Travel Humour...sorry!
Apr 19th, 2006, 03:12 PM
#1
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Travel Humour...sorry!
An American tourist in London decides to skip his tour group and explore the city on his own. He wanders around, seeing the sights, and occasionally stopping at a quaint pub to soak up the local culture, chat with the lads, and have a pint of Guinness.
After a while and number of pints, he finds himself in a very high-class area -- big, stately residences, no pubs, no shops, no restaurants, and worst of all .. NO PUBLIC TOILETS. He really, really has to go, after all those pints of Guinness.
He finds a narrow side street, with high walls surrounding the adjacent buildings and decides to use the wall to solve his problem.
As he is unzipping, he is tapped on the shoulder by a London Bobbie, who says, "I say, sir, you simply cannot do that here, you know."
"I'm very sorry, officer," replies the American, "but I really, really
HAVE TO GO, and I just can't find a public toilet."
Ah, yes," said the Bobbie, "Just follow me".. He leads him to a back
delivery alley, then along a wall to a gate, which he opens. "In there," points the Bobbie. "Whiz away SIR, anywhere you want."
The fellow enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he
has ever seen. Manicured grass lawns, statuary, fountains, sculptured hedges, and huge beds of gorgeous flowers, all in perfect bloom. Since he has the cop's blessing, he unburdens himself and is greatly relieved.
As he goes back through the gate, he says to the Bobbie, "That was really considerate of you... is that what you call "British Hospitality?"
"No sir," replied the Bobbie, "That is what we call the French Embassy."
After a while and number of pints, he finds himself in a very high-class area -- big, stately residences, no pubs, no shops, no restaurants, and worst of all .. NO PUBLIC TOILETS. He really, really has to go, after all those pints of Guinness.
He finds a narrow side street, with high walls surrounding the adjacent buildings and decides to use the wall to solve his problem.
As he is unzipping, he is tapped on the shoulder by a London Bobbie, who says, "I say, sir, you simply cannot do that here, you know."
"I'm very sorry, officer," replies the American, "but I really, really
HAVE TO GO, and I just can't find a public toilet."
Ah, yes," said the Bobbie, "Just follow me".. He leads him to a back
delivery alley, then along a wall to a gate, which he opens. "In there," points the Bobbie. "Whiz away SIR, anywhere you want."
The fellow enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he
has ever seen. Manicured grass lawns, statuary, fountains, sculptured hedges, and huge beds of gorgeous flowers, all in perfect bloom. Since he has the cop's blessing, he unburdens himself and is greatly relieved.
As he goes back through the gate, he says to the Bobbie, "That was really considerate of you... is that what you call "British Hospitality?"
"No sir," replied the Bobbie, "That is what we call the French Embassy."
Apr 19th, 2006, 03:28 PM
#2
Pretty funny. Here's another.
A man and a woman, who have never met before, who are both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a trans-continental train.
Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly... He in the upper bunk and she in the lower.
At 1:00 AM, the man leaned over and gently woke the woman saying, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."
"I have a better idea ," she replied. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married."
"Wow! That's a great idea!" he exclaimed.
"Good," she replied. "Get your own f*****g blanket!"
After a moment of silence, he farted.
A man and a woman, who have never met before, who are both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a trans-continental train.
Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly... He in the upper bunk and she in the lower.
At 1:00 AM, the man leaned over and gently woke the woman saying, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."
"I have a better idea ," she replied. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married."
"Wow! That's a great idea!" he exclaimed.
"Good," she replied. "Get your own f*****g blanket!"
After a moment of silence, he farted.
Apr 19th, 2006, 09:59 PM
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A Spanish man, a Russian man, and an African man were all up in a hot-air balloon together. After a few minutes, the Russian man put his hand down through the clouds. "Aaah!" he said. "We're right over my homeland."
"How can you tell?" asked the Spaniard.
"I can feel the cold air." he replied.
A few hours later the African man put his hand through the clouds. "Aah we're right over my homeland." he said.
"How do you know that?" asked the Russian. "I can feel the heat of the desert."
Several more hours later the Spanish man put his hand through the clouds. "Aah, we're right over Las Ramblas, Barcelona."
The Russian and the African were amazed. "How do you know all of that?" they exclaimed.
The Spaniard pulled his hand up. "My watch is missing."
"How can you tell?" asked the Spaniard.
"I can feel the cold air." he replied.
A few hours later the African man put his hand through the clouds. "Aah we're right over my homeland." he said.
"How do you know that?" asked the Russian. "I can feel the heat of the desert."
Several more hours later the Spanish man put his hand through the clouds. "Aah, we're right over Las Ramblas, Barcelona."
The Russian and the African were amazed. "How do you know all of that?" they exclaimed.
The Spaniard pulled his hand up. "My watch is missing."
Apr 19th, 2006, 11:13 PM
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Blind Pilots
Two men dressed in Pilots' uniforms walk up the aisle of the aeroplane. Both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a guide dog, and the other tapping his way along the aisle with a cane.
Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin, but the men enter the cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up.
The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming.
The plane moves faster and faster down the runway, and the people sitting in the window seats realise they're headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport territory.
As it begins to look as though the plane will plough into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin.
At that moment, the plane lifts smoothly into the air. The passengers
relax and laugh a little sheepishly, and soon all retreat into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands.
In the cockpit, one of the blind pilots turns to the other and says, "You know, Bob, one of these days, they're gonna scream too late and we're all gonna die."
Two men dressed in Pilots' uniforms walk up the aisle of the aeroplane. Both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a guide dog, and the other tapping his way along the aisle with a cane.
Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin, but the men enter the cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up.
The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming.
The plane moves faster and faster down the runway, and the people sitting in the window seats realise they're headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport territory.
As it begins to look as though the plane will plough into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin.
At that moment, the plane lifts smoothly into the air. The passengers
relax and laugh a little sheepishly, and soon all retreat into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands.
In the cockpit, one of the blind pilots turns to the other and says, "You know, Bob, one of these days, they're gonna scream too late and we're all gonna die."
Apr 20th, 2006, 06:26 PM
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A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
"Not very long," answered the Mexican.
"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.
The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"
"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."
The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you!
"You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.
"Instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise."
"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.
"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.
"And after that?"
"Afterwards? That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!"
"Millions? Really? And after that?"
"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends!"
"Not very long," answered the Mexican.
"But then, why didn't you stay out longer and catch more?" asked the American.
The Mexican explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The American asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"
"I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village to see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs...I have a full life."
The American interrupted, "I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you!
"You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.
"Instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise."
"How long would that take?" asked the Mexican.
"Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years," replied the American.
"And after that?"
"Afterwards? That's when it gets really interesting," answered the American, laughing. "When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!"
"Millions? Really? And after that?"
"After that you'll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends!"
Apr 21st, 2006, 01:15 AM
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(a funny sent to me in L.A. by a Canadian friend)
Sitting together on a train, travelling through the Canadian >Rockies were
an American guy, a Canadian guy, a little old Greek lady, and a young blonde girl with large breasts.
The Train travels into a dark tunnel and a few seconds later there is the
sound of a loud slap.
When the train emerges from the tunnel, the American has a bright red hand print on his cheek. No one speaks...
The old Greek lady thinks: The American guy must have groped the blonde in
the dark and she slapped his cheek.
The blonde girl thinks: That American guy must have tried to grope me in
the dark, but missed and fondled the old lady and she slapped his
cheek.
The American thinks: The Canadian guy must have groped the blonde in the
dark. She tried to slap him but missed and got me instead.
The Canadian thinks: I can't wait for another tunnel, just so I can
smack the American again.
Sitting together on a train, travelling through the Canadian >Rockies were
an American guy, a Canadian guy, a little old Greek lady, and a young blonde girl with large breasts.
The Train travels into a dark tunnel and a few seconds later there is the
sound of a loud slap.
When the train emerges from the tunnel, the American has a bright red hand print on his cheek. No one speaks...
The old Greek lady thinks: The American guy must have groped the blonde in
the dark and she slapped his cheek.
The blonde girl thinks: That American guy must have tried to grope me in
the dark, but missed and fondled the old lady and she slapped his
cheek.
The American thinks: The Canadian guy must have groped the blonde in the
dark. She tried to slap him but missed and got me instead.
The Canadian thinks: I can't wait for another tunnel, just so I can
smack the American again.
Jun 21st, 2006, 01:36 AM
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Taken from the Guardian, an actual letter sent by the Inland Revenue:
Dear Mr Addison,
I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the points you raise. I will address them, as ever, in order.
Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a <b>"begging letter"</b>. It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a <b>"tax demand"</b>. This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for reasons of accuracy, traditionally referred to such documents.
Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the <b>"endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox on to the doormat"</b> has been noted.
However, whilst I have naturally not seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest that their being from <b>"pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers"</b> might indicate that your decision to <b>"file them next to the toilet in case of emergencies"</b> is at best a little ill-advised.
In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a <b>"lackwit bumpkin”</b> or, come to that, a <b>"sodding charity"</b>. More likely they see you as a citizen of Great Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the nation as a whole.
Which brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be some spirit of truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay <b>"go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services"</b>, a moment's rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to <b>"stump up for the whole damned party"</b> yourself.
The estimates you provide for the Chancellor's disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent on <b>"junkets for Bunterish lickspittles"</b> and <b>"dancing whores"</b> whilst far more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, <b>"that box-ticking façade of a university system."</b>
A couple of technical points arising from direct queries:
1. The reason we don't simply write <b>"Muggins"</b> on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;
2. You can rest assured that <b>"sucking the very marrows of those with nothing else to give"</b> has never been considered as a practice because even if the Personal Allowance didn't render it irrelevant, the sheer medicallogistics involved would make it financially unviable.
I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point out that even if you did choose to <b>"give the whole foul jamboree up and go and live in India"</b> you would still owe us the money.
Please forward it by Friday.
Yours Sincerely,
H J Lee
Customer Relations
Dear Mr Addison,
I am writing to you to express our thanks for your more than prompt reply to our latest communication, and also to answer some of the points you raise. I will address them, as ever, in order.
Firstly, I must take issue with your description of our last as a <b>"begging letter"</b>. It might perhaps more properly be referred to as a <b>"tax demand"</b>. This is how we, at the Inland Revenue have always, for reasons of accuracy, traditionally referred to such documents.
Secondly, your frustration at our adding to the <b>"endless stream of crapulent whining and panhandling vomited daily through the letterbox on to the doormat"</b> has been noted.
However, whilst I have naturally not seen the other letters to which you refer I would cautiously suggest that their being from <b>"pauper councils, Lombardy pirate banking houses and pissant gas-mongerers"</b> might indicate that your decision to <b>"file them next to the toilet in case of emergencies"</b> is at best a little ill-advised.
In common with my own organisation, it is unlikely that the senders of these letters do see you as a <b>"lackwit bumpkin”</b> or, come to that, a <b>"sodding charity"</b>. More likely they see you as a citizen of Great Britain, with a responsibility to contribute to the upkeep of the nation as a whole.
Which brings me to my next point. Whilst there may be some spirit of truth in your assertion that the taxes you pay <b>"go to shore up the canker-blighted, toppling folly that is the Public Services"</b>, a moment's rudimentary calculation ought to disabuse you of the notion that the government in any way expects you to <b>"stump up for the whole damned party"</b> yourself.
The estimates you provide for the Chancellor's disbursement of the funds levied by taxation, whilst colourful, are, in fairness, a little off the mark. Less than you seem to imagine is spent on <b>"junkets for Bunterish lickspittles"</b> and <b>"dancing whores"</b> whilst far more than you have accounted for is allocated to, for example, <b>"that box-ticking façade of a university system."</b>
A couple of technical points arising from direct queries:
1. The reason we don't simply write <b>"Muggins"</b> on the envelope has to do with the vagaries of the postal system;
2. You can rest assured that <b>"sucking the very marrows of those with nothing else to give"</b> has never been considered as a practice because even if the Personal Allowance didn't render it irrelevant, the sheer medicallogistics involved would make it financially unviable.
I trust this has helped. In the meantime, whilst I would not in any way wish to influence your decision one way or the other, I ought to point out that even if you did choose to <b>"give the whole foul jamboree up and go and live in India"</b> you would still owe us the money.
Please forward it by Friday.
Yours Sincerely,
H J Lee
Customer Relations
Oct 21st, 2008, 05:00 AM
#12
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The famous "Smithsonian Letter"...
Paleoanthropology Division
Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20078
Dear Sir:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "211-D, layer seven, next to the clothesline post. Hominid skull." We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents "conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago."
Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be the "Malibu Barbie". It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings. However, we do feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:
1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.
2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-hominids.
3. The dentition pattern evident on the "skull" is more consistent with the common domesticated dog than it is with the "ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams" you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time. This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it. Without going into too much detail, let us say that:
A. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed on.
B. Clams don't have teeth.
It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results. Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation's Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name "Australopithecus spiff-arino." Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.
However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to the Institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you will happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your back yard.
We eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capital that you proposed in your last letter, and several of us are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the "trans-positating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix" that makes the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.
Yours in Science,
Harvey Rowe
Curator, Antiquities
Paleoanthropology Division
Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, DC 20078
Dear Sir:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "211-D, layer seven, next to the clothesline post. Hominid skull." We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents "conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago."
Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be the "Malibu Barbie". It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings. However, we do feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:
1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.
2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-hominids.
3. The dentition pattern evident on the "skull" is more consistent with the common domesticated dog than it is with the "ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams" you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time. This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it. Without going into too much detail, let us say that:
A. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed on.
B. Clams don't have teeth.
It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results. Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation's Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name "Australopithecus spiff-arino." Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.
However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to the Institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you will happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your back yard.
We eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capital that you proposed in your last letter, and several of us are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the "trans-positating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix" that makes the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.
Yours in Science,
Harvey Rowe
Curator, Antiquities
Oct 21st, 2008, 05:11 AM
#13
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My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant,
> who seemed to
> put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.
>
> As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the
> aisle and told us
> that 'Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be
> landing the
> big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put
> your trays up,
> that would be super.'
>
>
> On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and
> rather Arabic
> looking woman hadn't moved a muscle.
>
> 'Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines but I
> asked
> you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on
> the
> ground.'
>
> She calmly turned her head and said, 'In my country, I am called
> a Princess
> and I take orders from no one.'
>
> To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied, without missing
> a beat,
> 'Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country I'm called a Queen, so I
> outrank you.
>
>
> Tray-up, Bitch.'
> who seemed to
> put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.
>
> As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the
> aisle and told us
> that 'Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be
> landing the
> big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put
> your trays up,
> that would be super.'
>
>
> On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and
> rather Arabic
> looking woman hadn't moved a muscle.
>
> 'Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines but I
> asked
> you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on
> the
> ground.'
>
> She calmly turned her head and said, 'In my country, I am called
> a Princess
> and I take orders from no one.'
>
> To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied, without missing
> a beat,
> 'Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country I'm called a Queen, so I
> outrank you.
>
>
> Tray-up, Bitch.'
Oct 21st, 2008, 07:37 AM
#14
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Though not strictly travel humor, the following was posted in the English language newspaper in Istanbul last year.
A burglar was ransacking a darkened home one evening when, as he was about to cut the wires holding the expensive sound system, he heard a voice say, "Jesus is watching you."
He froze at once and looked carefully around the dark room. He concluded there was no one there and that the voice must have come from the street. He turned back to the sound system and again heard the same voice say, louder this time, "Jesus is watching you."
The burglar, entirely frightened now, decided he had no choice but to do a quick sweep of the room with his flashlight. He immediately discovered a parrot sitting on a perch.
He asked the parrot, "Did you say that?"
"Yes," the parrot replied, "I'm trying to save you from much pain."
The burglar replied sarcastically, "Thank you very much. And who are you to be trying to save me?"
The parrot replied. "I am named Moses."
The burglar laughed and asked. "What kind of people would name a parrot Moses?"
If it is possible for a parrot to smirk, he did; and replied, "The same kind of people who would name a rottweiler Jesus."
A burglar was ransacking a darkened home one evening when, as he was about to cut the wires holding the expensive sound system, he heard a voice say, "Jesus is watching you."
He froze at once and looked carefully around the dark room. He concluded there was no one there and that the voice must have come from the street. He turned back to the sound system and again heard the same voice say, louder this time, "Jesus is watching you."
The burglar, entirely frightened now, decided he had no choice but to do a quick sweep of the room with his flashlight. He immediately discovered a parrot sitting on a perch.
He asked the parrot, "Did you say that?"
"Yes," the parrot replied, "I'm trying to save you from much pain."
The burglar replied sarcastically, "Thank you very much. And who are you to be trying to save me?"
The parrot replied. "I am named Moses."
The burglar laughed and asked. "What kind of people would name a parrot Moses?"
If it is possible for a parrot to smirk, he did; and replied, "The same kind of people who would name a rottweiler Jesus."
Oct 21st, 2008, 10:16 AM
#16
A vacationing golfing foursome planned their annual trek to Scotland. Unfortunately, one of their group had to bail out at the last minute due to illness.
As the 3 approached the 1st tee for their 1st round at 8:15 AM, a very attractive, scantily clad young lady asked if she could join their group. Of course, they were all willing to have her do so.
She was a lefty and shot a 73, embarrassing and impressing the men. They invited her to join them again the next morning for their 8:15 round. She said sure, but if she wasn't there at 8:15 to proceed without her.
She showed up on time, playing right-handed this time and shooting a 72. The men were astounded, and they again asked her to join them the next day at 8:15. Again, she said yes but to play without her if she wasn't there at 8:15.
Before she left, one of the guys asked, "How do you decide if you're going to play righty or lefty?" She said, "Well, every morning when I wake up I pull the sheets back and look at my husband's willy. If it points to the right, I play righty; if to the left, lefty." The guy said, "What if it points straight up?" She smiled and said, "In that case, I won't be there at 8:15."
As the 3 approached the 1st tee for their 1st round at 8:15 AM, a very attractive, scantily clad young lady asked if she could join their group. Of course, they were all willing to have her do so.
She was a lefty and shot a 73, embarrassing and impressing the men. They invited her to join them again the next morning for their 8:15 round. She said sure, but if she wasn't there at 8:15 to proceed without her.
She showed up on time, playing right-handed this time and shooting a 72. The men were astounded, and they again asked her to join them the next day at 8:15. Again, she said yes but to play without her if she wasn't there at 8:15.
Before she left, one of the guys asked, "How do you decide if you're going to play righty or lefty?" She said, "Well, every morning when I wake up I pull the sheets back and look at my husband's willy. If it points to the right, I play righty; if to the left, lefty." The guy said, "What if it points straight up?" She smiled and said, "In that case, I won't be there at 8:15."
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