A frog called a phone psychic who told him, "You are going to meet a beautiful young woman who will want to know everything about you."
     "That's great!" said the amphibian. "Will I meet her at a party or what?"
     "No, next semester," answered the psychic. "In her biology class."

     Passengers on a flight to the Caribbean had settled in and waited for takeoff, but nothing happened. Ten minutes, then twenty minutes passed, and the passengers were left to look around at one another in confusion.
     Finally, a flight attendant's voice came over the loudspeaker: "We're sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. The machine that automatically beats up your luggage then tears off the handles is broken, so we're having to do it manually. Please be patient. We should be finished and on our way shortly."

     Question: What's so great about being a psychic amnesiac?
     Answer: You know in advance what you're going to forget.

     An elderly man lay dying upstairs in bed, in his home. He smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies baking. Desperately wanting one last cookie before he died, he rolled out of bed, crawled laboriously to the landing, rolled down the stairs and inched his way across the living room floor into the kitchen, where he saw his wife busily baking cookies.
     With his last remaining strength, he crawled to the table and lifted his withered arm up to the cookie sheet. As his gnarled, emaciated fingers grasped a warm, moist cookie, his wife suddenly whacked his hand with a spatula.
     Appearing deeply hurt and gasping for breath, the old man looked up at her with a pitiful expression and asked, "Why did you do that?"
     "Those are for the funeral," she replied.

     At a street fair, a woman approached a psychic, who told her, "For ten dollars I will answer one question."
     "Ten dollars for one question!" exclaimed the woman as she took out a ten dollar bill. "That's a bit expensive, isn't it?"
     The psychic grabbed the ten-dollar bill, then hollered, "Next!"

     Scribbled across the men's room wall: I almost had a psychic girlfriend, but she left me before we met.

     Jean-Paul Sartre sat in a Paris cafe one afternoon, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness, when the waitress approached.
     "A cup of coffee, please," he said to her. "No cream."
     "I'm sorry, monsieur," said the waitress, "but we're out of cream today. Would you like your coffee with no milk instead?"

     Famous last words: "I wonder how the supermarket can make a profit from selling this salmon at only forty cents a can?"