Home sweet home
Bob's sister Hannah
Bob's sister Ada
Bob's brother Otto
Bob's sister Eve
Bob's sister Nan
A baby picture of Bob and his siblings (clockwise from upper left: Otto, Eve, Hannah, Ada, Bob, and Nan)
Bob's childhood home
Bob's mom and dad
Bob in his youth
Bob's cousin Alphonse
Bob's Uncle Ralph and Aunt Edna
Bob's cousin Archibald
Bob's stepbrother Herbie (who really needs to quit smoking)
Bob's cousin Chester
Bob's Great Uncle Norbert and Great Aunt Phyllis
Bob's cousin Saffron (who will do anything for a drink)
Bob's sister-in-law Sybil
Bob's cousin Thorndike
Bob's brother-in-law Vinnie
Bob's cousin Orville, who loves the Green Bay Packers
Bob's nieces Lulu and Bitsy, the biker chicks
Bob's stepsister Eloise, with the twins, Rudy and Trudy
Bob's Uncle Henry and Aunt Rowena
Bob's niece Esmerelda (who likes to live dangerously)
Bob's Great Uncle Arthur up in Saskatchewan
Bob's cousin Louie, the grackle of grumpiness
Miss Screech, Bob's journalism teacher
Bob's nephew Winthrop, who loves sports
Bob's Uncle Seymour and Aunt Bernice
Bob's second cousin Schlomo in Brooklyn
Bob's nephew Baxter
Bob's cousin Darrell
Nigel, Bob's pen pal in New Zealand
Bob's sister-in-law Delphine, who volunteers at the animal shelter
Percy the Pickpocket, Bob's third cousin once removed (the relative no one likes to talk about... every family has one)
The Bluebird of Happiness™ (no relation to Bob)
A pair of boobies (also no relation to Bob, but included for readers who desire titillation)
A pair of tits (in case the boobies were insufficiently titillating)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
Terrific as always!
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Reblogged this on Teachezwell Blog and commented:
It’s Monday, so it must be time to enjoy Bluebird of Bitterness and her awesome wordplay! Prey on words, indeed!
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Thank you for reblogging. 🙂
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Reblogged this on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog and commented:
A Monday Funnies G.R.O.A.N. From BlueBird 😄😄😄
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Thanks for reblogging!
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Welcome BB 👍😃
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Reblogged this on A Blog About Healing From PTSD and commented:
ONCE UPON A TIME, two strings were hopping down a sidewalk on a beautiful spring day when they passed a restaurant. One string said to the other, “Mmm, that smells good. I haven’t had anything to eat all day and I’m starving. I believe I’ll stop in here and have some lunch. Would you care to join me?”
“No, thanks,” said the second string. “My doctor has me on a strict diet. I think I’ll just sit out here on this bench and wait for you.”
So the first string hopped into the restaurant and asked the maitre de for a table for one. “I’m sorry, sir,” said the maitre de, in a tone that did not sound the least bit sorry. “This is an exclusive restaurant. We do not serve strings.”
Feeling dejected, the string hopped back outside and plopped down beside his friend.
“That was fast,” said the second string. “What’s the matter, are they closed?”
“They don’t serve strings,” mumbled the first string.
“They don’t serve strings!” shouted the second string. “Are you kidding me? I thought bigotry had gone out with the dark ages. Well, we shall see about this. You wait here, I will go in and get us both a table!”
The second string bent over and tied one end of himself into a large knot, fraying the edges of the knot to make it look like a fringe of hair. Then he boldly hopped into the restaurant and told the maitre de he wanted a table for two.
The maitre de looked him up and down and said “Excuse me, sir, but aren’t you a string?”
“Nope,” replied the second string. “I’m a frayed knot!”
This silly string story was inspired by:
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By the way, I did not make this string story up, it was told to me in 1987 by a coworker named Patrice. And I have remembered it all these years. That’s how scary the inside of my head is.😀
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You have a good memory! I’m one of those unfortunate people who can recall utterly useless information even when I can’t remember my own Social Security number or my kids’ phone numbers. Sometimes I can remember the punch line of a joke I heard years ago, but I can’t recall the story that leads up to it, so I end up having to supply the story myself. It challenges my abilities as a
liarwriter.LikeLiked by 1 person
Lol. Your liar writing is awesome.
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Upun my word, these are [groan] a hoot.
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🙂
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These are excellent. But as someone who regularly posts a feature called “Bad Jokes” on her blog, you should probably take that into consideration when determining whether this is a good sort of compliment.
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Sometimes the bad ones are even better than the good ones!
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My grandson said, “Are these cartoons for me?” For some male-related reason he liked the one with the pastor etc. walking into a bar 🙂
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Awww, give your grandson a hug for me (if he’s not too big for it). ❤
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Thanks for the Monday funnies!
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Reblogged this on Random Ramblings; Myriad Musings and commented:
LOL – a few more Monday funnies…you can see that my funny-bone has been tickled today!
XD
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Thank you for reblogging. 🙂
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My gravatar is being remodeled.
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Oh no! You turned into a quilt block!
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It could be worse — a Rorschach blot.
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Now you’re just a little kid with coke bottle glasses. What gives?
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I decided that the photo captured my crosspatch side. The story behind the photo: It’s cropped from a snapshot of three female cousins and me (at the age of 4), in my grandmother’s yard in the summer of 1945. It’s obvious that I was unhappy about being made to stand still for the photo, or to stand next to three girls. Probably both. As for the glasses, I’ve worn them since I was 15 months old. In those days, when glasses were less common (especially on kids), I was often called “four eyes.” That didn’t help my disposition.
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My husband wore glasses from early childhood, but he stopped needing them right around the time when I started needing them for the first time (I was in my forties, he was in his fifties). I wasn’t happy about needing glasses, but it’s better than being blind, which is what I am without them. My son says they make me look “distinguished.” I love my son. 🙂
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Wonderful!
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[…] Prey on words, part six/sics/sicks […]
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Thank you for the link. 🙂
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