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I DELETED AN E-MAIL with the sub­ject “three-sec­ond joy ex­er­cise,” and I think I found a new three­sec­ond joy ex­er­cise.


WHILE IN SURGERY fol­low­ing a heart at­tack, a mid­dle-aged woman sees a vi­sion of God by her bed­side. “Will I die?” she asks.

God says, “No. You have 30 more years to live.”

With 30 years to look for­ward to, she de­cides to make the best of it. So while in the hospi­tal, she gets breast im­plants, li­po­suc­tion, a tummy tuck, hair trans­plants, and col­la­gen in­jected into her lips.

She looks great! The day she’s dis­charged, she ex­its the hospi­tal with a swag­ger, crosses the street, and is im­me­di­ately hit by an ambu-

lance and killed.

Up in heaven, she sees God. “You said I had 30 more years to live!” “That’s true,” says God.

“So what hap­pened?”

God shrugs. “I didn’t rec­og­nize you.”

Source: ec­

SCENE: Two old friends sit­ting on a park bench

First friend: I got a nice in­sur­ance set­tle­ment. My house burned down.

Sec­ond friend: Funny, I just got a nice in­sur­ance set­tle­ment. My house flooded.


First friend: How do you start a flood? Sub­mit­ted by EVE­LYN PAINTER,

Grants Pass, Ore­gon


If you’re think­ing what I’m think­ing, here’s my ther­a­pist’s num­ber.


My shrink is not very per­cep­tive. I’ve been in ther­apy for eight years, and he still thinks I’m there for “a friend.”

At­trib­uted to co­me­dian RONNIE SHAKES

If my psy­chi­a­trist said “There’s re­ally noth­ing more I can do for you,” that means I’m cured, right??


My ther­a­pist and I got stuck in the same el­e­va­tor and pre­tended we didn’t know each other. Next week’s ses­sion writes it­self.


“You can play dead all you want. We’re still go­ing to see my par­ents.”

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