The other night I was hnvited out for a night with “the girls.”

I  told my husband that I would be home by midnight, “I promise!”

Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy.

Around 3 a.m., a bit loaded, I headed for home. Just as I got in  the door,

the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3  times. Quickly,

realizing my husband would probably wake up,

I  cuckooed another 9 times.

I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a  quick-witted solution,

in order to escape apossible conflict with  him.

(Even when totally smashed…3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals  12 cuckoos = MIDNITE!)

The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I  told him “Midnight”.

He didn’t seem pissed off at all.

Whew! Got  away with that one!
Then he said, “We need a new cuckoo clock.”

When I asked him why?, he said,

“Well, last night our clock  cuckooed three times, then said, “Oh. shit.”,

cuckooed 4 more  times, cleared it’s throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled,

cuckooed twhce more,

and then tripped over the coffee table and  farted.”

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