Dry Humor

The most treacherous rains I've ever been in were in the middle of summer, on a lake, in the desert (Santa Rosa, NM). These jokes are inspired by that night of which I tried to make light.

Got something funny to say? Just add a comment on the blog. That ain't no joke!

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Why don't fir trees grow where cacti do? 
The desert ain't no place for softies.

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Three guys walk across the desert in search of water - a bedouin, a Spanish missionary, and a Namibian bushman. They reach a saloon in Arizona and take a seat at the bar.
The bushman takes a sip of amarula and asks the Spaniard, "Xqolope tciqxa xco axaxfqao he?" Meaning: What have you gotten up to on your journey?
Being a man of the well-travelled Catholic church, the Spaniard understands, sips his tequila and replies, "Eh, you know, spreading the word of Christ, son of Abraham, by song or by sword. Un dia normal."
With a little too much arak in his system, the bedouin is alarmed. "Walla! You must mean Mohammad, son of Abraham!"
Harrumphs the bushman, "Xqho!" - The gods must be crazy!
And he walks swiftly back home across the Bering strait.

~
   
This Yiddishe joke is also a true story.

Why did the Rocklins leave kneidls, knishes, and kreplach of their cozy shtetl in mother Russian for the godforsaken Sonoran desert? The Czar. He was feeling moody so they wanted to keep their distance.

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The city we know as Sin City in English has a very different facade in its Spanish. Las Vegas actually means...fertile valley. Now how could that be? Was that business foresight, or an outright mistake?
I say, blame it on the Vikings.
See, those horny seamen started off in Iceland looking for a place to chill, and found out it was covered in boiling lava. Then they went to Greenland looking for some good farmland and froze their butts off. Before they turned into human icicles they decided they'd find a nice pasture to avoid the rough weather they had been through. With the last of their savings, they set off for Las Vegas. But, when they arrived and found it was a desert, they just started gambling!

Still today, you can see the evidence at the Sons of Norway Lodge.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!

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The tortoise and the hare have some cousins down south, and they love to race just as much as their northern cousins Franklin and Fluffy.

So, back in Tucson, the gun fires and desert tortoise and desert hare wobble and hop across the sand. The desert hare is ahead, making great progress at night. He reaches the edge of a mesa and spots the finish line when, a coyote pounces on him and turns the desert hare into lunch. With that, the worn, coyote falls sound asleep for a siesta on his ACME pillow.
Fortunately, desert tortoise is finally ahead for once. As he reaches for the trophy at the finish line he hears, lo and behold... Meep meep!

Moral of the story? Hyper, flightless birds always win the race.
 

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A cowboy, Bruce Wainwright treks out west from his ranch in Colorado, in search of some good farmland along the banks of his home river, the Colorado. Between the tumbleweed (Salsola tragus) and sand dunes, he beings to lose hope. After months of weary travel, he finds himself in Yuma, Arizona, at the delta of the great river.
"Well, well, well...what do we have here!"
That red water and sandy soil might as well have been gold.
Then, on the other bank he sees someone roll up wearing a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops.

"Boy, what kind of boots are those?" teases Wainwright.
"Enough to give a good kick" responds the Casual Friday stranger. "What do you call this thing?"
"This here's the mighty Colorado." jeers Wainwright.
"Patented!" yelps Casual Friday. "Surf's up!" He tosses something across the water. Bruce grabs it with his lasso...a business card:

BARRY WAVERIGHT
River Acquisition Specialist
Gnarly Biotechnics, Inc.
San Diego, CA

"Aw, shucks!" scowls Wainwright.
And with that, San Diegans extended their life another 12 years.

~

Still wondering why Native Americans are called Indians? Because they are!
Looking for proof? Try eating some fiery chili in a summer desert monsoon and you'll start wondering, (thought bubble) "how in the hell did I get here?"

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After a good winter rain, a few cacti take a long drink, and store up the courage to head over to the saloon to hit on some hot desert dames. The saguaro sidles, the barrel rolls, and cholla jumps over to hit on a smoking hot mesquite babe, but these well-hydrated cacti are just too cool for her.
"I like my cactus men tough and prickly" she says.
So, desperate and desolate, they wait.

And wait. Summer hits and they finally feel dry enough for at least one of them to get lucky.
"Should we go?"
"Hey, why not."
They start to head over to the saloon. But, mid-sidle, roll and jump, a summer monsoon hits.

Some things are better during a drought.

~  

And now to honor our Spanish-speaking brothers and sisters from across the Rio Grande:
  
Esta mediodía.

¡Knock-knock!
- Where you at pal? Let's get lunch! Si estas en casa, dime lo que si!
...Silencio...
Otra vez, ¡Knock-knock!

   
Mas tarde.
   
¡Knock-knock!
- Hola gringo como andas!?
- Donde fuiste el mediodía?
- Como dijiste gringo, siestas. Su casa es mi casa, pero fijate, mi cama es mi cama. jajaja