If you’re in favor of war, skip down to the jokes.
My own low approval of war comes from a long life that goes back so far that for most people it’s only “history.” My military service was spent in Korea in 1946-1948, the handful of years between World War II and the full-blown Korean War.
None of America’s wars occurred on our soil in living memory. For that we should be thankful. But maybe it has made us, as a nation, more accepting of our going to war.
On the bright side, although America has many religions and sects, we seem to get along. That is a real blessing. Other countries have internal religious wars in which America should think long and hard before getting involved. Maybe we’re all agreed on that.
What I’m trying to say about war can be summed up in two words: Be skeptical.
A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her six- and seven-year- olds.
After explaining the commandment to “honor” their fathers and mothers, she asked, “Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?”
Without missing a beat, one boy, the eldest child in his family, answered, “Thou shalt not kill.”
At a local coffee bar, a young woman was expounding to her friends on her idea of the perfect mate: “It’s very important that the man I marry be musical with a decent singing voice. I consider a sense of humor to be essential, as well as knowing how to tell jokes. In other words, the man I marry has to be a shining light among company. But he also must be the kind who will stay home with me at night.”
A male listener at a nearby table overheard and spoke up: “Lady, what you really want is a television set!”
A blonde went to her doctor and showed him that both her ears were red and painful. The doctor asked her what had happened. “I was ironing a shirt and the phone rang,” she told him, “but, instead of picking up the phone, I accidentally grabbed the iron and stuck it up to my ear.”
“Oh, dear!” said the doctor in sympathy. ”But what happened to your other ear?”
“The jerk called back!”
After his divorce, Joe asked his best friend, Hank, to fix him up with a blind date. Hank obliged. The next day Joe phoned Hank and shouted angrily, “What kind of guy do you think I am? That girl you fixed me up with was cross-eyed. She was almost bald. Her nose was long and crooked. She had hair growing on her face. She was flat-chested and her ankles were as thick as her thighs.”
“Well,” answered Hank, “either you like Picasso, or you don’t like Picasso.”