As I sat here, munching a mittful of product W, I had visions of an incredibly fast bicycle with my ex-wife on it. I believe in freefall, you can approach 200 MPH. Shirley, you can attain that speed with the monospoke wheels and the 1/4 20 chain system. The chain cleaning system makes me very glad I have a driveshaft on all my vehicles. The Carrababy would not work for me as my baby weighs more than 120 pounds. She is my 3 year old filly, Angel, about 900 pounds. I will have to investigate a Real Man Saddle for one of my scoots.
Ivan
I want to live my next life backwards! You start out dead and get that out of the way right off the bat. Then, you wake up in a nursing home feeling better every day. When you are kicked out of the home for being too healthy, you spend several years enjoying your retirement and collecting benefit checks. When you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day. You work 40 years or so, getting younger every day until pretty soon you're too young to work. So then, you go to high school: play sports, date, drink, and party. As you get even younger, you become a kid again. You go to elementary school, play, and have no responsibilities. In a few years, you become a baby and everyone runs themselves ragged keeping you happy. You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, spa-like conditions: central heating, room service on tap. Until finally...You finish off as an orgasm. I rest my case!!!
Anger management When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know. I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?" Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f......ing number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits. After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an asshole!" and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!" It always cheered me up. When Caller, ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'asshole' calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller, ID Program?" He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!" and hung up.
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number. A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial), I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too. I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?" He said, "Yes, it is." I asked, "Can you tell me where I can see it?" He said, "Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax. It's a yellow Rambler, and the car's parked right out in front." I asked, "What's your name?" He said, "My name is Don Hansen," I asked, "When's a good time to catch you, Don?" He said, "I'm home every evening after five." I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?" He said, "Yes?" I said, "Don, you're an asshole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called asshole 1. He said, "Hello." I said, "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.) He asked, "Are you still there?" I said, "Yeah," He screamed, "Stop calling me," I said, "Make me," He asked, "Who are you?" I said, "My name is Don Hansen." He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?" I said, "Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax, it's a yellow rambler and I have a black Beamer parked in front." He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers." I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole," and hung up. Then I called Asshole 2. He said, "Hello?" I said, "Hello, asshole." He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..." I said, "You'll what?" He exclaimed, "I'll kick your ass!" I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now." Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Fairfax, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax. I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew. NOW I feel much better. Anger management really does work
Sent to Dick by Ed B. A CB550F Nighthawk owner.
A man came home from work, sat down in his favorite chair, turned on the TV, and said to his wife, "Quick, bring me a beer before it starts."
She looked a little puzzled, but brought him a beer. When he finished it, he said, "Quick, bring me another beer. It's gonna start."
This time she looked a little angry, but brought him a beer. When it was gone, he said, "Quick, another beer, it's gonna start any second."
"That's it!" She blows her top, "You bastard! You waltz in here, flop your fat ass down, don't even say hello to me and then expect me to run around like your slave. Don't you realize that I cook and clean and wash and iron all day long?"
The husband sighed. "Oh shit, it's started.
Chili cooking contest Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cooking contest. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted." Here are the scorecards from the advent: (Frank Judge #3) Chili # 1 Eddie's Maniac Monster Chili... Judge # 1 --! A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick. Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild. Judge # 3 -- (Frank) What the hell is this stuff?! You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put out the flames. I hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy! Chili # 2 Austin's Afterburner Chili... Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang. Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor; needs more peppers to be taken seriously. Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face. Chili # 3 Ronny's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili... Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick. Needs more beans. Judge # 2 -- A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers. Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting pie-eyed from all of the beer... Chili # 4 Dave's Black Magic... Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing. Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish, or other mild foods; not much of a chili. Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. That 300-lb. woman is starting to look HOT...just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac? Chili # 5 Lisa's Legal Lip Remover... Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive. Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne ! peppers make a strong statement. Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead, and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw those rednecks. Chili # 6 Pam's Very Vegetarian Variety... Judge # 1 -- Thin, yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers. Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, a! nd garlic. Superb. Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. I pooped on myself when I farted and I'm worried it will eat through the chair! No one seems inclined to stand behind me anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone. Chili # 7 Carla's Screaming Sensation Chili... Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers. Judge # 2 -- Ho-hum; tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. **I should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress, as he is cursing uncontrollably. Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing; it's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach. Chili # 8 Karen's Toenail Curling Chili... Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold, but spicy enough to declare its existence. Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced ! chili. Neither mild, nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge # 3 farted, passed out, fell over, and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?" Judge # 3 -- Oh God........
The Italian Tomato Garden An old Italian lived alone in New Jersey. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult 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 sad, 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, like in the old days.
Love,
Papa A few days later he received a letter from his son. Dear Pop,
Don't dig up that garden. That's where the bodies are buried.
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 Pop,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances. Love you, Vinnie
Similar to Phil's.
Who Says Rednecks Are Dumb?
"Hello, is this the sheriff's office?"
"Yes. What can I do for you?"
"I'm calling to report 'bout my neighbor Virgil Smith. He's hidin' marijuana inside his firewood! Don't quite know how he gets it inside them logs, but he's hidin' it there."
"Thank you very much for the call, sir."
The next day, the sheriff's deputies descend on Virgil's house. They search the shed where the firewood is kept. Using axes, they bust open every piece of wood, but find no marijuana.
They sneer at Virgil and leave. Shortly, the phone rings at Virgil's house.
"Hey, Virgil! This here's Floyd. Did the sheriff come?"
"Yeah!"
"Did they chop your firewood?"
"Yep!"
"Happy birthday, buddy!"
Timothy-D I would like to ammend your point #7 if I may.
3 tools needed a hammer,a torch,and a CONDOM
if you can't beat it,burn it, and if you can't burn it F#*k it ! LOL