Sons jokes

A doctor is telling three women what they are addicted to.

He says to the first one, "You are addicted to money, you named your daughter Penny."

He says to the second one, "You are addicted to food, you named your daughter Candy."

Then the third one whispers to her son, "Come on, Dick, let's go."

Son: Dad, why did you name my sister Paris?

Dad: Because she was made there.

Son: Thanks, Dad.

Dad: You're welcome, Backseat.

The coach of the Detroit Lions had put together the perfect football team. But then his quarterback got blindsided and was out for the season with a knee injury.

Then his backup went down with a concussion. He tried the trading route, free agents, but nobody any good was available.

One evening while watching the news from Iraq, he saw a young Iraqi soldier with an amazing arm. The soldier rifled a grenade on a perfect arc into a 4th story window from 100 yards, bam!

He tossed another directly into a tight group of 12 enemy fighters 80 yards away, ka-bam! Then a humvee passed, going 60 kph, boom! Another perfect shot!

Coach said to himself, "I got to have this guy. He's got the best arm I've ever seen!"

He tracks him down and convinces him to come to Detroit. The kid takes coaching perfectly, makes all the plays, and long story short, the Lions win the Super Bowl.

The Iraqi is now the Conquering Hero in pro football, and a huge story. But when the broadcast team tries to interview him, all he wants is to phone his mom.

"Mother," he yells over the phone, "We just won the Super Bowl!"

"Don't talk to me," the woman says. "You abandoned us. You can't be my son."

The young Iraqi begs, "Mom, you don't understand! Our team won the biggest game here in the U.S. Thousands of fans are screaming for me. The U.S. President is going to call me!"

"I don't care," his mother snaps. "Right now I can hear gunshots everywhere. Our block is like a ruin. Your brothers were beaten half to death last night, and your sister was nearly raped."

Then she says, "I can never forgive you for making us move to Detroit."

My neighbor has been mad at his wife for sunbathing nude. I personally am on the fence.

The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"

Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!

The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.

For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!

The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!

In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.

"The little horse wins!"

"Lath, an easy winner!"

"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"

People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.

Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.

"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."

Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.

A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.

"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"

Agba leaned forward in his saddle.

There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."

How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.

The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.

Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.

He had kept his word!

For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.

The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in...