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DSC00515Hello everyone and welcome to this edition of Feel Good Friday where we start the weekend with a few jokes and hopefully put a smile on your face. Carmen, from Louisianna sent this week’s selection. Thank you Carmen.

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An Englishman receives a recommendation from a friend about a special restaurant in an old bull-fighting town in central Spain. He is advised to try it on a Sunday.

So the man books a table for himself and dutifully turns up. The place is full and he notices one lone diner sitting at a table set on a raised platform. He doesn’t take too much notice of him, though, and sets to ordering his meal.

As the waiter is finishing taking his order the restaurant lights suddenly dim, a spotlight falls on the lone diner, and a red carpet is rolled from the kitchen door to his table. Then six fanfare trumpeters appear and, three each side of the carpet, they sound a rousing flourish on their instruments.

The kitchen doors open and out walk four waiters each supporting a large covered silver salver, one at each corner so to speak. As they slowly traverse the red carpet towards the raised table, the other diners are on their feet shouting: ‘Ole! Ole! Ole’ with every step they take.

The lone diner sets his arms wide, a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, waiting enthusiastically. The waiters reach the table and gently set the salver in front of him. As the head waiter’s hand grasps the handle of the cover a hush falls across the restaurant. Then he lifts the cover to reveal two of the largest meatballs you have ever seen. The crowd is now shouting even loader ‘Ole!, Ole!, Ole!’

Eventually the noise subsides and the diner slices into the first meatball with his knife and fork.

‘What was all that about?’ asks the Englishman to his waiter. ‘That was amazing!’

‘Ahh,’ says the waiter, ‘Iit is the tradition of the house. We have the special arrangement with the bullring and we get the criadillas, the testicles, from the prize bull after the final fight of the day. Then they are cooked and ceremoniously served immediately after the bull fight is over, as you have seen, to the diner who has reserved the special table.’

‘That IS amazing!’ says the man. ‘I must reserve the table for myself..’

‘Sadly, senor, there is a long wait, and I will not be able to let you have a table for several weeks…’

The man is not to be put off however, and he books a table some 3 months away.

All the time he is looking forward to his meal and eventually the day arrives. He enters the restaurant, and he takes his place on the raised table. All eyes are upon him. After about ten minutes the ceremony starts. The lights dim, the spotlight falls upon him, the trumpeters sound their fanfare and the waiters enter with the large salver. ‘Ole! Ole! Ole!’ scream the other diners. The guy’s heart is pounding as the salver is placed upon the table, and then the head waiter lifts the cover to reveal… two extremely small meatballs.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ shouts the perplexed Englishman ‘I didn’t order these,. I ordered two bull’s testicles, not these tiny things. What’s going on?’

‘Aahh, senor’ says the waiter, ‘You see… you have to appreciate… sometimes… the bull… he wins!’

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In a dog park in a very chic Manhattan neighborhood, three dogs get together to chat, and the subject of what breed they are comes up.

The first dog says, “well, my mother was a cocker spaniel and my father was a poodle, so I’m a Cockapoo. We’re very trendy.”

The second dog puts his nose in the air and says, “Well, that’s nice. Personally, my father was a purebred pug and my mother was an award-winning beagle, making me a Puggle. We’re the latest thing in L.A.”

The third dog looks very uncomfortable and starts trying to change the subject. “Come on, just tell us,” the other dogs keep saying. Finally, he gives in.

“Well, my father was a Bull Terrier and my mother was a Shi Tzu…”

*

A man was driving through west Texas one evening. The road was deserted and he had not seen a soul for hours. Suddenly his car started to cough and the engine died, leaving him sitting on the side of the road in total isolation. He popped the hood and looked to see if there was anything that he could do to get it going again. As he stood looking at the gradually fading light of his flashlight, he cursed that he had not put in new batteries.

Suddenly, through the inky shadows, came a deep voice: “It’s your fuel pump.”

“Who said that?” the man called out.

There were two horses, a white one and a black one, standing in the fenced field alongside the road. The man was amazed when the white horse repeated, “It’s your fuel pump. Tap it with your flashlight and try it again.”

Confused, the man tapped the fuel pump with his flash light, turned the key and sure enough, the engine roared to life. He muttered a short thanks to the horse and screeched away.

When he reached the next town, he ran into the local bar. “Gimme a large whiskey, please!” he said.

A rancher sitting at the bar looked at the man’s ashen face and asked, “What’s wrong, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s unbelievable,” the man said and recalled the whole tale to the rancher.

The rancher took a sip of his beer and looked thoughtful. “A horse, you say? Was it by any chance a white horse?”

“Yes, it was!” the man said, finally happy someone understood. “Am I crazy?”

“No, you ain’t crazy. In fact, you’re lucky,” said the rancher, “because that black horse don’t know nothin’ about cars.”

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