A grandson runs up to his grandfather and asks him if he can talk like a frog. "Of course not," says the grandfather. A few minutes later, his granddaughter asks him the same question. "No, of course not. Why are you both asking me this?" The granddaughter replies, "Dad said that when you croak, we can go to Disneyland."
My grandpa lost a foot to diabetes. Now he's 4' 3"
I was visiting my son and daughter-in-law last night when I asked if I could borrow a newspaper. "This is the 21st century, old man," he said. "We don’t waste money on newspapers. Here, you can borrow my iPad."
I can tell you, that fly never knew what hit it…
Many many years ago when I was twenty three, I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be. This widow had a grown-up daughter, who had red hair. My father fell in love with her, and soon the two were wed. This made my dad my son-in-law, and changed my very life. My daughter was my mother, for she was my father's wife.To complicate the matters worse, although it brought me joy, I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy. My little baby then became a brother-in-law to dad. And so became my uncle, though it made me very sad. For if he was my uncle, then that also made him brother to the widow's grown-up daughter. Who, of course, was my step-mother. Father's wife then had a son, who kept them on the run. And he became my grandson, for he was my daughter's son. My wife is now my mother's mother and it makes me blue. Because, although she is my wife, she's my grandmother too. If my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild. And every time I think of it, it simply drives me wild. For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw. As the husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa!
For months, Mrs. Pitzel had been nagging her husband to go with her to the seance parlor of Madame Freda. "Milty, she's a real gypsy, and she brings the voices of the dead from the other world. We all talk to them! Last week, I talked with my mother, may she rest in peace. Milty, for twenty dollars you can talk to your zayde (grandfather) who you misses so much!" Milton Pitzel could not resist her appeal. At the very next seance at Madam Freda's Seance Parlor, Milty sat under the colored light at the green table, holding hands with the person on each side. All were humming, "Oooom, oooom, tonka tooom." Madame Freda, her eyes lost in trance, was making passes over a crystal ball. "My medium... Vashtri," she called. "Come in. Who is that with you? Who? Mr. Pitzel? Milton Pitzel's Zayde?" Milty swallowed the lump in his throat and called, "Grampa? Zayde?" "Ah, Milteleh?" a thin voice quavered. "Yes! Yes!" cried Milty. "This is your Milty! Grandfather, are you happy in the other world?" "Milteleh, I am in bliss. With your bubbie together, we laugh, we sing. We gaze upon the shining face of the Lord!" A dozen more questions did Milty ask of his zayde, and each question did his zayde answer, until "So now, Milteleh, I have to go. The angels are calling. Just one more question I can answer. Ask. Ask." "Zayde," sighed Milty, "when did you learn to speak English?"