Now this was really funny

Time Management

Time Management



Last week, we took some friends out to a new restaurant, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange.

When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I noticed he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.

When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked, "Why the spoon?"

"Well, "he explained, "the restaurant's owners hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift."

As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he was able to replace it with his spare.

"I'll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now."

I was impressed. I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter's fly. Looking around, I noticed that all the waiters had the same sort of string hanging from their flies. So before he walked off, I asked the waiter, "Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?"

"Oh, certainly!" Then he lowered his voice. "Not everyone is so observant. That consulting firm I mentioned also found out that we can save time in the restroom. By tying this string to the tip of you know what, we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the restroom by 76.39 percent.

I asked "After you get it out, how do you put it back?"

"Well," he whispered, "I don't know about the others, but I use the spoon."

graceanne said:

I have arthritis in my hands. Writing hurts me so bad I try to avoid doing it. Plus cause my hands hurt so bad you can't read my handwriting.

(Now don't you feel bad?)

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You could always hold the pencil in your teeth....

TNRkitect2b said:

You could always hold the pencil in your teeth....

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LOL Talk about bad hand writing.

graceanne said:

LOL Talk about bad hand writing.

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But it would be a useful skill if you ever got bored when being fucked.

You could write letters & draw pics.

Not that I would ever need such a skill, I would never, ever get bored.

No

Nope

Never



*This is my being good mode, do you think its convincing??*

shy slave said:

But it would be a useful skill if you ever got bored when being fucked.

You could write letters & draw pics.

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I knew it! You're trying to get me killed.

You need a spanking.

It happens to all of us

So I was driving into work the other
morning, and this dick in a truck
pulls out in front of me...

An Irishman named O'Malley went to his doctor after a long illness.

The doctor sighed and looked O'Malley in the eye and said, "I've some bad news for you. You have cancer and it can't be cured. You'd best put your affairs in order."

O'Malley was shocked but being a solid character, he managed to compose himself and walk from the doctor's office into the waiting room, where his son was waiting. "Well son, we Irish celebrate when things are good and we celebrate when things don't go so well. In this case, things aren't so well. I have cancer. Let's head to the pub and have a few pints. "

After 3 or 4 pints the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and some more beers. They were eventually approached by some of O'Malley's friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating.

O'Malley told them they were drinking to his impending end. He told his friends, "I have been diagnosed with AIDS." The friends gave O'Malley their condolences, and they had a couple more beers.

After the friends left, O'Malley's son leaned over and whispered his confusion. and you just told your friends that you were dying of AIDS!".

O'Malley said, "I don't want any of them sleeping with your mother after I am gone."

You have ta love the Irish

For The Cat Lovers

CLICK ME

This is not really funny

but I found it on the GB

http://www.i-am-bored.com/bored_link.cfm?link_id=14019

How To Learn Computers Via Sex

If you have ever had a problem explaining a computer term, try this.

How To Learn Computers Via Sex

A man and his wife were sitting in the living room and he said to her,

"Just so you know, I never want to live in a vegetative state,
dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug."

His wife got up, unplugged the TV and threw out all of his beer.

shy slave said:

but I found it on the GB

http://www.i-am-bored.com/bored_link.cfm?link_id=14019

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Hey! That site has chocolate scented t-shirts! Do t-shirts have calories?

sinn0cent1 said:

Hey! That site has chocolate scented t-shirts! Do t-shirts have calories?

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Not if you eat them standing up!!

sinn0cent1 said:

Hey! That site has chocolate scented t-shirts! Do t-shirts have calories?

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*heading back to re-check that site ~ thanks Sinn


Shopping for Christmas today I saw an address book with the following printed on the front

'Will swop boyfriend for chocolate'

It would make a perfect T-shirt slogan

*not that I would do that*

Insideyourmind, you are very wicked. I don't know if I should pity or envy your sub.

shy slave said:

A man and his wife were sitting in the living room and he said to her,

"Just so you know, I never want to live in a vegetative state,
dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug."

His wife got up, unplugged the TV and threw out all of his beer.

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I just read this... since Dh is as we speak in a vegetative state... umm

Get thee behind me, Satan!

webmasters who didnt think

http://spadassin.blogspot.com/2005/11/webmasters-who-didnt-think-when-they.html

m wisdom said:

http://spadassin.blogspot.com/2005/11/webmasters-who-didnt-think-when-they.html

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OH MY GOD!!!!!!!
That's hilarious. Thank you sir

How true

http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/photos/acme_novelty_library_back_detail.jpg

We've all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition for each is listed below ....

GUTS - is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask: "Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?"
.
. .
. . .
. . . .
. . . .
. . .
. .
.
BALLS - is coming home late, after a night out with the guys, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the ass and having the balls to say: "You're next."

I hope this clears up any confusion on the subject

Evil Mutant Attack Sadist Pain Slut Squirrel Of Death!

Crazed Squirrel Assaults Man on Motorcycle

I never dreamed that 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 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 leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was sadist 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 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 sadist 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 SADIST PAIN SLUT 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, 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 sadist 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 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 throw! was 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 fucker 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 awhole lot of Band-Aids.