We’ve had it before but it still makes me chuckle (and, after all, that’s the only criteria that matters):
The photographer for a national magazine was assigned to get photos of a great forest fire. Smoke at the scene was too thick to get any good shots, so he frantically called his home office to hire a plane. “It will be waiting for you at the airport!” he was assured by his editor.
As soon as he got to the small, rural airport, sure enough, a plane was warming up near the runway. He jumped in with his equipment and yelled, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
The pilot swung the plane into the wind and soon they were in the air.
“Fly over the north side of the fire,” said the photographer, “and make three or four low level passes.”
“Why?” asked the pilot.
“Because I’m going to take pictures! I’m a photographer, and photographers take pictures!” said the photographer with great exasperation.
After a long pause the pilot said, “You mean you’re not the instructor?”
Dave was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome.
He mentioned the trip to the barber, who responded, “Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty and full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking United,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“United!” exclaimed the barber. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they’re always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at the downtown International Marriott.”
“That dump! That’s the worst hotel in Rome. The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the barber. “You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it!”
A month later, Dave again came in for his regular haircut. The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained Dave. “Not only were we on time in one of United’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a beautiful young stewardess who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel! Well, it was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodeling job and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They were overbooked too, so they apologized and gave us the presidential suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the barber. “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked in. As I knelt down he spoke to me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Where’d you get that shitty haircut?”
A woman decides to get a full facelift for her 70th birthday. She spends a lot of money, but she is absolutely thrilled with the results. She looks in the mirror and thinks she looks decades younger.
On her way home, she stops at a boutique. She buys a dress, walks up to the cashier, and asks, “Excuse me, but how old do you think I am?”
The cashier looks at her and says, “Oh, I’d say about 45.”
The woman beams and says, “Actually, I’m 70!”
Feeling fantastic, she goes into a fast-food restaurant for lunch. She asks the teenager at the counter the same question: “How old do you think I am?”
The teenager looks at her and replies, “Hmm, you look about 40 to me.
“The woman smiles warmly and says, “Well, I am actually 70!”
On her way to the train station, she stops at a pharmacy to buy some mints. She asks the clerk, “Can you guess my age?”
The clerk says, “I’d guess you are 35.”
The woman giggles and says, “I’m really 70, but thank you!”
While waiting on the train platform, she stands next to an elderly, wrinkled man. She decides to try her luck one last time. “Excuse me, sir,” she says. “Can you guess how old I am?”
The old man shrugs and says, “Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. But when I was young, we had a foolproof way of telling a woman’s exact age. It involves putting my hands inside your blouse and feeling around for a bit.”
The woman is taken aback, but she looks around and sees the platform is completely empty. She is incredibly curious to see if her facelift can fool a traditional method. “Alright,” she sighs, “go ahead.”
The old man slips his hands inside her blouse. He spends a few minutes carefully feeling, squeezing, and pondering. Finally, the woman gets impatient. “Well?” she asks. “How old am I?”
The old man takes his hands out, smiles, and says, “You are exactly 70 years old.”
The woman is completely stunned. “That is amazing!” she gasps. “How on earth did you know that just from feeling?”
The old man replies, “I was standing behind you in the line at the pharmacy.”