Posted on 07/25/2007 3:35:03 PM PDT by Sonora
I got it. It just took me a minute.
A blind man in the Pacific Northwest had grown tired of sitting at home and living off his disability allotment. Wishing to work and support himself, he had been looking for some suitable job for a long time, and finally went to an interview as a quality controller at the local wood mill.
As the morning wore on, the manager called out, “Next!” and, hearing this, the blind man walked into his office.
The manager took one look at him, and said, “Oh, listen, Buddy. I understand your problem, and how you want to be able to take care of yourself and all. Heck, I admire you for that. But just how do you expect to examine our lumber when you can’t see?”
“I can do it by smell,” the blind man responded.
“By smell?”
“Yes, that’s right. If you don’t believe me, try me out. Give me a test. If I fail, I’ll leave. But if I succeed, then give me the job.”
“Well,” shrugged the manager, thinking that such a test was an easy way to get rid of the poor fellow without hurting his feelings.
Pressing the button on his intercom, there came the sound of his secretary’s voice.
“Yes?” she inquired.
“Phyllis, will you please bring some wood samples in here. Just anything that’s in the waiting room. An assortment, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
In a moment, the secretary had done as she was requested, and the manager had laid out several wood samples on a table for him to smell.
“First one,” said the blind man, as he bent over, “a good piece of fir.”
“Well, I’ll be…” responded the manager. “That’s correct.
“Second one,” said the blind man, “that’s a bad piece of willow.”
“Son of a gun,” said the manager. “Right again.”
“Third one,” said the blind man. “Pine; second quality.”
“That’s amazing!” exclaimed the manager.
However, still not convinced, and worried that hiring the blind man would be more trouble than it was worth, he decided to play a trick on the poor fellow.
“Keep going,” he said.
There were no more wood samples, however. Instead, Phyllis, his secretary was standing at the end of the table. Now the manager motioned to her silently to lift up her skirt.
As she did so, she stared at the blind man with a certain amount of discomfort as, without knowing it, he lowered his face to her panties.
The blind man sniffed for a moment, then paused and said, “I’m confused. Could you turn it around?”
Phyllis turned around, and once again the blind man bent to take a sniff.
At last he straightened up with a broad smile on his face and chuckled to himself.
“Oh, I get it,” he said at last. “You’re having some fun with me. But you’ll be pleased to hear I know exactly what this is. It’s a piece of the bathroom door off a tuna boat!”
prisoner6
A young woman buys a mirror at an antique shop and hangs it on her bathroom door. One evening, while getting undressed, she playfully intones, “Mirror, mirror, on my door, make my bust-line forty-four.”
Instantly, there’s a brilliant flash of light, and her breasts grow to enormous proportions.
Excitedly, she runs to tell her husband what happened, and, in minutes, they both return. This time, the husband crosses his fingers and chants, “Mirror, mirror on the door, make my p*nis touch the floor!”
Again, there’s a brilliant flash of light, and... both his legs fall off.
LOL I thought it was “Bob”...
Maybe I'll make a thread for it some day :-)
By coincidence Bill Clinton and Pope John Paul II die on the same day. When the smoke clears the Pope realizes he's standing at the entry way to Hell. The devil sees him standing there and comes over with a very puzzled expression on his face. He assures the Pope that there must be some mistake and goes off to check. He comes back in a few minutes, very apologetic, and explains that there was a mix-up in destinations for him and another person, and that of course the Pope is in the wrong place. He tells the Pope that it'll take about 24 hours to straighten things out. The Pope assures the devil that he understands that 'these things happen' and he spends the 24 hours ministering to the tormented souls in hell, trying to comfort them.
The next morning the devil leads the Pope to a long escalator going up. He thanks the Pope again for his understanding and patience, and directs him to the escalator explaining that it will deposit him outside the Pearly Gates. As the Pope is heading up the escalator, he see Bill Clinton on his way down. They meet half way and pause to chat and renew their acquaintence. The Pope tells Clinton that he's sorry he's headed for Hell, but Clinton shrugs and tells the Pope that Heaven is indeed a wonderful place, and asks the Pope what is the first thing he wants to do there.
"Well," says the Pope, "I come from Poland and as a people we have always had a deep, spiritual relationship with the Mother of God. So I suppose what I'm looking forward most to is meeting the Virgin Mary at last.
Clinton turns and heads down, and calls over his shoulder, "You're a day late."
thats my joke! post 126.
GORILLA MATING
A small zoo in Arkansas had a very rare species of gorilla.
Within a few weeks the gorilla, a female, became very difficult to
handle.
Upon examination, the veterinarian determined the problem: the
gorilla was in season. To make matters worse, there was no male
gorilla available.
Thinking about their problem, the Zoo Keeper thought of Bobby Lee
Walton, a redneck part-time worker responsible for cleaning the
animal cages.
Bobby Lee, like most rednecks, had little sense but possessed ample
ability to satisfy a female of any species.
The Zoo Keeper thought they might have a solution.
Bobby Lee was approached with a proposition: Would he be willing
to mate with the gorilla for $500.00?
Bobby Lee showed some interest, but said he would have to think the
matter over carefully. The following day, he announced that he
would accept their offer, but only under four conditions.
1. “First”, Bobby Lee said, “I ain’t gonna kiss her on the lips.”
The Keeper quickly agreed to this condition.
2. “Second”, he said, “You can’t never tell no one about this.”
The Keeper again readily agreed to this condition.
3. “Third”, Bobby Lee said, “I want all the chil’run raised
Southern Baptist.”
Once again, the Keeper agreed.
4. “And last of all,” Bobby Lee stated, “You gotta give me another
week to come up with the $500.00.”
Stolen from a post by OESY......
My wife, Gretchen, is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, “hey y’all, hold my beer and watch this!” Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry’s Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my “fancy” is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for Gretchen. The occasion was our 14th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl.
What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. Tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you’ve never seen one of these things in action, then you’re truly missing out-way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don’t need no stinkin’ directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I’d get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!!
Yipeeeeee . . I’m easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to Toni what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn’t be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog , Moscow, looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Moscow) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Moscow for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet dog, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to Barb to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time... So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. All the while I’m looking at this little device (measuring about 5” long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, “no friggin’ way!”
Friggin’ way-trust me, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I’m sitting there alone, Moscow looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, “don’t do it buddy,” reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil’ ole thing couldn’t hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. (Don’t ya hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY SHIT! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I’m pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. Moscow was standing over me making barking sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, “do it again, do it again!” (Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one note of caution.)
There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You’re not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you’re lucky, you won’t dislodge one of the prongs 1/4” deep in your thigh like yours truly. SON-OF-A-BIT%CH that hurt! A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I’m pretty sure.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward. They’re round, rather large, kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself. Miss ‘em . . . sure would like to get ‘em back!
AMIGO, DON’T EVER DO THIS!
Irish Catholic Daughter
The Irish daughter had not been to the ouse for 5 years. Upon her return, her father cussed her, “Where have you been all this time, you ingrate! Why didn’t you write us, not even a line to let us know how you were doing? Why didn’t you call? You little tramp! Don’t you know what you put your Mum through?
The girl crying, replied, “Sniff, sniff...Dad...I became a prostitute...”
‘WHAT? Out of here, you shameless harlot! Sinner! You’re a dis-grace to the family - I don’t want to see you again!”
“OK, Dad - as you wish. I just came back to give Mum this luxury fur coat, the deeds to a ten bedroom mansion, plus a savings account certificate for 5 million pounds. For my little brother, this golden Rolex, and for you Daddy the spanking new Mercedes Limited Edition convertible that’s parked outside plus a lifetime membership in the Country Club...(takes a breath) - an invitation for you to spend New Year’s Eve boardmy new yacht in the Riviera, and...”
“Now what was it you said you had become?”
Girl, crying again, “Sniff, sniff...a prostitute Dad...sniff, sniff.”
“Oh! Be jeebies - You scared me half to death, girl. I thought you said a PROTESTANT!!! Come here and give your old man a hug.”
Where to Live After Retirement
You can live in Phoenix, Arizona where.....
1. You are willing to park 3 blocks away because you found shade.
2. You’ve experienced condensation on your butt from the hot water in the toilet bowl.
3. You can drive for 4 hours in one direction and never leave town.
4. You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
5. You know that “dry heat” is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open your oven door.
6. The 4 seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!
You can Live in California where...
1. You make over $250,000 and you still can’t afford to buy a house.
2. The fastest part of your commute is going down your driveway.
3. You know how to eat an artichoke.
4. You drive your rented Mercedes to your neighborhood block party.
5. When someone asks you how far something is, you tell them how long it
Will take to get there rather than how many miles away it is.
6. The 4 seasons are: Fire, Flood, Mud, and Drought
You can Live in New York City where...
1. You say “the city” and expect everyone to know you mean Manhattan.
2. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from
Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
3. You think Central Park is “nature,”
4. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own
language makes you multi-lingual.
5. You’ve worn out a car horn.
6. You think eye contact is an act of aggression.
You can Live in Maine where...
1. You only have four spices: salt, pepper, ketchup, and Tabasco.
2. Halloween costumes fit over parkas.
3. You have more than one recipe for moose.
4. Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
5. The four seasons are: winter, still winter, almost winter, and construction.
You can Live in the Deep South where...
1. You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
2. “y’all” is singular and “all y’all” is plural.
3. “He needed killin’” is a valid defense.
4. Everyone has 2 first names: Billy Bob, Jimmy Bob, Mary Sue, Betty Jean, MARY BETH, etc.
You can live in Colorado where...
1. You carry your $3,000 mountain bike atop your $500 car.
2. You tell your husband to pick up Granola on his way home and he stops at
the day care center.
3. A pass does not involve a football or dating.
4. The top of your head is bald, but you still have a pony tail.
You can live in the Midwest where...
1. You’ve never met any celebrities, but the mayor knows your name.
2. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.
3. You have had to switch from “heat” to “A/C” on the same day.
4. You end sentences with a preposition: “Where’s my coat at?”
5. When asked how your trip was to any exotic place, you say, “It was
different!”
AND You can live in Florida where..
1. You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
2. All purchases include a coupon of some kind — even houses and cars.
3. Everyone can recommend an excellent dermatologist.
4. Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
5. Cars in front of you are often driven by headless people.
This went on for years, each day the man storming down to the bank and yelling his threat across creek. One day the government pushed through a road and bridged the creek about a quarter of a mile upstream from the man's house. But that didn't change his routine. Each morning he would still go down to the creek and yell, "Clarence! One of these days I'm gonna come over there and kick your ass!"
Finally his wife had had enough. After years of listening to him, she pointed out that now he had a way across the creek and could now go over there and do what he'd been threatening. In a huff, the man agreed and stormed off down the road towards the bridge. About ten minutes later the man returned, much subdued. Did he kick Clarence's ass, she asked? To which the may replied, "No." "Why not," his wife asked, "You've been threateing to to for years?" "Well, " the man said, "I set out to. Then as I was acrossing that thar bridge I looked up and saw a sign that said 'Clearance 14 feet 5 inches.' I never imagined the sumbitch was so tall."
During his sermon one Sunday, the local preacher told his congregation that the entire range of human experience could be found in the Bible.
He confidently stated, “If anything can happen to humans, it is described somewhere in the Bible.”
After the service, a woman came up to the preacher and said, “Reverend, I don’t think the Bible mentions anything about PMS.”
The preacher told the woman he was certain he could find a reference to PMS somewhere in Scripture. During the following week, he searched
diligently, book- by-book, chapter-by-chapter and verse-by-verse.
On the following Sunday, the woman came up to him and asked, “Did you find any references to PMS in The Bible?”
The preacher smiled, opened his Bible and began to read, “... And Mary rode Joseph’s ass all the way to Bethlehem.”
A guy with a duck on his head walks into a psychiatrist’s office. The psychiatrist says, “Can I do anything for you?” The duck responds, “Yeah, get this guy off my ass!”
Bofus?
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