Tell Your Best Joke

Jerome had to travel to Europe on business for a week. He lived alone with his cherished companion, Snowpuff, his cat.
Since Snowpuff could not go with him, he enlisted his brother Floyd to care for her. He told Floyd that he would call him daily to make sure that Snowpuff was doing OK.

Jerome left for Europe and the very next day called Floyd to inquire how Snowpuff was doing. Floyd said “Snowpuff is dead!”.
Jerome was grief stricken and beside himself screaming at Floyd for being so thoughtlessly abrupt. He lectured Floyd to be more empathetic by breaking the news gradually. He said you could have started by saying that Snowpuff was up on the garage roof and we can’t get her down. Then when I call the next day, you could say that Snowpuff fell from the roof and broke a small bone in her neck. And finally when I called the third day you would tell me that she passed away painlessly in her sleep.

Floyd was so sorry and apologized profusely. Jerome, sad, but accepted his brother’s apology, and continues the conversation asking Floyd how the family is doing?.
There’s a short pause following which Floyd says, “well Grandma’s up on the garage roof and we can’t get her down.”
 
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When a wealthy rancher passed away, he left his entire estate to his devoted wife. She was smart, strikingly beautiful, and determined to keep the ranch running. There was just one small hitch—she didn’t know a single thing about ranching.
Realizing she needed help, she placed an ad for a ranch hand.

Two cowboys showed up to apply. One was a heavy drinker; the other was openly gay. After much consideration (and a lack of better options), she hired the gay cowboy. Her logic? At least he wouldn’t cause any trouble around the house like the drunk probably would.
Turned out to be the best decision she ever made.
The new ranch hand was hardworking, knowledgeable, and put in long hours. Under his care, the ranch thrived like never before.
One evening, the widow leaned against the barn door and said, “You’ve been incredible. Why don’t you go into town tonight and enjoy yourself?”

The cowboy grinned, tipped his hat, and rode off for a well-earned night out.
Midnight passed. Then one o’clock. Then two.
Finally, at nearly two-thirty, he staggered through the front door—only to find the widow sitting by the fireplace, sipping a glass of wine, waiting for him.

She motioned him closer.
In a low, sultry voice, she said, “Unbutton my blouse.”
Nervously, he obeyed.
“Now take off my boots.”
He knelt down, carefully pulling them off.
“Now my socks.”
His hands trembled as he peeled them away, setting them neatly beside the boots.
“Now my skirt.”
Heart pounding, he unfastened it, letting the fabric slip to the floor.
“Now my bra.”
He hesitated but did as she asked, his breath shallow.
The widow took a slow sip of wine, held his gaze, and purred—
“If you ever wear my clothes into town again… you’re fired.”






Take care.
 
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