Friday, November 11, 2005

Farmers

A husband and wife were driving down a country lane on their way to visit some friends. They came to a muddy patch in the road, tried to drive through it, and ended up getting stuck. After a few minutes of trying to get the car out by themselves, they saw a young farmer coming down the lane, driving some oxen before him. He stopped when he saw the couple in trouble, and offered to pull the car out of the mud for $50. The husband accepted and minutes later the car was free.
The farmer turned to the husband and said, “You know, you’re the tenth car I’ve helped out of that mudhole today.”
The husband looked around at the fields incredulously, and asked the farmer,”When do you have time to plough your land? At night?”
“No,” the young farmer replied , “Night is when I put the water in the hole.”

17 comments:

NewYorkMoments said...

Is this supposed to be some sort of euphemism for sex?

morbid misanthrope said...

And that innocent young entrepreneur went on to become Donald Trump.

drunkbh said...

Why can't I think of some way to screw people out of money?

badgerbob said...

Nym,that is so amazing! You so get me!

Morb, I would have charged more than 50 bucks. I would have said, my oxen are tired and can't work until tomorrow, and then offered food and lodging.

Bh, You just did! And I will happily give you some.

Armaedes, I keep hearing those very words, from a guy who is drowning in the sea of many personalities that is my brain.
Mob rules!

NewYorkMoments said...

It takes one to know one, Badgerbob.

drunkbh said...

Ooohhh.... Okay. When & where?

badgerbob said...

Nym, absolutely, and it's a beautiful thing.

Bh, I love the fact that you are game for this, but if you are going to be an entrepreneur, you have to get the money end taken care of first. I have been saving up my lawn mowing money, for just such an event. If I can spike mom's drink and knock her out for a couple of days, then I won't have to run away, like last time.

morbid misanthrope said...

badgerbob - Well damn, if you were a farmer instead of a badger, you'd be rich by now. And none of that rich in spirit bullshit hippies talk about either.

badgerbob said...

Morb, damn! We the badgers have been held down for so long by our oppressive farmers, that freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose. Just ask old Badgerbob Mcgee.

Willow, the weasils are known for their fine hookers, not wives. The otters, on the other hand, put out some fine looking specimens.

morbid misanthrope said...

Perhaps if a meeting between the two groups is arranged by an objective third party, the badgers and the farmers could settle their differences. The badgers and farmers could act out their points of view in little skits and puppet shows, while a sniveling little moderator talks about fairness and feelings in a really patronizing tone.

Nuts to psychology! I say you all get loaded on moonshine, duke it out, and then shake hands and become friends.

Anonymous said...

Hayseed Bob....Dumbbunny Bob.....Countrybumpkin Bob....I can't decide

Anonymous said...

jellybean bob....smartie bob...sugarbug bob...animalcandy bob....squirrelaway bob????

drunkbh said...

I hope you saved a lot. Rodents must pay double.

badgerbob said...

Morb, never happen. Sawed off shotguns at 20 paces sounds better. Put a whole world of hurt on those farmboys. Of course shotguns pretty much wipes everybody out, except me, because I plan to be in Florida with Bh.

Random, are you feeling a little squirrely tonight. Must be a change in the weather coming.

Willow, sounds like you caught random's fever. Maybe you guys share the same daypass from the butterscotch palace?

Random, you left out huckleberry-bob, and cry-baby bob, and piss-pot bob.
Does your lunacy know no boundaries?

Bh, name your poison girl! I'm rootin, tootin and rarin to go.

morbid misanthrope said...

I'm so drunk...I think I saw god...Nope, never mind, it was a damn trespasser. I scared him away with my BB-guns and shuriken. Wait. Where am I?

badgerbob said...

You are in that crossover world between reality, and insanity, and the border is an invisible line. Send us a postcard, if you decide to visit, and don't forget your passport. You will need it, to remember who you are , when coming back.

Anonymous said...

It's proper pisspot, Bob.