Three tomatoes are walking down the street, a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato. The baby tomato is lagging behind the poppa and momma tomato. The poppa tomato gets mad, goes over to the momma tomato and stamps on him -- (STAMPS on the ground) -- and says: catch up.
The Perfect Son.
A: I have the perfect son.
B: Does he smoke?
A: No, he doesn't.
B: Does he drink whiskey?
A: No, he doesn't.
B: Does he ever come home late?
A: No, he doesn't.
B: I guess you really do have the perfect son. How old is he?
A: He will be six months old next Wednesday.