Joke of the day

[socwkbiker]

I Like Your Thinking

A teacher asks her class, "If there are five birds sitting on a fence and you shoot one of them, how many will be left?" She calls on little Johnny.
"None, they all fly away with the first gunshot."

The teacher replies, "The correct answer is four, but I like your thinking." Then Little Johnny says, "I have a question for YOU. There are three women sitting on a bench having ice cream. One is delicately licking the sides of the triple scoop of ice cream. The second is gobbling down the top and sucking the cone. The third is biting off the top of the ice cream. Which one is married?"

The teacher, blushing a great deal, replies, "Well I suppose the one that's gobbled down the top and sucked the cone."

"The correct answer is the one with the wedding ring on... but I like your thinking."

[rzuni]

That is a good one!!!! I would have guess none of them...........

[basco]

i figured it would be the one with the i dont think so look

Trip, is this a G rated forum? If not.......... let 'er rip!!

[trip]

<<<Trip, is this a G rated forum? If not.......... let 'er rip!! >>>

Keep in mind that we DO have ladies in our presence. Of course, I guess they can tell some sexist jokes too...LOL.

FLY A HELICOPTER!

http://www.hurtwood.demon.co.uk/Fun/copter.swf

How To Shower Like a Woman:

Take off clothing and place it nicely in the laundry hamper....

Walk to bathroom wearing robe or towel.
If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.

Look at your womanly physique in the mirror - make mental note to do more
sit-ups/leg-lifts, treadmill etc and to eat less.

Get in the shower. Use assorted cloths, along with assorted loofahs and
pumice stone.

Wash your hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins.

Wash your hair again to make sure it's clean.

Condition your hair with fruity conditioner enhanced with real passion fruit
and vitamins.

Wash your face with crushed apricot facial scrub for 10 minutes until red.

Wash and exfoliate rest of body with ginger nut and jaffa cake body wash or
something similar.

Rinse conditioner off hair.

Shave armpits and legs.

Turn off shower.

Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower.

Spray mold spots with Tilex.

Get out of shower and stand on bath mat to avoid water on the floor.

Dry with towel the size of a small country.

Wrap hair in super absorbent towel.

Return to bedroom wearing robe or towel along with the towel on wet head.

If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.





How To Shower Like a Man:

Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed and leave them in a pile.

Walk naked to the bathroom.

If you see wife along the way, shake weiner at her making the "woo-woo" sound.

Look at your manly physique in the mirror.

Admire the size of your weiner and scratch your ass.

Get in the shower Wash your face. Wash your armpits.

Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off.

Fart and laugh at how loud it sounds in the shower.

Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area.

Wash your hair. Make a Shampoo Mohawk. Pee.

Rinse off and get out of shower. Avoid bath mat and get plenty of water on the floor.

Dry off forearms and butt only.

Fail to notice water on floor because curtain was hanging out of tub the whole time.

Admire weiner size in mirror again. Shake it to watch water fly off.

Leave shower curtain open, wet mat on floor, light and fan on.

Return to bedroom with towel around waist.

If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake weiner at her and make the "woo-woo" sound again.

Throw wet towel on bed.

If there is anyone who did not laugh at the truth behind this, there is something very wrong with you.

Have a great day! And, "woo woo"!!!

A store that sells new husbands has just opened in
New York City , where a woman may go to choose a
husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a
description of how the store operates:

You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are six
floors and the value of the products increase as the
shopper ascends the flights.

The shopper may choose any item from a particular
floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but
you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband.
On the first floor the sign on the door reads:

Floor 1 - These men Have Jobs.

The second floor sign reads:
Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.

The third floor sign reads:
Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, and are
Extremely Good Looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads:
Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are
Drop-dead Good Looking and Help With Housework.

"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!"


Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads:
Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are
Drop-dead Gorgeous, Help With Housework, and Have a
Strong Romantic Streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth
floor and the sign reads:

Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor.
There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as
proof that women are impossible to please.

Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.


To avoid gender bias charges, the store's owner
opens a New Wives store just across the street. ..

The first floor has wives that love sex.

The second floor has wives that love sex and have
money.

The third through sixth floors have never been
visited.

Beer contains

Female Hormones

Last month, scientists at the National University of Lesotho released the results of a recent analysis revealing the presence of female hormones found in beer.

Men should take a concerned look at their beer consumption. The theory is that beer contains female hormones (hops contain phytoestrogens) and by drinking enough beer, men acquire the known attributes of women.

To test the theory, 100 men drank 8 pints of beer each within a one hour period. It was then observed that 100% of the test subjects:

1) Argued over nothing.
2) Refused to apologize when obviously wrong.
3) Gained weight.
4) Talked excessively without making sense.
5) Became overly emotional.
6) Couldn't drive.
7) Failed to think rationally.
Had to sit down while urinating.

No further testing was considered necessary.



Send this to the men you know to warn them about drinking too much beer!

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the
process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch
at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with
subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things
would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order
for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on
my way backto the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything
Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent
cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:

0.Occupied.

1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied
one.

2.Poo on seat.

3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and
sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds
of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound
of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone
conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of
Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on
and on. Mr. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty day he
had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the
loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I,
too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My
bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon,
my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer
cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand
against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded
with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone
ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not
unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency
of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once I disagree cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way
underthe stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart
had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my Gosh," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear
that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear
that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and
blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in
me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later,
in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now,
all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...

in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them..."
followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at
the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding
down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear
words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I
could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal
announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily
into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a
fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him
running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew
that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that
unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.

Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom
with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a
face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural
elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous
poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop
in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo.
And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the
bathroom.

[trip]

A lady was checking out at the local grocery store. When the box of tampax wouldn't scan for lack of a price, the checker got on the loud speaker and said, "Price check on tampax!"

The clerk in the back thought she said, "Price check on thumbtacks!" He got on the loud speaker and said, "Do you want a price for the ones you push in with your finger or drive in with a hammer?".

THE ITALIAN TOMATO GARDEN
>>> >
>>> > An old Italian man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig his tomato
>>> > garden but it was very hard work as the ground was hard. His only son,
>>> > Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter
>>> > to his son and described his predicament:
>>> >
>>> > Dear Vincent,
>>> >
>>> > I am feeling pretty badly because it looks like I won't be able to plant
>>> > my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a
garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I
>>> know you would be happy to dig the plot for me.
>>> >
>>> > Love, Dad
>>> >
>>> > A few days later he received a letter from his son:
>>> >
>>> > Dear Dad,
>>> > Don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the bodies.
>>> >
>>> > Love, Vinnie
>>> >
>>> > At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and
dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized
>>> > to the old man and left.
>>> > That same day the old man received another letter from his son:
>>> >
>>> > Dear Dad,
>>> > Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
>>> >
>>> > Love you, Vinnie :-*

[jmorrow]

Ralph goes to Heaven

Ralph came home drunk one night, slid into bed beside his sleeping wife, and fell into a deep slumber. He awoke before the Pearly Gates, where St. Peter said, "You died in your sleep Ralph. "Ralph was stunned." I'm dead? No, I can't be! I've got too much to live for. Send me back!" St. Peter said, "I'm sorry , but there's only one way you can go back, and that is as a chicken." Ralph was devastated, but begged St. Peter to send him to a farm near his home. The next thing he knew he was covered with feathers, clucking, and pecking the ground. A rooster strolled past. "So you're the new hen, huh? How's your first day here?" "Not bad," replied Ralph the hen,"but I have this strange feeling inside. Like I'm gonna explode!
"You're ovulating," explained the rooster. "Don't tell me you've never laid an egg before?" "Never," said Ralph. "Well just relax, and let it happen, 'says the rooster. "It's no big deal." Ralph did, and a few uncomfortable seconds later, out popped an egg! Ralph was overcome with emotion as he experienced motherhood. He soon laid another egg, his joy was overwhelming. As he was about to lay his third egg, he felt a smack on the back of his head, and heard his wife shout....."Dammit, Ralph! Wake up. You're sh_tting in the bed!"

[socwkbiker]

Wolfman, your fart and crapper joke had me in tears! That's funny stuff right there, I don't care what anybody says.

[socwkbiker]

A man calls the Animal Control in his town, because there is a crazed gorilla on his roof, and he can't figure out how to get it down safely. Soon, a van pulls up, and an old man gets out, carrying a small dog, a baseball bat, and a gun. He hands the man the gun.

"Okay, here's what we do. I'm going to go up onto your roof, and threaten the gorilla with this baseball bat until he falls down. When he falls down, this little dog will bite him in the balls until he's incapacitated."

"Great," says the man. "But what's the gun for?"

"In case I fall down instead of the gorilla -- shoot the dog."