"No of course not", replied his mother. Why would you think such a thing?
Fred showed her his genealogy DNA test results. No match for any of his relatives, and strong matches for a family who lived the other side of the city.
Perturbed, his mother called her husband. "Honey, Fred has done a DNA test, and... and... I don't know how to say this... he may not be our son."
"Well, obviously!" he replied.
"What do you mean?"
"You remember, that first night in hospital when the baby did nothing but scream and cry and scream and cry. On and on. And you asked me to change him."
A small tree begins to grow between them. The beech says to the birch, "Is that a son of a beech or a son of a birch?"
The birch says he cannot tell. Just then a woodpecker lands in the sapling. The birch says, "Woodpecker, you are a tree expert. Can you tell if that is a son of a beech or a son of a birch?"
The woodpecker takes a taste of the small tree, and replies, "It is neither a son of a beech nor a son of a birch. That, my friends, is the best piece of ash I have ever put my pecker in."
They both liked what they saw and decided to go back to his place. One thing led to another, and soon they gravitated to the bedroom and proceeded to undress. The first thing he removed was his socks and shoes. She noted his feet were withered and crooked. When asked, he responded that when he was six, he contracted "toe-lio".
She looked at him confused, “You mean polio?”
He shook his head and replied, “No, toe-lio.”
He then took off his pants. His knees were knobby and gnarled. She asked him what was up with that. He told her, “When I was eight, I got the kneesles.”
“You mean measles?”
“No, kneesles.”
Then he removed his underwear. She sighed... “Let me guess. When you were ten, you got small cocks?”
She replied, “Well it would be a waste not to, he may find it comfortable.”
Then I asked, “What about my boat?”
And she says, “I just don’t think you will be needing your boat after your gone. We may retire and do a lot of fishing.”
So I did some thinking and asked, “How about my truck, surely you’ll sell it, because all of the memories of us riding in it together will be too much for you to bear and too awkward with your next husband...”
She replied, “You know, it is paid for with low miles, I’ll probably hang on to it.”
Then, getting kind of nervous, I said, “Well surely you wont let him have my golf clubs?!”
To which my wife responds, “Oh no, honey, don’t worry about that. He’s left handed.”
I asked the people living there if I could come inside because I was feeling nostalgic, but they refused and slammed the door in my face. My parents are the worst.
