The old ones, as they say, âŠ
On their way to get married, a young Catholic couple were tragically involved in a fatal car accident, and they found themselves sitting outside the Pearly Gates, waiting for St. Peter to process them into Heaven.
While waiting they began to wonderâŠâŠcould they possibly get married in Heaven?
When St. Peter arrived, they asked if they could get married in Heaven.
St. Peter said, âI donât know. This is the first time anyone has asked. Let me go find out,â and he left.
The couple sat and waited for an answerâŠ. for a couple of months.
While they waited, they discussed the pros and cons. If they could get married in Heaven, should they get married, what with the eternal aspect of it all? What if it doesnât work? Are we stuck in Heaven together forever?
Another month passed, until finally St. Peter returned, looking somewhat frazzled.
âYes,â he informed the couple, âYou can get married in Heaven.â
âGreat!â said the couple. âBut we were just wonderingâŠwhat if things donât work out? Could we also get a divorce in Heaven?â
St. Peter, red-faced with anger, slammed his clipboard on the ground.
âWhatâs wrong?â asked the frightened couple.
âOH, COME ONâŠ!!!â St. Peter shouted. âIt took me 3 months to find a priest up here! Do you have any idea how long itâll take to find a lawyerâŠ?â
I live in a fairly rural village and we have a field of cows next door. I was talking to the farmer the other day who told me the breed of cow but I had to get her to repeat it several times. She was saying lie-mousse-in and it was only after a few attempts that I realised she meant Limousin 
I guess thatâs only funny if you know the correct way to say it!!!
Izzy x
Limouzine, je crois. 
I used to pronounce it Limouzan till I realised that vaches are feminine. Should have clocked earlier as âoh, la vacheâ is a common mild expletive round here (especially when playing petanque.) 
I live in Provence and there is a pronounced twang to their French. (Not unlike Quebecois.)
A recent conversation I had in passing with another villager had me remarking (rather typically Ă lâAnglaise) on the recent visit of Le Mistral and what it does to our palm trees. He kept saying âOui, câest le vin!â âLe vin!â Took me a moment to get that he was talking about âle ventâ and not referring to my purchases at the local Bon MarchĂ© 
Our southern French is influenced by langue dâoc, quĂ©bĂ©cois is mainly langue dâoil from the 18thC. They sound very different to me! (person from Provence).
When I was on the Comite des Fetes we used to organise regular lottos in the village and the president (of the comite) used to call the numbers. One night he lost his voice and so Igor our local Qubecois took over, I couldnât believe all the piss taking that went on over his accent, mind you he is a rather surly and unpopular figure. Common quotes were âwhat did he say?â and âwhat was that number?â
Anyway, there was this bloke in bed with his lady friend, who was somebody elseâs wife, in the middle of the day. Her husband was out of town but suddenly they heard the front door open. âQuick, get into the bathroom and hide, heâs home earlyâ.
Our lothario got into the shower cubicle and pulled the curtains. The husband called to his wife saying âjust nipping into the bathroomâ and she feared the worst.
On entering the husband pulled the curtains aside and saw this man tapping the tiles.
âWho are you and what the hell are you doing here?â
The answer was swift, without pausing in his task the miscreant said âCouncil, your wife said she was infested by moths.â
âBut you are nakedâ shouted the cuckold.
The man glanced down at his body and said âBastardsâ.
Credit to the late Barry Cryer. 
Late one afternoon, the Air Force at Area 51, that ultra-high-security- super-secret-base in Nevada, were very surprised to see a Cessna landing.
They immediately impounded the aircraft and hauled the pilot into an interrogation room.
The pilotâs story was that he took off from Vegas, got lost, and spotted the Base just as he was about to run out of fuel.
The Air Force started a full FBI background check on the pilot and held him overnight during the investigation. By the next day, they were finally convinced that the pilot really was lost and wasnât a spy. They gassed up his airplane, gave him a terrifying âyou-did-not-see-a-baseâ briefing, complete with threats of spending the rest of his life in prison, told him Vegas was that-a-way on such-and-such a heading and sent him on his way.
The day after that, to the total disbelief of the Air Force, the Cessna showed up again.
Once again, the MPâs surrounded itâŠ
Only this time there were two people on board.
The same pilot jumped out and said,
âDo anything you want to me, but my wife is on the plane, and you have to tell her where I was last night!â
Nooooooo!!!
That is the spit of the little dog I met in the butcherâs this morning, and no not on the slab. though he very much wanted to be, just a good job that the goodies he was drooling over were behind glass.
I exchanged a few words with him and his elderly female owner. I do seem to have such a lot of elderly female aquaintances, always good for a giggle, but I sometimes forget that they are often of my generation. 
A little boy goes to his father and asks, "Daddy, how was I born ?â
The father answers, "Well son, I guess one day you will need to find out anyway.
Your mum and I first got together in an online chat-room.
Then I set up a date via E-mail with your mum and we met at a Cyber cafe.
We sneaked into a secluded room, and googled each other.
There your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive.
Just as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later a little Pop-Up appeared that said, âYouâve got male !â
I always said my Dad was ahead of his time, 79 years ago.
Why do French people eat such tiny breakfasts?
Because one egg is un Ćuf.
Sorry!