It got crowded in heaven so, for one day and one day only, it was decided to only accept people who had really bad day on the day they died.
St. Peter was standing at the pearly gates and said to the first man, "Tell me about the day you died." The man said, "Oh, it was awful. I was sure my wife was having an affair, so I came home early to catch her with him. I searched all over the apartment but couldn't find him anywhere. So I went out onto the balcony, we live on the 25th floor, and found this man hanging over the edge by his fingertips. I went inside, got a hammer, and started hitting his hands. He fell, but landed in some bushes. So, I got the refrigerator and pushed it over the balcony and it crushed him. The strain of the act gave me a heart attack, of which I died from."
St. Peter couldn't deny that this was a pretty bad day, and since it was a crime of passion, he let the man in. He then asked the next man in line about the day he died. "Well, sir, it was awful," said the second man. "I was doing aerobics on the balcony of my 26th floor apartment when I twisted my ankle and slipped over the edge. I managed to grab the balcony of the apartment below, but some maniac came out and started pounding on my fingers with a hammer. Luckily I landed in some bushes. But, then the guy dropped a refrigerator on me!"
St. Peter chuckled, let him into heaven and decided he could really start to enjoy this job. "Tell me about the day you died?” he said to the third man in line. "OK, picture this; I'm naked, hiding inside a refrigerator...."
Sunday 31 January 2010
Saturday 30 January 2010
DO YOU KNOW THE FRONT FROM THE BACK OF A TREE?
A MAORI FELLA FROM TE KUITI DECIDES TO TRAVEL ACROSS THE LAND TO SEE GOD'S COUNTRY.
WHEN HE GETS TO TOKAROA , HE LIKES THE PLACE SO MUCH THAT HE DECIDES TO STAY A WHILE.
BUT FIRST HE MUST FIND A JOB!!!!
HE WALKS INTO THE INTERNATIONAL LOGGING COMPANY OFFICE AND FILLS OUT AN APPLICATION
AS AN EXPERIENCED LOG INSPECTOR. IT'S HIS LUCKY DAY!!! THEY JUST HAPPEN TO BE
LOOKING FOR SOMEONE, BUT FIRST, THE LOG FOREMAN TAKES HIM FOR A RIDE INTO THE FOREST IN THE COMPANY PICKUP TRUCK TO SEE HOW MUCH HE KNOWS THE FOREMAN STOPS THE TRUCK ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND POINTS AT A TREE "SEE THAT TREE OVER THERE? I WANT YOU TO TELL ME WHAT SPECIES IT IS AND HOW MANY BOARD FEET OF LUMBER IT CONTAINS."
THE MAORI FELLA PROMPTLY ANSWERS, "THAT "FELLAZ" A PINUS RADIATA MATE, 383 BOARD
FEET OF LUMBER IN 'ER."
THE FOREMAN IS IMPRESSED!!! HE PUTS THE TRUCK IN MOTION AND STOPS ABOUT A MILE
DOWN THE ROAD. HE POINTS AT ANOTHER TREE THROUGH THE PASSENGER WINDOW AND ASKS THE
SAME QUESTION. THIS TIME, IT'S A BIGGER TREE OF A DIFFERENT CLASS..
"THAT'S A RIMU AND SHE'S GOT ABOUT 456 CLEAR BOARD FEET."
THE FOREMAN IS REALLY IMPRESSED, HE HAS BEEN QUICK AND GOT THE ANSWERS RIGHT
WITHOUT USING A CALCULATOR !!!!
ONE MORE TEST. THEY DRIVE A LITTLE FURTHER DOWN THE ROAD, AND THE FOREMAN STOPS
AGAIN. THIS TIME, HE POINTS ACROSS THE ROAD THROUGH HIS DRIVER SIDE WINDOW AND SAYS,
"AND WHAT ABOUT THAT ONE?"
BEFORE THE FOREMAN FINISHES POINTING THE MAORI FELLA SAYS, "DOUGLAS FIR BRO ,
242 BOARD FEET AT BEST MATE ........."
THE FOREMAN SPINS THE TRUCK AROUND AND HEADS BACK TO THE OFFICE A LITTLE TICKED
OFF BECAUSE HE THINKS THE MAORI FELLA IS SMARTER THAN HE IS. AS THEY NEAR THE
OFFICE, THE FOREMAN STOPS THE TRUCK AND ASKS HIM TO STEP OUTSIDE.
HE HANDS HIM A PIECE OF CHALK AND TELLS HIM, "SEE THAT TREE OVER THERE?" "I WANT YOU TO MARK AN X ON THE FRONT OF THAT TREE!! " THE MAORI FELLA SAY'S "IS THIS THE SIGNING OF THE TREATY ALL OVER AGAIN BRO"
THE FOREMAN THINKS TO HIMSELF, "IDIOT, HOW WOULD HE KNOW WHICH IS THE FRONT OF THE TREE?"
WHEN THE MAORI FELLA REACHES THE TREE, HE GOES AROUND IT IN A CIRCLE WHILE LOOKING
AT THE GROUND. HE THEN REACHES UP AND PLACES A WHITE X ON THE TRUNK.
HE WALKS BACK TO THE FOREMAN AND HANDS HIM THE CHALK. "THAT'S THE FRONT BRO ,"
THE MAORI FELLA SAYS.
THE FOREMAN LAUGHS TO HIMSELF AND ASKS SARCASTICALLY, "HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU KNOW
THAT'S THE FRONT OF THE TREE?
THE MAORI FELLA WITH A LITTLE SMILE ON HIS FACE AND WIPING HIS BOOT ON THE GRASS
SAYS ! "CUZ SOME FELLA JUST SHIT BEHIND IT !""
HE GOT THE JOB.
WHEN HE GETS TO TOKAROA , HE LIKES THE PLACE SO MUCH THAT HE DECIDES TO STAY A WHILE.
BUT FIRST HE MUST FIND A JOB!!!!
HE WALKS INTO THE INTERNATIONAL LOGGING COMPANY OFFICE AND FILLS OUT AN APPLICATION
AS AN EXPERIENCED LOG INSPECTOR. IT'S HIS LUCKY DAY!!! THEY JUST HAPPEN TO BE
LOOKING FOR SOMEONE, BUT FIRST, THE LOG FOREMAN TAKES HIM FOR A RIDE INTO THE FOREST IN THE COMPANY PICKUP TRUCK TO SEE HOW MUCH HE KNOWS THE FOREMAN STOPS THE TRUCK ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD AND POINTS AT A TREE "SEE THAT TREE OVER THERE? I WANT YOU TO TELL ME WHAT SPECIES IT IS AND HOW MANY BOARD FEET OF LUMBER IT CONTAINS."
THE MAORI FELLA PROMPTLY ANSWERS, "THAT "FELLAZ" A PINUS RADIATA MATE, 383 BOARD
FEET OF LUMBER IN 'ER."
THE FOREMAN IS IMPRESSED!!! HE PUTS THE TRUCK IN MOTION AND STOPS ABOUT A MILE
DOWN THE ROAD. HE POINTS AT ANOTHER TREE THROUGH THE PASSENGER WINDOW AND ASKS THE
SAME QUESTION. THIS TIME, IT'S A BIGGER TREE OF A DIFFERENT CLASS..
"THAT'S A RIMU AND SHE'S GOT ABOUT 456 CLEAR BOARD FEET."
THE FOREMAN IS REALLY IMPRESSED, HE HAS BEEN QUICK AND GOT THE ANSWERS RIGHT
WITHOUT USING A CALCULATOR !!!!
ONE MORE TEST. THEY DRIVE A LITTLE FURTHER DOWN THE ROAD, AND THE FOREMAN STOPS
AGAIN. THIS TIME, HE POINTS ACROSS THE ROAD THROUGH HIS DRIVER SIDE WINDOW AND SAYS,
"AND WHAT ABOUT THAT ONE?"
BEFORE THE FOREMAN FINISHES POINTING THE MAORI FELLA SAYS, "DOUGLAS FIR BRO ,
242 BOARD FEET AT BEST MATE ........."
THE FOREMAN SPINS THE TRUCK AROUND AND HEADS BACK TO THE OFFICE A LITTLE TICKED
OFF BECAUSE HE THINKS THE MAORI FELLA IS SMARTER THAN HE IS. AS THEY NEAR THE
OFFICE, THE FOREMAN STOPS THE TRUCK AND ASKS HIM TO STEP OUTSIDE.
HE HANDS HIM A PIECE OF CHALK AND TELLS HIM, "SEE THAT TREE OVER THERE?" "I WANT YOU TO MARK AN X ON THE FRONT OF THAT TREE!! " THE MAORI FELLA SAY'S "IS THIS THE SIGNING OF THE TREATY ALL OVER AGAIN BRO"
THE FOREMAN THINKS TO HIMSELF, "IDIOT, HOW WOULD HE KNOW WHICH IS THE FRONT OF THE TREE?"
WHEN THE MAORI FELLA REACHES THE TREE, HE GOES AROUND IT IN A CIRCLE WHILE LOOKING
AT THE GROUND. HE THEN REACHES UP AND PLACES A WHITE X ON THE TRUNK.
HE WALKS BACK TO THE FOREMAN AND HANDS HIM THE CHALK. "THAT'S THE FRONT BRO ,"
THE MAORI FELLA SAYS.
THE FOREMAN LAUGHS TO HIMSELF AND ASKS SARCASTICALLY, "HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU KNOW
THAT'S THE FRONT OF THE TREE?
THE MAORI FELLA WITH A LITTLE SMILE ON HIS FACE AND WIPING HIS BOOT ON THE GRASS
SAYS ! "CUZ SOME FELLA JUST SHIT BEHIND IT !""
HE GOT THE JOB.
Friday 29 January 2010
A TYPICAL BLOKE
He booked himself on a cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank.
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore.
In disbelief, he asks, 'Where did you come from? How did you get here?'
She replies, 'I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank.'
'Amazing,' he notes. 'You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.'
'Oh, this thing?' explains the woman. 'I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island.
The oars were whittled from gum tree branches.
I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree.'
'But, where did you get the tools?'
Oh, that was no problem,' replied the woman. 'On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed.
I found if I fired it to a certain temperature, it melted into ductile iron.
I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware.'
The guy is stunned.
'Let's row over to my place,' she says.
After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat.
Before him is stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.
As they walk into the house, she says casually, 'It's not much but I call it home. Sit down, please.
Would you like a drink?'
'No! No thank you,' he blurts out, still dazed.
'I can't take another drop of coconut juice.'
'It's not coconut juice,' winks the woman. 'I have a still.
How would you like a Pina Colada?'
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.
After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, 'I'm going to slip into something more comfortable.
Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet.'
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom.
There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone.
Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism.
'This woman is amazing,' he muses. 'What next?'
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias.
She beckons for him to sit down next to her.
'Tell me,' she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, 'We've been out here for many months.
You've been lonely.
There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?'
She stares into his eyes ...
He swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes.....
'F**king hell, don't tell me you've got Sky Sports?'
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore.
In disbelief, he asks, 'Where did you come from? How did you get here?'
She replies, 'I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank.'
'Amazing,' he notes. 'You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.'
'Oh, this thing?' explains the woman. 'I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island.
The oars were whittled from gum tree branches.
I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree.'
'But, where did you get the tools?'
Oh, that was no problem,' replied the woman. 'On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed.
I found if I fired it to a certain temperature, it melted into ductile iron.
I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware.'
The guy is stunned.
'Let's row over to my place,' she says.
After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat.
Before him is stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.
As they walk into the house, she says casually, 'It's not much but I call it home. Sit down, please.
Would you like a drink?'
'No! No thank you,' he blurts out, still dazed.
'I can't take another drop of coconut juice.'
'It's not coconut juice,' winks the woman. 'I have a still.
How would you like a Pina Colada?'
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.
After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, 'I'm going to slip into something more comfortable.
Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet.'
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom.
There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone.
Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism.
'This woman is amazing,' he muses. 'What next?'
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias.
She beckons for him to sit down next to her.
'Tell me,' she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, 'We've been out here for many months.
You've been lonely.
There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?'
She stares into his eyes ...
He swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes.....
'F**king hell, don't tell me you've got Sky Sports?'
Thursday 28 January 2010
His will provided £40,000 for an elaborate funeral.
As the last guests departed the affair, his wife Colleen turned to her oldest and dearest friend.
"Ah well, to be sure Paddy would be pleased," she said.
"To be sure you're right," replied Mary, who lowered her voice and leaned in close.
"So go on, how much did this really cost?'"
"All of it," said Colleen. "Forty thousand."
"Aw No!" Mary exclaimed. "I mean, it was very grand, but £40,000?!!!"
Colleen answered, "The funeral was £6,500. I donated £500 to church. The whiskey, wine and snacks were another £500.
The rest went for the Memorial Stone."
Mary computed quickly. "For the love of God Colleen, £32,500 for a Memorial Stone? How big is it?"
See below
Got to love the Irish!
As the last guests departed the affair, his wife Colleen turned to her oldest and dearest friend.
"Ah well, to be sure Paddy would be pleased," she said.
"To be sure you're right," replied Mary, who lowered her voice and leaned in close.
"So go on, how much did this really cost?'"
"All of it," said Colleen. "Forty thousand."
"Aw No!" Mary exclaimed. "I mean, it was very grand, but £40,000?!!!"
Colleen answered, "The funeral was £6,500. I donated £500 to church. The whiskey, wine and snacks were another £500.
The rest went for the Memorial Stone."
Mary computed quickly. "For the love of God Colleen, £32,500 for a Memorial Stone? How big is it?"
See below
Got to love the Irish!
Wednesday 27 January 2010
Do You Believe In Ghosts?
A professor at Cardiff University is giving a seminar on the supernatural. Getting a feel for his students, he asks "How many of you believe in ghosts?" About 80 of his students raise their hands.
"That's a good start I suppose. Those of you who believe in ghosts, how many have actually seen a ghost?" About 30 students raise their hands.
"That's good. I'm really glad you're taking this seriously. Ok, has anyone here ever talked to a ghost?" About a dozen students raise their hands.
"That's a great response. Has anyone ever touched a ghost?" Two students raise their hands. "That's fantastic. But let me ask you one last question... have any of you ever made love to a ghost?"
One student in the back raises his hand. The professor is astonished. He removes his glasses, takes a step back, and says, "Son, in all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever actually claimed to have slept with a ghost. Why don't you come up here and tell us about it."
The Welsh student replies with a nod and a grin, and begins to make his way up to the podium. The professor says, "Well, tell us what it's like to have sex with a ghost."
The student replies, "Ghost? Oh... I thought you said 'goats'!"
"That's a good start I suppose. Those of you who believe in ghosts, how many have actually seen a ghost?" About 30 students raise their hands.
"That's good. I'm really glad you're taking this seriously. Ok, has anyone here ever talked to a ghost?" About a dozen students raise their hands.
"That's a great response. Has anyone ever touched a ghost?" Two students raise their hands. "That's fantastic. But let me ask you one last question... have any of you ever made love to a ghost?"
One student in the back raises his hand. The professor is astonished. He removes his glasses, takes a step back, and says, "Son, in all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever actually claimed to have slept with a ghost. Why don't you come up here and tell us about it."
The Welsh student replies with a nod and a grin, and begins to make his way up to the podium. The professor says, "Well, tell us what it's like to have sex with a ghost."
The student replies, "Ghost? Oh... I thought you said 'goats'!"
Monday 25 January 2010
A goat story
A goat walks into a Jobcentre and goes up to the counter. In perfect English he asks the assistant "Do you happen to have any jobs going to suit my talents?"
The assistant is stunned to hear a talking goat but manages to keep calm, and tries to be helpful... "well", he said, "with your talents I should imagine we could certainly find a job for you in a Circus"
The goat is equally taken aback.. "Really? I wouldn't have thought they'd have much use for a bricklayer but I'll give it a try..."
The assistant is stunned to hear a talking goat but manages to keep calm, and tries to be helpful... "well", he said, "with your talents I should imagine we could certainly find a job for you in a Circus"
The goat is equally taken aback.. "Really? I wouldn't have thought they'd have much use for a bricklayer but I'll give it a try..."
Sunday 24 January 2010
Sunday school class
I was testing children in my Glasgow Sunday school class to see if they understood the concept of getting to heaven.
I asked them, 'If I sold my house and my car, had a big jumble sale and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into heaven?'
'NO!' the children answered.
'If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the garden, and kept everything tidy, would that get me into heaven?'
Again, the answer was 'No!' By now I was starting to smile.
' Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave sweeties to all the children, and loved my husband, would that get me into heaven?'
Again, they all answered 'No!'.
I was just bursting with pride for them.
I continued, ' Then how can I get into heaven?'
A six year-old boy shouted out 'YUV GOTTAE BE FUCKN' DEAD..........'
I asked them, 'If I sold my house and my car, had a big jumble sale and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into heaven?'
'NO!' the children answered.
'If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the garden, and kept everything tidy, would that get me into heaven?'
Again, the answer was 'No!' By now I was starting to smile.
' Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave sweeties to all the children, and loved my husband, would that get me into heaven?'
Again, they all answered 'No!'.
I was just bursting with pride for them.
I continued, ' Then how can I get into heaven?'
A six year-old boy shouted out 'YUV GOTTAE BE FUCKN' DEAD..........'
Saturday 23 January 2010
THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT HERE
We Must Stop This Immediately
Have you noticed that stairs are getting steeper. Groceries are heavier. And, everything is further away. Yesterday I walked to the corner and I was dumbfounded to discover how long our street had become!
And, you know, people are less considerate now, especially the young ones. They speak in whispers all the time! If you ask them to speak up they just keep repeating themselves, endlessly mouthing the same silent message until they're red in the face! What do they think I am, a lip reader?
I also think they are much younger than I was at the same age. On the other hand, people my own age are so much older than I am. I ran into an old friend the other day and she has aged so much that she didn't even recognize me.
I got to thinking about the poor dear while I was combing my hair this morning, and in doing so, I glanced at my own reflection well, REALLY NOW - even mirrors are not made the way they used to be!
Another thing, everyone drives so fast these days! You're risking life and limb if you happen to pull onto the motorway in front of them. All I can say is, their brakes must wear out awfully fast, the way I see them screech and swerve in my rear view mirror.
Clothing manufacturers are less civilized these days. Why else would they suddenly start labeling a size 10 or 12 dress as 18 or 20? Do they think no one notices? The people who make bathroom scales are pulling the same prank. Do they think I actually 'believe' the number I see on that dial? HA! I would never let myself weigh that much! Just who do these people think they're fooling?
I'd like to call up someone in authority to report what's going on -- but the telephone company is in on the conspiracy too: they've printed the phone books in such small type that no one could ever find a number in there!
All I can do is pass along this warning:
WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!
Unless something drastic happens, pretty soon everyone will have to suffer these awful indignities.
PLEASE PASS THIS ON TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW AS SOON AS POSSIBLE SO WE CAN GET THIS CONSPIRACY STOPPED!
PS: I have typed this in a larger font size, because something has happened to my computer's fonts - they are smaller than they once were.
Have you noticed that stairs are getting steeper. Groceries are heavier. And, everything is further away. Yesterday I walked to the corner and I was dumbfounded to discover how long our street had become!
And, you know, people are less considerate now, especially the young ones. They speak in whispers all the time! If you ask them to speak up they just keep repeating themselves, endlessly mouthing the same silent message until they're red in the face! What do they think I am, a lip reader?
I also think they are much younger than I was at the same age. On the other hand, people my own age are so much older than I am. I ran into an old friend the other day and she has aged so much that she didn't even recognize me.
I got to thinking about the poor dear while I was combing my hair this morning, and in doing so, I glanced at my own reflection well, REALLY NOW - even mirrors are not made the way they used to be!
Another thing, everyone drives so fast these days! You're risking life and limb if you happen to pull onto the motorway in front of them. All I can say is, their brakes must wear out awfully fast, the way I see them screech and swerve in my rear view mirror.
Clothing manufacturers are less civilized these days. Why else would they suddenly start labeling a size 10 or 12 dress as 18 or 20? Do they think no one notices? The people who make bathroom scales are pulling the same prank. Do they think I actually 'believe' the number I see on that dial? HA! I would never let myself weigh that much! Just who do these people think they're fooling?
I'd like to call up someone in authority to report what's going on -- but the telephone company is in on the conspiracy too: they've printed the phone books in such small type that no one could ever find a number in there!
All I can do is pass along this warning:
WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!
Unless something drastic happens, pretty soon everyone will have to suffer these awful indignities.
PLEASE PASS THIS ON TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW AS SOON AS POSSIBLE SO WE CAN GET THIS CONSPIRACY STOPPED!
PS: I have typed this in a larger font size, because something has happened to my computer's fonts - they are smaller than they once were.
Friday 22 January 2010
Two Ladies Talking in Heaven
1st woman: Hi! My name is Wanda..
2nd woman: Hi! I'm Sylvia. How'd you die?
1st woman: I froze to death.
2nd woman: How horrible!
1st woman: It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold, I began to get
warm & sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?
2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was
cheating, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead, I found him all
by himself in the den watching TV.
1st woman: So, what happened?
2nd woman: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over with a heart attack and died.
1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer---we'd both still be alive.
2nd woman: Hi! I'm Sylvia. How'd you die?
1st woman: I froze to death.
2nd woman: How horrible!
1st woman: It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold, I began to get
warm & sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?
2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was
cheating, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead, I found him all
by himself in the den watching TV.
1st woman: So, what happened?
2nd woman: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over with a heart attack and died.
1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer---we'd both still be alive.
Thursday 21 January 2010
THE FINAL WORD ON NUTRITION
After an exhaustive review of the research literature, here's the final word on nutrition and health:
1. Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
2. Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
3. Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
4. Italians drink excessive amounts of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
5. Germans drink beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
CONCLUSION:
Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.
1. Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
2. Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
3. Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
4. Italians drink excessive amounts of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
5. Germans drink beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.
CONCLUSION:
Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.
Wednesday 20 January 2010
HOW TO BE A GRACIOUS B*TCH
Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement - not even her parent's nasty divorce.
Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear, and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!
A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new, young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother!
Jennifer asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused. ''Absolutely not! I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,'' she replied.
Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, ''Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day.''
A few days later, they went shopping, and did find another gorgeous dress for her mother.
When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, ''Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."
Her mother just smiled and replied, ''Of course I do, dear.....I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.''
(NOW I ASK YOU - IS THERE A WOMAN OUT THERE, ANYWHERE, WHO WOULDN'T ENJOY THIS STORY?)
__________________________________
Women are like phones:
They like to be held, talked to, and touched often.
But push the wrong button and you are disconnected!
Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear, and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!
A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new, young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother!
Jennifer asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused. ''Absolutely not! I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,'' she replied.
Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, ''Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day.''
A few days later, they went shopping, and did find another gorgeous dress for her mother.
When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, ''Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."
Her mother just smiled and replied, ''Of course I do, dear.....I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.''
(NOW I ASK YOU - IS THERE A WOMAN OUT THERE, ANYWHERE, WHO WOULDN'T ENJOY THIS STORY?)
__________________________________
Women are like phones:
They like to be held, talked to, and touched often.
But push the wrong button and you are disconnected!
Monday 18 January 2010
Two old men
Two old men decide they are close to their last days and decide to have a last night on the town.
After a few drinks, they end up at the local brothel.
The madam takes one look at the two old geezers and whispers to her manager, 'go up to the first two bedrooms and put an inflated doll in each bed.
These two are so old and drunk, I'm not wasting two of my girls on them. They won't know the difference.'
The manager does as he is told and the two old men go upstairs and take care of their business. As they are staggering home the first man says,
'You know, I think my girl was dead!'
'Dead?' says his friend, 'why do you say that?'
'Well, she never moved or made a sound all the time I was banging her.'
His friend says, 'Could be worse, I think mine was a witch.'
'A witch ??. . Why the hell would you say that?'
'Well, I was banging away, kissing her on the neck, and I gave her a little bite, then she farted and flew out the window..... Took my teeth with her!'
After a few drinks, they end up at the local brothel.
The madam takes one look at the two old geezers and whispers to her manager, 'go up to the first two bedrooms and put an inflated doll in each bed.
These two are so old and drunk, I'm not wasting two of my girls on them. They won't know the difference.'
The manager does as he is told and the two old men go upstairs and take care of their business. As they are staggering home the first man says,
'You know, I think my girl was dead!'
'Dead?' says his friend, 'why do you say that?'
'Well, she never moved or made a sound all the time I was banging her.'
His friend says, 'Could be worse, I think mine was a witch.'
'A witch ??. . Why the hell would you say that?'
'Well, I was banging away, kissing her on the neck, and I gave her a little bite, then she farted and flew out the window..... Took my teeth with her!'
Sunday 17 January 2010
Saturday 16 January 2010
Irish ballerina
A fat woman, wearing a sleeveless sun dress, walked into a bar in Dublin .
She raised her right arm, revealing a hairy armpit, and pointing to all the people sitting at the bar, asked, 'What man here will buy a lady a drink?'
The bar went silent as the patrons tried to ignore her.
But down at the end of the bar, a bleary-eyed drunk slammed his hand down on the counter and bellowed 'Give the ballerina a drink!'
The bartender poured the drink and the woman chugged it down.
She turned to the patrons and again revealing the same hairy armpit, asked, 'What man here will buy a lady a drink?'
Once again, the same drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, 'Give the ballerina another drink!'
The bartender approached the drunk and said 'Tell me, Paddy, it's your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep calling her a ballerina?'
The drunk replied, 'Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!'
She raised her right arm, revealing a hairy armpit, and pointing to all the people sitting at the bar, asked, 'What man here will buy a lady a drink?'
The bar went silent as the patrons tried to ignore her.
But down at the end of the bar, a bleary-eyed drunk slammed his hand down on the counter and bellowed 'Give the ballerina a drink!'
The bartender poured the drink and the woman chugged it down.
She turned to the patrons and again revealing the same hairy armpit, asked, 'What man here will buy a lady a drink?'
Once again, the same drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, 'Give the ballerina another drink!'
The bartender approached the drunk and said 'Tell me, Paddy, it's your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep calling her a ballerina?'
The drunk replied, 'Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!'
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Shopping in Budgeons
Yesterday I was in Budgeon's in Henfield buying a large bag of Chappie dog food for my loyal pet dog...and was in the checkout line when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog.
What did she think I had...an elephant? So since I had lots of time...on impulse I told her that no...I didn't have a dog...I was starting the Chappie Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn't...because I ended up in the hospital last time...but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.
I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with Chappie nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.)
Horrified...she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no...I stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's bum and a car hit us both.
I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard. Budgeon's won't let me shop there anymore.
What did she think I had...an elephant? So since I had lots of time...on impulse I told her that no...I didn't have a dog...I was starting the Chappie Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn't...because I ended up in the hospital last time...but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.
I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with Chappie nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.)
Horrified...she asked if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no...I stepped off a curb to sniff an Irish Setter's bum and a car hit us both.
I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard. Budgeon's won't let me shop there anymore.
Monday 11 January 2010
Mandelson
The following article by Jeremy Clarkson was to be in a recent Sunday Times but was 'pulled' - probably by the subject of the article, Mandelson. So much for free speech. But poor old Manglebum fails to appreciate how the blogsphere works and in no time the article finds itself going viral round the world.
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt on.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America .
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt on.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America .
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.
Sunday 10 January 2010
Leaving home
Dear Mum Letter.....
A mother passing by her son's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made, and everything was picked up. Then, she saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow.
It was addressed, 'Mum' With the worst premonition, she opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands.
'Dear, Mum.
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you.
I've been finding real passion with Stacy, and she is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her, because of all her piercing's, tattoos, her tight Motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am.
But it's not only the passion, Mum. She's pregnant.
Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter.
We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves, and trading it with the other people in the commune, for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.
In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS, so Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!!
Don't worry Mum, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself.
Someday, I'm sure we'll be back to visit, so you can get to know your many grandchildren.
Love, your son, Nicholas.
“P.S. Mum, none of the above is true. I'm over at Jason's house.
I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that's on my desk”
I love you!
Call when it is safe for me to come home.
A mother passing by her son's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made, and everything was picked up. Then, she saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow.
It was addressed, 'Mum' With the worst premonition, she opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands.
'Dear, Mum.
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you.
I've been finding real passion with Stacy, and she is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her, because of all her piercing's, tattoos, her tight Motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am.
But it's not only the passion, Mum. She's pregnant.
Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter.
We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves, and trading it with the other people in the commune, for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.
In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS, so Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!!
Don't worry Mum, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself.
Someday, I'm sure we'll be back to visit, so you can get to know your many grandchildren.
Love, your son, Nicholas.
“P.S. Mum, none of the above is true. I'm over at Jason's house.
I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that's on my desk”
I love you!
Call when it is safe for me to come home.
Friday 8 January 2010
The Golfer
A golfer playing in Ireland hooked his drive into the woods. Looking for his ball, he found a little Leprechaun flat on his back, a big bump on his head and the golfer's ball beside him.
Horrified, the golfer got his water bottle from the cart and poured it over the little guy, reviving him.
'Arrgh! What happened?' the Leprechaun asked.
'I'm afraid I hit you with my golf ball,' the golfer says.
'Oh, I see. Well, ye got me fair and square. Ye get three wishes, so whaddya want?'
'Thank God, you're all right!' the golfer answers in relief. 'I don't want anything, I'm just glad you're OK, and I apologize.'
And the golfer walks off....
'What a nice guy,' the Leprechaun says to himself.
I have to do something for him. I'll give him the three things I would want... a great golf game, all the money he ever needs, and a fantastic sex life.'
A year goes by and the golfer is back. On the same hole, he again hits a bad drive into the woods and the Leprechaun is there waiting for him.
'Twas me that made ye hit the ball here,' the little guy says. 'I just want to ask ye, how's yer golf game?'
'My game is fantastic!' the golfer answers. I'm an internationally famous golfer now.' He adds, 'By the way, it's good to see you're all right.'
'Oh, I'm fine now, thank ye. I did that fer yer golf game, you know. And tell me, how's yer money situation?'
'Why, it's just wonderful!' the golfer states. 'When I need cash, I just reach in my pocket and pull out $100 bills I didn't even know were there!'
'I did that fer ye also.' And tell me, how's yer sex life?'
The golfer blushes, turns his head away in embarrassment, and says shyly, 'It's OK.'
C'mon, c'mon now,' urged the Leprechaun, 'I'm wanting to know if I did a good job. How many times a week?'
Blushing even more, the golfer looks around then whispers, 'Once, sometimes twice a week.'
'What??' responds the Leprechaun in shock. 'That's all? Only once or twice a week?'
'Well,' says the golfer, 'I figure that's not bad for a Catholic priest in a small parish.'
Horrified, the golfer got his water bottle from the cart and poured it over the little guy, reviving him.
'Arrgh! What happened?' the Leprechaun asked.
'I'm afraid I hit you with my golf ball,' the golfer says.
'Oh, I see. Well, ye got me fair and square. Ye get three wishes, so whaddya want?'
'Thank God, you're all right!' the golfer answers in relief. 'I don't want anything, I'm just glad you're OK, and I apologize.'
And the golfer walks off....
'What a nice guy,' the Leprechaun says to himself.
I have to do something for him. I'll give him the three things I would want... a great golf game, all the money he ever needs, and a fantastic sex life.'
A year goes by and the golfer is back. On the same hole, he again hits a bad drive into the woods and the Leprechaun is there waiting for him.
'Twas me that made ye hit the ball here,' the little guy says. 'I just want to ask ye, how's yer golf game?'
'My game is fantastic!' the golfer answers. I'm an internationally famous golfer now.' He adds, 'By the way, it's good to see you're all right.'
'Oh, I'm fine now, thank ye. I did that fer yer golf game, you know. And tell me, how's yer money situation?'
'Why, it's just wonderful!' the golfer states. 'When I need cash, I just reach in my pocket and pull out $100 bills I didn't even know were there!'
'I did that fer ye also.' And tell me, how's yer sex life?'
The golfer blushes, turns his head away in embarrassment, and says shyly, 'It's OK.'
C'mon, c'mon now,' urged the Leprechaun, 'I'm wanting to know if I did a good job. How many times a week?'
Blushing even more, the golfer looks around then whispers, 'Once, sometimes twice a week.'
'What??' responds the Leprechaun in shock. 'That's all? Only once or twice a week?'
'Well,' says the golfer, 'I figure that's not bad for a Catholic priest in a small parish.'
Thursday 7 January 2010
Postmans Pat send off
It was Postman Pat's last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same villages and towns in the UK.
When he arrived at the first house on his route, he was greeted by the whole family there, who all hugged and congratulated him and sent him on his way with a gift cheque for £50.
At the second house, they presented him an 18-carat gold watch.
The folks at the third house handed him a bottle of 15-year old Scotch whisky.
At the fourth house, he was met at the door by a dumb blonde in her lingerie.
She took him by the arm and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love he had ever experienced.
When he had had enough they went downstairs, where the dumb blonde fixed him a full George Best breakfast: Bacon, Eggs, Sausage & Tomato with freshly-squeezed orange juice.
When he was truly satisfied, she poured him a cup of steaming coffee.
As she was pouring, he noticed a £5 note sticking out from under the cup's bottom edge.
'All this was just wonderful and I'm truly grateful,' he said, 'but what's the five quid for?'
'Well,' said the dumb blonde, 'last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day and that we should do something special for you.'
'I asked him what to give you. 'He said, 'F*ck him. Give him a fiver'.
She smiled shyly and said, 'The breakfast was my idea!
When he arrived at the first house on his route, he was greeted by the whole family there, who all hugged and congratulated him and sent him on his way with a gift cheque for £50.
At the second house, they presented him an 18-carat gold watch.
The folks at the third house handed him a bottle of 15-year old Scotch whisky.
At the fourth house, he was met at the door by a dumb blonde in her lingerie.
She took him by the arm and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love he had ever experienced.
When he had had enough they went downstairs, where the dumb blonde fixed him a full George Best breakfast: Bacon, Eggs, Sausage & Tomato with freshly-squeezed orange juice.
When he was truly satisfied, she poured him a cup of steaming coffee.
As she was pouring, he noticed a £5 note sticking out from under the cup's bottom edge.
'All this was just wonderful and I'm truly grateful,' he said, 'but what's the five quid for?'
'Well,' said the dumb blonde, 'last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day and that we should do something special for you.'
'I asked him what to give you. 'He said, 'F*ck him. Give him a fiver'.
She smiled shyly and said, 'The breakfast was my idea!
Tuesday 5 January 2010
Mid Life Crisis
AFTER BEING MARRIED FOR 44 YEARS, I TOOK A CAREFUL LOOK AT MY WIFE ONE DAY AND SAID, "HONEY, 44 YEARS AGO WE HAD A CHEAP FLAT, A CHEAP CAR, SLEPT ON A SOFA BED AND WATCHED A 10-INCH BLACK AND WHITE TV, BUT I GOT TO SLEEP EVERY NIGHT WITH A HOT 25-YEAR-OLD GIRL.
NOW I HAVE A £500,000 HOME, A £45,000 CAR, NICE BIG BED AND PLASMA SCREEN TV, BUT I'M SLEEPING WITH A 65-YEAR-OLD WOMAN. IT SEEMS TO ME THAT YOU'RE NOT HOLDING UP YOUR SIDE OF THINGS."
MY WIFE IS A VERY REASONABLE WOMAN. SHE TOLD ME TO GO OUT AND FIND A HOT 25-YEAR-OLD GIRL, AND SHE WOULD MAKE SURE THAT I WOULD ONCE AGAIN BE LIVING IN A CHEAP FLAT, DRIVING A CHEAP CAR, SLEEPING ON A SOFA BED AND WATCHING A 10-INCH BLACK AND WHITE TV.
AREN'T OLDER WOMEN GREAT? THEY REALLY KNOW HOW TO SOLVE YOUR MID-LIFE CRISIS
NOW I HAVE A £500,000 HOME, A £45,000 CAR, NICE BIG BED AND PLASMA SCREEN TV, BUT I'M SLEEPING WITH A 65-YEAR-OLD WOMAN. IT SEEMS TO ME THAT YOU'RE NOT HOLDING UP YOUR SIDE OF THINGS."
MY WIFE IS A VERY REASONABLE WOMAN. SHE TOLD ME TO GO OUT AND FIND A HOT 25-YEAR-OLD GIRL, AND SHE WOULD MAKE SURE THAT I WOULD ONCE AGAIN BE LIVING IN A CHEAP FLAT, DRIVING A CHEAP CAR, SLEEPING ON A SOFA BED AND WATCHING A 10-INCH BLACK AND WHITE TV.
AREN'T OLDER WOMEN GREAT? THEY REALLY KNOW HOW TO SOLVE YOUR MID-LIFE CRISIS
Monday 4 January 2010
The nudist colony
A man joined a very exclusive nudist colony in Near Brighton. On his first day he took off his clothes and started to wander around the area. A gorgeous petite blonde walked by, and the man immediately got an erection. The woman noticed his erection, came over to him and asked, 'did you call for me?'
The man replied, 'No, what do you mean?'
She said, 'You must be new here. Let me explain. It's a rule here that if you get an erection, it implies you called for me.' Smiling, she led him to the side of the swimming pool, laid down on a towel eagerly pulled him to her and happily let him have his way with her.
Later, the man continued to explore the colony's facilities. He entered the sauna and as he sat down, he farted. Within seconds a huge, hairy man lumbered out of the steam room toward him.
'Did you call for me? ' asked the hairy man.
'No, what do you mean?' replied the newcomer.
'You must be new.' answered the hairy man, 'It's a rule that if you fart, it implies that you called for me..' The huge man easily spun him around, put him over a bench and had his way with the newcomer.
The newcomer staggered back to the colony office where he was greeted by a smiling, naked receptionist, 'May I help you?' she asked. 'Here's my membership card.. You can have the key back and you can keep the £500.00 membership fee..'
But, Sir,' she replied, 'you've only been here a few hours. You haven't had a chance to see all our facilities.'
'Listen lady, I'm 68 years old. I only get an erection once a month, but I fart about 15 times a day.
I'm outta here.'
The man replied, 'No, what do you mean?'
She said, 'You must be new here. Let me explain. It's a rule here that if you get an erection, it implies you called for me.' Smiling, she led him to the side of the swimming pool, laid down on a towel eagerly pulled him to her and happily let him have his way with her.
Later, the man continued to explore the colony's facilities. He entered the sauna and as he sat down, he farted. Within seconds a huge, hairy man lumbered out of the steam room toward him.
'Did you call for me? ' asked the hairy man.
'No, what do you mean?' replied the newcomer.
'You must be new.' answered the hairy man, 'It's a rule that if you fart, it implies that you called for me..' The huge man easily spun him around, put him over a bench and had his way with the newcomer.
The newcomer staggered back to the colony office where he was greeted by a smiling, naked receptionist, 'May I help you?' she asked. 'Here's my membership card.. You can have the key back and you can keep the £500.00 membership fee..'
But, Sir,' she replied, 'you've only been here a few hours. You haven't had a chance to see all our facilities.'
'Listen lady, I'm 68 years old. I only get an erection once a month, but I fart about 15 times a day.
I'm outta here.'
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