He enters the bar and sits down. The bartender comes over to him, sniffs him, says he smells kind of nerdy, and asks him what he does for a living.

The truck driver says he drives a truck, and the smell is just from the computers he is hauling. The bartender says okay, truck drivers are not nerds, and serves him a beer.

As he is sipping his beer, a skinny guy walks in with tape around his glasses, a pocket protector with twelve kinds of pens and pencils, and a belt at least a foot too long.

The bartender, without saying a word, pulls out a shotgun and blows the guy away.

The truck driver asks him why he did that. The bartender said not to worry, the nerds are overpopulating the Silicon Valley, and now they are in season.

"You don't even need a license," he said.

So the truck driver finishes his beer, gets back in his truck, and heads back onto the freeway. Suddenly, he veers to avoid an accident, and the load shifts. The back door breaks open and computers spill out all over the freeway. He jumps out and sees a crowd already forming, grabbing up the computers. They are all engineers, accountants, and programmers wearing the nerdiest clothes he has ever seen. He can't let them steal his whole load. Remembering what had happened in the bar, he pulls out his gun and starts blasting away, felling several of them instantly.

A highway patrol officer comes zooming up and jumps out of the car screaming at him to stop.

The truck driver says, "What's wrong? I thought nerds were in season."

"Well, sure," says the patrolman, "but you can't bait 'em."

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

"That surprises you, doesn't it?" the young woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.

The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from there on out, I have always done so. I have also, always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. 'In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!' So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder "What's with the fork?". Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork the best is yet to come."

The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye.

He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?"

And over and over he smiled. During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her.

The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right.

So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to "Keep your fork." Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share, being friends with someone is not an opportunity but a sweet responsibility.

And keep your fork.

Those who don't know are also in two groups.

One is those who don't know and know they don't know. Well, they can learn!

But then, there are those who don't know, and don't know they don't know. And they become  managers!

Two crows were cruising by, eyeing for some targets to poop on. (Those nasty birds!) The younger of the two crows tried to show off and dove onto those three guys.

Tut, tut, tut. But it went thud, thud, hitting only two of the three. The older crow went towards the couple in the moving row boat. Tut, tut. And it went thud, hitting only one of the two people in the small boat. Since this was a moving target, it didn't seem all that bad.

Then, out of nowhere came this little bird, wings still wet like it had just been hatched. It dove towards those three guys. Tut, tut, tut. Thud, thud, thud. It swooped over to the row boat. Tut, tut. Thud, thud. Then a kid riding a bike came around. It flew over there. Tut. Thud. It then rested on a tree branch.

So the two crows felt embarrassed and went over there, said, "We are impressed! Where did you learn to poop on people with such precision?"

The little one said, "I may be a new hatch but I've got plenty of experience. In my former life I was an attorney."

Carol, who was nailing down house siding, would reach into her nail pouch, pull out a nail and either toss it over her shoulder or nail it in.

Donna, figuring this was worth looking into, asked, "Why are you throwing those nails away?"

Carol explained, "When I pull a nail out of my pouch, about half of them have the head on the wrong end and I throw them away."

Donna got completely upset and yelled, "You moron! Those nails aren't defective! They're for the other side of the house!"