Few people enjoy a good practical joke more than I do — even when I’m the butt of one. I recently got a great practical joke story from a farmer/rancher friend in Washington State who lives close to Ellensburg. His wife likes to shop once a month or so in Seattle. So, they drive over Snoqualmie Pass to Seattle.
Luckily, my friend’s wife has a good sense of humor, so before they go home, they go to some upscale retail store with a prominent “Do Not Carry,” “No Concealed Weapons,” or “Firearms Prohibited” sign on the door.
My friends gathers up several hundred dollars of expensive “stuff” and toss it all onto the checkout counter. That’s when his wife says to him, “Honey. Are you concealed carrying today?”
He responds, “What makes you ask?”
She replies, “Didn’t you see the sign on the door? If you’re packing, you could be in big trouble.”
Then he says, “Guess we’d better leave pronto.” And the two turn on a dime and head for the front door, leaving all their “stuff” on the checkout counter.
The funniest part is when the store clerk follows them all the way to the front door saying, “Please don’t leave. We never check our customers. Management put the sign up.”
My friend replies, “Well, I ain’t taking the chance. It could be a sting operation,”
His story gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling all over.
***
Well, I’ve pretty well tapped the well dry of the lyrics to cute little novelty songs that my Grandma Ann taught to me as a youngster. So, unless my memory dredges up another such song from the depths, this it the final song on this topic.
The name of this song is “Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder.” She didn’t write the song, but these are the lyrics she taught me:
“Ice cream. Cold cream. Benezine. Gasoline.
Soup beans, string beans floating all around.
Beef steak, pork steak, mistake, stomach ache.
C’mon in. Her chowder is fine.
Chorus: Brin-g-g-g back. Brin-g-g-g. Mrs, Murphy’s chowder.
Every spoonful, it is tuneful,
And it makes you yodel louder.
Every evening Uncle Ben always fills his fountain pen,
From his bowl of Mrs. Murphy’s chowder.”
***
Well, I checked into Wickipedia on the internet and found out that Grandma Ann didn’t come close to teaching me all the lyrics to the song. Here’s the rest of them:
“Ice cream, cold cream, benzene, gasoline,
Soup-beans, string beans, floating all around
Sponge cake, beefsteak, mistake, stomach ache,
Creampuffs, earmuffs, many to be found
Silk hats, doormats, bed slats, democrats,
Coco bells, doorbells, beckon you to dine
Meatballs, fish balls, mothballs, cannonballs,
Come on in, the chowder’s fine!
Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder?
Nobody spoke up, so I shouted all the louder.
‘Tis an Irish trick ’tis true, but I could lick the Mick that threw
These dirty overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder.
Won’t you bring back, won’t you bring back, Mrs. Murphy’s chowder
From each helping you’ll be yelping — for a headache powder
And if they had it where we are, you might find an Austin car
In a plate of Mrs. Murphy’s chowder
Won’t you bring back, won’t you bring back, Mrs. Murphy’s chowder
You can pack it, you can stack it, all around the larder
The plumber died the other day; they embalmed him right away
In a bowl of Mrs. Murphy’s chowder.”
***
Spring sprung, but winter come — back! It froze hard the first three nights in April. Nice April Fool’s Day snow from Mother Nature, too! I’m sure the apricot tree that wuz blooming is done for, and most likely, the apples, peach, pear and cherry trees, too. Maybe I’ll get lucky as the apricot wuz the only tree actually blooming.
Jay Esse from Colorado provides the words of wisdom for the week. He says his doctor suggested a patch for weight control. Put the patch over your mouth. Jay says at his age, he’s still playing with a full deck. He just shuffles a lot slower.
Have a good ‘un.AW
