Jokey Posties

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Sorry for the double-posting, too lazy to edit previous post...

Anyway, just came across this:
http://www.satirewire.com/news/jan02/australia.shtml

Ok, so maybe not too lazy, too drunk? Would have put it in the videos thread but since it's not a video as such...

 

Heh, amusing. That's the way it should be - let those in the north have to deal with the aussies. We can have the pacific to ourselves

 

@Rotku,

Do you think they'd really be able to handle us?

 

The Bathtub Test

During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked
the Director how do you determine whether or
not a patient should be institutionalized.

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then
we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the
patient and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," said the visitor. "A normal person
would use the bucket because it's bigger than the
spoon or the teacup."

"No." said the Director, "A normal person would pull
the plug. Do you want a bed near the window?"

 

PET RULES

To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.

Dear Dogs or Cats,

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food.
The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note,
placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not
stake a claim for it, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in
the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a
racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object.
Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very
sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the
couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl
up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep
perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent
possible. I also know that sticking tails straight-out and
having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space
is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also,
I have been using the bathroom for years --canine or feline
attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or
cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following
message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Complain About Our
Pets:

1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the
furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"niture.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you , it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted
son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and
doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because
they:

1. Don't mind eating off the floor
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3. Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and...
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children


_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“CRUISIN' WITH A SQUIRREL”

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.

I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.

It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.

I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!"

The leap was nothing short of spectacular...

He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.

As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel.

And losing...

I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!

Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.

The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.

The squirrel screamed in anger.

The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.

I screamed in . well .. I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.

As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however.

The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand . I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of ...so to speak.

Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams.

They weren't mine...

I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really...
except for two things.

First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car.

The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.

So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.

That was one thing. The other?

Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.

 

A wise old gentleman retired and purchased a modest home near a junior high school. He spent the first few weeks of his retirement in peace and contentment. Then a new school year began. The very next afternoon three young boys, full of youthful, after-school enthusiasm, came down his street, beating merrily on every trash can they encountered. The crashing percussion continued day after day, until finally the wise old man decided it was time to take some action.

The next afternoon, he walked out to meet the young percussionists as they banged their way down the street. Stopping them, he said, "You kids are a lot of fun. I like to see you express your exuberance like that. In fact, I used to do the same thing when I was your age. Will you do me a favor? I'll give you each a dollar if you'll promise to come around every day and do your thing."

The kids were elated and continued to do a bang-up job on the trashcans.

After a few days, the old-timer greeted the kids again, but this time he had a sad smile on his face. "This recession's really putting a big dent in my income," he told them. "From now on, I'll only be able to pay you 50 cents to beat on the cans."

The noisemakers were obviously displeased, but they accepted his offer and continued their afternoon ruckus. A few days later, the wily retiree approached them again as they drummed their way down the street.

"Look," he said, "I haven't received my Social Security check yet, so I'm not going to be able to give you more than 25 cents. Will that be okay?"

"A freakin' quarter?" the drum leader exclaimed. "If you think we're going to waste our time, beating these cans around for a quarter, you're nuts! No way, dude. We quit!" And the old man enjoyed peace and serenity for the rest of his days.

 

Nice one Dal

 

A guy walks into a post office one day to see a middle-aged, balding man standing at the counter methodically placing "Love" stamps on bright pink envelopes with hearts all over them. He then takes out a perfume bottle and starts spraying scent all over them. His curiosity gets the better of him and he goes up to the balding man and asks him what he's doing.

"I'm sending out 1,000 Valentine's Day cards signed, 'Guess who?'"

"But why?" asks the man.

"I'm a divorce lawyer."

 

My new favorite "religious" joke:

So it seems that these four rabbis had a series of theological arguments, and three were always in accord against the fourth.
One day, the odd rabbi out, after the usual "3 to 1, majority rules" statement that signified that he had lost again, decided to appeal to a higher authority.
"Oh, God!" he cried. "I know in my heart that I am right and they are wrong! Please give me a sign to prove it to them!"
The sky turned pitch black, the earth shook, and a deep, booming voice intoned, "HEEEEEEEE'S RIIIIIIIGHT!"
The rabbi put his hands on his hips, turned to the other three, and said, "Well?"
"So," shrugged one of the other rabbis, "now it's 3 to 2."

 

Students at a local school were assigned to read 2 books, "Titanic" and "My Life" by Bill Clinton.


One student turned in the following book report,
With the proposition that they were nearly identical stories!

His cool professor gave him an A+ for this report.

Titanic:..... Cost - $29.99
Clinton:..... Cost - $29.99

Titanic:..... Over 3 hours to read
Clinton:.... Over 3 hours to read

Titanic:..... The story of Jack and Rose, their forbidden love, and subsequent catastrophe.
Clinton:..... The story of Bill and Monica, their forbidden love, and subsequent catastrophe.


Titanic:..... Jack is a starving artist.
Clinton:..... Bill is a bull**** artist.

Titanic:.... In one scene, Jack enjoys a good cigar.
Clinton:.... Ditto for Bill.

Titanic:..... During the ordeal, Rose's dress gets ruined.
Clinton:..... Ditto for Monica.

Titanic:..... Jack teaches Rose to spit.
Clinton:..... Let's not go there.

Titanic:..... Rose gets to keep her jewelry.
Clinton:.... Monica' s forced to return her gifts.

Titanic:..... Rose remembers Jack for the rest of her life.
Clinton:..... Clinton doesn't remember Jack.

Titanic:..... Rose goes down on a vessel full of seamen.
Clinton:..... Monica.. ooh, let's not go there, either.

Titanic:..... Jack surrenders to an icy death.
Clinton:..... Bill goes home to Hillary - basically the same thing

 

Names have been removed to protect the stupid!

I had this idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, sweet feed it on corn for a few weeks, then butcher it and eat it. Yum! The first step in this adventure was getting a deer.

Since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not have much fear of me (a bold one will sometimes come right up and sniff at the bags of feed while I am in the back of the truck four feet away) it should not be difficult to rope one, toss a bag over its head to calm it down, then hog tie it and transport it home.

I filled the cattle feeder and hid down at the end with my rope. The cattle, having seen a roping or two before, stayed well back. They were not having any of it.

After 20 minutes, my deer showed up, 3 of them. I picked a likely looking one, stepped out, and threw my rope. The deer just stood there and stared at me. I wrapped the rope around my waist and twisted the end so I would have a good hold. The deer still just stood and stared at me, but you could tell it was mildly concerned about the whole rope situation.

I took a step towards it. It took a step away. I put a little tension on the rope, and received an education. The first thing I learned is that, while a deer may just stand there looking at you funny while you rope it, it is spurred to action when you start pulling on that rope.

That deer EXPLODED.

The second thing I learned is that, pound for pound, a deer is a LOT stronger than a cow or a colt. A cow or a colt in that weight range I could fight down with some dignity. A deer? No chance.

That thing ran and bucked, it twisted and pulled. There was no controlling that deer, and certainly no getting close to it. As it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me across the ground, it occurred to me that having a deer firmly attached to a rope was not such a good idea. The only upside is that they do not have much stamina.

A brief ten minutes later, it was tired, and not as quick to jerk me off my feet and drag me. It took me a few minutes to realize this, since I was mostly blinded by the blood flowing out of the big gash in my head.

At that point, I had lost my appetite for cornfed venison. I hated the thing, and would hazard a guess that the feeling was mutual. I just wanted to get that devil creature off the end of that rope. But if I let it go with the rope hanging around its neck, it would likely die slow and painful somewhere.

Despite the gash in my head, and several large knots where I had cleverly arrested the deer's pell mell flight by bracing my head against large rocks as it dragged me across the ground, I could still think clearly enough to recognize that I shared some tiny amount of responsibility for the situation we were in. I didn't want the deer to suffer a slow death.

I managed to get it lined up between my truck and the feeder, a little trap I had set beforehand, like a squeeze chute. I backed it in there, and I started moving forward to get my rope back.

Did you know that deer bite? They do!

I never in a million years would have thought that a deer would bite, so I was very surprised when I reached up there to grab hold of that rope, and the deer grabbed hold of my wrist. Now, when a deer bites you, it is not like a horse, it does not just bite and let go. A deer bites and shakes its head, like a pit bull. They bite HARD and won't let go. It hurts!

The proper reaction when a deer bites you is probably to freeze and draw back slowly. I tried screaming and wrenching away. My method was ineffective. It felt like that deer bit and shook me for several minutes, but it was likely only several seconds.

I, being smarter than a deer (though you may be questioning that claim by now) tricked it. While I kept it busy tearing the bejesus out of my right arm, I reached up with my left hand and pulled that rope loose. That was when I learned my final lesson in deer behavior for the day.

Deer will strike at you with their front feet. They rear right up and strike at head and shoulder level, and their hooves are surprisingly sharp. I learned long ago that when an animal--like a horse--strikes at you with its hooves and you can't get away, the best thing to do is make a loud noise and move aggressively towards the animal. This will cause them to back down a bit, so you can make your escape.

This was not a horse. This was a deer. Obviously, such trickery would not work. In the course of a millisecond, I devised a different strategy. I screamed like a woman and turned to run.

The reason we have been taught NOT to turn and run from a horse that paws at you, is that there is a good chance that it will hit you in the back of the head. Deer are not so different from horses after all, other than being twice as strong and three times as evil. The second I turned to run, it hit me right in the back of the head and knocked me down.

When a deer paws at you and knocks you down, it does not immediately depart. I suspect it does not recognize that the danger has passed. What they do instead is paw your back, and jump up and down on you, while you are laying there crying like a little girl and covering your head.

I finally managed to crawl under the truck, and the deer went away. Now I know why when people go deer hunting they bring a rifle with a scope. It's so they can be somewhat equal to the prey.

 

Yeah, this is the first place I've seen that one, but apparently it's "making the rounds" - true or not, it's a great story!

Well, when I saw this posted in one of my other fora, which is frequented by military and ex-military, most of whom hunt, I expected a critique of it; mostly I got 'rofl-copters' and 'lol-o-grams'.

But before long, someone stepped up and trumped it (in my opinion, at least). The raconteur of the following is a self-professed Hillbilly through and through - he's pretty much self-sufficient, ex-army tanker and responsible owner of many firearms, as well as possessing of a pragmatic and somewhat skeptic worldview. What he had to say in response to the 'rope a deer' story follows:

 

rofl. Thats great JE, although I'm not entirely sure it trumps it, it sure gives it a run for the money.

 

A helicopter was flying around above Seattle when an electrical malfunction disabled all of the aircraft's electronic navigation and communications equipment.

Due to the clouds and haze, the pilot could not determine the helicopter's position. The pilot saw a tall building, flew toward it, circled, and held up a handwritten sign that said "WHERE AM I?" in large letters. People in the tall building quickly responded to the aircraft, drew a large sign, and held it in a building window. Their sign said "YOU ARE IN A HELICOPTER."

The pilot smiled, waved, looked at his map, determined the course to steer to SEATAC airport, and landed safely. After they were on the ground, the copilot asked the pilot how he had done it.

"I knew it had to be the Microsoft Building, because they gave me a technically correct but completely useless answer."

 

Lol - Dal...that made my day.

 

Nice Delveen.

 

Why did the blonde take a ladder into the bar?

She heard the drinks were on the house.




The inmate on death row was scheduled to be put to death by firing squad the follow morning. Throughout the day, the prison guards were being very nice to him. But when they asked him if he wanted something specific for his last meal, he said he didn''''t want anything special. When they asked if there was something special he wanted to do, he said nothing. It went on like this all day.

Finally, when he was put before the firing squad, the guard asked if he wanted a cigarette and a blindfold.

"No," the inmate said, "just get it over with."

"Well, is there anything that I can do for you before you go?" said the guard. "You didn''''t even want a special last meal!"

he inmate thought. "Actually," he said, "Music is my life. One thing I would really like would be to sing my favorite song, one whole time through, with no interruptions."

The guard nodded and told him to go ahead.

The inmate started, "One billion bottles of beer on the wall..."

 

A priest goes to visit the organist of his church -- an elderly woman, in her eighties, who had never been married. While waiting for tea, he spots a beautiful crystal bowl on top of her organ, filled with water, and a condom floating in the water. As the afternoon visit wears on he simply cannot get the image out of his mind and finally speaks to the elderly lady about it.

"Madame, may I inquire about the bowl sitting on your organ?"

The woman replied, "I was walking through the park and saw a small package on the ground. When I read the label it said, 'Put on organ and keep moist to prevent transmission of disease.'

"I haven't had the flu all winter!"

 

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that

course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had

prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented "You're

definitely going to sh!t yourself" chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the

point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me

that if you eat the next day both of your ass cheeks WILL fall off.

Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups

of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No

"Watson's Movement 2". Despite habanera peppers swimming their way

through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual

morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and

lightning.

Knowing that a t! ime of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when,

I bravely set off for the market; a local Safeway grocery store that I

often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.

Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart

and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't

until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the

pain hit me.

Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm

referring to that "Uh oh, gotta go" pain that always seems to hit us at

the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.

The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt.

In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small

intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I

could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring

sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I ! stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped

in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I

was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my

body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly

woman turned into it.

I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction

would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she

walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different

directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at

least will be able to relate.

I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she

walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so

terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running,

was to stand there blinking and waving he! r arms about her head as though

trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible,

but then made me laugh. Mistake!

Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things "clamped

down", if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue

burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I

was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that

someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off

through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole

way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took

place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began

the inevitable "Oh my God", floating above the toilet seat because my

ass is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in

the middle of what is the true meaning ! of "Sho ck and Awe". He made a

gagging sound, and disgustedly said, "Sonofabitch!", then quickly left.

Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart

intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached

me and said, "Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It

appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is

going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to

take care of the problem."

That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me.

The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover

his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, "IT'S YOU!",

then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was

unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not

to return.

Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to

eat but leftover chil! i, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I

went to shop at Save on Foods. I can't say anymore about that because we

are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have

to repaint the store.