Tag Archives: humour

The Denture Code

A clergyman who had taken temporary duty for a friend, had the ill-luck to injure his false teeth during the week. The plate was sent to the dentist’s for repair, a faithful assurance being given that it should be duly returned by Sunday’s post, but the dentist or the post proved faithless. With the assistance of the clerk, the clergyman  managed to stumble through the prayers, but felt it would be useless to attempt to preach. He therefore instructed the clerk to “ make some excuse for him and dismiss the congregation.” But his feelings may he better imagined than described when in the seclusion of the vestry he overheard the clerk in impressive tones thus deliver the “excuse”: very sorry, but it is his misfortune to be obligated to wear a set of artful teeth. They busted last Wednesday, and he ain’t got them back from London today as he was promised. I’ve helped him all I could through the service, but I can’t do no more for him ; ’tisn’t any use him going up into the pulpit, for you wouldn’t understand a word he  said, so he thinks you all may as well go
home.”
Source: The Bendigo Independent, Sat 22 October, 1892
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Turkish Delights

The Sultan of Turkey, it is said, once suffered much from toothache, and the dentist having inspected the royal patient’s teeth declared that one of them must be drawn. In order to give the Sultan nerve, a slave was brought to his apartment and had a tooth extracted. The slave, however, bore the operation so very badly that it had just the opposite effect to that which was intended, and the Sultan, thinking the remedy worse than the disease, declined to submit himself to the forceps. A little later on the faulty tooth again became troublesome, and again the Sultan sent for the dentist, who reiterated his former opinion that the offending tooth must come out. So a second slave was summoned and underwent torture. He yelled louder than the first and for a second time Abdul Hamid declined to be relieved through such an ordeal. The attacks of toothache continued to occur, yet when eight slaves had been operated upon, the Sultan had not gathered up sufficient courage.

Source: The Armidale Chronicle, 08 Dec 1897

A resident of Molotou, on the Dorrigo, had his artificial teeth stolen by a black magpie . While the man was at work, he removed his new set of artificial teeth, which had been troubling him and placed them on a nearby log. Presently a magpie swooped down and flew off with them to a high tree and proceeded to try and break them against a dead limb. A gun was secured, but the shot failed, and the bird, still clutching the teeth in its beak, flew away with the owner of them in pursuit. It was not long before both bird and teeth were lost to light in a thickly-wooded gully! • The Sydney Morning Herald, Fri 24 Dec 1926

She sells sea shells….

A professor of speech at Teacher’s College in New York, quoted in the “New York Times” said: When a person can recite the following without difficulty, his speech is normal:

Are our oats here?
Many a Wit is not a whit wittier than Whittier.
The menu is not less important than the men you meet.
His suit shoaWed spots of suet and soot.

Why don’t you try it?

Source: Western Argus, Tuesday 26 May 1936

Drats!

A clerk, whose false teeth suddenly disappeared from his dressing table the previous night, offered a reward for their recovery. A young man took up the offer, visited the house, and from a hole beside a stump, he extracted many odds and ends, including his prize.

Attached to the false teeth was a rubber grip which had been gnawed by the culprit –  a rat!

Source: Western Star and Roma Advertiser, Wednesday 10 January 1934

The Cold Front

A well known footballer from the northern district of New South Wales, wrote to a Meredith friend regarding the ferocity of the Winter season. He related how one night, before going to bed, he left his false teeth in a cup of water only to wake up in the morning and find them embedded in ice!

 

 

Source: The Horsham Times, Friday 21 August 1925

Domestic Blitz

My kitchen sink is a gastronomic warzone

of food scraps, glass, metal and china

a lingering fusion of spice

drip drops of tomato sauce and olive oil

splattered all over the hotplate and tile wall

like a Pro Hart canvas

leftovers are scraped into the tidy bin,

well, according to Murphy’s Law

some land onto the floor

making a mess of the whole damned thing,

after each squeeze, the detergent bottle bubbles

the last erupting beads of lemon scented liquid

prove stubbornly resistant

spa steam rises making me sweat

water trickling from my brow into the salt lake

triangle at the front of my neck

I suppose that rubber glove on my submerged right hand is a hole in disguise

as my fingers start to swell becoming twice their original size

each utensil blindly lifted from the milky tub is a lathered revelation

and randomly driven about the basin

the last stubbornly concealed from elevation

crockery chips on the stainless steel tap when I don’t concentrate

oops, there goes another set!

plates are piled high in the super bowl

elevating Archimedes principle

dam! (or was that Eureka!) a wavelength spills onto the splash back

and in my panic I unplug the sinkhole

fingers fumbling in desperation  to seal the sucking! chasm

at last, all is rinsed and strategically stacked onto the drying rack

until it suddenly topples over as I turn my back,

casseroles crashing to the ground giving me a heart attack

I wipe down cupboards, hood, hotplate, bench, microwave, oven, sink,

and mop the kitchen floor, but of course

when I take the rubbish out there’s a !@#$%^  tear in the plastic!