ChiaChatter (Sherry) Peters

These memes have been resized for formatting purposes; should you need them, originals can be found HERE. God was relieving St. Peter at the Pearly Gates one day when 2 dogs and a cat arrived. God said to the first dog, a labrador, "Why should I allow you into heaven ?" The dog replied "I was a loyal dog to my master and I drowned after I had saved his baby son in a flood" "Excellent" replied God, "You can now enter" "And why should you be allowed into heaven" God asked the second dog. "I was awarded a canine bravery medal 3 times while I lived as a police dog and died in the line of duty protecting civilians during a hostage siege" "You most certainly have earned entry to heaven" said God. God then turned to the cat and asked "Why should you be allowed into heaven" The cat replied "I believe you're sitting in my chair"

These memes have been resized for formatting purposes; should you need them, originals can be found HERE.   Now I hate to admit this but, ever since I was a child, I’ve had a fear that someone is under my bed at night. My condition got so bad that I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist and I explained my problem to her. I was quite honest with her and I just said, “Every time I go to bed I fear that someone is hiding under it. I’m really scared and I think I’m going crazy.” “I can help you,” she said. “If you put yourself in my hands for about a year, I can help you overcome your problem.” “What do I have to do?” I asked. “Well,” said the psychiatrist, “If you come here for therapy three times a week for about a year, we should be able to help you get rid of your fears.” “How much do you charge?” I asked, naturally. “For each visit, the fee is $100.” The psychiatrist replied. That needed a little thought, so I said, “Look, I think I’ll sleep on it and I’ll come back to you if necessary.“ Six months later, as I’m walking down Main Street, I bump into the psychiatrist and she remembers me. “You didn’t come back to see me about those fears you were having,” she said. “Well,” I responded, “when I left your office that day I went into a bar for a drink, to think it over. I was explaining the situation to the bartender and, when I told him how much it would cost, he said he could offer me a solution that was guaranteed for $10.” “Really?” said the psychiatrist, sounding more than a little irritated. “And how, may I ask, was your bartender able to resolve a complex psychological problem for just $10?” “He told me to cut the legs off my bed,” I said. “I did, and no one can get under there now.”