya wanna know what it is?

Yes, you've guessed it! It's "Where do babies come from?"

Anyway, that's the question, but that isn't what I wanted to discuss today.
Listen up and I'll tell you why I brought it up.

So, there we were ... waiting for a green light ... at a pedestrian crossing.
A young woman with baby in a pushchair had just pushed the button an was waiting to cross.
My client, a  young man with learning difficulties, had up to this point, had been silent.  He's not a talker and, when spoken to, produces little more than one word answers.   As we waited for the woman and child to cross and the lights to turn back in our favour, I noticed him begin to grin. He was about to give me one of those "Where do babies come from" moments.

"I know how she got her baby" he said as the woman crossed the road.

Oh-oh! I thought.  What's he going to come out with now?

I was somewhat shocked and taken aback by his statement and before I could respond I ran through all the possible permutations of how this dialogue would progress. Had he been watching dirty movies? Reading dirty books?

I tried to ignore the question and concentrated on the lights.  Change, please change I thought.

As the lights changed and I drove on, I still had not replied as I feared that the only place this conversation would go was down hill and into the gutter. But after a few minutes, just when I thought he'd forgotten all about it and I had relaxed, he said again "I know how she got her baby".

This time, before I could engage my brain and attempt to change the subject,  I asked "How?"

I feared the worst and tried to think of excuses that I could tell my boss in case she ever found out that I had a discussion with a client about sex.

With trepidation and butterflies fluttering around my stomach I feared the worst as he tried formulated his answer.

It took a while but, when it came, I breathed out hard and the butterflies in my stomach flew off to pasture new.

I hastily and readily agreed to what he said and steered the conversation to safer ground by asking him "Are we there yet?"

Now I can hear you all asking "What did he say? What did he say?"

Well, for those that haven't worked it out for themselves, this is what he said ...

"Jesus gave it to her!"

Doors, Pants, Elephants And A Visitor From God

Some years ago I had one of those rare mornings when I couldn't unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth even if I'd wanted to.  I'd slept the night through, without disturbance, but felt that another twenty-four hours sleep wouldn't go amiss.

My usual ability to bounce out of bed and be instantly capable of taking part in a political debate or cracking half a dozen jokes before my first cup of coffee had stayed in bed that morning.

I wandered around zombie-like; in a semi-daze. I didn't have the where-with-all to figure out complicated things such as taps, kettle or making coffee, so I dumped myself onto the sofa and waited for the fog to lift.

The doorbell rang

I opened the door in my pants.

Yes, I DO know what you are thinking.  That's a strange place for a door! 

I would like to point out that I most certainly am not an exhibitionist ... I gave all that up after a rather unfortunate chance meeting with a female graffiti artist and her spray can of green luminous paint.
That stuff was really difficult to remove, but on the plus side, it meant that for two weeks or so, whenever I needed to pee in the night, there was no need for me to turn on any lights in order to hit the 'target'!
 
No, I can assure you that the door I opened was firmly embedded in the front wall of our house and not actually in my pants, which sported a pretty cool picture of an elephants head on the front.

I just wasn't thinking.  Someone was at the door, so I went to see who was there. My apparel, or lack thereof, didn't seem to be important at the time.

Anyway ...

... I opened the door (embedded in the front wall of our house) and standing on the doorstep, looking away from me towards a parked car, was a smartly dressed, elderly lady.

"Yes?" I said.

"Ah! Hello! I'm from The Holy Saviour Church ..." she said as she turned.

"I'd like to talk to you about ..."

She looked down at my elephant head.

"... JESUS CHRIST!!!" she shrieked.

At that point, I was awake. The 'fog' was lifted as the sudden realisation that I was standing at the open front door, visible to the whole wide world and it's dog, in my underwear hit me.

"Sorry!" I said stepping behind the door, which unfortunately is mostly glass.  "I'm not a believer!  Thank you. Bye!"

I slammed the door, most ungentlemanly, in her face and ran for the safety of the kitchen as the build up of shame generated, furness-like heat, burned my face.

After all this time, I can still feel some of that heat when I remember the incident.

The Fault Lies With Them ... Not Me, Jesus Or Pinocchio!

D'ya know what?

I spend more time reading the blogs of others than I do actually writing my own.

So you folks out there are the ones to blame if you find my 'hit and miss' article appearances somewhat annoying. Oh yes! I know you are ALL going to deny it and after a chorus of "Who?  Me?" and "WTF!" you will all, no doubt, start thinking I am carzy.

Well  I'm not carzy ... just mildly lysdexic!

I get carried away by your wit, ramblings, rages and dribble so that by the time I get to writing my one masterpiece whatever buzzing back and forth between my ears has gone!

So you ARE to blame whether you believe it or not.

Pearl is in many ways the most prolific offender and must shoulder much of the blame.  Living with wise-cracking and devious cats gives her more literary ammunition than most.

A Diary of A Mad Woman occasionally blows my socks off (cleaned that one up a little) with accounts of her shenanigans ... and those booby-pics are wicked too!

Hello World (a newbie) shows promise and I very often get caught up by the ramblings of A little Sprite,  Bitchin' Wives Club, laughing my abs off and ... well, you can see who I follow.

But, dear reader, they are just the tip of the iceberg.  As guilty of being a distraction as they most assuredly are, there are many more bloggers whose work I read that I haven't decided to follow yet, who are just as guilty.

That point made, I would like to serve you today's morsel: a joke (my favourite) which I hope will amuse you.

There was once an old man who one day wandered up to Heaven's gate and rang the bell.  Jesus was on gate duty and went out to see what the fuss was about.

"Excuse me", said the old man. "Can you help me?  I'm looking for someone".

Jesus scratched his head and replied "Oh! That might not be so easy.  There are millions of people up here".

"No!", came the old man's reply. "It should be easy, you see the person I'm looking for has holes in his hand and his feet".

Jesus was visibly taken aback. "Father?" he asked.

The old man squinted at Jesus and asked "Pinocchio?"

(The 'daddy' takes a bow and exits stage right.)

I apologise to those who feel that their religious beliefs has been ridiculed, attacked or merely dented by this affront. 

Nativity 2.0

Enjoy!

Jesus Is Watching You

A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables when a voice in the dark said, 

'Jesus knows you're here.'

He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight off, and froze.

When he heard nothing more, after a bit, he shook his head and 
continued.

Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard 

'Jesus is watching you.'

Freaked out, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the source of the voice.

Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot.

'Did you say that?' he hissed at the parrot.

'Yep', the parrot confessed, then squawked, 'I'm just trying to warn you that he is watching you.'

The burglar relaxed. 'Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you ?'

'Moses,' replied the bird.

'Moses?' the burglar laughed.

'What kind of people would name a bird Moses?'

'The kind of people that would name a Rottweiler Jesus.'

(thanks to Julie Williams for sending me that one)