Once upon a time there were two canaries in a cage. Naturally, one was male and the other female. After many months, the male decided to meet the female. So he scooted over to her side of the cage and said,

"Since we're in this together, why don't I move over to your side of the cage!"

The female canary replied, "No, thanks!!"

So he went back to his side but found he could stay there no longer. Once again, he moved to her side of the cage. This time he asked,

"I am sorry I was to forward the first time. Why don't we get to know each other first."

To which she replied again, "No, thanks!"

Resigning himself to return to his side of the cage, he languished about for a bit then made one final effort. He went halfway across the cage and stated,

"Well, could we at least talk?"

This time she replied, "Oh, I am so sorry I have been so mean. You see I just learned I have a canarial disease called, "Chirpies" and I hear it is untweetable."

 

Mary Poppins moved

It seems that Mary Poppins has moved to California. She has started a business telling people's fortunes. But, she doesn't read palms or tea leaves, she smells one's breath. That, right, the sign outside reads: Super California Mystic Expert Halitosis.

 

The vultures are flying

As migration approached, two elderly vultures doubted they could make the trip south, so they decided to go by airplane.

When they checked their baggage, the attendant noticed that they were carrying two dead raccoons. "Do you wish to check the raccoons through as luggage?" she asked.

"No, thanks," replied the vultures. "They're carrion."

 

Farmer milks a cow

A farmer was milking his cow. He was just starting to get a good rhythm going when a bug flew into the barn and started circling his head. Suddenly, the bug flew into the cow's ear. The farmer didn't think much about it, until the bug squirted out into his bucket. It went in one ear and out the udder.

 

The stained clothes

The other day I was eating in an Italian restaurant when I accidentally spilled some spaghetti sauce on my favorite white sweater.

I wasn't too distressed, though, because Mr. Wong down on High Street has been doing my laundry for years, and I knew that he could remove just about any stain and get it out like it'd never been there.

So I took the sweater down to Wong's Laundry and dropped it off; Mr. Wong said he'd probably be able to have it cleaned by Thursday. So on Thursday afternoon after work I stopped by Wong's again.

Mr. Wong looked quite distressed when he saw me. He brought out the sweater and, apologizing profusely, explained that somehow this stain was beyond even his power to expunge.

And sure enough, though fainter than before, there was still a distinct red stain on the sweater. In an attempt to make up for his failure, Mr. Wong offered to send the sweater to his brother across town, who had been in the laundry business for an even longer time, and who might have a clue as to the method of removal of this extraordinarily persistent stain.

The elder Wong brother would rush it through at no extra charge, and should have it looking as white and clean as new by Friday. So on Friday I went back to Wong's to pick up my sweater, but when I arrived, Mr. Wong regretfully informed me that his brother, too, had failed to remove the red blotch. "No charge," said Wong, "but you must take sweater elsewhere to clean.

The Moral: ... Two Wongs cannot make a white."