Little Jokes for Easter

I wonder: Have the baby chicks in Easter eggs dyed and gone to heaven?


Q: What do you call bread that rises on the Sunday after Good Friday?
A: Yeaster

Sunday Comics: Easter Basket Case

The Easter Bunny no longer visits the homes in Feegle County.

Little Joke for Passover

A friend asked why I hadn’t posted any Passover jokes. Thousands of years the Jewish people have suffered and we should make jokes?

So here’s one:

Q: Who travels the world this weekend, hiding pieces of matza for the children to find?
A: The Easter rabbi

Little Joke for Tuesday

Is music-on-hold a measured response?

Little Joke for Friday

I recently looked at my bank statement. After I recovered, I tried to figure out what the slogan about my "Financial Well Being" meant. I think I've narrowed it down to either:

My finances are deeply underground and under water

or

My investments have been like throwing coins into a deep hole in the ground and making a wish.

Geek Joke: April Fools Post

I didn't have anything to say here in the past few days, but I'd still like credit for stuff I said elsewhere. So if you haven't checked out my Flex blog recently and you're another member of the huge and yet strangely underserved community of geeks that love comedy about the Flex platform, please read my Post: Fix Prefix article posted April 1st, 2009.

Sunday Comics: Geekosystem

In another of our ongoing series on the life and habitat of the Geek, we present The Nesting Geek:

Little Joke for Friday

I wanted to hang out with a group of people like me, so I joined a dopplegang.

Little Joke for Sunday

I don't like flying, so the last time I traveled, I didn't take a plane. I took a rhombus.

Discord, Datchord

The stage remained dark;
Something was wrong.
The audience waited
To hear a good song.

The guitarist knew nothing
And needed a set full.
And the state his instrument's neck
Was just fretful.

The drummer was beat and
The bassist was low.
The trumpeter looked ready
To pack up and blow.

The singer was busy
Coughing up lung.
The rhythm guitarist was
Tuned out and high strung.

The band was hungover from
Last night's pleasures:
Too many bars filled with
Too many measures.

Only the pianist was
Keyed up that night,
His instrument ready
In black and in white.

He was feeling quite grand
As he started to play
And not quite so low when he
Solo'd that day.

The ivories were tickled,
The ebonies, too,
The music was funky
And mildly blue.

Then he kicked back the stool
And he started to pound,
Creating a rhythmic and
Deafening sound.

Octaves were slamming,
Glissandos were flying.
Some of the girls in the front
Were seen crying.

The rest of the band then
Woke up and joined in,
Adding to the wonderful
Musical din.

One tune followed others
Till they played all they wrote.
All thanks to the pianist -
A musician of note.