Time to lighten the mood a little.......

[matriarch]

"Can I have some Irish Sausages, please?" asked the Irishman, walking up to the counter.

The assistant looked at him and asked: "Are you Irish?"

"If I had asked you for Italian sausage, would you ask me if I was Italian"? demanded the Irishman indignantly. "Or, if I asked for German Bratwurst, would you ask me if I was German?" Then, warming to his theme, he went on, "Or if I asked you for a Kosher hot dog, would you ask me if I was Jewish? Or, if I asked you for a taco, would you ask me if I was Mexican? Would ya? Would Ya?"

The assistant said: "Well no".

Suitably encouraged by the success of his logic, the Irishman steps it up a gear.
"And if I asked you for frogs legs, would you ask me if I was French? What about Danish Bacon, would you ask me if I was Danish?"

"Well, I probably wouldn't," conceded the assistant.

So, now bursting with righteous indignation, the Irishman says, "Well, all right then, why did you ask me if I'm Irish just because I asked for Irish sausages?"

The assistant replied: "Because you're in fucking Homebase."

 

[ABSTRUSE]

I like blonde jokes too

 

[wehstar]

I prefer leper jokes myself:

What did the leper say to the prostitute?
You can keep the tip.

What do you call a leper in a bath?
Porridge.

 

[Trinique_Fire]

 

[Guest]

What do you call a leper in jail?

A Leper con.

 

[Guest]

This is based on an actual radio conversation between a U.S. Navy
aircraft carrier (U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln) and Canadian authorities
off the coast of Newfoundland in October, 1995. (The radio
conversation was released by the Chief of Naval Operations on
10/10/95 authorized by the Freedom of Information Act.)

Canadians: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the South to
avoid collision.

Americans: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the
North to avoid a collision.

Canadians: Negative. You will have to divert your course 15
degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

Americans: This is the Captain of a US Navy ship. I say again,
divert YOUR course.

Canadians: No, I say again, you divert YOUR course.

Americans: THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS LINCOLN, THE SECOND
LARGEST SHIP IN THE UNITED STATES' ATLANTIC FLEET. WE ARE
ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS
SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES
NORTH--I SAY AGAIN, THAT'S ONE FIVE DEGREES NORTH--OR
COUNTER-MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP.

Canadians: This is a lighthouse. Your call.

 

[mjl2010]

So what do you get if you cross a midget with a prostitute?
Lil' fucker bout this tall...

MJL

 

[matriarch]

THE REAL STORY OF THE 3 BEARS

A far more accurate account of the events of that fateful morning.....

Baby bear goes downstairs, sits in his small chair at the table, and he looks into his small bowl. It is empty. "Who's been eating my porridge?" he squeaks.

Daddy Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl and it is also empty. "Who's been eating my porridge?!?" he roars.

Mummy Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, "For God's sake, how many times do we have to go through this with you idiots? It was Mummy Bear who got up first.
It was Mummy Bear who woke everyone in the house.
It was Mummy Bear who made the coffee.
It was Mummy Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night and put everything away.
It was Mummy Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper and croissants.
It was Mummy Bear who set the damn table.
It was Mummy Bear who put the bloody cats out, cleaned the litter boxes, gave the cats their food, and refilled their water.
And now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-asses downstairs and grace Mummy Bear with your grumpy presence, listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once.............................................


I HAVEN'T MADE THE FUCKING PORRIDGE YET!!!

 

[matriarch]

This is based on an actual radio conversation between a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier (U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln) and Canadian authorities off the coast of Newfoundland in October, 1995. (The radio conversation was released by the Chief of Naval Operations on 10/10/95 authorized by the Freedom of Information Act.)

Canadians: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid collision.

Americans: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the North to avoid a collision.

Canadians: Negative. You will have to divert your course 15 degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

Americans: This is the Captain of a US Navy ship. I say again, divert YOUR course.

Canadians: No, I say again, you divert YOUR course.

Americans: THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS LINCOLN, THE SECOND LARGEST SHIP IN THE UNITED STATES' ATLANTIC FLEET. WE ARE ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES NORTH--I SAY AGAIN, THAT'S ONE FIVE DEGREES NORTH--OR COUNTER-MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP.

Canadians: This is a lighthouse. Your call.

One of my favourites, no matter how many times I read/hear/see it, makes me giggle.

Thank you.

 

[cloudy]

my favorite indian joke:

About 1966 or so, a NASA team doing work for the Apollo moon mission took the astronauts near Tuba City where the terrain of the Navajo Reservation looks very much like the Lunar surface. Along with all the trucks and large vehicles, there were two large figures dressed in full lunar spacesuits.

Nearby a Navajo sheep herder and his son were watching the strange creatures walk about, occasionally being tended by personnel. The NASA team noticed the two Navajo men and approached them. Since the old man did not know English, his son asked, for him, what the strange creatures were. The NASA people told them that they are just men that are getting ready to go to the moon. The man became very excited and asked if he could send a message to the moon with the astronauts.

The NASA personnel thought this was a great idea, so they rustled up a tape recorder. After the man gave them his message, they asked his son to translate. His son would not.

Later, they asked a few more people on the reservation to translate and every person they asked would chuckle and then refuse to translate. Finally, with cash in hand, someone translated the message:

"Watch out for these guys, they come to take your land."

 

[floweringquince]

The elderly couple stolled through the park arm-in-arm. Presently, they could not help noticing a dog who happened just then to be cleaning himself with a great deal of gusto and enthusiasm.

The elderly lady elbowed her companion gently in the ribs and, with a rogue-ish twinkle in her eye, asked him: "Hey! Why can't you do that?"

The gentleman replied, thoughtfully: "Well, I guess I could, but he'd probably bite me."

 

[matriarch]

A Newfoundlander went to see a psychiatrist.

When he got there, he said, "I've got problems. Every time I go t o bed, I think there's somebody under it. I'm scared. I think I'm going crazy."

"Just put yourself in my hands for one year," said the shrink. " Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears."

"How much do you charge?"

"Eighty dollars per visit," replied the doctor.

"I'll think about it," said the Newfoundlander.

Six months later, the doctor met the Newfie on the street. " Why didn't you ever come to see about those fears you were having"? asked the psychiatrist.

" Well eighty bucks a visit three times a week for a year i s an awful lot of money! A bartender cured me for $10....I was so happy to have saved all that money, I went and bought me a new pickup! "

"Is that so! And how, may I ask, did a bartender cure you?"

" He told me to cut the legs off the bed! Ain't nobody under there now!"

 

[maggot420]

President George Bush was in the Oval Office wondering which country to invade next when his telephone rang.
"Hallo, President Bush," heavily-accented voice said. "This is Archie, up 'ere at the Harp Seal Pub in Badger's Cove, Newfoundland, Canada eh? I am callin' to tells ya dat we are officially declaring war on ya, eh"
"Well Archie," George replied, "This is indeed important news! How big is your army?"
"Right now," said Archie, after a moments calculation, there is myself, me cousin, Harold, me next-door-neighbour, Mick, and the whole dart team from the pub. Dat makes eight!"
George paused. "I must tell you, Archie, that I have one million men in my army waiting to move on my command."
"Holy jeez," said Archie. "I'll have ta call ya back!"

Sure enough, the next day, Archie called again. "Mr. Bush, The war is still on! We have managed to acquire some infantry equipment!"
"And what equipment would that be Archie?" George asked.
"Well sir, we have two combines, a bulldozer and Harry's farm tractor."
President Bush sighed. "I must tell you Archie, that I have 16,000 tanks and 14,000 armoured personnel carriers. Also, I've increased my army to one and a half million since we last spoke."
"Lard T'underin' Jaysus, bye", said Archie. "I'll be getting back to ya."

Sure enough, Archie rang again the next day. "President Bush, the war is still on! We have managed to git ourselves airborne! We up an' modified Harrigan's ultra-light wit a couple of shotguns in the cockpit and four byes from the Legion have joined us as well!"
George was silent for a minute, then cleared his throat. I must tell you Archie that I have 10,000 bombers and 20,000 fighter planes. My military complex is surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I've increased my army to TWO MILLION!"
"Jeysus, Mary and Joseph," said Archie. "I'll have ta call youse back."

Sure enough, Archie called again the next day. "President Bush! I am sorry to have to tell you dat we have had to call off dis 'ere war."
"I'm sorry to hear that" said George. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Well, sir," said Archie, "we've all sat ourselves down and had a long chat over a bunch of pints and come to realize dat dere's no way we can feed two million prisoners!!"

 

[rgraham666]

President George Bush was in the Oval Office wondering which country to invade next when his telephone rang.

Gotta love the Newfs!

 

[drksideofthemoon]

A Newfoundlander went to see a psychiatrist.

When he got there, he said, "I've got problems. Every time I go t o bed, I think there's somebody under it. I'm scared. I think I'm going crazy."

"Just put yourself in my hands for one year," said the shrink. " Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears."

"How much do you charge?"

"Eighty dollars per visit," replied the doctor.

"I'll think about it," said the Newfoundlander.

Six months later, the doctor met the Newfie on the street. " Why didn't you ever come to see about those fears you were having"? asked the psychiatrist.

" Well eighty bucks a visit three times a week for a year i s an awful lot of money! A bartender cured me for $10....I was so happy to have saved all that money, I went and bought me a new pickup! "

"Is that so! And how, may I ask, did a bartender cure you?"

" He told me to cut the legs off the bed! Ain't nobody under there now!"

Oh, it's Newfie jokes is it?

What's a Newf's four favorite words?

Whale Oil Beef Hooked. (say it quickly no pause between words).

The world will come to an end at two o'clock, two-thirty in Newfoundland...

 

[_Lynn_]

WHO IS JACK SCHITT?

For some time many of us have wondered just who is Jack Schitt? We find
ourselves at a loss when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt!'
Well, thanks to my genealogy efforts, you can now respond in an intellectual way.

Jack Schitt is the only son of Awe Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer
magnate, married O. Schitt, the owner of Needeep N. Schitt, Inc. They
had one son, Jack.

In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt. The deeply religious couple
produced six children: Holie Schitt, Giva Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Bull
Schitt, and the twins Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt.

Against her parents' objections, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high
school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt
divorced. Noe Schitt later married Ted Sherlock, and because her kids
were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt Sherlock.

Meanwhile, Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt, and they produced a son with
a rather nervous disposition named Chicken Schitt. Two of the other six
children, Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt, were inseparable throughout
childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual
ceremony. The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced the
Schitt-Happens nuptials. The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd,
and Horse.

Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently
returned from Italy with his new Italian bride, Pisa Schitt.

Now when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt,' you can correct
them.

Sincerely,
Crock O. Schitt

 

[TE999]

Paddy Murphy limps into a pub in Belfast, looking as if he'd been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his eyes are blackened and his face is cut and bruised.

"Bejasus, what happened to you?" asked Sean the bartender.

"Jamie O'Connor and me had a foight," says Paddy.

"That little shit O'Connor," replies Sean, "He couldn't do that to you. He must have had something in his hand."

"That he did," said Paddy. "He had a coal shovel and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."

"Well, why didn't you defend yourself?" said Sean. "Didn't you have something in your hand?"

"That I did," Paddy replied. "Mrs. O'Connors breast. It's a thing of beauty, but useless in a foight."

 

[rgraham666]

Here is a long, but very funny story I read elsewhere earlier today.

__________

I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.

Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being "behind the power curve". It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.

Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle... at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.

I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!

Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness... all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.

I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently required when riding.

Little did I suspect...

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 can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the 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 twenty 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 maybe 25mph 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 and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off 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 pissed-off squirrel.

This was an evil 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 square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social 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 as 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, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street... on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel 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 is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little effect on the squirrel however.

The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.

Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his 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 the 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 one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph 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 directional 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 at a busy cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.

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 swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger!

That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car!

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.

As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death... I'll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.

And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves.

 

[Belegon]

This is based on an actual radio conversation between a U.S. Navy
aircraft carrier (U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln) and Canadian authorities
off the coast of Newfoundland in October, 1995. (The radio
conversation was released by the Chief of Naval Operations on
10/10/95 authorized by the Freedom of Information Act.)

Canadians: Please divert your course 15 degrees to the South to
avoid collision.

Americans: Recommend you divert your course 15 degrees to the
North to avoid a collision.

Canadians: Negative. You will have to divert your course 15
degrees to the South to avoid a collision.

Americans: This is the Captain of a US Navy ship. I say again,
divert YOUR course.

Canadians: No, I say again, you divert YOUR course.

Americans: THIS IS THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER USS LINCOLN, THE SECOND
LARGEST SHIP IN THE UNITED STATES' ATLANTIC FLEET. WE ARE
ACCOMPANIED BY THREE DESTROYERS, THREE CRUISERS AND NUMEROUS
SUPPORT VESSELS. I DEMAND THAT YOU CHANGE YOUR COURSE 15 DEGREES
NORTH--I SAY AGAIN, THAT'S ONE FIVE DEGREES NORTH--OR
COUNTER-MEASURES WILL BE UNDERTAKEN TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THIS SHIP.

Canadians: This is a lighthouse. Your call.

just awesome...

 

[_Lynn_]

Dear Ma and Pa,

I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.

I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. but I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.

Men got to shave but it is no t so bad, there's warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you until noon when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much.

We go on "route marches," which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.

The country is nice but awful flat The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move, and it ain't shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home. I'm about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me, but I'm only 5'6" and 130 pounds and he's 6'8" and near 300 pounds dry.

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,

Alice