Two senior couples are walking along, the wives in front, the husbands in the rear. One man says to the other, "We went to the best new restaurant last night." "Oh, really? What's its name?" The first man thinks a while before responding, "You're gonna have to help me out here. What do you call that common, sweet-smelling flower that grows on a thorny bush?" "You mean, a rose?" "Yeah, that's it!" he cries, then calls ahead to his wife. "Hey, Rose! What's the name of the restaurant where we ate last night?"
A husband and wife were pulled over by a policeman. "Sir, do you realize you were speeding?" The husband replied, "I wasn't speeding." His wife said, "Oh, yes you were. You were going 20 miles an hour over the speed limit!" The husband said, "Will you just keep your mouth shut?" The policeman said, "Sir, I can also cite you for not wearing your seatbelt." The husband said, "I was wearing it, but I took it off to get out my license." His wife said, "Oh, no you didn't. You haven't worn it all night!" The husband said, "I thought I told you to shut your mouth." The policeman looked across the car. "Excuse me, ma'am. Does he always talk to you like this?" The wife said, "Oh, no, Officer; only when he's drunk!"
From 1880, the era of gunslingers and gentlemen comes a tale of a young man who longed to be the fastest gunslinger in the Wild West. As he wandered into the Sawdust Saloon in Dodge City, Kansas Territory, he was surprised to see Bat Masterson playing poker. He ambled over to Bat. "Mr. Masterson, I want to be a gunslinger just like you. Could you give me some tips?" Bat Masterson looked up over the tops of his cards. "Well, son, let's take a look at you. You're dressed all in black, with two ivory-handled six-shooters in ornate silvered holsters -- yep, you look like a gunslinger. But the question is, son: can you shoot?" Eager to show his talent, the young man quickly drew the pistol from his right holster and, without aiming, shot off the cuff link on the piano player's right sleeve. Bat Masterson whistled. "Good shooting, son. But how's your left?" Before the question had left his lips, the boy had drawn the pistol from his left holster and, without aiming, shot off the cuff link on the piano player's left sleeve. "What do you think of that, Mr. Masterson?" Bat Masterson smiled. "That some damn good shooting, son. I couldn't do better than that myself." He cleared his throat before continuing. "But I do have one suggestion." "Oh?" the boy asked. "What's that?" "Go back to the kitchen and ask the cook where he keeps his lard can, then stick both of your guns down deep in the lard." "What? Are you crazy, old man?" the youngster laughed. "Why should I do that?" Bat Masterson tilted back his chair. "Because son, when Mr. Wyatt Earp gets done playing the piano, he's gonna shove those guns right up your ass!"