Whores and hockey players.

A man in a Florida supermarket tries to buy half a head of lettuce. The very young produce assistant tells him they only sell whole heads of lettuce.

The man gets huffy and persistent and demands to see the manager.

The boy says he'll ask his manager about it. Walking to the back of the store, he finds his manager and said, "Some asshole wants to buy half a head of lettuce."

As he finished, he turned around to find the man standing right behind him, so he added, "And this gentleman has kindly offered to buy the other half."

The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way.

Afterwards, the manager said to the boy, "I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier. We like people who can think on their feet around here. Where are you from, son?"

"Canada, sir," the boy replied.

"Well, why did you leave Canada?" the manager asked.

The boy looked at the manager and said, "Sir, there's nothing but whores and hockey players up there."

"Really?" said the manager. "My wife is from Canada."

"No shit?" replied the boy. "Who'd she play for?"

# # #

Old Guys Are Helpful

I was in Lowe's the other day pushing my cart around when I collided with a young guy pushing his cart.

I said to the young guy, "Sorry about that.  I'm looking for my wife and I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

The young guy says, "That's OK. It's a coincidence.  I'm looking for my wife, too. I can't find her and I'm getting a little desperate."

I said, "Well, maybe we can help each other.  What does your wife look like?"

The young guy says, "Well, she is 24 years old,  tall, with blond hair, big blue eyes, long legs, big
boobs, and she's wearing tight white shorts, a halter top and no bra. What does your wife look like?"

I said, "Doesn't matter --- let's look for yours."

Most old guys are helpful like that. 

# # #

When Fighter Pilots Retire

A ragged, old, derelict shuffled into a down and dirty bar. Stinking of whisky and cigarettes, his hands shook as he took the "Piano Player Wanted" sign from the window and handed it to the bartender. "I'd like to apply for the job," he said. "I was an F-4 driver and a Colonel in the Air Force but when they retired the Phantom they cashiered me, as well. So I learned to play the piano."

The barkeep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but it had been quite a while since he had a piano player and business was falling off. So, the barkeep decided to give him a try.

The Colonel staggered his way over to the piano while several patrons snickered. By the time he was into his third bar of music, every voice was silenced. What followed was a rhapsody of sound and music, unlike anyone had heard in the bar before. When he finished there wasn't a dry eye in the place.

The bartender took the old fighter pilot a beer and asked him the name of the song he had just played.

It's called "Drop your Skivvies, Baby, I'm Going Balls To The Wall For You!" said the Colonel after he took a long pull from the beer. "I wrote it myself."

The bartender and the crowd winced at the title, but the piano player then went on with a knee-slapping, hand-clapping bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. After he finished, the fighter pilot acknowledged the applause and told the crowd the song was called, "Big Boobs Make My Afterburner Light." He then excused himself as he lurched to the john.

When he came out the bartender went over to him and said, "Look Colonel, the job is yours, but do you know your fly is open and your pecker is hanging out?"

"Know it?" the old fighter pilot replied, "Hell, I wrote it!"