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Driver's Seat
Crows, spaniels, sharks, elephants
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THE ELEPHANT AND THE RECEPTIONIST. An elephant walked into a stockbroker’s office and told Pam, the receptionist, “I’m here to apply for your opening as a hedge fund manager.” Pam said, “I’m sorry, but we hire only bulls or bears.” Disappointed, the elephant rampaged through the place, knocking down walls and tossing desks and computers through the air. Moral: if you’re a receptionist named Pam and an elephant walks in, get out.

THE SHARK AND THE TURTLE. In the waters of Tampa Bay, on the Pinellas end of the Howard Frankland Bridge, there lived a shark and a turtle. The turtle kept bragging to the shark, saying “I can live both on the land and in the water, but you must spend your life in the water. I’m therefore better than you.” The shark finally said, “Yes, you certainly are.” At which point he gobbled up the turtle, with a mighty crunch. Moral: if you’re a turtle living near a shark, either shut up or stay on shore.

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOCTOR BILLS. Each January an old man named Jake went crazy trying to figure out his medical bills. His eye doctor charged him $72 for a Jan. 6 checkup, plus $35 for a refraction he didn’t need or ask for. His primary care doctor charged him $73 to look at his sore throat on Jan. 28. Jake was puzzled. He had Medicare and Medigap insurance, so why was he being charged? He called the Medigap company, UHARP, and was told, “We don’t actually do insurance. We farm it out to the XYZ Healthcare Co.” Jake dialed the XYZ phone number, and spoke to a lady in Pakistan who told him, “You bean billed for Medicare deductible, Meester Jake. Wassa mattah fo you?” Jack phoned Medicare and was told by a taped voice, “Your call is important to us. It may be recorded for quality, or just for the heck of it. Please stay on the line.”

Jake phoned his girl friend, Ellie, and whined to her. She said, “Just pay the #!@!! bills, Jake!”

So he did.

HOMER AND HONEY. For several years, Homer loved only two things: his girl Honey, and the music of the BeeGees. A dozen times a year, or more, Honey bought Homer a new BeeGees album, or an old one. They held hands and sang along to “Stayin’ Alive,” “Jive Talkin” and other BeeGees hit songs. It was a beautiful love affair. But then Homer got careless. He developed the hots for a dark-haired waitress at a Tampa steakhouse. Someone tipped off Honey, who was furious. She went to Homer’s apartment and attacked his CD collection. She stripped the shelves of every BeeGee recording, and took them with her. When Homer returned, he saw what had happened, and knew that he had lost the love of his life. He mourned her for years thereafter. Moral: You never miss your Honey until the BeeGees are gone.

THE CROW AND THE SPANIEL. A crow born in New Jersey got tired of the cold winters. So he flew south and landed in a field in Pasco County. The field, loaded with corn and gluten, was owned by Oscar Parmer, a retired cross-examiner. His 8-year-old daughter Pookie loved to play in the corn field with her spaniel Manuel. One day Pookie and Manuel met the crow. Manuel, who watched a lot of TV cop shows, said to the crow, “You are trespassing. We demand identification.” The crow said, “I left my wallet up north, in Parsippany. I cannot prove who I am, so I am at your mercy, since you apparently own this corn field and like to throw your weight around.” The spaniel Manuel said, “Would you agree to submit to a DNA test?” The crow said, “Yes, of course,” and allowed Manuel to pluck a small feather from his wing. Pookie mailed the feather to the Parsippany, N.J., police department, for testing. A week later the police sent this email to Manuel: “Your crow is a defrocked Episcopalian priest named Locksley. He has been found guilty of preaching dull sermons.” When notified of this, the crow wept copiously and said, “I knew my past would one day catch up with me.” Pookie and Manuel said, “Fear not. We will enroll you in our clergy protection program.” They all lived happily ever after, and moved to Bradenton, where Pookie opened a bed-and-breakfast inn for manatees.

Bob Driver is a former columnist for the Clearwater Sun. His email address is tralee71@comcast.net.
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