• Humour 24.11.2011 No Comments

    I found this a little while ago, and though it was quite funny, and very “Canadian”!


    A young man named John received a parrot as a gift. The parrot had a bad attitude and an even worse vocabulary.

    Finally, John was fed up and he yelled at the parrot. The parrot yelled back. John shook the parrot and the parrot got angrier and even more rude. John, in desperation, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer. For a few minutes the parrot squawked and kicked and screamed.

    Then suddenly there was total quiet. Not a peep was heard for over a minute.

    Fearing that he’d hurt the parrot, John quickly opened the door to the freezer. The parrot calmly stepped out onto John’s outstretched arms and said “I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions. I’m sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behaviour.”

    John was stunned at the change in the bird’s attitude.

    As he was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behaviour, the bird spoke-up, very softly;

    “May I ask what the turkey did?”


  • Lest we forget.

    Image borrowed from CBC.ca

    In Flanders Fields

    In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the Dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
    In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
    In Flanders fields.

    John McCrae, May 1915         


  • Soon after I first moved to New Zealand, I had an experience at the local shops.

    I held the door open for an older lady as I entered the post shop. (Post office) She said thank you and I said you’re welcome.  Then she looked at me funny. I assumed it was the accent.

    Up at the post shop counter I asked for some “international stamps, please!”

    And after I had purchased them, I said “thank you!” and turned to leave.

    But the clerk stopped me.

    “You’re from Canada, aren’t you?”

    I agreed that I was.

    She nodded.  “I could tell. You’re so polite. Americans aren’t.”

    It happened like that fairly frequently. People would declare they could tell I was Canadian, and not American just because I said “Please” and “Thank you.”

    And in one case, “Sorry.”

    I had just apologized for my loud daughter at an indoor event for the umpteenth time. (She likes to sing. A lot.)

    An older gentleman had been watching with a grumpy look on his face for quite some time.

    “Sheesh,” he finally said.  “You bloody Canadians. You don’t have to apologize for EVERYTHING, you know.”

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