We always know the name of who we’re eating at the Kirchweih. Though this year they didn’t tell us his age.
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We always know the name of who we’re eating at the Kirchweih. Though this year they didn’t tell us his age.
I ate a Nepali last night. There’s a genre of related jokes which my dad fortunately hasn’t told for years: How do you make a Maltese cross? Step on her toes. How do you make a Venetian blind? Poke out his eyes.
I quote those frequently alas, but I thought it was: poke out his eye with a gondola pole. Also: how do you make a Swiss roll? Push him down the mountain.
I don’t quite get the Nepali joke, of course.