techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
Laughter is Contagious
- Thread starter techsan
- Start date
- Status
techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
rozezwild
~*~untouchable~*~
- Joined
- May 11, 2004
- Posts
- 33,541
The small tree
This is one to keep close to your heart
I hired a plumber to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had
just
finished a rough first day on the job: a flat tire made him lose an hour
of
work, his electric drill quit and his ancient one ton truck refused to
start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he
invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he
paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with
both
hands. When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His
tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children
and
gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the
tree
and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen
him
do earlier. Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't
help
having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, those troubles
don't
belong in the house with my wife and the children.
So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home and ask
God
to take care of them. Then in the morning I pick them up again. Funny
thing
is, "he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there
aren't
nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
This is one to keep close to your heart
I hired a plumber to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had
just
finished a rough first day on the job: a flat tire made him lose an hour
of
work, his electric drill quit and his ancient one ton truck refused to
start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he
invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he
paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with
both
hands. When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His
tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children
and
gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the
tree
and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen
him
do earlier. Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't
help
having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, those troubles
don't
belong in the house with my wife and the children.
So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home and ask
God
to take care of them. Then in the morning I pick them up again. Funny
thing
is, "he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there
aren't
nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
After getting all of Pope Benedict's luggage loaded into the limo, (and he doesn't travel light), the driver notices that the Pope is still standing on the curb.
"Excuse me, Your Holiness," says the driver," Would you please take your seat so we can leave?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," says the Pope, "they never let me drive at the Vatican when I was a cardinal, and I'd really like to drive today."
"I'm sorry, Your Holiness, but I cannot let you do that. I'd lose my job! And what if something should happen?" protests the driver, wishing he'd never gone to work that morning.
"Who's going to tell? Besides, there might be something extra in it for you," says the Pope with a smile.
Reluctantly, the driver gets in the back as the Pope climbs in behind the wheel.
The driver quickly regrets his decision when, after exiting the airport, the Pontiff floors it, accelerating the limo to 105 mph. (Remember, he's a German Pope.)
"Please slow down, Your Holiness!!!" pleads the worried driver, but the Pope keeps the pedal to the metal until they hear sirens.
"Oh, dear God, I'm gonna lose my license -- and my job!" moans the driver.
The Pope pulls over and rolls down the window as the cop approaches, but the cop takes one look at him, goes back to his motorcycle, and gets on the radio.
"I need to talk to the Chief," he says to the dispatcher.
The Chief gets on the radio and the cop tells him that he's stopped a Limo going a hundred and five.
"So bust him," says the Chief.
"I don't think we want to do that, he's really important," said the cop.
The Chief exclaimed, "All the more reason!"
"No, I mean really important," said the cop with a bit of persistence.
The Chief then asked, "Who ya got there, the Mayor?"
Cop: "Bigger."
Chief: "Governor?"
Cop: "Bigger."
"Well," said the Chief, "Who is it?"
Cop: "I think it's God!"
The Chief is even more puzzled and curious: "What makes you think it's God?"
Cop: "He's got the Pope as a chauffeur."
"Excuse me, Your Holiness," says the driver," Would you please take your seat so we can leave?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," says the Pope, "they never let me drive at the Vatican when I was a cardinal, and I'd really like to drive today."
"I'm sorry, Your Holiness, but I cannot let you do that. I'd lose my job! And what if something should happen?" protests the driver, wishing he'd never gone to work that morning.
"Who's going to tell? Besides, there might be something extra in it for you," says the Pope with a smile.
Reluctantly, the driver gets in the back as the Pope climbs in behind the wheel.
The driver quickly regrets his decision when, after exiting the airport, the Pontiff floors it, accelerating the limo to 105 mph. (Remember, he's a German Pope.)
"Please slow down, Your Holiness!!!" pleads the worried driver, but the Pope keeps the pedal to the metal until they hear sirens.
"Oh, dear God, I'm gonna lose my license -- and my job!" moans the driver.
The Pope pulls over and rolls down the window as the cop approaches, but the cop takes one look at him, goes back to his motorcycle, and gets on the radio.
"I need to talk to the Chief," he says to the dispatcher.
The Chief gets on the radio and the cop tells him that he's stopped a Limo going a hundred and five.
"So bust him," says the Chief.
"I don't think we want to do that, he's really important," said the cop.
The Chief exclaimed, "All the more reason!"
"No, I mean really important," said the cop with a bit of persistence.
The Chief then asked, "Who ya got there, the Mayor?"
Cop: "Bigger."
Chief: "Governor?"
Cop: "Bigger."
"Well," said the Chief, "Who is it?"
Cop: "I think it's God!"
The Chief is even more puzzled and curious: "What makes you think it's God?"
Cop: "He's got the Pope as a chauffeur."
techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
"Who's On First" -- new version
George: Condi! Nice to see you. What's happening?
Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.
George: Great. Lay it on me.
Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.
George: That's what I want to know.
Condi: That's what I'm telling you.
George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes.
George: I mean the fellow's name.
Condi: Hu.
George: The guy in China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The new leader of China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The main man in China!
Condi: Hu is leading China.
George: Now whaddya' asking me for?
Condi: I'm telling you, Hu is leading China.
George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?
Condi: That's the man's name.
George: That's who's name?
Condi: Yes.
George: Will you, or will you not, tell me the name of the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he was dead in the Middle East.
Condi: That's correct.
George: Then who is in China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir is in China?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Then who is?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Look Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.
Condi: Kofi?
George: No, thanks.
Condi: You want Kofi?
George: No.
Condi: You don't want Kofi.
George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Not Yassir! The guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi?
George: Milk! Will you please make the call?
Condi: And call who?
George: Who is the guy at the U.N?
Condi: Hu is the guy in China
George: Will you stay out of China?!
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi.
George: All right! With cream and two sugars.
George: Condi! Nice to see you. What's happening?
Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.
George: Great. Lay it on me.
Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.
George: That's what I want to know.
Condi: That's what I'm telling you.
George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes.
George: I mean the fellow's name.
Condi: Hu.
George: The guy in China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The new leader of China.
Condi: Hu.
George: The main man in China!
Condi: Hu is leading China.
George: Now whaddya' asking me for?
Condi: I'm telling you, Hu is leading China.
George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?
Condi: That's the man's name.
George: That's who's name?
Condi: Yes.
George: Will you, or will you not, tell me the name of the new leader of China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he was dead in the Middle East.
Condi: That's correct.
George: Then who is in China?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir is in China?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Then who is?
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Yassir?
Condi: No, sir.
George: Look Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.
Condi: Kofi?
George: No, thanks.
Condi: You want Kofi?
George: No.
Condi: You don't want Kofi.
George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: Not Yassir! The guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi?
George: Milk! Will you please make the call?
Condi: And call who?
George: Who is the guy at the U.N?
Condi: Hu is the guy in China
George: Will you stay out of China?!
Condi: Yes, sir.
George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.
Condi: Kofi.
George: All right! With cream and two sugars.
Stryderthorongil
Hiking fun
- Joined
- Sep 3, 2004
- Posts
- 20,568
pleaz_me said:
I liked that. Thank you for the smile.
wally2450
Inquisitive
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2005
- Posts
- 12,353
Surrogate husband
I miss my husband. I really do. He's traveling and
I'm home all alone and this weather sucks and I want
company. So, I'd like to propose the following:
I'm looking for a surrogate husband, just for today.
I will cook a great meal for you and greet you at the
door wearing nothing but lingerie.
You must agree to:
-- come home by 7:00pm, but not actually show up until
8:00pm. Please don't apologize for being late and don't call
to let me know you are going to be late.
-- walk in the door without actually greeting me.
-- the first words out of your mouth, after you get
out of the bathroom, should be: "What's for dinner?"
-- take your plate from the table and walk into the
living room and sit down in front of the TV, leaving
me alone.
-- put your feet up on the coffee table, chew with
your mouth open and ask me to grab you a beer.
-- not compliment me on the fact that the house is
clean or that the food that took me several hours to
cook is any good.
-- ignore me for the rest of the night and watch ESPN
instead.
-- tell me to stop when I try to cuddle up to you on
the couch and ask me to get you a beer instead.
-- come to bed without showering, even though you've
been at work all day.
-- fart in bed and then fluff the covers.
-- wake me up to ask me for a blow job.
Please, please, please help me out! I miss the
asshole.
I miss my husband. I really do. He's traveling and
I'm home all alone and this weather sucks and I want
company. So, I'd like to propose the following:
I'm looking for a surrogate husband, just for today.
I will cook a great meal for you and greet you at the
door wearing nothing but lingerie.
You must agree to:
-- come home by 7:00pm, but not actually show up until
8:00pm. Please don't apologize for being late and don't call
to let me know you are going to be late.
-- walk in the door without actually greeting me.
-- the first words out of your mouth, after you get
out of the bathroom, should be: "What's for dinner?"
-- take your plate from the table and walk into the
living room and sit down in front of the TV, leaving
me alone.
-- put your feet up on the coffee table, chew with
your mouth open and ask me to grab you a beer.
-- not compliment me on the fact that the house is
clean or that the food that took me several hours to
cook is any good.
-- ignore me for the rest of the night and watch ESPN
instead.
-- tell me to stop when I try to cuddle up to you on
the couch and ask me to get you a beer instead.
-- come to bed without showering, even though you've
been at work all day.
-- fart in bed and then fluff the covers.
-- wake me up to ask me for a blow job.
Please, please, please help me out! I miss the
asshole.
pleaz_me
Icing Queen
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2005
- Posts
- 47,698
wally2450 said:I miss my husband. I really do. He's traveling and
I'm home all alone and this weather sucks and I want
company. So, I'd like to propose the following:
I'm looking for a surrogate husband, just for today.
I will cook a great meal for you and greet you at the
door wearing nothing but lingerie.
You must agree to:
-- come home by 7:00pm, but not actually show up until
8:00pm. Please don't apologize for being late and don't call
to let me know you are going to be late.
-- walk in the door without actually greeting me.
-- the first words out of your mouth, after you get
out of the bathroom, should be: "What's for dinner?"
-- take your plate from the table and walk into the
living room and sit down in front of the TV, leaving
me alone.
-- put your feet up on the coffee table, chew with
your mouth open and ask me to grab you a beer.
-- not compliment me on the fact that the house is
clean or that the food that took me several hours to
cook is any good.
-- ignore me for the rest of the night and watch ESPN
instead.
-- tell me to stop when I try to cuddle up to you on
the couch and ask me to get you a beer instead.
-- come to bed without showering, even though you've
been at work all day.
-- fart in bed and then fluff the covers.
-- wake me up to ask me for a blow job.
Please, please, please help me out! I miss the
asshole.
Rebel Rose
Edge of a Broken Heart
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2005
- Posts
- 4,820
But what if I'm shy?techsan said:
techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
A Mexican drinks his beer and suddenly throws his glass in the air, pulls out his pistol and shoots the glass to pieces. He says, "In Mexico Our glass is so
cheap we don't need to drink from the same glass twice."
An Iraqi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his AK-47 and shoots the glass to pieces. He says, "In Iraq we have so much sand to make glass that we don't need to drink out of the same glass twice either.
Then Dick Cheney, cool as a cucumber, picks up his beer and drinks it, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the Mexican and the Iraqi, and catches his glass. He says, "In America we have so many illegal Mexicans and Arabs that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice."
cheap we don't need to drink from the same glass twice."
An Iraqi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his AK-47 and shoots the glass to pieces. He says, "In Iraq we have so much sand to make glass that we don't need to drink out of the same glass twice either.
Then Dick Cheney, cool as a cucumber, picks up his beer and drinks it, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the Mexican and the Iraqi, and catches his glass. He says, "In America we have so many illegal Mexicans and Arabs that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice."
Rebel Rose
Edge of a Broken Heart
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2005
- Posts
- 4,820
A new ailment
A woman calls her boss one morning and tells him that
She is staying home because she is not feeling well.
"What's the matter?" he asks
"I have a case of anal glaucoma," she says in a weak voice.
"What the hell is anal glaucoma?"
"I can't see my ass coming in to work today.
A woman calls her boss one morning and tells him that
She is staying home because she is not feeling well.
"What's the matter?" he asks
"I have a case of anal glaucoma," she says in a weak voice.
"What the hell is anal glaucoma?"
"I can't see my ass coming in to work today.
Rebel Rose
Edge of a Broken Heart
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2005
- Posts
- 4,820
*giggles* I really wish I could get away with calling my boss and telling him that tonite.techsan said:
techsan
...just chugging along
- Joined
- Feb 10, 2005
- Posts
- 6,165
I can't believe I'm posting this. My daughter sent it to me ...
This is such a typical trip to a public restroom a woman will TRULY relate to this (and men will better understand...!)
My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the loo, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.
Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes. That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full.
When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely.
You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the loo. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper – not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point, you give up.
The splashing water soaks you. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Murray River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door, hold your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.
This is such a typical trip to a public restroom a woman will TRULY relate to this (and men will better understand...!)
My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the loo, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.
Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes. That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full.
When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely.
You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the loo. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper – not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China. At that point, you give up.
The splashing water soaks you. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Murray River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door, hold your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.
- Status
