A couple old jokes that never seem to get the recognition they deserve.
There's this dude that obsesses over planning. He's been planning to build himself a house for about twenty-five years now. All the materials, tools, time, and even meals he will eat during the project have been planned out, without any waste.
It's been four years since he's been able to modify his plan. The plan is flawless. It is time. Time to build.
So he builds. Every motion deliberate and necessary. He builds his house without fault. It is the perfect house. Time for the final inspection. Every inch will be scrutinized. Nothing will be over... What is that? Is that? It can't be. A brick. For the fireplace? Where else. It is the only place he used brick. No. He walks over to the brick and picks it up. It's a brick. He can't believe it. But it's a brick. It has weight. He can feel it. It's a brick. One of his bricks. For the fireplace. He scrutinizes every inch of the fireplace. Counts the bricks. He ordered one too many bricks. But how? He counts and counts again. An extra brick. It's late. He takes the brick home with him.
Wrapped in a hand towel, the brick sits on his nightstand. He lies there all night thinking about the brick. In the wee hours of the morning, he goes back to the new house. He paces back and forth in the backyard. It's no use thinking about the how and why. The brick is. Now what to do with it. Throwing it away is compounding his failure. The sincerest admission of fault. Return it to the store? They'll think he's nuts. Besides, he'll just drive past the building supply yard half a dozen times and never stop. Perhaps he can take it to the yard now before they open and just leave it at the front doors. What if a cop comes. How will he explain being in front of a closed store with a brick in his hand. He'll smash the brick into powder and scatter it in the backyard. But what if that does not satisfy his urge to get rid of the brick. It can never be recovered. In a fit of anger he screams up at the early morning sky: Why?! Why god am I like this?! Why have you made me this way?!
In a rage he hurls the brick up at the heavens, gets in his truck and drives home.
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There's this prosthetics salesman in Pittsburgh going to a medical convention in Cleveland. He's not a very good salesman but he doesn't understand why. Actually he doesn't realize his own body odor and his suits are, well, they look like the kind of suits you'd get a free bowl of soup with if you take my meaning. Anyways, he decides to take a discount airline for the short hop to Cleveland.
He gets on the plane and sits down and across the aisle is an old lady with a small dog on her lap. "What the fuck?" he wonders. He stops a fight attendant and inquires about the dog. The fight attendant replies they thought they'd let the old lady have her dog with her since it's such a short flight with few passengers as long as no one had a problem with it. He mumbles something and waves the attendant away. The dog lets loose a single yelp.
The flight takes off and the salesman decides to review his notes on his contacts at the convention. The dog starts yelping. The dog is yelping at him. The old lady laughs it off and tells the dog he is not a bad man and laughs a little more. "You've got to be kidding me." he thinks. "The hell with this. I'm smoking a cigar. What are they going to do? If she can break the rules, so can I." He lights up and the dog goes nuts, barking furiously. The old lady scolds him. The fight attendant comes over. The few other passengers on the plane gang up on him. Finally in a fit, he gets up, grabs the dog, forces the plug door open, throws the dog out of the plane and the cigar and proclaims, "There! No dog! No cigar! Just as it should be!"
The little old lady looking out the window in terror see her little dog clinging to the wing of the plane. Now guess what the dog had in his mouth?
