PICKLEBALL JESTS

Most everybody knows there are only two things worth milking—a cow and a joke. So lacking meandering cows out here in the racing, rushing mini-metropolis of New Paltz we tend to depend on getting as much milk as we can out of any joke that passes by. We do what we can with prepared jokes, the kind spilt on the internet, but the kind we like best are the ones that pop out of the blue, you know, out of the course of life as she is happening, like this one :

We happen to have a former Jersey boy knocking around these parts who has the distinction of being the Town's Rec (or is it Wreck?) Director. He goes by the name of Chuck Bordino, a nice name, an Italian name, an inoffensive name. Chuck is the guy who got two pickle ball courts built for we the people. Good guy. Regular guy. Likes a good laugh. Anyway, a woman calls me up one day who wants to join the pickle ball games, and succumbing to the ever-present temptation to drop a name, she mentions that Chuck Bordello(!!!) told her to call me. Well, we got gallons out of that one. Even old Chuck sputtered and wheezed till he needed to lean against a wall to keep himself erect. And then the other day since practically all of our pickle balls are cracking 'cause of the whacking they're getting, Chuck ordered some new ones and when they arrived some witty-wag shot off an e-mail—"BORDINO'S GOT BALLS !!! " Chuck liked that one so much he took an extra gallon home with him.

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