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Father O’Mally has been preaching at his church in Ireland for so
long, that he decides to take a vacation. He has never been married
and he is curious as to what an American endures in everyday life. So,
he decides to go to the States before it is too late. He hops on the
plane bound for Nevada. He arrives in the Airport in Las Vegas.

As he is exiting the plane, someone in the airport runs up to him and
exclaims, “Elvis! Oh my God! It’s Elvis! I knew you weren’t dead
Elvis! How have you been?” Father looks at her and says, “Get outta me
face. Can’t you see I’m not Elvis? I don’t look a thing like Elvis.”

The father moves on to his cab waiting outside. He hops in his cab and
he’s a little upset so he tells the cabby, “Take me to my hotel and
step on it.” The cabby turns and says, “Sure thing sir – Oh my God!
It’s Elvis! I knew you weren’t dead! I’m your number one fan! It’s so
great to see you!” “Shut up, you imbecile. I’m not Elvis! Now turn
around and drive!”

So, the cabby speeds up to the hotel. Father O’Malley gets his things
and walks up to the hotel check-in counter. “Oh my God! Oh my God!
It’s you!” screams the hotel clerk. “You’re back Elvis! I knew this
day would happen. We saved everything just the way you like it! Free
cheeseburgers, peanut butter and banana fried sandwiches, masseurs,
complementary hookers and a full liquor bar! I’m so glad you’re back!”

Father O’Malley looks at the hotel clerk and says, “Thank you… Thank
you very much!”

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform,
and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central
Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
didn’t, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida
library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not
with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name,
Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She now
lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and
inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for
service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two
grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on
a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a
photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it
wouldn’t matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for
him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting – 7:00 PM at
the Grand Central Station in New York. “You’ll recognize
me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I’ll be wearing on my lapel.”
So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he
loved, but whose face he’d never seen.
I’ll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her
blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as
flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale
green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her,
entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.
As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. “Going my way,
sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to
her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past
40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump,
her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as
though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and
yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly
companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was
gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I
did not hesitate.
My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that
was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be
something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a
friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman,
even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my
disappointment.
“I’m Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so
glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?”
The woman’s face broadened into a tolerant smile. “I don’t know what
this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green
suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she
said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you
that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She
said it was some kind of test!”
It’s not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell’s wisdom.
The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the
unattractive.
“Tell me whom you love,” Houssaye wrote, “And I will tell you who you
are.”

Seventy year old George went for his annual physical. All of his tests
came back with great results. Dr. Smith said, “George everything looks
great physically. How are you doing mentally, emotionally and are you at
peace with your self and have a good relationship with God?”
George replied, “God and me are tight. We are so close that when I get up
in the middle of the night, poof!… the light goes on and I go to the
bathroom and then poof! the light goes off!”
“Wow,” commented Dr. Smith, ‘That’s incredible!”
A little later in the day Dr. Smith called George’s wife. “Thelma,” he
said, “George is just fine. Physically he’s great. But I had to call you
because I’m in awe of his relationship with God. Is it true that he gets
up during the night and poof! The light goes on in the bathroom and then
poof! The light goes off?”
Thelma replied, “Oh God! He’s peeing in the fridge again!”

There was this man that was an accountant for the mob. He happened to be deaf and mute. While working for the mob he collected over 500,000 dollars by stealing from the books.

The mob boss finds out about this and sends two hitmen to his house. Since the accountant was deaf and mute his brother translated what his brother said.

Hitman: where is the money?

Accountant signs he does not know

Brother: he said he does not know

Hitman: tell us where the money is or we will kill your wife and kids, burn down your house, and castrate you!

Accountant signs fast and furiously that the money is in a safe that is hidden in the floorboard of his closet and gives the combination.

Hitman: what did he say?

Brother: you don’t have the balls!

A man, called to testify at the IRS, asked his accountant
for advice on what to wear. “Wear your shabbiest clothing. Let him
think you are a pauper.” Then he asked his lawyer the same question,
but got the opposite advice. “Do not let them intimidate you. Wear
your most elegant suit and tie.” Confused, the man went to his rabbi,
told him of the conflicting advice, and requested some resolution of
the dilemma. “Let me tell you a story,” replied the rabbi. “A woman,
about to be married, asked her mother what to wear on her wedding
night. ‘Wear a heavy, long, flannel nightgown that goes right up to
your neck.’ But when she asked her best friend, she got conflicting
advice. ‘Wear your most sexy negligee, with a V-neck right down to
your navel. The man protested: “What does all this have to do with my
problem with the IRS?” “No matter what you wear, you are going to get
screwed.”



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