There was once a young man who, in his youth, professed his desire become a great writer.
When asked to define "great" he said, "I want to write stuff that the whole world will read, stuff that people will react to on a truly emotional level, stuff that will make them scream, cry, howl in pain and anger!"
He now works for Microsoft, writing error messages.
When Santa came home, his wife, Jeeto, was crying. "Your mother insulted me," Jeeto sobbed. "My mother? How could she do that when she is on vacation on the other side of the country?" Santa asked. "I know. But this morning a letter addressed to you arrived. I opened it because I was curious." "And?" "At the end of the letter it said, 'Dear Jeeto, when you have finished reading this letter, don't forget to give it to my son.'"
A woman from the deepest, most southern part of Alabama goes into the local newspaper office to see that the obituary for her recently deceased husband is written.
The obit editor informs her that the fee for the obituary is 50 cents a word.
She pauses, reflects and then says, "Well then, let it read, 'Billy Bob died'."
Amused at the woman's thrift, the editor says, "Sorry ma'am there is a 7 word minimum on all obituaries."
Only a little flustered, she thinks things over and in a few seconds says, "In that case, let it read, 'Billy Bob died, 1983 Pickup for sale'."
"I want to know if the patient Rita Brown in Room No 1438 is getting better,"
The RMO replied, "She is doing very well. She had her first solid meal today, her blood pressure is fine and if she continues improving she might even be sent home in a couple of days."
The woman said, "Thank God! That's wonderful news!"
RMO: I take it you must be a family member or a close friend!
Woman: No I am Rita Brown. No one tells me anything!