The 35-year-old man was transported to a Waco hospital, where he was treated for what appeared to be non-life threatening injuries, Anderson said.

Jose Braule Ramirez, 33, of Houston, was charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, police said. He was arraigned Wednesday and was being held in the McLennan County Jail on $15,000 bond and placed on an immigration hold, according to jail records. He cannot be released, even if he posts bond, until authorities verify he is in the country legally.

A jail spokeswoman who declined to give her name said she was not allowed to release information on whether Ramirez had an attorney.

She said, “I’m Mother Nature! Do you know how long it took me to make those buttercups? Just for doing what you’ve done, you won’t have any butter for your popcorn for the rest of your life. Better still, you won’t have any butter for your toast for the rest of your life. As a matter of fact, you’ll never have any butter for anything for the rest of your life!”

And then, as quickly as she had materialized, she was gone.

After Dave recovered from the shock – and his bad lie -he hollered for his friend, “Fred, where are you?”

Fred shouted back, “I’m over here in the damned pussy willows.”

And Dave replied, “DON’T SWING, Fred! For the love of God, DON’T SWING!

One year Esther and Morris went to the fair, and Morris said, “Esther, I’m 85 years old. If I don’t ride in that helicopter, I might never get another chance.”

To this Esther replied, “Morris, that helicopter ride is fifty dollars, and fifty dollars is fifty dollars.”

The pilot overheard the couple and said, “Folks, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take both of you for a ride. If you can stay quiet for the entire ride and not say a word, I won’t charge you. But if you say one word, it’s fifty dollars.”

Morris and Esther agreed and up they went. The pilot did all kinds of fancy maneuvers, but not a word was heard. He did his daredevil tricks over and over again, but still not a word. When they landed, the pilot turned to Morris and said, “By golly, I did everything I could to get you guys to yell out, but you didn’t. I’m impressed!”

Morris replied, “Well, to tell you the truth, I almost said something when Esther fell out, but you know, fifty dollars is fifty dollars.”

Again, when the center ring is illuminated, there stand the table and the old cowboy. But this time, instead of walnuts, three coconuts are placed on the table. The old guy stands before them, then suddenly unzips his fly, whips it out, and smashes the coconuts with three amazing swings. The crowd goes wild! Flabbergasted, the salesman requests a meeting with him after the show. “You’re incredible,” he tells the Texan. “But I have to know something. You’re older now, so why in the world would you switch from walnuts to coconuts?”

“Well,” says the old cowboy, “my eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it.

As carefully and as gently as he could, Membe worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments.

Membe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

Membe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day. Twenty years later, Membe was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son.

As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Membe and his son Tapu were standing.

The large bull elephant stared at Membe, lifted its left front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Membe couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant.

Membe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Membe’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn’t the same elephant.

Managing not to yell, he got up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.

He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed. In the morning, he woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and his wife staring at him from across the room.

“You were drunk again last night weren’t you?”

“Why do you say such a mean thing?”

“Well, it could be the open front door; it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs; it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house; it could be your bloodshot eyes. But mostly it’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.”

The hired hand readily agreed and that Saturday night went into town for some fun.

He returned around 2:30 am, and upon entering the house, he was surprised to find the widow still up, sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine, waiting for him.

She quietly called him over to her. “Unbutton my blouse and remove it,” she said. Trembling, he did as she directed.

“Now take off my boots.” He did as she asked, ever so slowly.

“Now take off my socks.” He removed each one gently and placed them neatly by her boots.

“Now take off my skirt.” He slowly unbuttoned it, watching her eyes in the dancing firelight.

“Now take off my bra.” Again, with trembling hands he did as he was told and dropped it to the floor.

Then she looked at him and said, “Now…if you ever wear my clothes into town again, you’re fired.”

“One Cent?” the man thought.

He glanced at the menu and asked, “How much for a nice juicy steak and a bottle of wine?”

“A nickel,” the barman replied.

“A nickel?” exclaimed the man, “Where’s the guy who owns this place?”

The bartender replied, “Upstairs, with my wife.”

The man asked, “What’s he doing upstairs with your wife?”

The bartender replied, “The same thing I’m doing to his business down here.”

Donnie said, “Okay – I’m pretty good at that sensitive stuff. I’ll do it.”

Two hours later, he came back carrying a case of Budweiser.

Ronnie asked, “Where’d you get the beer, Donnie?”

“Cooter’s wife gave it to me,” Donnie replied.

“That’s unbelievable! You told her her husband was dead and she gave you beer?”

“Well, not exactly. When she answered the door, I said to her, ‘You must be Cooter’s widow.’”

She said, “I ain’t no widow.”

Then I said, “I’ll bet you a case of Bud you are.”

You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors and the value of the products increase as the shopper ascends the flights. The shopper may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 – These men Have Jobs.

She is intrigued, but continues to the second floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 2 – These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.

“That’s nice,” she thinks, “but I want more.”

So she continues upward. The third floor sign reads:

Floor 3 – These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are Extremely Good Looking.

“Wow,” she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 4 – These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking and Help With Housework.

“Oh, mercy me!” she exclaims, “I can hardly stand it!”

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign reads:

Floor 5 – These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop- dead Gorgeous, Help with Housework, and Have a Strong Romantic Streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor, where the sign reads:

Floor 6 – You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.

To avoid gender bias charges, the store’s owner opened a New Wives store just across the street.

The first floor has wives that love sex.

The second floor has wives that love sex and have money and like beer.

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth floors have never been visited.

The dog, of course, puts his head down on his paws and appears to be praying.

“Umm…okay, nice trick. But it doesn’t prove he’s Christian.”

“Well, how about this? Fido, what will comfort me when I’m dying?”

The dog retrieves the family bible, then flips the pages to the 23rd Psalm, putting his paw over the verse that says, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil”.

The couple is, naturally, impressed. They take the dog home.

A few days later, their pastor comes by to visit, and they’re showing off the dog. The dog prays, the dog finds comforting verses in the Bible. The dog is, obviously, a Christian.

The pastor’s wife timidly asks, “Does he do any…you know…normal dog tricks?”

“Well, let’s see…Fido, roll over!”

The dog rolls over.

“Fido, shake hands!”

The dog goes to the pastor and offers his paw.

“Fido, heel!”

The dog goes to the pastor’s wife and puts his paw on her forehead.

“Oh my goodness”, remarks the pastor, “he’s a Pentecostal dog!”

“If you want your breasts to grow, then every day take a piece of toilet paper and rub it between them for a few seconds.”

Willing to try anything, I fetched a piece of toilet paper and stood there rubbing it between my breasts. “How long will this take?” I asked him.

“They’ll grow larger over a period of years,” my husband replied.

I stopped. “Do you really think rubbing a piece of toilet paper between my breasts every day will make them larger over the years?”

Without missing a beat he said, “Worked for your ass, didn’t it?”

He’s still alive, and with a great deal of therapy he may even walk again, although he will probably continue to take his meals through a straw. Stupid, stupid man!

I couldn’t believe it when she asked if I’d be interested in meeting up and rekindling a little of that old magic.

I was flabbergasted. “I don’t know if I could keep up with you now,” I said, “I’m a older and greyer than when you last saw me. Plus I don’t really have the energy I used to have.”

She just laughed and said she was sure I would “rise to the challenge”.

“Yeah,” I said. “just so long as you don’t mind a man with a waistline that’s a few inches bigger these days. Not to mention my lack of muscle tone. Stuff sagging, my teeth not as white, and so on.

She chuckled and told me to stop being silly. She teased me, saying that tubby, grey-haired, older men were cute, and she was sure I would still be a great lover.

Then she giggled and said, “I’ve put on quite a bit of weight myself!”

So I told her to get lost and I hung up.

Of course, at the other end of the range is the dreaded Verbal Warning, which usually takes the form of a rhetorical question of the nature of “Have I shown you little Drooler’s latest pictures?” Rhetorical? To be sure. There is no recorded instance of a “YES!” preventing the arrival of The Monster. And records go clear back to the beginning of practical photography; before that, only those who could afford to have an artist paint or draw the likeness of their sproggen could have such images and they weren’t something that they’d drag around to assault you with on your lunch break from the limestone quarry. But at least with the Verbal Warning, you get a few more seconds to think – to remember The Response.

The Response, and the only one that’s ever proven effective, is (write this down for familiarization): “It looks just like a baby.”

Do not lead to The Monster’s long suit with a compliment and do not note a similarity with one of the parents. In the first case, babies mostly look like somebody’s first attempt in clay class at making a face. In the second case, there won’t be a similarity to anyone; babies and adults don’t look anything alike, other than, if lucky, having the same number of eyes, ears, nostrils, and so on.

Respond the instant that the photo is displayed. Do not look at it for more than one-half second. Respond with total deadpan. Try to get eye contact with The Monster so you know it sees the deadpan. Respond with “It looks just like a baby” and then shut up! But retain eye contact with The Monster if possible. On a good day, with a reasonably sentient Monster, you will get a surprised – and perhaps disappointed – look, but the photo will disappear and you will be saved from the contents of the rest of that plastic accordion. I will repeat: shut up after you’ve given The Response. The deer-in-the-headlights look you’ll hopefully receive is a good thing. It shows that The Monster is confused; when The Monster is confused it packs up its stuff. You, one; Monster, zero.

Try it – it works.**

At a morning press conference, Attorney General Alberto Gonzales said he believes the man is a member of the notorious Al-gebra movement. He did not identify the man, who has been charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction.

“Al-gebra is a problem for us,” Gonzales said “They desire solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in search of absolute values.”

They use secret code names like ‘x’ and ‘y’ and refer to themselves as ‘unknowns’, but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, ‘There are 3 sides to every triangle’. ” When asked to comment on the arrest, President Bush said, “If God had wanted us to have better weapons of math instruction, He would have given us more fingers
and toes.”

White House aides told reporters they could not recall a more intelligent or profound statement by the president.

A child ran into an ice-cream shop in The Middle East with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong,” the shopkeeper asked.

“The ice cream I just bought from you is melting!” the child wailed, holding up the evidence.

Sure enough, the delectable treat was dripping down the cone.

“I’m sorry,” the merchant told him.

“I want a new one,” the child demanded.

“I’ll be happy to give it to you, but I warn you; it will also melt.”

“But why?” the child asked. “Is it the heat?”

The shopkeeper glanced at the thermometer that hung on the wall. It read 110 degrees.

“No, son, it is not the heat.”

“Then what is it?”

“Blame America.”

“America?” the child asked.

“Yes, especially President Bush and his administration. They’re responsible.”

“Why would they make ice cream melt in the sun?”

“Why would they want us to kill each other?”

“They want that, too?”

“Why else would we do it?”

“Oh,” said the child. “Is America to blame for anything else?”

“Oh, yes,” said the shopkeeper.

“Like what?”

“Everything that goes wrong.”

“Really? I thought America was spending a lot of money to make things better for us and that a lot of America soldiers were dying to help make things better for us.”

“No, no, my son. You must not listen to such lies. Just blame America.”

“But why?”

“Why else? When we blame America, we don’t have to blame ourselves.”

“Oh,” said the young man. “But do people really believe America is responsible for everything that goes wrong?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” the child wanted to know.

“Repetition. I say it, you say it, we all say it over and over – and pretty soon we all believe it.”

“But how do you know America is to blame for everything?”

“Don’t let yourself be sidetracked by idle thoughts. All you have to know is, blame America.”

“What about the summer heat?”

“And who do you think is responsible for the summer heat? America!”

“Really?”

“Of course. Didn’t you ever hear of global warming?”

“No, what’s that?”

“It’s what happens when America makes anything. It always makes smoke. The smoke goes up in the sky. The smoke traps the heat that comes from the sun. The earth gets warmer. So your ice cream melts.”

“Isn’t anybody else to blame for global warming?”

“I told you before, don’t complicate things. Just blame America, and everybody will agree with you.”

“Oh, OK. Then I’ll blame America.”

Just then the child’s ice cream fell out of the cone and plopped onto the floor.

“See what America did to your ice cream? What do you say?”

“Blame America.”

“Very good. And what do you wish for America?”

“What do you mean?”

“What we all wish,” the shopkeeper said. Then he raised his fist, and shouted, “Death to America!”

“Oh,” said the child, who was so frightened by the yell he jumped backward.

“So say it after me,” the merchant encouraged him. “Come on, now. Death to America!”

“Can I have another ice-cream cone if I say it?”

“Of course, you can. Just say it.”

“Death to America!”

“Excellent!” the shopkeeper said, and reached for the scoop.

2. Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.

3. There are 2 theories to arguing with a woman … neither work

4. Never miss a good chance to shut up.

5. Always drink upstream from the herd.

6. If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

7. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it and put it back in your pocket.

8. There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading, the few who learn by observation, the rest who have to pee on the electric fence.

9. Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.

10. If you’re riding’ ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it’s still there.

11. Lettin’ the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier’n puttin’ it back.

12. After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he started roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and shot him. The moral: When you’re full of bull, keep your mouth shut.