After working for years, a hooker finally retired and, being afraid of spending the rest of her life alone, she decided to marry. She had been with so many perverted men over the years that she felt she needed a change and would only get one by marrying a virgin male near her age.
She took out ads in newspapers around the world seeking a male virgin who was 55 years old and finally narrowed her choice to an Australian computer programmer. After a thorough background check, she was satisfied that he had indeed never been with a womanand they were married.
On their wedding night, she went into the bathroom to change into her nightie. When she came back out, she found that her new husband had taken the bed and everything in the room and stacked it in one corner.
Thinking this was rather kinky, she said to her new husband, "I thought you had never been with a woman before.
He replied, "That's true, but if it's anything like screwing a kangaroo, we're going to need all the room we can get!"
October 19, 2007
October 18, 2007
Halloween Costume
A black man and his wife were going to a Halloween party in a couple of days so the husband tells his wife to go to the store and get costumes for them to wear.
When he comes home that night he goes into the bedroom and there laid out on the bed is a Superman costume. The husband yells at his wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Superman? Take this back and get me something else I can wear."
The next day the wife, not too happy, returns the costume and gets a replacement. The husband comes home from work goes to the bedroom and there, laid out on the bed, is a Batman costume. He again yells at his poor wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Batman? Take this back and get me something I can wear to the costume party!"
The next morning his irate wife goes shopping. When the husband comes home again from work, there laid out on the bed are three items: one is a set of three white buttons, the second is a thick white belt, and the third item is a 2x4 The husband yells at the wife, "What the hell are these for?"
The wife yells back, "Take your clothes off. You can put the three white buttons on the front of you and go as a domino. If you don't like that idea, you can put the white belt on and go as an Oreo. And if you don't like THAT idea, you can shove the 2 x 4 up your ass and go as a fudgesicle!"
When he comes home that night he goes into the bedroom and there laid out on the bed is a Superman costume. The husband yells at his wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Superman? Take this back and get me something else I can wear."
The next day the wife, not too happy, returns the costume and gets a replacement. The husband comes home from work goes to the bedroom and there, laid out on the bed, is a Batman costume. He again yells at his poor wife, "What are you doing? Have you ever heard of a black Batman? Take this back and get me something I can wear to the costume party!"
The next morning his irate wife goes shopping. When the husband comes home again from work, there laid out on the bed are three items: one is a set of three white buttons, the second is a thick white belt, and the third item is a 2x4 The husband yells at the wife, "What the hell are these for?"
The wife yells back, "Take your clothes off. You can put the three white buttons on the front of you and go as a domino. If you don't like that idea, you can put the white belt on and go as an Oreo. And if you don't like THAT idea, you can shove the 2 x 4 up your ass and go as a fudgesicle!"
October 16, 2007
You know you are too old to Trick or Treat when:
10. You get winded from knocking on the door.
9. You have to have a kid chew the candy for you.
8. You ask for high fiber candy only.
7. When someone drops a candy bar in your bag, you lose your
balance and fall over.
6. People say: "Great Boris Karloff mask," and you're not wearing
a mask.
5. When the door opens you yell, "Trick or ...." and can't remember
the rest.
4. By the end of the night, you have a bag full of restraining orders.
3. You have to carefully choose a costume that won't dislodge your
hairpiece.
2. You're the only Power Ranger in the neighborhood with a walker.
And the number one reason Seniors should not go Trick Or Treating...
1. You keep having to go home to pee.
9. You have to have a kid chew the candy for you.
8. You ask for high fiber candy only.
7. When someone drops a candy bar in your bag, you lose your
balance and fall over.
6. People say: "Great Boris Karloff mask," and you're not wearing
a mask.
5. When the door opens you yell, "Trick or ...." and can't remember
the rest.
4. By the end of the night, you have a bag full of restraining orders.
3. You have to carefully choose a costume that won't dislodge your
hairpiece.
2. You're the only Power Ranger in the neighborhood with a walker.
And the number one reason Seniors should not go Trick Or Treating...
1. You keep having to go home to pee.
October 02, 2007
Interview with the Easter Bunny
With the possible exception of Santa Claus himself, there is not a busier mammal on the face of the earth than the Easter Bunny.
Once a year, the Easter Bunny hops into the homes of hundreds of millions of boys and girls all over the globe, dropping off chocolates, candy and eggs
as part of the celebration of Easter.
America Online spent a few minutes with the Easter Bunny as he was preparing for this year's task, for a tell-all, no-holds-barred interview. If you
thought you knew the Easter Bunny, you just may be surprised.
America Online: Thanks for talking to us.
Easter Bunny: No problem. Do you mind if I eat while we talk? [takes out a packet of small green pellets] I've been in a rush recently.
AOL: Go right ahead. We've got a list of questions here, compiled from our members, and I'll just go down the list if you don't mind.
EB: Ready when you are.
AOL: The first question comes from Ted, in Dayton, Ohio. He writes: "We all know that Santa's Workshop is located at the North Pole. Does the Easter Bunny have a workshop, and if so, where is it
located?"
EB: Well, Ted, the answer is yes, I do have a workshop. It's located in San Bernardino, California.
AOL: San Bernardino?
EB: That's right.
AOL: You have to understand that most people would have figured some place like Easter Island.
EB: Have you *been* to Easter Island? What a rock! It's the single most isolated piece of land on the planet. By the time we shipped fresh eggs there, we'd have chickens. Besides, San
Bernardino has the sort of motivated labor pool we need.
AOL: Elves?
EB: Laid-off aerospace workers.
AOL: They would seem to be a little overqualified.
EB: Maybe. But now we have some lovely chocolate stealth bombers.
AOL: Our next question comes from Cindy, in Tempe. She writes: "Why is the Easter Bunny a bunny? Why couldn't it have been the Easter Kitty, or the Easter Puppy?"
EB: That's a very good question. In fact, in the late 70s, we as an organization decided to play around with the whole "bunny" thing by recruiting prominent local animals to deliver Easter baskets. In 1978, when
the experiment was at its height, we had an Easter Bunny, an Easter Coyote, an Easter Manatee and an Easter Komodo Dragon.
AOL: What happened?
EB: It just didn't work out. The Komodo dragon ate the eggs, the coyote just flaked out, and the manatee, if I may say so, was just about as dumb as a stick. There were some other problems with the program, too. The less we talk about the whole Easter Man-Eating Bengali Swamp Tiger episode, the better. Now we stick with bunnies. We know bunnies. We can work with bunnies. Bunnies don't eat anyone.
AOL: Bob in Honolulu asks: "Is there is just one Easter Bunny? Moreover, has the same Easter Bunny been the Easter Bunny for the last couple of millennia?"
EB: The fact of the matter is that there are quite a few Easter Bunnies, and we've never made a secret about that. Unlike the Santa Claus operation, which works under the improbable assumption that one
guy delivers all those presents -
AOL: Are you saying that Santa is a sham?
EB: I didn't say that. I never said that. What I am saying is that *we* don't work under the same sort of constraints. I mean, think about it. One bunny delivering baskets to several hundred million homes across the planet? The friction from the atmosphere alone would turn the poor guy into a bunny briquette. There'd be hideous charcoal smudges all over the baskets. "Easter Bunny" is a job description, not a proper name. Its like "Postal Carrier," except our employees very rarely become disgruntled.
AOL: So why are you THE Easter Bunny?
EB: Because I'm boss. You're not an Easter Bunny until I say you are.
AOL: How does one become an Easter Bunny?
EB: Well, it's not just hopping down the bunny trail, I'll tell you. First, for reasons already explained, you have to be a bunny. After that, we have a psychological evaluation and a battery of physical tests you have to pass. We can't afford to have an Easter Bunny cramp up at the beginning of his run.
AOL: Any famous rabbits turned down for the job?
EB: I don't want to name names. But one bunny who's making a living in the breakfast cereal industry, we had to let go. Any time a child would try to get an Easter basket from him, he'd back away and start snarling. He was a silly rabbit. Easter baskets are for kids.
AOL: He seems to have gotten better since then.
EB: Prozac helps.
AOL: Albert from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, wants to know what the occupational hazards of being the Easter Bunny are.
EB: There are several. Large dogs are always a problem, of course: one moment you're delivering a basket of goodies, the next, a rottweiler named Pinochet is on you like a meat-filled sock. Nervous homeowners with guns wing a couple of bunnies a year, as do edgy cops and private security guards. We don't even bother trying to deliver to the children of militia members anymore; first they'll plug you for being on their land, then they'll make you into jerky and a pair of gloves. But you know what our number one problem is?
AOL: What?
EB: Sliding glass doors. Sometimes we'll just forget they're there. Man, that's embarrassing.
AOL: Here's an interesting question, from Amy, in New York City. She writes: "How does the Easter Bunny get along with Santa Claus? It seems like Santa gets all the attention." And I have to say; I did notice some tension earlier, when you brought him up.
EB (Looking uncomfortable): Well, you know, look. I don't want to say anything bad about the guy. He does what he does, and I do what I do. Professionally, we get along fine.
AOL: But privately?
EB: Is that tape recorder turned off?
AOL: Uh...sure.
EB: He's a big ol' pain in this bunny's bottom. For one thing, he's a prima donna: always me, me, me, where's my hot tea, where's my corned beef sandwich, tell this dumb bunny to get his own dressing room. I'd rather be trapped in a sack with Joan Crawford. For another, he's totally paranoid of other large men. He thinks that Luciano Pavarotti is trying to move into his territory. Last year it was John Goodman. He actually danced when Orson Welles kicked, waving his pistol and bellowing "Rosebud!" from the top of his lungs.
AOL: Wow. He seems a little scary.
EB: You think? And yet he gets all the publicity. Why? We do the same job. Mine's actually tougher, since I'm moving perishable stuff. You can't have bad eggs or stale chocolate, you know. Folks wouldn't stand for it. I have to maintain strict quality control. The only food product he has to worry about is fruitcake. You could tile the Space Shuttle with fruitcake.
AOL: We're sure you have your own fans.
EB: It's like opening for the Beatles, is all. And he *is* the walrus, if you know what I mean.
AOL: One final question, from Pat, in Rockford, Illinois; "Does the Easter Bunny actually lay eggs? How does that happen, since the Easter Bunny is both male and a mammal?"
EB: Well, platypuses are mammals, and they lay eggs. So it's not impossible.
AOL: That still leaves the male part.
EB: We're quibbling on details, here.
AOL: Maybe there should be an Easter Platypus.
EB: Sorry. We tried that in '78.
Once a year, the Easter Bunny hops into the homes of hundreds of millions of boys and girls all over the globe, dropping off chocolates, candy and eggs
as part of the celebration of Easter.
America Online spent a few minutes with the Easter Bunny as he was preparing for this year's task, for a tell-all, no-holds-barred interview. If you
thought you knew the Easter Bunny, you just may be surprised.
America Online: Thanks for talking to us.
Easter Bunny: No problem. Do you mind if I eat while we talk? [takes out a packet of small green pellets] I've been in a rush recently.
AOL: Go right ahead. We've got a list of questions here, compiled from our members, and I'll just go down the list if you don't mind.
EB: Ready when you are.
AOL: The first question comes from Ted, in Dayton, Ohio. He writes: "We all know that Santa's Workshop is located at the North Pole. Does the Easter Bunny have a workshop, and if so, where is it
located?"
EB: Well, Ted, the answer is yes, I do have a workshop. It's located in San Bernardino, California.
AOL: San Bernardino?
EB: That's right.
AOL: You have to understand that most people would have figured some place like Easter Island.
EB: Have you *been* to Easter Island? What a rock! It's the single most isolated piece of land on the planet. By the time we shipped fresh eggs there, we'd have chickens. Besides, San
Bernardino has the sort of motivated labor pool we need.
AOL: Elves?
EB: Laid-off aerospace workers.
AOL: They would seem to be a little overqualified.
EB: Maybe. But now we have some lovely chocolate stealth bombers.
AOL: Our next question comes from Cindy, in Tempe. She writes: "Why is the Easter Bunny a bunny? Why couldn't it have been the Easter Kitty, or the Easter Puppy?"
EB: That's a very good question. In fact, in the late 70s, we as an organization decided to play around with the whole "bunny" thing by recruiting prominent local animals to deliver Easter baskets. In 1978, when
the experiment was at its height, we had an Easter Bunny, an Easter Coyote, an Easter Manatee and an Easter Komodo Dragon.
AOL: What happened?
EB: It just didn't work out. The Komodo dragon ate the eggs, the coyote just flaked out, and the manatee, if I may say so, was just about as dumb as a stick. There were some other problems with the program, too. The less we talk about the whole Easter Man-Eating Bengali Swamp Tiger episode, the better. Now we stick with bunnies. We know bunnies. We can work with bunnies. Bunnies don't eat anyone.
AOL: Bob in Honolulu asks: "Is there is just one Easter Bunny? Moreover, has the same Easter Bunny been the Easter Bunny for the last couple of millennia?"
EB: The fact of the matter is that there are quite a few Easter Bunnies, and we've never made a secret about that. Unlike the Santa Claus operation, which works under the improbable assumption that one
guy delivers all those presents -
AOL: Are you saying that Santa is a sham?
EB: I didn't say that. I never said that. What I am saying is that *we* don't work under the same sort of constraints. I mean, think about it. One bunny delivering baskets to several hundred million homes across the planet? The friction from the atmosphere alone would turn the poor guy into a bunny briquette. There'd be hideous charcoal smudges all over the baskets. "Easter Bunny" is a job description, not a proper name. Its like "Postal Carrier," except our employees very rarely become disgruntled.
AOL: So why are you THE Easter Bunny?
EB: Because I'm boss. You're not an Easter Bunny until I say you are.
AOL: How does one become an Easter Bunny?
EB: Well, it's not just hopping down the bunny trail, I'll tell you. First, for reasons already explained, you have to be a bunny. After that, we have a psychological evaluation and a battery of physical tests you have to pass. We can't afford to have an Easter Bunny cramp up at the beginning of his run.
AOL: Any famous rabbits turned down for the job?
EB: I don't want to name names. But one bunny who's making a living in the breakfast cereal industry, we had to let go. Any time a child would try to get an Easter basket from him, he'd back away and start snarling. He was a silly rabbit. Easter baskets are for kids.
AOL: He seems to have gotten better since then.
EB: Prozac helps.
AOL: Albert from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, wants to know what the occupational hazards of being the Easter Bunny are.
EB: There are several. Large dogs are always a problem, of course: one moment you're delivering a basket of goodies, the next, a rottweiler named Pinochet is on you like a meat-filled sock. Nervous homeowners with guns wing a couple of bunnies a year, as do edgy cops and private security guards. We don't even bother trying to deliver to the children of militia members anymore; first they'll plug you for being on their land, then they'll make you into jerky and a pair of gloves. But you know what our number one problem is?
AOL: What?
EB: Sliding glass doors. Sometimes we'll just forget they're there. Man, that's embarrassing.
AOL: Here's an interesting question, from Amy, in New York City. She writes: "How does the Easter Bunny get along with Santa Claus? It seems like Santa gets all the attention." And I have to say; I did notice some tension earlier, when you brought him up.
EB (Looking uncomfortable): Well, you know, look. I don't want to say anything bad about the guy. He does what he does, and I do what I do. Professionally, we get along fine.
AOL: But privately?
EB: Is that tape recorder turned off?
AOL: Uh...sure.
EB: He's a big ol' pain in this bunny's bottom. For one thing, he's a prima donna: always me, me, me, where's my hot tea, where's my corned beef sandwich, tell this dumb bunny to get his own dressing room. I'd rather be trapped in a sack with Joan Crawford. For another, he's totally paranoid of other large men. He thinks that Luciano Pavarotti is trying to move into his territory. Last year it was John Goodman. He actually danced when Orson Welles kicked, waving his pistol and bellowing "Rosebud!" from the top of his lungs.
AOL: Wow. He seems a little scary.
EB: You think? And yet he gets all the publicity. Why? We do the same job. Mine's actually tougher, since I'm moving perishable stuff. You can't have bad eggs or stale chocolate, you know. Folks wouldn't stand for it. I have to maintain strict quality control. The only food product he has to worry about is fruitcake. You could tile the Space Shuttle with fruitcake.
AOL: We're sure you have your own fans.
EB: It's like opening for the Beatles, is all. And he *is* the walrus, if you know what I mean.
AOL: One final question, from Pat, in Rockford, Illinois; "Does the Easter Bunny actually lay eggs? How does that happen, since the Easter Bunny is both male and a mammal?"
EB: Well, platypuses are mammals, and they lay eggs. So it's not impossible.
AOL: That still leaves the male part.
EB: We're quibbling on details, here.
AOL: Maybe there should be an Easter Platypus.
EB: Sorry. We tried that in '78.
October 01, 2007
Can your pecker touch your ass?
A five-year-old boy and his grandfather are sitting on the front porch together, when grandpa pulled a beer out of the cooler.
The little boy asked, “Grandpa, can I have a beer?”
Grandpa replied, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
The little boy answered, “No Grandpa, It's just a little pecker!”
Grandpa said, “Then you're not man enough to have a beer.”
A little later Grandpa lit up a cigar. The little boy asked, “Grandpa, can I have a cigar?”
Once again, Grandpa asked, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
The little boy answered 'no,' again.
Grandpa said, “Then you're not man enough to have a cigar.”
A little later, the boy came out of the house with some cookies and milk. Grandpa asked, “Can I have a cookie?”
The boy asked, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
Grandpa replied, “Hell yeah, my pecker can touch my ass!”
The boy replied, “Then go screw yourself! Grandma made these cookies for me.”
The little boy asked, “Grandpa, can I have a beer?”
Grandpa replied, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
The little boy answered, “No Grandpa, It's just a little pecker!”
Grandpa said, “Then you're not man enough to have a beer.”
A little later Grandpa lit up a cigar. The little boy asked, “Grandpa, can I have a cigar?”
Once again, Grandpa asked, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
The little boy answered 'no,' again.
Grandpa said, “Then you're not man enough to have a cigar.”
A little later, the boy came out of the house with some cookies and milk. Grandpa asked, “Can I have a cookie?”
The boy asked, “Can your pecker touch your ass?”
Grandpa replied, “Hell yeah, my pecker can touch my ass!”
The boy replied, “Then go screw yourself! Grandma made these cookies for me.”
Jewish Widow
A recently widowed Jewish lady was sitting on a beach towel at Cocoa Beach, Florida. She looked up and noticed that a man her age had walked up, placed his blanket on the sand nearby, and began reading a book.
Smiling, she attempted to strike up a conversation with him. "Hello, sir. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you," he responded, and turned back to his book.
"I love the beach. Do you come here often?" she asked.
"First time since my wife passed away last year," he replied, and again turned back to his book.
"Do you live around here?" she asked.
"Yes, I live over in Suntree," he answered, and then resumed reading.
Trying to find a topic of common interest, Sarah persisted. "Do you like pussycats?"
With that, the man threw his book down, jumped off his blanket onto hers, tore off both their swimsuits and gave her the most passionate ride of her life!
As the cloud of sand began to settle, Sarah gasped and asked the man, "How did you know that was what I wanted?"
The man replied, "How did you know my name was Katz?"
Smiling, she attempted to strike up a conversation with him. "Hello, sir. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you," he responded, and turned back to his book.
"I love the beach. Do you come here often?" she asked.
"First time since my wife passed away last year," he replied, and again turned back to his book.
"Do you live around here?" she asked.
"Yes, I live over in Suntree," he answered, and then resumed reading.
Trying to find a topic of common interest, Sarah persisted. "Do you like pussycats?"
With that, the man threw his book down, jumped off his blanket onto hers, tore off both their swimsuits and gave her the most passionate ride of her life!
As the cloud of sand began to settle, Sarah gasped and asked the man, "How did you know that was what I wanted?"
The man replied, "How did you know my name was Katz?"
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