Keepapitchinin, the Mormon History blog » Funny Bones, 1904 (3)

Funny Bones, 1904 (3)

By: Ardis E. Parshall - July 26, 2014

Yes, siree, a real Funny Bones post — that is, a page of jokes from old Church magazines that hasn’t yet appeared on Keepa.

Our Beautiful Language

A boy who swims may say he’s swum, but milk is skimmed and seldom skum, and nails you trim, they are not trum.

When words you speak, these words are spoken; but a nose is tweaked and can’t be twoken, and what you seek is never soken.

If we forget, then we’ve forgotten; but things we wet are never wotten, and houses let are never lotten.

The goods one sells are always sold; but fears dispelled are not dispold, nor what you smell is never smoled.

When young, a top you oft saw spun; but did you see a grim e’er grun, or a ptato neatly skun?


Mother – “My boy! What became of that last piece of pie I left in the cupboard and told you not to disturb?”

Oscar – “I eated it.”

Mother – “And what would you call an act like that?”

Oscar – “Disturbin’ th’ piece, I s’pose.”


Mother – “Why, children, what’s all this noise about?

Little Freddy – “We’ve had grandpa and Uncle Henry locked in the cupboard for an hour, an’ when they get a little angrier I’m going to play going into the lion’s cage!”


There was no doubt of it; Mr. Hunter had lost the “field.” He had searched for his companion fox-hunters long but vainly, and now, he was reduced to asking the aid of a chubby little lad of three, whom he met in a lane.

“Hallo, Johnny! Which way did the hounds go?” he queried.

“Johnny” sucked a finger, and dropped his gaze.

“Come,” coaxed Mr. Hunter, “don’t be afraid; here’s a penny for you. Now tell me, what way did the hounds go?”

The youngster took the coin, and then fell upon all fours and “bow wowed.”

“Dat way,” he said, shyly.


Little four-year-old: – “Mama, are you a sheep?”

Mama (seriously): – “That’s saucy, to ask mother such a question.”

Four-year-old: – “Well, you called baby a little lamb.”


The eleven-year-old daughter of the house is very fond of talking. One day when some guests were expected for dinner her grown-up brother tried to impress upon her the necessity of speaking only when spoken to. “All right,” she said, “but do please ask me some questions.”


The daughter of a prominent clergyman in New York City was playing with her little chum the other day. The latter said, “Oh, you ought to see the nice large egg my hen laid this morning. It is the largest, prettiest egg I ever saw.”

“Pshaw!” said the dominie’s daughter, “that ain’t nothing. My papa laid a corner stone last week.”


It was in a country school, and I was hearing my little second reader class. The lesson that day was a story about flies, their curious way and habits. among other things the story said that flies kept their faces clean, and then went on to tell how they rubbed their feet over their heads, as could often be seen by watching them. The last thing in the lesson was the question, “What lesson can boys and girls from the flies?” I asked the children to answer the question. Only one small boy ventured an answer, and that was, “To wash our faces with our feet.”


In the report of a prison chaplain it was once mentioned that no book was more popular among the inmates of the jail than “Self-Help.” On one occasion the chaplain brought a basket of books to the cell door of a new prisoner for choice to be made amongst them. Glancing over the titles, the man picked out “Self-Help,” with the remark: “I’ll have this; it’s what I’m in for.”

Some Queer Orders

A New York druggist is making a collection of the queer orders he receives from people who send children to the store for things they need. Here are a few samples of them:

“This child is my little girl. I send you five cents to buy two sitless powders for a grown up adult who is sike.”

An anxious mother writes:

“You will please give the lettle boi 5 cents worth of epicac for to throw up in a five months old babe. N.B. – The babe has a sore stummick.”

This one puzzled the druggist:

“I have a cute pane in my child’s diagram. Please give my son something to release it.”

Another anxious mother wrote:

“My little babey has eat up it father’s parish plasther. Send an antedote quick as possible by the enclosed little girl.”


“What do you understand by ‘holy orders’?” asked the Sunday School teacher.

“The Ten Commandments, ma’am,” promptly answered the fair-haired little boy with the innocent blue eyes.


The following queer advertisements have been collected from English newspapers:

“Bulldog for sale; will eat anything; very fond of children.”

“Wanted – A boy to be partly outside and partly behind the counter.”

“Widow in comfortable circumstances wishes to marry two sons.”

“Annual sale now on; don’t go elsewhere to be cheated; come in here.”

“A lady wants to sell her piano, as she is going abroad in a strong iron frame.”

“Wanted – By a respectable girl, her passage to New York; willing to take care of children, and a good sailor.”

“Lost – Near Highgate Archway, an umbrella belonging to a gentleman with a bent rib and bone handle.”

:Mr. Brown, furrier, begs to announce that he will make up gowns, capes, etc., for ladies out of their own skin.”

“An airy bedroom for a gentleman 22 feet long and 11 feet wide.”


“Are you the judge of reprobate?” asked the old lady as she walked into the judge’s office.

“I am the judge of probate,” was the reply.

“Well, that’s it, I expect,” quoth the lady. “You see, my husband died detested, and left me several little infidels, and I want to be their executioner.”



  1. I don’t get the holy orders one.

    Those ads could be from Craigslist.

    Comment by Carol — July 26, 2014 @ 11:05 am

  2. In many traditional Christian churches, “holy orders” are consecrated ranks or roles or assignments, like priest or bishop. But in this joke, the kid interprets “orders” as meaning commands, and the holiest he knows are the Ten Commandments.

    Comment by Ardis E. Parshall — July 26, 2014 @ 11:53 am

  3. “but things we wet are never wotten”

    I dunno. My back patio deck has gotten moisture into it, and the dry wot that has set in is pretty bad. The joints have wotted in a number of places.

    Comment by Vader — July 26, 2014 @ 6:44 pm

  4. I weally don’t know wot to say to that, Vader.

    Comment by Ardis E. Parshall — July 26, 2014 @ 8:20 pm

Leave a comment

RSS feed for comments on this post.
TrackBack URI