LinkBack URL
About LinkBacksOriginally Posted by med2003
[
Mother Superior called all the nuns together and
said to them, "I must tell you all something. We
have a case of gonorrhoea in the convent."
"Thank God," said an elderly nun at the back.
"I'm so tired of chardonnay."
A bloke walks into a Brighton curio shop and starts having a nose around, not looking for anything in particular… just browsing.
After a while, he notices a very life-like bronze statue of a rat. It doesn’t have a price tag but it’s so striking, with the way the rat is posed, almost as if it’s a real rat that’s been frozen and bronzed, that he decides to buy it.
He goes up to the counter where a wizened old man is sitting reading the paper and asks him "How much is this bronze rat?"
The old man stands up, puts on his glasses and peers at the rat.
"Well,” he says, turning the statue over in his hands, “It's £12 for the rat and, for just £100 more, I’ll tell you the story behind it."
Thinking he’s about to get ripped off, the bloke considers the old man’s offer but turns him down. " Nah mate, I'll just take the rat, you can keep the story."
Looking a bit disappointed the old man wraps the rat up and takes the bloke’s £12 but as he gives him the receipt, the old man looks the guy in the eye and says, “You know where to find me when you want to hear the story.”
The bloke thinks nothing of it and leaves, walking off down the street with his new purchase.
He doesn’t get far when he gets an urge to look at his new purchase, so he peels back the paper and admires the rat’s whiskery face… and as the sunlight hits the rat, the bloke is surprised to see those very whiskers twitch!
Nothing else happens and the guy puts it down to a trick of the light but as he walks off down the street he soon becomes aware of a rustling, squeaking sound behind him.
Turning round, he sees a few real rats scurrying along the gutter… but when he stops, they all stop and sit up, looking at him expectantly.
Needless to say, this is a little disconcerting, so he started to walk a little faster, but he hasn’t gone more than a few yards when he checks again to see even more rats behind him and again they all stop and look at him.
Getting more anxious, the guy starts speed walking off down the street more and more worried as the noise behind him increases… and again he stops and checks to find easily several hundred rats following him and now they’re getting closer.
The guy panics… he legs it down the road, trainers slapping the ground as rats start streaming out of every drain, dustbin, nook and cranny, all pelting after this poor bloke who is now sprinting for his life down the road.
Glancing over his shoulder, all the poor bloke can see is a huge grey and black carpet of rats, all chasing after him. In sheer terror he legs it across the road and out onto the pier, fleeing for his life as millions of rats scurry after him.
The bloke reaches the end of the pier and has nowhere to go… In blind terror he holds the statue of the rat out in front of him and is amazed to see the rats are totally mesmerised by it… he waves it to the left... they all look... he waves it to the right, they all look… realising he’s never going to be shot of the rats, the bloke turns and heaves the statue as far out into the sea as he can throw it.
To his utter amazement the rats hurl themselves into the sea after the statue… apparently trying to dive down to it and after just a few minutes all the rats have drowned.
Shaken, the man slumps down at the end of the pier to rest before picking himself up and walking back to the curio shop.
"Ah, you've come back for the story then?" says the old man.
"No," says the bloke, "I came back to see if you've got any bronze statues of a Muslim Fundamentalist Cleric, a couple of immigrants, a Manchester United supporter, and anything French!"
TheAnimus won't like that Nick...the Welsh aren't mentioned at the end
The other day I saw a man playing Dancing Queen
on the Didgeridoo.
I thought, that's Aboriginal.
deleted
Last edited by SmileyUK; 12-12-2007 at 05:06 PM. Reason: maybe a bit harsh
Little bit too far i think
Cat Lover or Not, this is hysterical!
We've all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think anyone can top this one:
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.
On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem .
Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.
"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."
"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"
"But I'm scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."
So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly.
Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.
It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.
Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent.
The impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics.
Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter......and not succeeding.
Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was. "What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"
If they only knew!
Taken from an American website, hence the spellings etc;
--------
Trust me, pee before you read this one.
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 was 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 25mph 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 my throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather anti-social 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 have only 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 50mph 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 I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI 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 80mph, 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 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade into your police car.
I heard screams. This time 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 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 gun 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.
that is the funniest thing i have read in a long long time
Thanks Veedub
We're only here for the Banter - The Luvvies - Chewin' The Fat
Violence and Lubrication is the solution to fixing everything, if it still doesn't work, you need more lubrication.
Dr. Phil was conducting a group therapy session with four young mothers and their small children.
"You all have obsessions," he observed.
To the first mother, he said, "you are obsessed with eating.
You've even named your daughter Candy."
He turned to the second mom. "your obsession is with
money. Again,it manifests itself in your child's name,Penny."
He turns to the third mom."your obsession is alcohol.
This,too,manifests itself in your child's name, Brandy."
At this point, the fourth mother gets up takes her little
boy by the hand and whispers:"Come on Dick,we're leaving
A female Olympic swimmer complained to her team-mates that she was worried that she was starting to grow hair in scary places.
"Where?" they asked.
"Oh, she replied, "mostly on my nuts".
What do you call cheese that isn't yours?
Nacho cheese!
:-D
Ahahahaha!!
A Rochdale lady sadly passed away and while at the burial her husband was gobsmacked when he saw the headstone..
"Excuse me vicar, it's not supposed to read
"She Was Thin"!!!!!
there's a letter "E" missing on the headstone..i want it sorting out by the time i come back to mourn"
So he went away and the Rochdale vicar went about sorting it out for the poor man..
Two days later he returned looking at the newly altered headstone..shaking his head..
It now read..
"E She Was Thin"
During one of her daily classes, a teacher trying to teach good manners, asked her students the following question:
Michael, if you were on a date having dinner with a nice young lady, how would you tell her that you have to go to the bathroom ?
Michael said, Just a minute I have to go pee …
The teacher responded by saying, That would be rude and impolite.
What about you Sherman, how would you say it ?
Sherman said, I am sorry, but I really need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back …
That’s better, but it’s still not very nice to say the word bathroom at the dinner table.
And you little Edward, can you use your brain for once and show us your good manners ????
“I would say: Darling, may I please be excused for a moment ? I have to shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, whom I hope to introduce you to after dinner.”
The teacher fainted
1.21 GIGAWATTS!!!!!
There are currently 4 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 4 guests)
Posting Permissions
