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barber Pronunciation : Definition : a person whose profession is cutting (usually male) customers' hair Example : He was working as a barber.
Joke of the day
Buy me a beer if you want the story toldOf why I moved down South from the frost and cold.Why I`m knee deep in therapy, liquor, and pills.Why I`ve given up charity in lieu of cheap thrills.Why I loathe mistletoe, fruitcake and bells --And why I`ll celebrate Xmas when it freezes in hell.You`ll never see this elf make angels in snow.Hey thanks for the booze ? so I guess here it goes: "Twas the night after Christmas in the North PoleNo creatures were stirring, not one lousy soul. Santa`s house appeared eerily silentBut inside the fat man was hungry, was violent. This workshop of toys for kids of all agesWas filled with elves quaking in cages.Who woke up from their long winter`s naps To find themselves snared in a devious trap.Hours before I had been bingeing on nogPassed out under the bed, I spied the whole saga.I saw all my brothers rounded up in cages. Sleepy victims of wicked midnight rampages. Then what to my horrified eyes should appearBut a wild-eyed Santa pinching an elf by the ear.Each little sprite shook in their tights and boots.That this monster was Santa, no one could refute. His size and his beard gave him away as St. NickHis fangs and his scales made me quite sickBlood seemed to stain his white fluffy trimHe was hunched, drooling, and disgustingly slim. "Come little helper! Climb into my maw!"He laughed, then casually ate the elf raw.He greedily sucked the imp`s hide off the boneI was awed! I was scared! I was truly alone!Dainty elf paws clutched bars and criedDrunk on deinal; confounded by why.(He lost his count during his murderous spreeThought he`d rounded up most, but forgot about me!)His hunger was wracking his hunched-over frameWith a crippling appetite that didn`t know shame."Don`t eat us! We love you! Look at our faces!"The doomed little elves made their sad casesBut Santa ignored them with a swipe of his fistPulled out some parchment and started a list:"Silence, you nuggets ? I`m trying to thinkWho to char-broil, who to blend into drink.Who to dice, fillet, bake or panfryWho to boil in soup, who to stuff in a pie"These taunts seemed so strange to come from a manWho held the dreams of children in his handsTeeth full of gristle, he then sadly revealedTo his captive chorus of angel-faced veal,That humans are greedy, petty, drunk on their vices.And each Yuletide revel exacts gruesome pricesThese prices are paid by the magical gnomesWho hammer the toys that clutter up homes.The payment`s a life ? one for each holiday sin.Delivered by Santa, after his joyful break-ins. Perhaps he was cursed by the Easter BunnyOr an April Fool`s jester who thought it`d be funny.The Great Pumpkin, Jack Frost or just maybe ?That jealous and bratty New Years Eve baby.Maybe it was a clue, how well we were fedOn cookies, cakes, lard balls and bread.But our nature`s to love, not to distrust.So we hugged the fat Claus`s and finished each crust.Ignorant to what would soon transpireWe`d collapse in heaps by the crackling fire.Expecting the old man to come flying backAnd start making next years toys for his sack.But how does he have enough sprites for his belly?The final act of sorrow starts as fetal elf jelly.That ferments inside his wife until it`s a brothFilled with thimble-sized elves that surge forth like froth. And these newborn elves, spawned pure from her womb.Don`t understand: their workshop is really a tomb Their dimples are gumdrops, they sneeze pixie dust.Santa doesn`t hate them ? he`s cursed with a lust.Elves are packed with vitamins A, C, and EWe`re awfully juicy, tart yet also fruity, We go well with gravy and mayonnaise and toastBut casserole is how Santa likes us the most.Barbequed, fricasseed, or flamb?ed Sunny-side up, shish-ka-bobbed or flayed.Prepared anyway, our flesh is quite deliciousAnd it`s not like toy-happy children will miss us. Goodbye Carl, Zud, Sprinkles and Jan!Blossom, Hortense, Cobweb, and Stan!Julie, Miss Knickers, Fidget, and Ralph.I`m sorry you`re dead, you wonderful elf.A mouthed greased with fat, Santa then hibernated.As Mrs. Claus squatted and grossly gestatedAnd all that is left of my cherubic siblings. Was a pile of bells, curly-toed boots ? mostly elf thingsSo much for good cheer! But don`t shed a tear:This gruesome cycle has happened for hundreds of years.And as the fist to survive Father`s murderous routIn a month I stopped hiding and got the hell out."Now I spend my days soaking under a sun like a yolk(Yeah, I wish I`d have saved all or some of my folk)I now have a tan where the rum`s in supply.Sewing up flags for Captain Fourth of July.