My dad grew up on a farm in Ireland. Apparently, there was governmental agricultural control to the extent that only a certain number of male cows could be owned in a given area. (Bulls? I don't know from cows. I grew up in the suburbs. Its totally his fault. Anyway...) His neighbor owned the area's only two bulls. So when it "was time," Dad would walk the cows down the road, they would "do their business" and he'd walk them back home.
Eventually, however, people got telephones. And the guy who owned the bulls got a trailer which, although tight and uncomfortable-looking, fit both bulls in such a way that they couldn't move or buck eachother. He hooked the trailer up to a Volkswagen and would wait for a call to drive his bulls over to whichever neighbor needed services.
One day, my dad stopped into Glenn's, the pub in town. He saw the trailer with the bulls outside and his neighbor inside grabbing a pint.
He asked his neighbor: How the hell do you get those two huge bulls to climb into that friggin' trailer?
His reply: All I have to do is turn on the Volkswagen.
This was the first thing I read this morning and I'm so glad I randomly picked it out of my google reader feed. Iit cracked me up and I did NOT wake up in a good mood.
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