A manager brings a dog ...A manager brings a dog into a nightclub to work.
The dog is a brilliant piano player.Â He plays all the
standards.Â He's sitting there, pounding out the tunes,
when all of a sudden, a big dog comes in and drags him
out.Â The nightclub owner asks, “What happened?”
The manager says,
“That's his mother.Â She wants him to be a doctor.”
"But here is the sad part..."But here is the sad part - before the trip Donald Rumsfeld had denied the guy's request for body armor." -- David Letterman
A man is like a fine wine....
He starts out raw as grapes, and it's a woman's job to stomp on him and keep him in the dark until he matures into something she'd like to have dinner with.
When can't snow be trusted?
When can't snow be trusted?
TOILET-SQUATTING EXERCISE CLASS
My mother was a fanatic about public toilets.
As a little girl, she'd bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, never sit on a public toilet seat."
And she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. But by this time, I'd have wet down my leg. And we'd go home.
That was a long time ago. Even now in my more mature years, The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially full. When I have to "go" in a public toilet, I find a line of women that makes me think there's a half-price sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. So, I wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely. And I finally get closer. I check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a stall door opens and I dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. I get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. I hang my purse on the door hook, yank down my pants and assume "The Stance." Relief. More relief.
Then my thighs begin to shake. I'd love to sit down but I certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so I hold The Stance as my thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take my mind off it, I reach for the toilet paper. The toilet paper dispenser is empty. My thighs shake more. I remember the tiny tissue that I blew my nose on that's in my purse. It would have to do. I crumble it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than my thumbnail.
Someone pushes open my cubicle door because the latch doesn't work and my purse wacks me in the head. "Occupied!" I scream as I reach out for the door, dropping my tissue in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat.I get up quickly, but it's too late. My bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because I never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if I had enough time to. And my mother would be utterly ashamed of me if she knew, because her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you could get."
And by this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that I grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China. At that point, I give up. I'm soaked by the splashing water. I'm exhausted. I try to wipe with a lolly wrapper I found in my pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
I can't figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so I wipe my hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point. One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that I'm trailing a piece of toilet paper on my shoe as long as the Murray River!
I yank the paper from my shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and say warmly, "Here. You might need this."
At this time, I see my spouse, who has entered, used and exited his toilet and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for me.
"What took you so long?" he asks, annoyed.
This is when I kick him sharply in the shin and go home.
This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so long.
Where do you find a dog with n...Where do you find a dog with no legs? Right where you left him.
Find number abc
Knock Knock Collection 115
Lettuce in and I'll tell you!
Lilac a trooper!
Lillian the garden!
Lily house on the prairie!
Lima Bean who?
Lima Bean working on the railroad....!
News headlines 03Two Sisters Reunited after 18 Years in Checkout Counter
Two Soviet Ships Collide, One Dies
Killer Sentenced to Die for Second Time in 10 Years
Never Withhold Herpes Infection from Loved One
Drunken Drivers Paid $1000 in `84
Safety Experts Say School Bus Passengers Should Be Belted
Miners Refuse to Work after Death
If Strike isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last a While
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
Ban On Soliciting Dead in Trotwood
Dog w/o WheelsWhere do you find a dog with no legs?
Where you left it.
Farmer Brown & his Pigs
Farmer Brown buys twelve pigs at an auction, only to discover that they are all female. He immediately calls Farmer Jones to ask if he can bring them over to mate with his male pigs. "Sure", says Farmer Jones.
Farmer Brown loads his twelve pigs into the truck. When they get to the Jones farm, the pigs jump out and spend the day mating with the males. Before he leaves, Farmer Brown says, "By the way, I've never had pigs before. How will I know if they're pregnant?"
"Well," says Farmer Jones, "look for signs of unusual behavior. That's usually how you know."
The next morning, Farmer Brown looks out his window and sees nothing unusual. So he loads the pigs up and brings them to the Jones' farm again. The following morning, the pigs are still behaving normally, so, once again, he takes them to the Jones' farm. The next morning, he feels too discouraged to look out the window. "Honey," he says to his wife, "would you mind telling me if our pigs are doing anything unusual?"
Well, she says, "eleven of them are in the back of the truck and the twelfth one's blowing the horn."