Me: Knock knock.

Death: Who’s there?

Me: Me.

Death: Me who?

Me: Me with flu.

Death: I don’t really think you’re knocking on my door, do you?

Be an optimist. Help yourself.


Me: Knock knock?

God: Who’s there?

Me: Me.

God: Me who?

Me: I thought you knew everything.

God: Me who?

Me: Me with flu and good intentions and a gift basket of beard-grooming essentials.

God: OK. Come in and lie on the sofa. I’ll see what I can do.



Filed under Conversations

4 responses to “Fever

  1. milt

    um I know this is like walking into the bat cave – wrong in every sense – but I will be calling shortly – are you better now?

    • mumbo

      Hey, Rah, fit as a fiddle, ta, give or take large quantities of Seattle caffeine coursing through my veins. I presume you want me to teach your children some manners, in your wife’s absence? Will bring diary on Sun.

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