Deborah Woehr

If you like cats, watch this video. I loved the similarities between how a cat ignores its master and how a nerdy engineer tries to pick up on women. The results are the same.

Courtesy of my Aunt Mel

The very first ever Blonde GUY joke….. And well worth the wait !!!! An Irishman, a Mexican and a Blonde Guy were doing construction work on scaffolding on the 20th floor of a building. They were eating lunch and the Irishman said, “Corned beef and cabbage! If I get corned beef and cabbage one more time for lunch, I’m going to jump off this building.” The Mexican opened his lunch box and exclaimed, ”

Burritos again! If I get burritos! one more time I’m going to jump off, too.” The blond e opened his lunch and said, ” Bologna again! If I get a bologna sandwich one more time, I’m jumping too.” The next day, the Irishman opened his lunch box, saw corned beef and cabbage, and jumped to his death. The Mexican opened his lunch, saw a burrito, and jumped, too. The blonde guy opened his lunch, saw the bologna and jumped to his death as well. At the funeral, the Irishman’s wife was weeping. She said, “If I’d known how really tired he was of corned beef and cabbage, I never would have given it to him again!” The Mexican’s wife also wept and said, “I could have given him tacos or enchiladas! I didn’t realize he hated burritos so much.” (Oh this is GOOD!!)? Everyone turned and stared at the blonde’s wife. The blonde’s wife said, “Don’t look at me. He makes his own lunch”

My son sent this to me as an inside joke. He has come to love Macs after all the problems he’s encountered with his new PC. This is what happens when you try to install OSX Leopard to your PC.

My sister forward this in an email, and I couldn’t resist posting it.

We were dressed and ready to go out for a Party. We turned
on a night light, turned the answering machine on, covered our pet parakeet
and put the cat in the backyard. We phoned the local cab company and
requested a taxi. The taxi arrived and we opened the front door to leave
the house. The cat we put out in the yard, scoots back into the house. We
didn’t want the cat shut in the house because she always tries to eat the
bird.

My wife goes out to the taxi, while I went inside to get the cat. The cat
runs upstairs, with me in hot pursuit. Waiting in the cab, my wife doesn’t
want the driver to know that the house will be empty for the night. So, she
explains to the taxi driver that I will be out soon, “He’s just going
upstairs to say goodbye to my mother.”

A few minutes later, I get into the cab. “Sorry I took so long,” I said, as
we drove away. “That stupid bitch was hiding under the bed. Had to poke her
with a coat hanger to get her to come out! She tried to take off, so I
grabbed her by the neck. Then, I had to wrap her in a blanket to keep her
from scratching me. But it worked! I hauled her fat ass downstairs and
threw her out into the back yard!”

The cab driver hit a parked car…

How many of you have read The Secret? For those of you who have, what did you think of it? I tried to read the book, but just couldn’t get into it. Think hard enough about being wealthy and you will get rich? Think hard enough about losing weight and you’ll shrink to a Size 2? I sometimes wish that life were that easy.

At any rate, I found this video on Heathen.tv. Two Aussies “test” the Secret with hilarious results.

Public Restroom:

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it’s your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won’t latch. It doesn’t matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern “seat covers” (invented by someone’s Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn’t - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume ” The Stance.”

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You’d love to sit down, but you certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold “The Stance.”

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother’s voice saying, “Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!” Your thighs shake more.
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I don’t know who the original writer of this piece was, but I found it on a joke site and thought I would post it with a resource link at the bottom. To my great embarrassment, everyone missed the link and thought that I wrote this. My only excuse is that I was in a hurry to post something so I could get back to my novel. And for that, Deb gets coal in her stocking this Christmas.

I think Santa Claus is a woman….

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he’s a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don’t even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It’s as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they - with amazing calm - call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree.

Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it’s an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.)

On this count alone, I’m convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen’s rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.

Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he’d still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check or carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.

Other reasons why Santa can’t possibly be a man:
- Men can’t pack a bag.
- Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
- Men would feel their masculinity is threatened…having to be seen with all those elves.
- Men don’t answer their mail.
- Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a “bowlful of jelly.”
- Men aren’t interested in stockings unless somebody’s wearing them.
- Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.

I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men………
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy. Cupid flies around carrying weapons. Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers. Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance.

As long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole’s version of “The Christmas Song,” it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is. I just wish she’d quit dressing like a guy!!!

Source: Christmas Humor

You may have received this in an email, but I thought I’d post it here anyway.

Here’s a quote from a government employee who witnessed a recent interaction between an elderly woman and an antiwar protester in a Metro station in DC:

There were protesters on the train platform handing out pamphlets on the evils of America. I politely declined to take one.

An elderly woman was behind me getting off the escalator and a young (20-ish) female protester offered her a pamphlet, which she politely declined.

The young protester put her hand on the old woman’s shoulder as a gesture of friendship and in a very soft voice said, “Lady, don’t you care about the children of Iraq?”

The old woman looked up at her and said, “Honey, my father died in France during World War II, I lost my husband in Korea, and a son in Vietnam. All three died so you could have the right to stand here and badmouth our country.”

“If you touch me again, I’ll stick this umbrella up your ass and open it!!”

~God Bless America~

My sister sent this to me in an email years ago. That email is long gone, but I found this again while surfing and find it ironically humorous.

FEUDALISM: You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.

PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else’s cows. You have to take care of all of the cows. The government gives you as much milk as you need.

BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and put them in a barn with everyone else’s cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs as the regulations say you need.

FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them and sells you the milk.

PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbors help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.

RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.

CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both of them and shoots you.

DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.

PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.

REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.

BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.

PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.

LIBERTARIAN/ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.

SURREALISM: You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.

(Original source unknown . . . this version expanded and Illuminated by SJ.)