From a Facebook meme I saw today:

"People shouldn't buy mountain bikes after fifty.

No, seriously. Fifty mountain bikes is more than enough!"

I'd have to agree, even though it goes against N + 1

I don't even have 50 road bikes.

A monk by the name of Brother Bern was tasked by the head of his monastery with delivering an important message to another monastery on the other side of a steep and treacherous mountain. Having gotten a late start, Brother Bern was caught by darkness while on a narrow section of the trail with a cliff on one side. Already nervous, he made a misstep and toppled over the edge. He was fortunate to grab a bush to stop the all, even though he could not actually see the bush. "Oh God, help me. I'm going to die". Is anybody out there."

Suddenly a voice like distant thunder was heard. ""Brother Bern, I heard your plea and I'm here to save my servant".

"Who said that".

"This is God. There is a ledge just under your feet. Let go of the bush and you will drop just a few feet. There is a ramp you can then follow back up to the trail"

"But, but, I'm going to die."

"Trust me Brother Bern. This is God."

Silence followed for a minute then Brother Berm's voice rang out, "Is anybody else out there."

I shift the decimal place by one. 5 is plenty for me (all road). Did six for a while but that was too many.

Yea, no fun here.

Ben

But you're closer than anyone else here.

A wife asks her husband - Could you please go shopping for me and buy one carton of milk, and if they have eggs, get 6.

A short time later the husband comes back with 6 cartons of milk. The wife asks him - Why did you buy 6 cartons of milk?

They had eggs.

What's the difference between Spanish and Dad jokes. With Spanish you roll your r's and Dad jokes you roll your eyes.

Love Irish humor which can have a serious bite. this story was told by Frank MacCourt who wrote the best seller, Angela's Ashes.

Old Murphy, after working many years in the mines finally came down with black lung. He was abed at home with the situation so dire neighborhood women had begun bringing food to the house as is typical. His own wife was in the kitchen baking a ham. As the ham cooked a delicious aroma wafted throughout their cottage. And Murphy himself began to rally in response to that fine aroma. Soon, he called out in a weak, reedy voice, "Meg", (her name was Margaret) Oh that hams smells fine. How about a slice for meself."
"Go on now. You know it's for the wake."