Kronika, do you have any idea how hard that story was for me to keep form killing myself with laughter. People were walking by me at work reading it and wondering what the hell was going on.
Great story.
Jokes!!
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makebleed
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 5
- Joined: Fri Jun 18, 2004 5:23 pm
Ladies Night Out
Two married ladies, Sue and Mary go out for a "Ladies Night". They get piss drunk at the bar and started walking home. suddenly they realize they need to go to the bathroom really bad. they decide to sneak into a cementary and kneel down head two different headstones.
after peeing behind the tombstone, the Sue decides that she is going to use her panties to cleanup and leaves them behind the tombstone. Mary decides she does not want to do that. instead, she uses a red ribbon by the tombstone she is behind.
The next day, Sue's husband, Jack, decided he needed to call Mary's husband, Larry, about "Ladies Night".
Jack: "Hey Larry"
Larry: "Hi"
Jack: "Hey, I think we need to talk to our wives about these ladies night's. i think they are getting out of control."
Larry: "I know what you mean"
Jack: "I mean, last night Sue came home without any underwear on"
Larry: "You think thats bad, last night Mary came home with a card between her legs that said 'Thanks for the good times, from all the boys down at station #9"
after peeing behind the tombstone, the Sue decides that she is going to use her panties to cleanup and leaves them behind the tombstone. Mary decides she does not want to do that. instead, she uses a red ribbon by the tombstone she is behind.
The next day, Sue's husband, Jack, decided he needed to call Mary's husband, Larry, about "Ladies Night".
Jack: "Hey Larry"
Larry: "Hi"
Jack: "Hey, I think we need to talk to our wives about these ladies night's. i think they are getting out of control."
Larry: "I know what you mean"
Jack: "I mean, last night Sue came home without any underwear on"
Larry: "You think thats bad, last night Mary came home with a card between her legs that said 'Thanks for the good times, from all the boys down at station #9"
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Koradinam
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 1
- Joined: Thu Sep 02, 2004 2:16 pm
EVIL SQUIRREL
I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.
I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile suddenly shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.
I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes.
His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leaped!
I am sure the scream was squirrel for "Bonzai !" or maybe "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular...
He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.
Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.
As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans, this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.
And losing ...
I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil little rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.
Torque.
This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very good at it.
The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.
The squirrel screamed in anger.
The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.
I screamed in ... well ... I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back.
The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.
This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle ... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Valkyrie Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort of.
Spectacularly sort of ... so to speak.
Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams.
They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really ... Except for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.
That was one thing. The other?
Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. AND NOW HE HAS A PATROL CAR. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids
I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile suddenly shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.
I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes.
His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leaped!
I am sure the scream was squirrel for "Bonzai !" or maybe "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular...
He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.
Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.
As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans, this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.
And losing ...
I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil little rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.
Torque.
This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very good at it.
The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.
The squirrel screamed in anger.
The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.
I screamed in ... well ... I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back.
The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.
This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle ... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Valkyrie Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort of.
Spectacularly sort of ... so to speak.
Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams.
They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really ... Except for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.
That was one thing. The other?
Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. AND NOW HE HAS A PATROL CAR. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids
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Donal
- Peon
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Sat Jun 05, 2004 8:07 pm
-
Venamdar
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sun Jun 27, 2004 8:53 pm
Questions
INNOCENT QUESTIONS
A Mother is driving her little girl to her friend's house for a play date.
"Mommy," the little girl asks, "How old are you?"
"Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age," the mother answers.
"Ok," the little girl says, "How much do you weigh?"
"Now really," the mother says, "these are personal questions and are really
none of your business."
Undaunted, the little girl asks, "Why did you and daddy get a divorce?"
"That is enough questions, honestly!" The exasperated mother walks away as
the two friends begin to play.
"My Mom wouldn't tell me anything" the little girl says to her friend. "Well
" said the friend, " .. all you need to do is look at her driver's license. It
is like a report card, it has everything on it."
Later that night the little ! girl says to her mother, "I know how old you
are you are 32."
The mother is surprised and asks, "H ow did you find that out?"
"I also know that you weigh 140 pounds." The mother is past surprise and
shock now. "How in heaven's name did you find that out?"
"Annnnd," the little girl says triumphantly, "I know why you and daddy got a
divorce."
Oh really?" the mother asks. "Why?"
"Because you got an F in sex."
A Mother is driving her little girl to her friend's house for a play date.
"Mommy," the little girl asks, "How old are you?"
"Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age," the mother answers.
"Ok," the little girl says, "How much do you weigh?"
"Now really," the mother says, "these are personal questions and are really
none of your business."
Undaunted, the little girl asks, "Why did you and daddy get a divorce?"
"That is enough questions, honestly!" The exasperated mother walks away as
the two friends begin to play.
"My Mom wouldn't tell me anything" the little girl says to her friend. "Well
" said the friend, " .. all you need to do is look at her driver's license. It
is like a report card, it has everything on it."
Later that night the little ! girl says to her mother, "I know how old you
are you are 32."
The mother is surprised and asks, "H ow did you find that out?"
"I also know that you weigh 140 pounds." The mother is past surprise and
shock now. "How in heaven's name did you find that out?"
"Annnnd," the little girl says triumphantly, "I know why you and daddy got a
divorce."
Oh really?" the mother asks. "Why?"
"Because you got an F in sex."
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Kilaer
- Greater Peon
- Posts: 125
- Joined: Sun May 09, 2004 5:51 pm
An old farmer in Kansas
An old farmer in Kansas had owned a large farm for
several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up nice; picnic
tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple and peach trees. The pond was
properly shaped and fixed up for swimming when it was built.
One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he
hadn't been there for a while, and look it over. He grabbed a five gallon
bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices
shouting and laughing with glee.
As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping
in his pond. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to
the deep end of the pond.
One of the women shouted to him, "We're not coming out until you
leave!"
The old man frowned, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies
swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked." Holding the bucket up
he said, "I'm here to feed the alligator."
Moral: Old age and cunning will triumph over youth and enthusiasm
every time
An old farmer in Kansas had owned a large farm for
several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up nice; picnic
tables, horseshoe courts, and some apple and peach trees. The pond was
properly shaped and fixed up for swimming when it was built.
One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he
hadn't been there for a while, and look it over. He grabbed a five gallon
bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices
shouting and laughing with glee.
As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping
in his pond. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to
the deep end of the pond.
One of the women shouted to him, "We're not coming out until you
leave!"
The old man frowned, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies
swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked." Holding the bucket up
he said, "I'm here to feed the alligator."
Moral: Old age and cunning will triumph over youth and enthusiasm
every time
[url=http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=1100304]Kilaer Darkheart[/url]
[url=http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=886735]"Have you hugged a iksar today?"[/url]
[url=http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=886735]"Have you hugged a iksar today?"[/url]
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Venamdar
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sun Jun 27, 2004 8:53 pm
Norwegian Fire Brigade
One dark night in a small town in Minnesota, a fire started inside the
local chemical plant and it exploded into massive flames.
The alarm went out to all the fire departments for miles around.
When the volunteer fire fighters appeared on the scene, the chemical
company president rushed to the fire chief and said,
"All of our secret formulas are in the vault in the plant. I will give
$50,000 to the fire department that brings them out intact."
But the roaring flames held the firefighters off. Soon more fire
departments arrived, as the situation became desperate.
The president shouted that the offer was now $100,000 to the fire
department who could bring out the company's secret files.
From the distance, a lone siren was heard as another fire truck came
into sight. It was the nearby Norwegian rural township volunteer Fire
Company composed mainly of Norwegians over the age of 65.
To everyone's amazement, the little run-down fire engine, operated by
these Norwegian's, passed all the newer engines parked outside the
plant and drove straight into the middle of the inferno.
Outside the other firemen watched as the old timers jumped off and
began to fight the fire with a performance and effort never seen before.
Within a short time, the old timers had extinguished the fire and
saved the secret formulas.
The grateful chemical company president joyfully announced that for
such a superhuman feat he was upping the reward to $200,000, and
walked over to personally thank each of the elderly fire fighters.
The local TV news reporters rushed in after capturing the event on
film asking, "What are you going to do with all that money?"
"Vell," said Ole Larsen, the 70-year-old fire chief, "da furst thing
ve do is fix da brakes on dat focking truck!"
local chemical plant and it exploded into massive flames.
The alarm went out to all the fire departments for miles around.
When the volunteer fire fighters appeared on the scene, the chemical
company president rushed to the fire chief and said,
"All of our secret formulas are in the vault in the plant. I will give
$50,000 to the fire department that brings them out intact."
But the roaring flames held the firefighters off. Soon more fire
departments arrived, as the situation became desperate.
The president shouted that the offer was now $100,000 to the fire
department who could bring out the company's secret files.
From the distance, a lone siren was heard as another fire truck came
into sight. It was the nearby Norwegian rural township volunteer Fire
Company composed mainly of Norwegians over the age of 65.
To everyone's amazement, the little run-down fire engine, operated by
these Norwegian's, passed all the newer engines parked outside the
plant and drove straight into the middle of the inferno.
Outside the other firemen watched as the old timers jumped off and
began to fight the fire with a performance and effort never seen before.
Within a short time, the old timers had extinguished the fire and
saved the secret formulas.
The grateful chemical company president joyfully announced that for
such a superhuman feat he was upping the reward to $200,000, and
walked over to personally thank each of the elderly fire fighters.
The local TV news reporters rushed in after capturing the event on
film asking, "What are you going to do with all that money?"
"Vell," said Ole Larsen, the 70-year-old fire chief, "da furst thing
ve do is fix da brakes on dat focking truck!"
Last edited by Venamdar on Mon Sep 20, 2004 11:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Venamdar
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sun Jun 27, 2004 8:53 pm
"Time To Take Your Temperature"
A CEO-type was in the hospital, being treated for a minor
deal. For a week he'd made a complete nuisance of himself,
irritating all the staff, shouting orders and demanding
attention, complaining about the food, the bed, the
temperature, the weather. Typical big shot.
One morning a nurse's helper entered the room, saying,
"Time to take your temperature, sir."
After growling that she was disturbing his nap, the guy
finally opened his mouth for the thermometer.
"Sorry, sir," said the nurse, "but for this test we need
your temperature from the other end."
After bitching about the embarrassment and inconvenience,
the guy finally rolled over and bared his butt. After
the nurse finished, she said, "Stay exactly like that
and don't move. I'll be back in five minutes to check up
on you."
The nurse left, leaving the door ajar. The guy's back is to
the door, and for over an hour, he hears people wandering
up and down the hall, laughing. At length the guy's doctor
entered the room, saw the guy with his bare butt in the air
and gawked. Finally, he asks, "What's going on here?"
The guy barks, "Haven't you ever seen someone
having their temperature taken?"
"Not with a daffodil."
deal. For a week he'd made a complete nuisance of himself,
irritating all the staff, shouting orders and demanding
attention, complaining about the food, the bed, the
temperature, the weather. Typical big shot.
One morning a nurse's helper entered the room, saying,
"Time to take your temperature, sir."
After growling that she was disturbing his nap, the guy
finally opened his mouth for the thermometer.
"Sorry, sir," said the nurse, "but for this test we need
your temperature from the other end."
After bitching about the embarrassment and inconvenience,
the guy finally rolled over and bared his butt. After
the nurse finished, she said, "Stay exactly like that
and don't move. I'll be back in five minutes to check up
on you."
The nurse left, leaving the door ajar. The guy's back is to
the door, and for over an hour, he hears people wandering
up and down the hall, laughing. At length the guy's doctor
entered the room, saw the guy with his bare butt in the air
and gawked. Finally, he asks, "What's going on here?"
The guy barks, "Haven't you ever seen someone
having their temperature taken?"
"Not with a daffodil."
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Venamdar
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 21
- Joined: Sun Jun 27, 2004 8:53 pm
New Deputy
"The New Deputy"
The local sheriff was looking for a deputy, so Gomer -
who was not exactly the sharpest nail in the bucket
went in to try out for the job.
"Okay," the sheriff drawled, "Gomer, what is 1 and 1?"
"11" he replied.
The sheriff thought to himself, "That's not what I meant,
but he's right."
"What two days of the week start with the letter 'T'?"
"Today and tomorrow."
He was again surprised that Gomer supplied a correct
answer that he had never thought of himself.
"Now Gomer, listen carefully: Who killed Abraham Lincoln?"
Gomer looked a little surprised himself, then thought really
hard for a minute and finally admitted, "I don't know."
"Well, why don't you go home and work on that one for a
while?"
So, Gomer wandered over to the pool hall where his pals
were waiting to hear the results of the interview.
Gomer was exultant. "It went great! First day on the job
and I'm already working on a murder case!"
The local sheriff was looking for a deputy, so Gomer -
who was not exactly the sharpest nail in the bucket
went in to try out for the job.
"Okay," the sheriff drawled, "Gomer, what is 1 and 1?"
"11" he replied.
The sheriff thought to himself, "That's not what I meant,
but he's right."
"What two days of the week start with the letter 'T'?"
"Today and tomorrow."
He was again surprised that Gomer supplied a correct
answer that he had never thought of himself.
"Now Gomer, listen carefully: Who killed Abraham Lincoln?"
Gomer looked a little surprised himself, then thought really
hard for a minute and finally admitted, "I don't know."
"Well, why don't you go home and work on that one for a
while?"
So, Gomer wandered over to the pool hall where his pals
were waiting to hear the results of the interview.
Gomer was exultant. "It went great! First day on the job
and I'm already working on a murder case!"
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Pegi
- Should be Recruiting
- Posts: 1021
- Joined: Sat Jun 05, 2004 3:11 pm
-
Pegi
- Should be Recruiting
- Posts: 1021
- Joined: Sat Jun 05, 2004 3:11 pm
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Faenor
- Lesser Peon
- Posts: 35
- Joined: Wed Jun 09, 2004 12:34 pm
Joe and John were identical twins. Joe owned an old dilapidated boat and kept pretty much to himself. One day he rented out his boat to a group of out-of-staters who ended up sinking it. He spent all day trying to salvage as much stuff as he could from the sunken vessel and was out of touch all that day and most of the evening. Unknown to him, his brother John's wife had died suddenly in his absence.
When he got back on shore he went into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. A kind old woman there mistook him for John and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss. You must feel terrible."
Joe, thinking she was talking about his boat said, "Hell no! Fact is, I'm sort of glad to be rid of her. She was a rotten old thing from the beginning. Her bottom was all shriveled up and she smelled like old dead fish. She had a bad crack in the back and a pretty big hole in the front too. Every time I used her, her hole got bigger and she leaked like crazy."
"I guess what finally finished her off was when I rented her to those four guys looking for a good time. I warned them that she wasn't very good and that she smelled bad. But they wanted her anyway. The damn fools tried to get in her all at one time and she split right up the middle." The old woman fainted.
When he got back on shore he went into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. A kind old woman there mistook him for John and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss. You must feel terrible."
Joe, thinking she was talking about his boat said, "Hell no! Fact is, I'm sort of glad to be rid of her. She was a rotten old thing from the beginning. Her bottom was all shriveled up and she smelled like old dead fish. She had a bad crack in the back and a pretty big hole in the front too. Every time I used her, her hole got bigger and she leaked like crazy."
"I guess what finally finished her off was when I rented her to those four guys looking for a good time. I warned them that she wasn't very good and that she smelled bad. But they wanted her anyway. The damn fools tried to get in her all at one time and she split right up the middle." The old woman fainted.