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If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it was, and always will be yours. If it never returns, it was never yours to begin with. If it just sits in your room, messes up your stuff, eats your food, uses your phone, takes your money, and never behaves as if you actually set it free in the first place, you either married it or gave birth to it.
My mate works for the Royal Mail, and part of his job is to process all the mail that has illegible addresses. One day last week, a letter came to his desk, addressed in shaky handwriting, to Father Christmas. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. He opened it and it read:
Dear Father Christmas,
I am a 93-year-old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had £100.00 in it, which was all the money I have until my next pension money. In a couple of Sunday’s it is Christmas, and I have invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with. I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me? I could really do with you delivering anything before Xmas Day.
Sincerely, Edna
My mate was touched so he showed the letter to all of the other workers. Each of them dug into his wallet and came up with a few pounds. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected £96.00, which they put into an envelope and delivered in the post the next day to the woman. He told me all of the workers felt a warm glow for the kind thing they had done. Then a few days ago, another letter came from the old lady, to Father Christmas again. All of the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:
Dear Father Christmas,
How can I ever thank you enough for what you have done for me? Because of your gift of love, I am now able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. I’m sure we’ll all have a very nice day and I’ve told my friends of your wonderful gift. By the way, there was £4 missing. I think it must have been those fuскin’ thieving ваsтаrds at the Royal Mail …
Sincerely, Edna
A man dies and goes to heaven. One of God’s angels meets the man and says,
"Here's how it works. You need 100 points to make it into heaven. You tell me all the good things you've done, and I give you a certain number of points for each item, depending on how good it was. When you reach 100 points, you get in."
"Okay," the man says, “I never ate a piece of non-kosher food in my 90 years. Nothing.”
"That's wonderful," says the angel, "that's worth three points!"
"Three points?" he says. "Well, I attended the services all my life and always gave as much charity as I could."
"Terrific!" says the angel, "that's certainly worth a point."
"One point? Oy. How about this, I started a soup kitchen in my city and volunteered at the senior’s home."
"Fantastic, that's good for two more points," he says.
"TWO POINTS!!" the man cries. "The way you guys grade, there’s no way my Selma got in here.”
“Selma who?” asks the angel.
“My wife, Selma Rothenstein. You know, Selma and I were married for 60 years and I never raised my voice at her, not even once."
“Oh, thaaat Selma,” the angel nods. “You put up with her for 60 years?! Come right in!”
Two mates were reminiscing about the party they’d been at last weekend …
…
“Great party that, last week, wasn’t it?”…
“Wow, yes, great food, great вооzе, great girls…and a posh house to boot.” …
“Posh house?? it was a suburban semi?”
“Never…. They had a gold-plated toilet?” …
“What?, I can’t remember that, you must have been really drunк.” …
“No, honestly, I remember thinking…’posh!’ ” …
…
The argument went backwards and forwards…yes, no, yes, no. Finally they decided to prove once and for all who was correct…. They looked up the address and went to the house. A woman came to the door and one of the men said…”Excuse me, we were at your party last weekend and we’re having a difference of opinion, tell us please…have you, or have you not, got a gold-plated toilet? My mate here says ‘yes’ but I disagree.” …
…
The woman turned round and shouted to her husband… “George…. I’ve found the ваsтаrd that crapped in your Sousaphone!”