The Funny Side of Life

By Roger Kohler

Roger Kohler thinks there is nothing better in life than having a good laugh. With that in mind, he shares a collection of humorous anecdotes that provide a chronological glimpse into his memories from a life well lived.

Kohler begins by detailing his childhood in Australia, where he attended boarding school with his occasionally ornery mates and was categorized by his French teacher as hopelessly weak. From shark sightings to run-ins with the police, Kohler narrates a slew of amusing events as he matured from boyhood into manhood. He details his adventures motoring around Sydney Cove with a girlfriend, attending concerts, and enduring a frightening encounter with an ex-girlfriend in the dark of the night. He provides an entertaining ride through his past as he embraces every experience, good or bad, with a smile.

The Funny Side of Life shares one mans amusing reflections about his unique journey as he discovers there is nothing more fun than laughing at lifes funny moments.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480806276

Roger Kohler

Roger Kohler was born in Sydney, Australia, and immigrated to the United States after marrying. He has been in the real estate business for thirty-eight years. Roger has three grown children and lives on Cape Cod with his wife, Adele, and their golden retriever, Bella.

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Copyright © 2014 Roger Kohler.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-0626-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0627-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014935844

Archway Publishing rev. date: 3/17/2014

Table of Contents

School Days

Classics Illustrated

Fish at Watson’s Bay

Luna Park

Wolf

Don’t Believe All You Hear

So God Made A Dog

To Adele, Emma, Christian, and Julian.

A pocketful of memories and funny stories from my childhood until now.

1

School Days

You know, if everyone laughed more, the world would be a better place.

There is nothing better than having a good laugh.

In fact, the harder you laugh, the better you feel.

Laughter can brighten up your day.

I often think of funny things, and it makes me feel better.

I decided to write down some funny stories I have heard during my life. They started off as a few, and I am surprised how the list has grown.

The Falklands War in 1980 between England and Argentina was described as two bald men fighting over a comb.

One of my first memories of laughter came when I was about four years old. My father had always been a practical joker, and on this occasion, I was the recipient.

We had a home in the western suburbs of Sydney, Australia, and the home was on about an acre of land. The backyard had lots of gum trees with large, low branches. My father picked me up and told me to hold on to one of the branches. He left me hanging there while l yelled,

Get me down !!!

My parents were there with friends, and of course, when I wet my pants, it was an enormous laughing matter—for them, not me. I decided there and then I would not be hanging my sons from a tree at age four.

So began my thoughts about laughter.

I attended an elementary school in the early fifties at North Parramatta, which is in the western suburbs of Sydney. ln the morning, the kids would assemble on a parade ground and then march to another area, disassemble, and go to class. We would assemble as the Washington Post March was blasted out loud and crackling from two large, trumpet-looking speakers mounted high on the school wall. We would all stumble off and be told to keep in step. I have known the music since then.

I attended The King’s School in Sydney, the oldest school in Australia, between 1956 and 1963. The head master was Mr. Hake; we called him Headhake.

I suppose, like most private boys’ schools, the boys at The King’s School were always coming up with nicknames for everyone. My older brother, John, was called Pepsi.

All the teachers got a name. Mr. Cardinal, the French teacher, was called Coddy Cardinal, although I’m not sure why. It was probably because he was a short, round man with a monocle clutched in one eye and attached to a chain that hung from his chest.

Mr. Dorsh was the Latin teacher. He was Axe Dorsh, because he used to occasionally give the misbehaving boys a bit of a swipe with his loose-hanging arm, which he was apparently born with.

There was a master at the school who taught chemistry. His name was Mr. Piggott, and he became hugely excited when he demonstrated how a tiny piece of sodium magnesium whizzed around like a jet boat when placed in a beacon of water and then exploded with a pop. His nickname was Sodium Piggott.

The music teacher, Mr. Asbow, was a short fellow who wore a bow tie and walked at great speed wherever he went. We called him Jazzy Azzy.

The school had both students who only attended classes during the day and students who boarded. Boarding students were mostly from the outback towns and had folks with sheep or cattle properties. One chap was from Wee Waa, a town located on the northwest slopes of the New England Region of New South Wales, 355 miles northwest of Sydney. The town had a population of 1,653, of which 20 percent were Aboriginal people. You guessed it……..we called him Wee Waa.

At school, I had a few mates, including Jeffo, Bruce, Tom, Nigel, Jimmy King, and Knocker Ward.

On one occasion, Bruce was having arguments at home and decided to go walkabout. He left home for about two weeks, and I guess he hitched a ride up north to Queensland, where he could sit on beaches and be a beach bum.

Our history teacher would come in each morning and do a roll call. We boys would acknowledge our presence by responding sir. This was a practice then to check attendance. There were about thirty boys in the class, and it would have been obvious to Mr. Moore that Bruce Hills was not there when he walked into the classroom; however, he would do the roll call in its entirety. When he came to Bruce’s name he would say,

HiIIs, BW.

Pause five seconds.

Hills, BW.

Pause five seconds.

Hills, BW.

Pause five seconds.

This went on for two weeks.

I can still hear,

Hills, BW.

After fifty years.

Nigel was another mate of mine at school. He was the Robin Williams of the school. I remember sitting in a coffee shop with him on one particular occasion. We were drinking coffee, and he exclaimed,

Man, is this coffee hot !!!

He was holding up his plastic spoon with no end on it.

I was too dumb to realize he had broken off the end before he put the spoon in the cup.

Jeffo was another mate and lived on about thirty acres out of town in a rural area. Many weekends I would go and stay with