Jokes anyone? -

[Pete.]

1) The scene is set, the night is cold, the campfire is burning and the stars twinkle in the dark night sky...

Three hang-glider pilots, one from Australia, one from South Africa and the other from New Zealand, are sitting round a campfire near Ayers Rock, each embroiled with the bravado for which they are famous.
A night of tall tales begins....

Kiven, the kiwi says, "I must be the meanest, toughest heng glider dude there us. Why, just the other day, I linded in a field and scared a crocodile thet got loose from the swamp. Et ate sux men before I wrestled ut to the ground weth my bare hends end beat ut's bliddy 'ed un.

Jerry from South Africa typically can't stand to be bettered. "Well you guys, I lended orfter a 200 mile flight on a tiny treck, ind a fifteen foot Namibian desert snike slid out from under a rock and made a move for me. I grebbed thet borsted with my bare hinds and tore it's head orf ind sucked the poison down in one gulp. Ind I'm still here today".
Barry the Aussie remained silent, slowly stoking the fire with his penis.

[Pete.]

Why can't Kiwi blokes take their girlfriends to the Rugby?

They eat all the grass.


An Aussie bloke is having a quiet drink in a bar and leans over to the big guy next to him and says, 'Do you wanna hear a Kiwi joke?

The big guy replies, 'Well mate, before you tell that joke, you should know something. I'm 1.90 m tall, 125 kg and I played as a forward for the All Blacks."

"The guy next to me is 1.85 m, weighs 115 kg and he's an ex-All Black lock."

"Next to him is a bloke who's 2 m tall, weighs 120 kg and he's a current All Black second rower. Now do you still want to tell that Kiwi joke?"

The first bloke says, "Nah, not if I'm going to have to explain it three times."

[Jay V]

Subject: The Pastor's Ass

The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won. The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race again, and it won again. The local paper read:


PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT.

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in another race. The next day, the local paper headline read:


BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR'S ASS.

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent. The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day:

NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10. The next day the paper read:


NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.
This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.


The next day the headlines read:


NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.

The bishop was buried the next day. The moral of the story is . . . being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief and misery ...even shorten your life. So be yourself and enjoy life. Stop worrying about everyone else's ass and you'll be a lot happier and live longer! Have a nice day!

[Pete.]

Excellent advice.

[Jay V]

We've all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think anyone can top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

'Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it.'

'You know where the button is,' I protested through the shower pitter-patterand steam. 'Reset it yourself!'

'But I'm scared!' she persisted. 'What if it starts going and sucks me in?'

There was a meaningful pause and then, 'C'mon, it'll only take you a second.'

So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly.

Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a 'fight or flight' syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the 'flight' option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent.
The impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.

Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a group of 'been-there, done-that' paramedics.
Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter......and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was.

'What's the matter?' They all asked, 'Cat got your tongue?'
If they only knew!

[MAD IN NC]

I like this story as well...

___________________________________________
A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser for their
anniversary submitted this :

Last weekend at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop I was looking for a little
something extra for my wife Toni. What I came across was a
100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were
supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on an
assailant. The idea is to allow my wife -- who would never consider a
gun -- adequate time to retreat to safety. WAY TOO COOL!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded in
two triple-a batteries and pushed the button. Nothing! I was
disappointed. But then I read (yes, 'read') that if I pushed the button
AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the
blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs and
I'd know it was working.

Awesome!!! (Actually, I have yet to explain to Toni what that bu rn spot
is on the face of her microwave). Okay, so I was home alone with this
new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, right?!!

There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting
little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I
really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood moving target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second)
and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going
to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did
want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one
hand, and taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst
would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-secon d burst was
supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a
three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the
ground like a fish out of water.

Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

So, I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to
one side as to say, "don't do it," reasoning that a one-second burst
from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided
to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the
prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD,
WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION @!@$$!%!@*!!!

I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me
up in the recliner, and body slammed us both on the carpet, over and
over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal
position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire,
testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in
the oddest position, and tingling in my legs.

You should know, if you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a
taser, that there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap
yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from
your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor.

SON-OF-A-... that hurt like hell!!! A minute or so later (I can't be
sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected what
little wits I had left, sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent
reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they
get up there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still
twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my
bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still looking for my testicles!! I'm
offering a significant reward for their safe return.

Still in shock, Earl

[Chad]

I borrowed my wife's Geo Metro last night. One liter of raw power, 3 cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on thirteen-inch rims. It's stock, alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely 2000 pounds of metro around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by surprise...

I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte cappuccino blast ("No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK"), when I stopped at a streetlight. As the Metro throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip. I was minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane. I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition. Ford Festiva -- a late model, could be trouble. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and schoolbus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure.

The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast, and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of seven screaming cylinders...

Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole, my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my front right tire... my unlimited slip differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by me, right front wheel juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs. I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth... He was running a custom exhaust -- probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust...maybe event cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction...

Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping pistons singing a heady high-pitched song, wound fully out. Though only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the intersection, and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his shift to second, and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift! I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us batted an eye.

He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five foot circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next corner.

I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in carpet. Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Metro roll slowly to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel slowly leave the ground - no matter, though, because my drive wheels, up front, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ...

The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my wife's car eased past him on the outside, my P165/54R13's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right. Chevy (Suzuki) superiority reigns!!!

I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a Volkswagon Van!

[Jay V]

As I walked down the busy footpath, knowing I was late for an important meeting, my eye fell upon one of those unfortunate, homeless vagabonds that are found in every city these days. Wearing what can only be describes as rags, carrying every worldly possession in two plastic bags, my heart was touched by this persons condition. Some people turned to stare. Others quickly looked away as if the sight would somehow contaminate them.

Recalling some long ago priest who made an admonition to 'care for the sick, feed the hungry and clothe the naked,' I was moved by some powerful inner urge to reach out to this unfortunate person.

Yes, where some people saw only rags, I saw a hidden beauty. A small voice inside my head called out, 'Reach out, Reach out!'

So I did..........

I won't be at church this week....

[Ian Anderson]

A woman goes into the chemist shop and asks for some condoms.

The assistant says "What size?"

So she looks blank and says "I don't know."

The chemist says "look if you go out back my fence has a load of gnarly bits of timber on it - have a look and then come back and tell me"

She goes outsider and about 20 minutes later reappears chuckling and smiling.

Goes back to the chemist and says "How much do you want for your fence?"

[Jay V]

Three Wishes

A cowboy has spent many days crossing the Texas plains without water. His horse has already died of thirst.

He's crawling through the sand, certain that he has breathed his last breath, when all of a sudden he sees an object sticking out of the sand several yards ahead of him. He crawls to the object, pulls it out of the sand, and discovers what looks to be an old briefcase. He opens it and out pops a genie. But this is no ordinary genie.

She is wearing a FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) ID badge and a dull gray dress. There's a calculator in her pocketbook. She has a
pencil tucked behind one ear.

'Well, cowboy,' says the genie. 'You know how I work.... You have three wishes.'

'I'm not falling for this', said the cowboy... 'I'm not going to trust a FEMA genie.'

'What do you have to lose? You've got no transportation, and it looks like you're a goner anyway!'

The cowboy thinks about this for a minute, and decides that the genie is right. 'OK! I wish I were in a lush oasis with plenty of food and drink.'

***POOF***

The cowboy finds himself in the most beautiful oasis he has ever seen, and he is surrounded with jugs of wine and platters of delicacies.
'OK, cowpoke, what's your second wish.' 'My second wish is that I was rich beyond my wildest dreams.'

***POOF***

The cowboy finds himself surrounded by treasure chests filled with rare gold coins and precious gems.

'OK, cowpuncher, you have just one more wish. Better make it a good one!'

After thinking for a few minutes, the cowboy says... 'I wish that no matter where I go, beautiful women will want and need me.'

***POOF***

He was turned into a tampon.

The moral of the story:

If the government offers you anything, there's going to be a string attached.

[Pete.]

A Short Love Story

A man and a woman who had never met before, but were both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a Trans-continental train.

Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly.....

He in the upper bunk and she in the lower.

At 1:00 AM , the man leaned down and gently woke the woman saying,

'Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket?
I'm awfully cold.'

'I have a better idea,' she replied. 'Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married.'

'Wow! That's a great idea!' he exclaimed.

'Good,' she replied. 'Get your own f***ing blanket.'

After a moment of silence, he farted.

The End
fficeffice" />

[Jay V]

Little Mary Margaret was not the best student in Catholic School . Usually she slept through the class.

One day her teacher, a Nun, called on her while she was sleeping. 'Tell me Mary Margaret, who created the universe?'

When Mary Margaret didn't stir, little Pete, who was her friend sitting behind her, took his pencil and jabbed her in the rear.
'God Almighty!' shouted Mary Margaret.

The Nun said, 'Very good' and continued teaching her class.

A little later the Nun asked Mary Margaret, 'Who is our Lord and Savior?'

But Mary didn't stir from her slumber. Once again Pete came to her rescue and stuck Mary Margaret in the butt with the pencil.

'Jesus Christ!!!' shouted Mary Margaret and the Nun once again said, 'Very good,' and Mary Margaret fell back asleep.

The Nun asked her a third question...'What did Eve say to Adam after she had her twenty-third child?'

Again, Pete came to the rescue.
This time Mary Margaret jumped up and shouted, 'If you stick that f****ng thing in me one more time, I'll break it in half!'

The nun fainted

[Pete.]

fficeffice" />
The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational asked readers to take any word from
the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and
supply a new definition.
Here are the best......

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the
subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until
you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright
ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign
of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting
laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who
doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

11. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

12. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really
bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a
serious bummer.

13. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day
consuming only things that are good for you.

14. Glibido: All talk and no action.

15. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they
come at you rapidly.

16. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after
you've accidentally walked through a spider web.