Funny story of the day

[manxman]

"The Honeymoon" - A couple were on their honeymoon, lying in bed, about ready to "Consummate" their marriage, when the bride says to the husband, "I have a confession to make, I'm not a virgin."

The husband replies, "That's no big thing in this day and age."

The wife continues, "Yeah, I've been with only one guy."

"Oh yeah? Who was the guy?"

"Tiger Woods."

"Tiger Woods, the golfer?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he's rich, famous and handsome. I can see why you went to bed with him."

The husband and wife then make passionate love..

When they are done, the husband gets up and walks to the telephone.

"What are you doing?" asks the wife.

The husband says, "I'm hungry, I was going to call room service  and get something to eat."

"Tiger wouldn't do that."

"Oh yeah? What would Tiger do?"

"He'd come back to bed and do it a second time."

The husband puts down the phone and goes back to bed to make love a second time.

When they finish, he gets up and goes over to the phone.
"Now what are you doing?" she asks.

The husband says, "I'm still hungry so I was going to get room service to get something to eat."

"Tiger wouldn't do that."

"Oh yeah? What would Tiger do?"

"He'd come back to bed and do it again."

The guy slams down the phone, goes back to bed, and makes love one more time..

When they finish he's tired and beat. He drags himself over to the phone and starts to dial.

The wife asks, "Are you calling room service?"

"No! I'm calling Tiger Woods".  To find out what the "par" is for this damn hole.

[rdevous]

 
Since his little affairs have come to light, several of Tiger Woods' sponsors have dropped him.

However, Pfizer has decided to sponsor him.

They are making a new drug called Tiagra.  It's good for 18 holes.


Ray


     

[rdevous]

 
This is a beautiful story of a bagpiper who was late for a funeral.

As a bagpiper, I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man who had no family or friends. The funeral was to be held at a cemetery in the remote countryside and this man would be the first to be laid to rest there.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods area, I became lost and being a typical man, did not stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late. I saw the backhoe and the crew who were eating lunch but the hearse was nowhere in sight.

I apologized to the workers for my tardiness and stepped to the side of the open grave where I saw the vault lid already in place.

I assured the workers I would not hold them up for long but this was the proper thing to do. The workers gathered around, still eating their lunch. I played out my heart and soul.

As I played the workers began to weep. I played and I played like I'd never played before, from Going Home and The Lord is My Shepherd to Flowers of the Forest. I closed the lengthy session with Amazing Grace and walked to my car.

As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I overheard one of the workers saying to another, "Sweet Jeezuz, Mary 'n Joseph, I have never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."


Ray

[Quarlow]

 

Due to the climate of political correctness now pervading America ,


Kentuckians, Tennesseans and West Virginians will no longer be referred to as'HILLBILLIES.'


You must now refer to them as


APPALACHIAN-AMERICANS .

And furthermore


HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT WOMEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:


1. She is not a 'BABE' or a 'CHICK' - She is a
' BREASTED AMERICAN. '


2. She is not 'EASY' - She is


'HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.'


3. She is not a 'DUMB BLONDE' - She is a


'LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY..'


4. She has not 'BEEN AROUND' - She is a


'PREVIOUSLY-ENJOYED COMPANION.'


5. She does not 'NAG' you - She becomes


' VERBALLY REPETITIVE.'


6. She is not a 'TWO-BIT HOOKER' - She is a


' LOW COST SERVICE PROVIDER.'


HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT MEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:


1. He does not have a 'BEER GUT' - He has developed a

'LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.'


2. He is not a 'BAD DANCER' - He is


' OVERLY CAUCASIAN.'


3. He does not 'GET LOST ALL THE TIME' - He

' INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.'


4. He is not 'BALDING' - He is in

'FOLLICLE REGRESSION.'


5. He does not act like a 'TOTAL ASS' - He develops a case of

RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION.'

(Loved this one!)


6. It's not his 'CRACK' you see hanging out of his pants - It's

'TROUSER CLEAVAGE.'

[squirtthecat]

Considering what all is going on our various menus tomorrow...  This is fitting.

[rdevous]

 
Good one Squirt.


Ray

[pensrock]

A man was driving when he saw the flash of a traffic camera. He figured that his picture had been taken for exceeding the limit, even though he knew that he was not speeding...
Just to be sure, he went around the block and passed the same spot, driving even more slowly, but again the camera flashed.
Now he began to think that this was quite funny, so he drove even slower as he passed the area again, but the traffic camera again flashed.
He tried a fourth time with the same result.
He did this a fifth time and was now laughing when the camera flashed as he rolled past, this time at a snail's pace.

Two weeks later, he got five tickets in the mail for driving without a seat belt.
;D

[classicrockgriller]

Pens, that is  funny!

[rdevous]

 
CRG..............Your new cartoon is far out Dude!!! 

Peace, love and rock and roll,
Ray

[ArnieM]

Good one pens.  That would be my kind of luck.

[rdevous]

 
Four old buddies were playing their weekly game of golf, and one remarked how nice it would be to wake up on Christmas morning, roll out of bed and without an argument go directly to the golf course, meet his buddies and play a round.

His buddies all chimed in and said, 'Let's do it! We'll make it a priority, figure out a way and meet here early Christmas morning.'

Months later, that special morning arrives, and there they are on the  golf course.

The first guy says, 'Boy this game cost me a fortune! I bought my wife such a diamond ring that she can't take her eyes off it..'

Number 2 guy says, 'I spent a ton, too. My wife is at home planning the cruise I gave her. She was up to her eyeballs in brochures.'

Number 3 guy says 'Well my wife is at home admiring her new car, reading the manual.'

They all turned to the last guy in the group who is staring at them like they have lost their minds. I can't believe you all went to such expense for this golf game. I slapped my wife on the butt and said, 'Well babe, Merry Christmas! It's a great morning for either sex or golf' and she said, "You better take a sweater."


Ray

[3rensho]

LOL, good one Ray  ;D ;D

[pensrock]

 ;D ;D ;D

[classicrockgriller]

Like the 3 old Golf Buddies who played golf together everyday.

They were teeing off on a Hole by the road and a Funeral persession

came by and one of the old men took his hat off and held it across his chest.

After the funeral had passed he started to address his ball and a buddy

stopped him and mentioned to the fact that he had been playing golf with him

for 40 years and that he never knew him to be sentimental.

The one that had removed his hat said

" She was a Good wife and if she would have lived a couple more months, they would have been married 50 years"

[Smokin Soon]

For the Italians,

An Italian Christmas Eve

I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my parents'
house on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be interesting for a
non-Italian girl to see how an Italian family spends the holidays.
I thought my mother and my date would hit it off like partridges
and pear trees. So, I was wrong. Sue me.

I had known Karen for only three weeks when I extended the
invitation. "I know these family things can be a little weird,"
I told her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot
of fun on Christmas Eve."

"Sounds fine to me," Karen said.

I had known my mother for only 31 years when I told her I'd be
bringing Karen with me. "She's a very nice girl and she's
really looking forward to meeting all of you."

"Sounds fine to me," my mother said.

And that was that. Two telephone calls. Two sounds-fine-to-me.
What more could I want?

I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households,
Christmas Eve is the social event of the season - an Italian
woman's raison d'etre. She cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She
orchestrates every minute of the entire evening. Christmas Eve
is what Italian women live for. I should also point out, I
suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make
Italian men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't
cook. She doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have
ever seen on a human being. I brought her anyway.

7:00 p.m. - We arrive.
Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting
for the other guests to show up. During that half hour, my
mother grills Karen like a cheeseburger on the barbecue and
cannily determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake.
My father is equally observant. He pulls me into the living
room and notes, "She has the largest breasts I have ever seen
on a human being."

7:30 p.m. - Others arrive.
Uncle Ziti walks in with my Aunt Mafalde, assorted kids,
assorted gifts. We sit around the dining room table for
antipasto, a symmetrically-composed platter of lettuce,
roasted peppers, black olives, salami, prosciutto, provolone,
anchovies, and cheese. No meat, of course. When I offer to
make Karen's plate she says, "Thank you. But none of those
things, okay?" She points to the anchovies. "You don't like
anchovies?" I ask. "I don't like fish," Karen announces to
one and all as 67 other varieties of foods-that-swim are
baking, broiling and simmering in the next room.

My mother makes the sign of the cross. Things are getting
uncomfortable. Aunt Mafalde asks Karen what her family eats
on Christmas Eve. Karen says, "Knockwurst." My father, who
is still staring in a daze at Karen's chest, temporarily
snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?" My mother kicks him
so hard he gets a blood clot. None of this is turning out
the way I'd hoped.

8:00 p.m. - Second course.
The spaghetti and crab sauce is on the way to the table.
Karen declines the crab sauce and says she'll make her own
with butter and ketchup. My mother asks me to join her in
the kitchen. I take my "Merry Christmas" napkin from my lap,
place it on the "Merry Christmas" tablecloth and walk into
the kitchen. "I don't want to start any trouble," my mother
says calmly, clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands.
"But if she pours this on my pasta, I'm going to throw acid
in her face." "Come on," I tell her. "It's Christmas. Let
her eat what she wants." My mother considers the situation,
then nods. As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she
grabs my shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you
serious with this tramp?" "She's not a tramp," I reply.
"And I've known her for only three weeks." "Well, it's your
life," she tells me, "but if you marry her, she'll poison you."

8:30 p.m. - More fish.
My stomach is knotted like one of those macrame plant hangers
that are always three times larger than the plants they hold.
All the women get up to clear away the spaghetti dishes,
except for Karen, who, instead, lights a cigarette. "Why don't
you give them a little hand?" I politely suggest. Karen makes
a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three forks.

"Dear, you don't have to do that," my mother tells her, smiling
painfully. "Oh, okay," Karen says, putting the forks on the
sink. As she re-enters the dining room, a wine glass flies over
her head, and smashes against the wall. From the kitchen, my
mother says, "Whoops." I vaguely remember that line from Torch
Song Trilogy. "Whoops?" No. "Whoops is when you fall down an
elevator shaft."

More fish comes out. After some goading, Karen tries a piece of
scungilli, which she describes as "slimy, like worms." My mother
winces, bites her hand and pounds her chest like one of those
old women you always see in the sixth row of a funeral home.
Aunt Mafalde does the same. Karen, believing that this is
something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites
her hand and pounds her chest. My Uncle Ziti doesn't know what
to make of it. My father's dentures fall out and chew a
six-inch gash in the tablecloth.

10:00 p.m. - Coffee, dessert.
Espresso all around. A little anisette. A curl of lemon peel.
When Karen asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her in the
face with a cannoli. I guess it had to happen sooner or later.
Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women
do on Christmas Eve, picks up a cannoli and slaps my mother
with it.

"This is fun," Karen says. Fun? No. Fun is when you fall down
an elevator shaft. But, amazingly, everyone is laughing and
smiling and filled with good cheer - even my mother, who grabs
me by the shoulder, laughs and says, "Get this bitch out of
my house."

Sounds fine to me.

THE END

If you aren't in stitches by now, you don't know Italians!