The Unknown Usher
An elderly woman walked into the local country church. The friendly usher greeted her at the door and helped her up the flight of steps.
“Where would you like to sit?” he asked politely.
“The front row, please,” she answered.
“You really don’t want to do that,” the usher said. “The pastor is really boring.”
“Do you happen to know who I am?” the woman inquired.
“No,” he said.
“I’m the pastor’s mother,” she replied indignantly.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” he answered.
A friend, driving home from a fishing trip in northern
“I’m on Interstate-75, two miles south of Standish.”
The officer paused, “Could you repeat that?”
“I-75, two miles south of Standish.”
A longer pause. Then an incredulous voice asked, “How fast were you going when you hit shore?”
One of the matrons of the church was cooking a pot of her famous beans for the church potluck, and her son, Little Stumpy, came running through the house, BB gun in one hand, and a handful of BBs in the other. He tripped and the BBs, naturally, went right into the pot of beans. Thinking it over, Little Stumpy could think of no reason why he should risk punishment, so he said nothing. The dinner went well, and, as usual, the beans were one of the favorite dishes. The next day, the church secretary, Barb, called Little Stumpy’s mother and said, “Wendy, your beans were delicious as usual, but what did you put in them this time? “Wendy replied, “Nothing new, why do you ask?” “Well,” said Barb, “this s morning I bent over to feed the cat and I shot the canary.