Veteran Pillsbury spokesman, The Pillsbury Doughboy, died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes to the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was buried in a slightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out, including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, Captain Crunch and many others. The graveside was piled high with flours, as longtime friend Aunt Jemima, delivered the eulogy, describing Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business but his later life was filled with many turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Still, even as a crusty old man, he was a roll model for millions. Doughboy is survived by his second wife, Play Dough. They have two children and one in the oven. The funeral was held at 350 for about 20 minutes.
After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed. The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and went up into belfry to begin the screening process. After observing several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it a day - when an armless man approached him and announced that he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was incredulous. 'You have no arms!' 'No matter.' said the man, 'Observe!' And he began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment, convinced he had finally found a suitable replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in street below. The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the beautiful music they had heard only moments before. As they silently parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked, 'Bishop, who was this man?' 'I don't know his name,' the bishop sadly replied, 'but his face sure rings a bell.' The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist, the bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame. The first man to approach him said, 'Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch who fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you honor his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty.' The bishop agreed to give the man an audition, and, as the armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest and died on the spot. Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side. 'What has happened? Who is this man?' the first monk asked breathlessly. 'I don't know his name,' sighed the distraught bishop, 'but he's a dead ringer for his brother.'
A long time ago, in the city of Munich, the inhabitants were having a big problem. There was a massive increase in the number of dogs residing in the city. Not only were thousands of dogs, but they were BIG dogs.... real hounds to be exact. Anyway, the people of Munich bunched together and decided they would solve the problem by driving all the dogs out of the city and into the hills. So one day, they all grouped together and forced all the hounds out of the city and into the hills, thereby solving their problem. However, this action proved disastrous for the neighbouring town of Lieden. Lieden was a leader in the manufacturing of paper and the big paper mills provided work for many. As the hounds in the hills began to get hungry, they descended upon the small town of Lieden and were soon running a riot! All the shops were broken into as the dogs searched for food. As Lieden was much smaller than Munich, they didn't have the manpower to force the hounds out of the town and all the inhabitants decided to go to Munich and complain. As they were leaving their homes, suddenly a tremendous noise came from up on the hill, where the paper-mill was located. As all the residents were in the process of evacuating, they were puzzled as to who was running the mills. Suddenly, an old man spoke up, claiming he knew the answer. He took a deep breath and said....'The mills are alive with the hounds of Munich!'
Contributed by Robert Turkel on 10/20/2005