So my second favorite joke was actually sent to me twice! More coincidence: it was sent to me by two sisters! Furthermore, if you can believe it, they both happened to by my sisters, which may explain why the joke hit that sweet spot for me. Nepotism schmepotism, it made me laugh. (I also have two additional sisters, for a grand total of five people who liked the last joke) but one of them has six little kids and is in Arizona in July, is temporarily carless and husbandless, while she prepares to move; and the other is in her eleventieth month of pregnancy — so asking either of them to make with the ha ha seems a little rude.)
A man was searching for the meaning of life. He traveled all over the world, spending time with various spiritual masters of different religions. All of them had partial answers, but none of them was completely satisfying. But the more of these masters he spoke to, the more he kept hearing about one guru, on a mountain-top in the Himalayas, who really knew. But no one was exactly sure which mountain-top. So the man traveled on, gathering information, tracing leads, making maps, until he had it narrowed down. It took ten years. Then he hired a guide, and climbed the mountain. The guide died on the way. Finally, oxygen-deprived, starving and half frozen, he made it to the mountain-top and found the guru in a little cabin, sitting in front of his fire. He said,
“Oh master, I have dedicated my life to finding you! I have searched for you for ten years, and I have finally found you. Tell me: what is the meaning of life?”
The guru slowly turned towards him and gazed at him for a full minute. Then he said, “Life…is like a fountain.”
“Oh, thank you master, but please tell me: what do you mean? How is life like a fountain?”
The guru said, “You mean…life isn’t like a fountain?”
Second order of business: starting tomorrow, this blog will become a GROUP BLOG. A very small group. I invited some guy I met in the woods to join me, and he will be writing movie reviews for your reading pleasure (not to be confused with reviewing movies you would watch for your viewing pleasure. Not). If you are going to read his work while eating hot dogs, I suggest cutting them up. Not into disks! What kind of a mother are you. Cut them into spears, then dice them.
So please join us tomorrow to give a warm and hearty welcome to . . .
When he gets finished, there won’t be a dry seat in the house.