Brewers Pub

We, the posters at Brewers Pub wish to acknowledge that the following is just a joke and we do not in any way have anything against English or French people or poodles.

—————————————————————————————

The train was quite crowded, and a U. S. Marine walked the entire length looking for a seat, but the only seat left was taken by a well dressed, middle-aged, French woman’s poodle.

The war-weary Marine asked, ‘Ma’am, may I have that seat?’

The French woman just sniffed and said to no one in particular  ‘Americans are so rude. My little Fifi is using that seat.’

The Marine walked the entire train again, but the only seat left was under that dog.

‘Please, ma’am.    May I sit down? I’m very tired..’

She snorted, ‘Not only are you Americans rude, you are also arrogant!’

This time the Marine didn’t say a word; he just picked up the little dog, tossed it out the train window, and sat down.

The woman shrieked,   ‘Someone must defend my honour! This American should be put in his place!’

An English gentleman sitting nearby spoke up, ‘Sir, you Americans seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing.

You hold the fork in the wrong hand.

You drive your cars on the wrong side of the road.

And now, sir, you seem to have thrown the wrong bitch out the window.

‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage “Some Assembly Required.”
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie’s town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!

We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat….
Let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
If we can’t get it right, it goes in the basement!

When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.

More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
“Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand.”
“Honey,” said hubby, “you just glued my hand.”

And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With “assembly required” till morning’s first light.

We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
Till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.

Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
“This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.

Tomorrow we’ll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!”

Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
Though I suppose there’s something to say for those self-deluded…
I’d forgotten that batteries are never included!