Time was that folks would pass around mimeographed cartoons that were uproariously funny, and we’d look at them and ask, “Who comes up with this stuff?”

The stock answer was that “Guys in prison think them up. They’ve got all the time in the world for it.”

Now, the supply of “Who comes up with this stuff?” stuff has been expanded with the onset of the Internet.

Some of it is unrepeatable in a family newspaper, but there are other things I can pass on — like a list of bumper stickers you’d like to see. One or two may not be politically incorrect, but if politically correct is what you want, you’ll have to look elsewhere.

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Your ridiculous little opinion has been noted.

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WANTED: Meaningful over-night relationship.

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Heart Attacks: God’s revenge for eating His animal friends.

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If you can read this ... I can slam on my brakes and sue you.

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Some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them.

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If you can’t feed ‘em, don’t breed ‘em.

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If you can read this, I’ve lost my trailer.

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Horn broken ... watch for finger.

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The Earth is full. Go home.

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So many pedestrians, so little time.

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Eat right, exercise, die anyway.

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Guys: No shirt, no service.

Gals: No shirt, no charge.

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Try not to let your mind wander. It is too small and fragile to be out by itself.

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Hang up and drive!

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And The No. 1 Bumper Sticker You’d Like To See:

Welcome to America ... now speak English!

(The LPGA — the U.S. women’s professional golf tour — has backed down from a really ill-conceived proposal to suspend any player who can’t pass an oral English exam. Amazingly, there are some foreign players, particularly the men, who talk to the ball and swear in English. Also, a friend of mine says that if you drive illegally in California, they’ll take your license — but If you’re there illegally, they’ll give you one.)

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Other friends have submitted lists of questions that need answers, including these:

• If Wile E. Coyote had enough money to buy all of that Acme stuff, why didn’t he just buy dinner?

• If corn oil is made from corn and vegetable oil is made from vegetables, then what is baby oil made from?

• If Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, why does one stand on two legs while the other stays on all fours?

• Why are boxing rings square?

• If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

• Why do some things burn up, while others burn down?

• Why do noses run and feet smell?

• Why are a slim chance and a fat chance the same?

• Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle? (Justin Wilson once asked, “If penetrating oil is that good, how do they keep it in the can?”) and

• Can a hearse carrying a corpse drive in the car pool lane?

The last one reminds me of a story I heard from an old funeral director who plied his trade in Cumberland some years ago.

He said it dated from a time when he didn’t have access to an ambulance and had to take an assistant and go to the deceased’s home in his family car.

One of his clients lived ... and died ... in a nearby town. The funeral director and the assistant drove there, propped up the late gentleman in the back seat of his car and turned and burned back to Cumberland.

On the return trip, his assistant expressed a desire for a cup of coffee. There were no convenience stores back then, but there was a bar on the road (I’ve been there), so the funeral director stopped and his assistant got out to go in for coffee.

While the assistant was in the bar, a fellow who knew the funeral director walked up to his car and asked if he could bum a ride home.

“It’s OK with me,” said the funeral director, “if you don’t mind riding in the back seat with a corpse.”

“I was in the Army in Europe during the war,” replied the man. “I’ve probably seen more dead people than you have.”

So he climbed into the back seat and sat down. Presently, the undertaker’s assistant came back out with his coffee and got into the front seat, and off they went.

A couple of miles or so down the road, the man who was sharing the back seat with the corpse asked, “Do you guys mind if I smoke back here?”

With the car going 40 miles per hour, the funeral director’s assistant threw open his door and jumped out.

Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.