I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root, and still be afraid of a spider.
An elderly woman entered a large furniture store and was greeted by a much younger salesman. "Is there something in particular I can show you?" he asked.
"Yes, I want to buy a sexual sofa."
"You mean a sectional sofa," he suggested. "Sectional, schmectional,"she bitterly retorted. "All I want is an occasional piece in the living room!"
HEY! WAIT A MINUTE...
I said to my wife, "Guess what I heard in the pub? They reckon the milkman has made love to every woman in our road except one."
And she said, "I'll bet it's that stuck-up Phyllis at number 23."
NO CABBAGE FOR YOU
Two elderly ladies meet at the launderette after not seeing one another for some time. After inquiring about each other's health one asked how the other's husband was doing.
"Oh! Bruce died last week. He went out to the garden to dig up a cabbage for dinner, had a heart attack and dropped down dead, right there in the middle of the vegetable patch!"
"Oh dear! I'm very sorry," replied her friend. "What did you do?"
"Opened a can of peas instead!"
R. D. Jones And His Sewing Machine
The following is an ad from a real-life newspaper which appeared four days in a row - the last three hopelessly trying to correct the first day's mistake.
For sale: R. D. Jones has one sewing machine for sale. Phone 948-0707 after 7 P.M.. and ask for Mrs. Kelly who lives with him cheap.
Notice: We regret having erred In R. D. Jones' ad yesterday. It should have read "One sewing machine for sale cheap. Phone 948-0707 and ask for Mrs. Kelly, who lives with him after 7 P.M."
Notice: R. D. Jones has informed us that he has received several annoying telephone calls because of the error we made in the classified ad yesterday. The ad stands correct as follows: "For sale -- R. D. Jones has one sewing machine for sale. Cheap. Phone 948-0707 after 7 P.M. and ask for Mrs. Kelly who loves with him."
THURSDAY: Notice: I, R. D. Jones, have no sewing machine for sale. I intentionally broke it. Don't call 948-0707 as I have had the phone disconnected. I have not been carrying on with Mrs. Kelly. Until yesterday she was my housekeeper, but she has now quit.
Think you had a bad day at work??????
Next time you have a bad day at work...think of this guy. Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station in Ft Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest. Needless to say, she won.
Hi Sue, Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he,along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut. So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt. Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job..."
A man goes to the minister at his church. "Reverend," he said, "we have a
problem. My wife keeps falling sleep during your sermons. It is very
embarrassing, not to mention disrespectful. What can I do?"
"I've noticed this and have an idea if you are up to the task," said the minister. "Take this hatpin with you. I can see when Mrs. Jones is sleeping, and I will motion to you. When I motion, you give her a good poke in the leg with the hatpin."
In church the following Sunday, Mrs. Jones dozed off. Noticing this, the preacher put his plan to work. "And who made the ultimate sacrifice for you?" he said, nodding to Mr. Jones.
"Jesus!" Mrs. Jones cried out as her husband jabbed her in the leg with the sharp hatpin.
"Yes! You are correct, Mrs. Jones!" came the minister's quick reply. Mrs. Jones then turned and glared angrily at her husband.
Soon, Mrs. Jones again nodded off. The minister noticed. "Who is your redeemer?" he asked the congregation, motioning toward Mr. Jones.
"My God!" howled Mrs. Jones as she was stuck again with the pin.
"Right again!" bellowed the minister, a slight grin on his face.
Mrs. Jones again gave her husband a real hard threatening glare. Before long, though, she again nodded off. This time, however, the minister did not notice. As he picked up the tempo of his sermon, he made a few hand gestures that Mr. Jones mistook as signals to sharply poke his wife with the hatpin again. The minister asked, "And what did Eve say to Adam after she bore him his 99th son?"
Mrs. Jones jumped up and shouted, "You stick that thing in me one more time and I'll break it in half and shove it where the sun don't shine!"
"Amen!" replied all the women in the congregation.