Excerpt from "The Police," by Woody Allen

I get into an amazing amount of, ah, physical encounters for someone my size. About thirteen weeks ago, I had my shoes shined against my will. Tremendous shoeshine boy, said to me "I'm shining your shoes". "Yes you are" I said. He did give me an execellent shine though, I might add, but they were suede shoes. 


James Joyce Apocrypha

If “read a lot, write a lot” is the Great Commandment— and I assure you that it is— how much writing constitutes a lot? That varies, of course, from writer to writer.  One of my favorite stories on the subject— probably more myth than truth— concerns James Joyce.  According to the story, a friend came to visit him one day and found the great man sprawled across his writing desk in a posture of utter despair. 

            “James, what’s wrong?” the friend asked. “Is it the work?”

            Joyce indicated assent without even raising his head to look at his friend.  Of course it was the work; isn’t it always?

            “How many words did you get today?” the friend pursued.

            Joyce (still in despair, still sprawled facedown on his desk): “Seven.”

            “Seven? But James… that’s good, at least for you!”

            “Yes,” Joyce said, finally looking up. “I suppose it is… but I don’t know what order they go in!” 

~Stephen King, On Writing


Shrink vs. Bartender

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had trouble sleeping. Finally, I went to see a shrink. 

”I've got problems,” I told the doc.  "Every time I go to bed I think there's somebody 
under it.  I'm scared.  I think I'm going crazy.'


“Just put yourself in my hands for one year,” he said. “Come talk 
to me three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears.'


“How much do you charge?'


“Eighty dollars a visit.” 

”I'll sleep on it.” 

Six months later, I ran into the doc at the local watering hole. “Why didn't you come to 
see me about those fears you were having?” he asked.

“Well,” I said,  “Eighty bucks a visit three times a week for a year is an awful lot 
of money.  The bartender cured me for $10.  I was so happy to have saved all 
that money, I bought myself a new car!'


“Is that so!” he said, with a bit of an attitude. “And how, may I ask, did 
the bartender cure you?'


“He told me to cut the legs off the bed! Ain't nobody under there 

Shrink 0 Bartender 1


Father O'Malley

An Irish priest was transferred to Texas. Father O'Malley rose from his bed one morning. It was a fine spring day in his new Texas mission parish. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the beautiful day outside. He then noticed there was a jackass lying dead in the middle of his front lawn.

He promptly called the local police station. The conversation went like this:

"Good morning. This is Sergeant Jones. How might I help you?"

"And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O'Malley at St. Ann 's Catholic Church. There's a jackass lying dead in me front lawn and would ye be so kind as to send a couple o'yer lads to take care of the matter?"

Sergeant Jones, considering himself to be quite a wit, replied, "Well now Father, it was always my impression that you people took care of the last rites!"

There was dead silence on the line for a long moment...

Father O'Malley then replied: "Aye,'tis certainly true; but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin first, which is the reason for my call."


The Bark Side