A man placed some flowers on the grave of his dearly departed mother and started back toward his car when his attention was diverted to another man kneeling at a grave.

The man seemed to be praying with profound intensity and kept repeating, “Why did you have to die? Why did you have to die? Why did you have to die?”

The first man approached him and said, “Sir, I don’t wish to interfere with your private grief, but this demonstration of pain is more than I’ve ever seen before. For whom do you mourn so deeply? A child? A parent?”

The mourner took a moment to collect himself, then replied, “My wife’s first husband.”

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Three sons left home, went out on their own and prospered. Getting back together, they discussed the gifts they were able to give their elderly Mother.

The first said, “I built a big house for our Mother.” The second said, “I sent her a Mercedes with a driver.” The third smiled and said, “I’ve got you both beat. You remember how Mom enjoyed reading the Bible? And you know she can’t see very well any more. I sent her a remarkable parrot that recites the entire Bible. It took Elders in the church 12 years to teach him. He’s one of a kind. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse, and the parrot recites it.”

Soon thereafter, Mom sent out her letters of thanks: “Milton,” she wrote one son, “the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house.”

“Gerald,” she wrote to another, “I am too old to travel any more. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. I stay most of the time at home, so I rarely use the Mercedes. And the driver is so rude!”

“Dearest Donald,” she wrote to her third son, “you have the good sense to know what your Mother likes. The chicken was delicious!”

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I went to the store the other day. I was only in there for about five minutes, and when I came out there was a motorcycle cop writing a parking ticket. So I went up to him and said, ‘Come on buddy, how about giving a guy a break?’

He ignored me and continued writing the ticket. So I called him a stupid idiot. He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having bald tires!

Then I really got angry at him. He finished the second ticket and put it on the car with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket!

This went on for about 20 minutes. The more I abused him, the more tickets he wrote. I didn’t care. My car was parked around the corner.

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A man was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome. He mentioned the trip to the barber who responded, “Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded, dirty and full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”

“We’re taking TWA,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”

“TWA?” exclaimed the barber. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are rude, 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 the city. 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, the man again came in for his regular haircut. The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.

“It was wonderful,” explained the man, “not only were we on time in one of TWA’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 28 year old stewardess who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel – it was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodeling job and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, 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 personally 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 through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke to me.”

“Really?” asked the Barber. “What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘Where’d you get the lousy haircut?'”

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