It was an extremely rough English Channel crossing from Weymouth to Jersey, and one wretched green-faced passenger was hugging the rail when a steward approached him.
“Lunch, sir?” asked the tactless steward.
“No, thanks,” groaned the passenger. “Jus throw it overboard and save me the touble…
Tom, Dick and Harry were traveling in the desert. Arriving at a small village they could find nowhere to sleep but a strange inn whose landlord, though willing to take them in for the night, would offer only a bed of fire, a bed of nails, and a bed of fleas.
In the morning, they compared notes over breakfast. The bed of fire was awful,” said Tom. “Very uncomfortable. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I’m scorched all over.”
“I had a bad night, too,” said Dick. “That bed of nails was dreadful. I’m covered with holes.”
“I slept fine,” declared Harry. “My bed of fleas was no trouble at all. I just killed one flea and all the rest went to the funeral!”
Mr. and Mrs. Thorne had just reached the airport in the nick of time to catch the plane for their two-week's vacation in Majorca. "I wish we'd brought the piano with us," said Mr. Thorne.
"What on earth for?" asked his wife.
"I've left the tickets on it."