Highway Dragons :: Funny Jokes, Stories, Poetry; Humour

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, "Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon."
Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, Ma'am", he said, "I've come to..."
"Oh, no need to explain," Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, "I've been expecting you."
"Have you really?" said the photographer. "Well, that's good. Did you know babies are my specialty?"
"Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat".
After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"
"Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there."
"Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for Harry and me!"
"Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results."
"My, that's a lot!", gasped Mrs. Smith.
"Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to be In and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be disappointed with that."
"Don't I know it," said Mrs. Smith quietly.
The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a bus," he said.
"Oh, my word!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.
"And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with."
"She was difficult?" asked Mrs. Smith.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look"
"Four and five deep?" said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.
"Yes", the photographer replied. "And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in."
Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "Do you mean they actually chewed on your, uh...equipment?"
"It's true, Ma'am, yes.. Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away."
"Tripod?"
"Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too big to be held in the hand very long."
Mrs. Smith fainted

My wife found out that our dog (a Schnauzer) could hardly hear, so she took it to the veterinarian. The vet found that the problem was hair in the dog's ears. He cleaned both ears, and the dog could then hear fine.
The vet then proceeded to tell Andrea that, if she wanted to keep this from recurring, she should go to the store and get some "Nair" hair remover and rub it in the dog's ears once a month.
Andrea went to the store and bought some "Nair" hair remover. At the register, the pharmacist told her, "If you're going to use this under your arms, don't use deodorant for a few days."
Andrea said, "I'm not using it under my arms."
The pharmacist said, "If you're using it on your legs, don't use body lotion for a couple of days."
Andrea replied, "I'm not using it on my legs either. If you must know, I'm using it on my Schnauzer."
The pharmacist says, "Well, stay off your bicycle for about a week."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Charley’s Chat August 2012 (Bike SA)

Don’t you okes just hate it when you're sitting around a camp-fire at a bike-rally and everyone’s having a lekker time gorrelling away and its getting dark and the okes start bitching about just how uncool their bosses at graft are and how they have to work lank overtime doing ugly stuff like checking stock inventory just so they can afford to buy a new back tyre for their boney when one of the okes sitting quietly in a corner tunes that he's a systems-engineer for a software company and that what he hates the most is that the okes at the BMW paint-shop can't quite get the colour on his Bee-Em car to match the paintjob on his Bee-Em boney.

So now you also end up quietly sitting there in a corner wondering about what kind of life the oke lives and what kind of graft he does and if you’ve got enough Castles in your belly then you sommer understand that he's just an ordinary oke like you and me. I mean, what’s a systems-engineer anyway? He's just an oke who knows how things graft and can fix stuff. He's just a glorified mechanic.

In fact, we okes who’ve been riding our bonies for a long time all automatically have become systems-engineers ourselves because we understand our bike’s systems inside out. And it’s because I know my boney so well that I got so the bliksem-in the other day when a thing happened on my bike that I just couldn’t fix.

The first time that I checked that there was something wrong with my boney was last Saturday as I came skieting out of the Edenvale BP garage at the top of the hill just above where the Triumph shop is. Three weeks ago I bliksemmed into a stupid toll-road boom while trying to skiet through the thing on my way down to the Paradise Rally and had broken off one of my flickers. Nick, the main oke at Traditional Triumph tuned me that they would quickly put another one on while I waited if I brought it in.

After the flicker was fitted I filled up and was just coming out of the BP garage and about to sweep down into the bend onto the highway and had the Bonneville screaming away in third underneath me when I quickly glanced down at my clocks to see check where the revs were sitting when suddenly I saw a bright red light that I’d never seen before, smiling back up at me.

Now I was still too busy drifting my Triumph through the black diesel cloud coming from out the back of a moerse trok crawling along at about half a kay an hour in the bend and then suddenly having to also duck past a taxi that came out of nowhere for me to take another look down to see what this red light was all about but I already knew that it wasn’t the oil-pressure light because my Triumph was revving away lekker smoothly at just over thirteen thou without so much as spluttering a splutter.

When I finally get the bike straightened out I take another look down to where I'd checked the red light and it was still there. But what could it be? The oil was lekker, the tank was full, the lights were off, the temperature was still down and the flickers weren’t flicking. There wasn’t any need for any idiot lights to be on, especially red ones.

And then it hit me. Maybe the alternator wasn’t alternating anymore. I leant forward, put my hand in front of the headlight, pulled in the clutch and blipped the bike up through the fifteen thou mark. The headlight definitely got brighter which meant the alternator was working. Deep in thought I swept on through the Galooly’s Farm Interchange and then South.

Then another idea came to me. Maybe it was the brake reservoir light tuning me that there wasn’t enough brake-fluid in the little plastic bakkie under the seat. I widened my right leg, unclipped the sidecover, bent over and checked down at the window on the side of the bowl. It was full and both indicator wires were clipped lekker tight in place. The problem had to be somewhere else. Up ahead lay an off-ramp and so I headed for it.

At the top of the ramp I pulled over and started tracing the wire coming out of the back of the cluster from where the red light shone. But you okes all know how bike wiring works, a single wire always joins another wire and then two others and then there's sommer a whole bunch of them which disappear into a thick black harness and now because you can't check where the wires have gone you can't know where the other end is and so you have to cut the whole lot open.

Ten minutes later I had the wiring harness all peeled back and had pulled the red-light’s wire out from the rest and had traced it all the way to a black box mounted in a rubber clip thing that broke in half as I tried to pull the wire out. But no matter how many wires I pulled out or how many pieces of things I took out from under the seat, the red light kept on shining.

I even had the fuse-box screws out and also the thing with the sticker on that said if the sticker came off then it wasn’t under guarantee anymore. I put the whole lot into my lummie pocket and headed back slowly to Triumph.

When I arrived Nick was standing at the door checking me and my bulging pockets out. I was glad he was alone as I started explaining about the red-light and how I'd taken all the bits and pieces from behind the side-covers and still didn’t know what made the red-light go on or where to put the stuff back.

Nick checked me out and smiled. ‘No my china’ he tunes me. ‘That red light just means that your boney is switched on. When we fitted your new flicker we checked that your Systems-Enabled globe had popped so we put in a new one for you for free. It’s all part of the great Traditional Triumph service!’

I checked the oke in the eye and then back at my bike. I just hate it when motorbike-shop mechanics fix stuff that’s got nothing to do with them…
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A skinny little white guy steps into an elevator, looks up and sees this HUGE black guy standing next to him.
The big guy sees the little guy staring at him looks down and says:
"7 feet tall, 350 pounds, 20 inch d!ck, 3 pound testicles, Turner Brown."
The white man faints and falls to the floor.
The big guy kneels down and brings him to, shaking him. The big guy says: Hey buddy, what's wrong with you?"
In a weak voice the little guy says, "What EXACTLY did you say to me?"
The big dude says, "I saw your curious look and figured I'd just give you the answers to the questions everyone always asks me …… I'm 7 feet tall, I weigh 350 pounds, I have a 20 inch d!ck, my testicles weigh 3 pounds each, and my name is Turner Brown."
The small guy says: "Turner Brown? … Sweet Jesus, I thought you said, Turn around!

A motorcycle cop was rushed to the hospital with an inflamed appendix.
The doctors operated and advised him that all was well; however, the patrolman kept feeling something pulling at the hairs in his crotch.
Worried that it might be a second surgery and the doctors hadn't told him about it, he finally got enough energy to pull his hospital gown up enough so he could look at what was making him so uncomfortable.
Taped firmly across his pubic hair and private parts were three wide strips of adhesive tape, the kind that doesn't come off easily --- if at all.
Written on the tape in large black letters was the sentence,
'Get well soon. From the nurse in the Subaru you pulled over last week.'
__________________________________________

HOW TO BE A GRACIOUS BITCH
Jennifer's wedding day was fast approaching. Nothing could dampen her excitement - not even her parent's nasty divorce.
Her mother had found the PERFECT dress to wear, and would be the best-dressed mother-of-the-bride ever!
A week later, Jennifer was horrified to learn that her father's new, young wife had bought the exact same dress as her mother! Jennifer asked her father's new young wife to exchange it, but she refused. ''Absolutely not! I look like a million bucks in this dress, and I'm wearing it,'' she replied.
Jennifer told her mother who graciously said, ''Never mind sweetheart. I'll get another dress. After all, it's your special day.''
A few days later, they went shopping, and did find another gorgeous dress for her mother. When they stopped for lunch, Jennifer asked her mother, ''Aren't you going to return the other dress? You really don't have another occasion where you could wear it."
Her mother just smiled and replied, ''Of course I do, dear.....I'm wearing it to the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding.''

NOW I ASK YOU - IS THERE A WOMAN OUT THERE, ANYWHERE, WHO WOULDN'T ENJOY THIS STORY?

Women are like phones: They like to be held, talked to, and touched often. But push the wrong button and your ass is disconnected!

This is even funnier when you realize it's real!
Next time you have a bad day at work think of this guy. Bob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana ...
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs.
Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.5 FM in Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst
job experience contest.
Needless to say, she won. Read his letter below.

~Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.
Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wet suit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to
keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose.

Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is
take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit..
This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch.
So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my ass started to burn. I
pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it, however, the crack of my ass was not as fortunate.
When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my ass.
I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.. Needless to say, I aborted the dive.
I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.
The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't sh*t for two days because my ass was swollen shut.
So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your ass. Now repeat to yourself, 'I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.'
Whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a jellyfish bad day?
May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day! !!!! Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift. ~

Isn’t it funny how even though an oke never wants to actually find out about some stuff in his life, sometimes he ends up learning about those things anyway.

For instance, okes in cars live one kind of life while us okes on bonies live another kind of life. We don’t wanna know about them and they don’t care about us. We check them out hiding behind their car windscreens and they check us riding out in the wind. We scheme how dof they are and they check us out and probably scheme the same.

But it doesn’t matter how stupid a cabbie driver is, he can’t ignore that fact that if us okes on bonies go to the shops we can sommer park anywhere we want to, while they have to go riding up and down checking for empty spots and if they do find one, get some oke coming out of nowhere and then as if this oke’s suddenly got himself an Advanced Driver’s Diploma, tunes them exactly where and how they must now park their cars. Us okes on bonies can sommer pull in anywhere and if we’ve got our lekker grumpy biker-face on, nobody dares to tune us how to park.

Also if us okes on bonies check that there’s a moer of a traffic jam on the highway, we don’t even need to slow down. All we do is kap down a gear, aim for the gap in between the cabbies, and skiet right on through. Like I tuned you, us okes on bonies don’t need to learn or know anything from car-drivers.

But then the other day things almost changed for me big time when I checked this ad that an oke from the North had put into the newspaper to sell his washing machine that was sitting in his back yard and was still working lekker.

My old Defy Automaid had been running for more than twenty-three years now and had finally croaked. Seven years ago I’d already changed the electric switches on the front for a Suzuki GS1000S switch-gear cluster that I picked up from Bike Hospital. I rigged it so that if I put the left flicker on I could tune the machine to go from ‘Auto’ to ‘Extended Spin’ and if I clicked from ‘Brights’ to ‘Dim’ then I could go from ‘Normal’ to ‘Long wash’ and on ‘Dip’ I could even do a ‘Quick-wash’ if I suddenly needed clean under-rods for graft the next day.

Well to cut a long story short, I phone the oke and he says that I can come round and pick the machine up any time because where he lives in the north of Jo’burg the okes don’t smaak to buy second-hand washing machines all that much, but then adds that I must come quickly to fetch it because it’s already standing on his pavement.

Forty minutes later me and the Triumph are parked in front of the oke’s gate with a whole lot of tie-downs and a lekker wide plank so that I don’t stuff up my bike’s seat.

The oke checks me and the boney out a bit skeef, but after I explain to him about how strong my Triumph with the Guzzi pistons is, he even helps me to lift the machine onto the back of the bike and holds it steady while I pull the tie-downs tight. Five minutes later, me and the Triumph are skieting back home along the highway at one fifty.

So now as usual with all this stupid road building nonsense going on I’ve hardly gone two kays down the N3 South when up ahead I check this moer of a traffic jam coming up. As usual I kick down a gear, head for the gap in between the cars and open the throttle wide.

My mirrors aren’t grafting all that lekker now because all I can check in them are the two sides of my new washing machine so I hit the clamps hard because I’ve first gotta check if I can fit between the cabbies. While I’m still busy slipping the clutch and checking both sides to see if the machine will touch any-thing, from behind I hear ‘Beep-beep’. I turn and check behind the machine and there’s this oke on his Honda 125 busy on his hooter tuning me to get out of the way.

So what am I now supposed to do? I can’t get off the Triumph and give the oke a good snot-klap for being impatient because then my boney and the machine would both moer over, and so I’m forced to move into a car lane so that the 125 can skiet on past.

The okes in their cars are crawling along at about two kays an hour and now that I’m going at the same speed as them I can check exactly what they’re all up to. Some okes are listening to the radio while a few chicks are putting on make-up and doing their hair. Two old toppies are doing their crosswords and some okes grazing breakfast.

And that’s when I began to realize that maybe these okes which I’d always schemed were trying to kill us bikers were actually maybe just normal okes like you and me trying to lead normal ordinary lives.

Cruising along slowly in all the petrol smoke made me feel a moer of a lot warmer than if I was cruising at my normal speed and I started feeling lekker cozy. One tannie checked me out and I gave her a lekker smile and a wave. Hey, riding slowly wasn’t so bad.

But then an ugly thing happened. The tannie pulled out her cell phone and then I noticed that one of the okes eating breakfast answered his phone and then he also started checking me out. The next thing I know all the okes in cabbies are talking on their phones and checking me out and I could see by the looks on their faces and the way they were nodding that they were all agreeing about something.

I was still smiling away enjoying riding with all my new buddies when the first of the cabbies pulled in close and bliksemed my right mirror off. Then from another cabbie came in and moered the left one off. Then the cabbies started changing places and one by one came swerving in and swearing at me and showing me finger signs.

Slowly it all began to sink in. These okes had finally got a biker trapped in amongst them and now it was pay-back time for all the things we biker okes had ever done to them. Hey, Jo’burg cabbie drivers carry a lot of anger…

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

For those of you who wax, you will understand fully and those who don't will never make this mistake. Better go pee before you read this. This by far is one of the funniest things I have ever read. ~ This is why I shave!! Hope to put a smile on your face:
Hair Removal.
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - the Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. Read on..

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours:
'Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.' So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those 'cold wax' kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.
No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.
('Cold wax,' yeah.. Right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. IT WORKS!
Ok, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down the inside of my butt cheek (it *was* a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself..... RRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!!.....OH MY GAWD!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out..must stay conscious.. must stay conscious.
Do I hear crashing drums???? Breathe, breathe OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip. There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX????
Slyly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip.. It's not!! I touch. I am touching wax.
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake... remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do next and think to myself 'Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!' What can I do to melt the wax?
Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???? *WRONG!!!!!!!*
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub..in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter 'So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!'
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, 'are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?'
She's laughing out loud by now... I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!! RIGHT!!!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through the various solutions, I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than having your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace..the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. Its sooo painful, but I really don't care. 'IT WORKS!!!! It works!!!!'
I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair..THE HAIR IS STILL THERE..ALL OF IT!
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I'm going to try hair color!

The 7 Dwarfs go to the Vatican and, because they are the 7 Dwarfs, they are immediately ushered in to see the Pope. Grumpy leads the pack.
'Grumpy, my son,' says the Pope, 'What can I do for you?'
Grumpy asks, 'Excuse me your Excellency, but are there any dwarf nuns in Rome ?'
The Pope wrinkles his brow at the odd question, thinks for a moment and answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no dwarf nuns in Rome '
In the background, a few of the dwarfs start giggling. Grumpy turns around and glares, silencing them.
Grumpy turns back, 'Your Worship, are there any dwarf nuns in all of Europe ?'
The Pope, puzzled now, again thinks for a moment and then answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no dwarf nuns in Europe .
This time, all of the other dwarfs burst into laughter.
Once again, Grumpy turns around and silences them with an angry glare.
Grumpy turns back and says, 'Mr. Pope! Are there ANY dwarf nuns anywhere in the world?'
The Pope, really confused by the questions says, 'I'm sorry, my son, there are no dwarf nuns anywhere in the world.'
The other dwarfs collapse into a heap, rolling and laughing, pounding the floor, tears rolling down their cheeks, as they begin chanting......
'Grumpy screwed a penguin!'
'Grumpy screwed a penguin!'
The policeman got out of his car and approached the boy racer he stopped for speeding.
'I've been waiting for you all day,' the bobby said.
The kid replied, 'Yes, well I got here as fast as I could.'
When the policeman finally stopped laughing, he sent the kid on his way without a ticket.
CURTAIN RODS ---- This is PRICELESS
She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.
On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.
On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candle-light, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of
spring-water.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods.
She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.
Then slowly, the house began to smell.
They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out.
Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam cleaned.
Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool
carpeting. Nothing worked!
People stopped coming over to visit.
Repairmen refused to work in the house.
The maid quit.
Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.
A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house.
Word got out and eventually even the local realtors refused to return their calls.
Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.
The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going.
He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.
Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.
She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.
A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home.........
And to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods!!!!!!
MY FIRST CONDOM: I recall my first time with a condom, I was 16 or so. I went in to buy a packet of condoms at the pharmacy. There was this beautiful woman assistant behind the counter, and she could see that I was new at it. She handed me the package and asked if I knew how to wear one. I honestly answered, 'No, this is my first time.' So she unwrapped the package, took one out and slipped it over her thumb. She cautioned me to make sure it was on tight and secure. I apparently still looked confused. So she looked all around the store to see if it was empty. It was empty. 'Just a minute,' she said, and walked to the door, and locked it.Taking my hand, she led me into the back room, unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. She unhooked Her bra and laid it aside. 'Do these excite you?' She asked. Well, I was so dumb-struck that all I could do Was nod my head. She then said it was time to slip the condom on.As I was slipping it on, she dropped her skirt, removed her panties andlay down on a desk. 'Well, come on', she said, 'We don't have much time.'So I climbed on her. It was so wonderful, that unfortunately, I could nolonger hold back and KAPOW, I was done within a few minutes. She looked at me with a bit of a frown. 'Did you put that condom on?' she asked.   I said, 'I sure did,' and held up my thumb to show her.She fainted.

Tommy was playing in the house with his balloon. Throwing it this way and that, punching it up in the air, bouncing it off the walls until the balloon floated into the bathroom and into the toilet bowl. Tommy looked at this, pulled a face of disgust and left the balloon where it landed. A little while later his father entered the bathroom and promptly, without looking, sat down, with his magazine to do his "business". On standing he looked with horror at the toilet bowl!!! The excrement had totally covered the balloon and the picture was of an immense and absurd gigantic mountain of shit.
Not wanting to believe what had just happened he quickly phoned his friend who was a doctor.
"Gerald, I had a s*** that just filled up the whole toilet. I've never seen so much shit in one sitting. It's almost overflowing. I must have a very serious problem."
"Heck John you are most probably exaggerating!"
"What exaggeration. I am looking at all that shit now. It's ab su rd. I must be very ill".
" OK. I'm on my way home but I'll pop in as it's on my way."
The doctor arrived and went directly to the toilet where his friend was standing at the door waiting.
"Hello John, where's this business that you ......HOLY S****, SWEET MOTHER MARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is this????? For heavens sake what have you eaten?"
"Didn't I tell you? Now you believe me hey?"
"This is un-be-lie-va-ble!!!!"
" So you think I have a serious problem?"
"Well to start with I am going to take a sample"
Gerald, the doctor proceeded to take a small sterilized bottle out of his medical bag and when he pricked the "cake" to take his specimen ...................POW!!!!!!!!! The balloon popped and s*** went flying to every crevice within the four walls of the bathroom!!!!!!! Absolute silence follows the eruption. Both men encased in shit look at each other and the doctor shouts "Son of a Gun! I thought I had seen it all in this life, but a fart with a shell..... never ! ! ! !

Why Men Don't Write Advice Columns

Dear Ted,
I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn't gone more than a mile down the road when my engine conked out and the car shuddered to a halt.
I walked back home to get my husband's help. When I got home I couldn't believe my eyes. He was in the bedroom with a neighbour, making mad passionate love to her. I am 32, my husband is 34 and we have been married for twelve years.
When I confronted him, he tried to make out that he went into the back yard and heard a lady scream, had come to her rescue but found her unconscious. He'd carried the woman back to our house, laid her in bed, and began CPR.
When she awoke she immediately began thanking him and kissing him and he was attempting to break free when I came back. But when I asked him why neither of them had any clothes on, he broke down and admitted that he'd been having an affair for the past six months.
I told him to stop or I would leave him. He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. I don't feel I can get through to him any more.
Can you please help?
Sincerely,
Susie Fox

Dear Susie,
A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the clips holding the vacuum lines onto the inlet manifold for air leaks. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float chamber.
I hope this helps.
Ted

THIS IS A STORY ABOUT A COUPLE WHO HAD BEEN HAPPILY MARRIED FOR YEARS.
THE ONLY FRICTION IN THEIR MARRIAGE WAS THE HABIT OF FARTING LOUDLY EVERY MORNING WHEN HE AWOKE. THE NOISE WOULD WAKE HIS WIFE AND THE SMELL WOULD MAKE HER EYES WATER AND MAKE HER GASP FOR AIR. EVERY MORNING SHE WOULD PLEAD WITH HIM TO STOP RIPPING THEM OFF BECAUSE IT WAS MAKING HER
SICK. HE TOLD HER HE COULDN'T STOP IT AND THAT IT WAS PERFECTLY NATURAL.
SHE TOLD HIM TO SEE A DOCTOR, SHE WAS CONCERNED THAT ONE DAY HE WOULD BLOW HIS GUTS OUT.
THE YEARS WENT BY AND HE CONTINUED TO RIP THEM OUT. THEN ONE THANKSGIVING MORNING AS SHE WAS PREPARING THE TURKEY FOR DINNER AND HE WAS UPSTAIRS SOUND ASLEEP, SHE LOOKED AT THE INNARDS AND NECK, GIZZARD, LIVER AND ALL THE SPARE PARTS AND A MALICIOUS THOUGHT CAME TO HER. SHE
TOOK THE BOWL AND WENT UPSTAIRS WHERE HER HUSBAND WAS SOUND ASLEEP AND, GENTLY PULLING THE BED COVERS BACK, SHE PULLED BACK THE ELASTIC WAISTBAND OF HIS UNDERPANTS AND EMPTIED THE BOWL OF TURKEY GUTS INTO HIS SHORTS.
SOME TIME LATER SHE HEARD HER HUSBAND WAKEN WITH HIS USUAL TRUMPETING WHICH WAS FOLLOWED BY A BLOOD CURDLING SCREAM AND THE SOUND OF FRANTIC FOOTSTEPS AS HE RAN INTO THE BATH ROOM. THE WIFE COULD HARDLY CONTROL HERSELF AS SHE ROLLED ON THE FLOOR LAUGHING, TEARS IN HER EYES! AFTER
YEARS OF TORTURE SHE RECKONED SHE HAD GOT HIM BACK PRETTY GOOD.
ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES LATER, HER HUSBAND CAME DOWSTAIRS IN HIS BLOODSTAINED UNDERPANTS WITH A LOOK OF HORROR ON HIS FACE. SHE BIT HER LIP AS SHE ASKED HIM WHAT WAS THE MATTER. HE SAID, "HONEY
YOU WERE RIGHT." "ALL THESE YEARS YOU HAVE WARNED ME AND I DIDN'T LISTEN TO YOU". "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" ASKED HIS WIFE. "WELL, YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT ONE DAY I WOULD END UP FARTING MY GUTS
OUT, AND TODAY IT FINALLY HAPPENED." BUT BY THE GRACE OF GOD, SOME VASELINE AND TWO FINGERS. I THINK I GOT MOST OF THEM BACK IN."

The Doctor said "Of course I won't laugh, I'm a professional. In over twenty years I've never laughed at a patient.
""Okay then," Bob said and proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing the tiniest 'whoo-ha' the doctor had ever seen. It couldn't have been bigger than the size of an AAA battery. Unable to control himself, the doctor started giggling, and then fell laughing to the floor.
Ten minutes later he was able to struggle to his feet and regain his composure "I'm so sorry, " said the doctor." I really am. I don't know what came over me. On my honor as a doctor and a gentleman, I promise it won't happen again. Now, what seems to be the problem? " "It's swollen, "Bob replied.

You're going to enjoy this! It's brilliantly written and I think this guy should be knighted, whoever he is!!! More drivers need to fight the scourge of the lawless taxi drivers. The author deserves an award for this! His name calling talent is truly inspiring and we have all been a party to the experience............

This morning, yours truly, decided to sneak in a pinch of top-secret and highly professional canoe training at Emmerentia dam, before the first farts of the sparrows could escape their imprisoning sphincters, and even before the glories-of-mornings of most non-gay South African men could rise to view the possible prospects of "before work" swims.
Yep, I was up and onto that little patch of water before sunrise, tearing around it at record-breaking pace, sneaking in a wee bit of pre-Duzi training in order to wrestle the crown away from the well slow and soft Martin Dreyer (present Duzi champion, for those of you not in the intellectual canoe mix) next time around.
Anyway, the details of my incredible canoe talent are not up for discussion here, but rather what happened on my drive home after the session, in rush hour traffic and, in particular, on Jan Smuts Avenue near to the Old Parktonian Sports Club around 8am.
I was happily chilling in my car, cruising along at about 60kph, in pretty much bumper-to-bumper traffic, with nobody going anywhere any faster; it was simply not an option. Well, not an option for anyone with a brain, with an ounce of logic within their crania, with a drop of sense inside the membranes of their cerebral hemispheres. You'd think that a creature without a brain would equate to a fly or less, a category that includes mosquitoes, stones, anvils and......taxi drivers.
Yep,enter Sipho "I'm a dickhead without a brain cell" Ndlovo, driver of a Toyota Hi-Ace with 4 wheels, 1 brake pad, no lights, half a steering wheel, about 30 people inside and 3 masking-taped windows, standard issue for a South African taxi driver.
He had more than likely participated in the demonstration march last month with hundreds of other taxi driver idiots protesting about having had their 'vehicles' impounded for not being roadworthy. The rocket-scientists couldn't understand what wasn't roadworthy about a taxi with a bobejaan spanner for a steering wheel, or one without brakes (they reckon a handbrake is just as good as the foot brake pedal).
Anyway, my mate Sipho decided things weren't flowing fast enough for him so started weaving in and out of the traffic, arm hanging out of his window like a baboon's tail hanging from its ring piece.
I heard this aeronautical engineer-like taxi driver coming from about 5 cars back, because everyone was hooting and slamming on brakes to avoid the accident that he was trying his damnest to cause. After he narrowly missed the back of my canoe as he swerved in behind me I made a stubborn little vow that he definitely wouldn't be cutting in front of me like that, and so began the fun and games.
The bum-wart first tried the standard tactic of intimidation, just gradually cutting me off, in the typical "you'd better slow down and let me in, or I'll crash into you" method.
Well, I used the typical "F_ck you faeces-brain" tactic, with one hand on the hooter, the other pointing straight at him, with my foot firmly on the accelerator, until he backed down like Mike Catt had done in 1995 when Jonah Lomu ran straight over him.
This had a snowball effect, which had me chuckling the whole way back to my humble abode. Syphilis-face then decided to put all his well acquired driving skill to the test and adopted the smartest technique of them all, the "Eish, I weel ovah-take on the wrong side" method, one that sadly has caused numerous accidents in the past, including the untimely death of one of our awesome mates a year ago.
This made old Maccatini madder than a spitting cobra with a red hot cactus lodged up its rectum. No skin off the f_cking taxi drivers nose, he just accelerated more, and tried to cut in front of the double-cab in front of me, this after he had hooted at me and showed me a middle finger accompanied with a few swearwords, something that made me want to beat him harder than Campbell hit the gay boy who stabbed him repeatedly with a pen all those years ago!
Well, the fella in front of me had obviously also been observing the proceedings, and likewise refused to let Sipho Dickdribble Ndhlovo in so the acceleration by the monkey continued, while he tried his hardest to outstare the double-cab driver. Sadly for the nuclear physicist the emergency lane was shortly going to end, with a solid stone pavement to mark its ending.
More sadly for him was the fact that he, and his 30-odd passengers were all trying their damnest to "intimidate by staring" myself and the double-cab man, instead of watching the road ahead something that most brain-owners do when driving.
I saw it coming, and was smiling my full-tusk smile even before they hit!!
Anal-bum-wart hit that pavement at about 70kph, 31 passengers bumped their heads on the roof of the Hi-Ace in symphonic unison, adding an extra 31 dents to the already-f_cked minibus, and the two front wheels were ripped off the chassis as the bus slid to a delightful halt.
Thankfully no passengers were hurt, which made it the most fantastic thing to witness. Sadly though, Sipho, arm still hanging out of the window,was also unscathed. However, his car was more f_cked than that prostitute at PE harbour named Deloris, and his mood was somewhat down-trodden.
I hooted and made sure he got the full-frontal of my biggest-ever super smile, as did the driver of the double-cab, and then to my absolute joy, looked in my mirror to see every driver behind me doing exactly the same!
The brain-cell-lacker had received his well-earned treatment! I was happier than the Proteas when they beat the Aussies, or at least as happy!!
So folks, what a peachy morning it has been so far. The sun is shining, it's nearly Friday, I've done my training. There will be a lot of thirst quenched this weekend, and Sipho, Faeces-face Ndlovo is one mini-bus short of a taxi!
Now that is justice....!

Actual letter
Dear Diary,
For my birthday this year, my daughter (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me.
Although I am still in great shape since being a high school cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.
I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Brad, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.
My daughter seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Brad waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god - with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Brad gave me a tour and showed me the machines.. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!
Brad was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around.
This is going to be a FANTASTIC week-!!

TUESDAY
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door.
Brad made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Brad's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT-!! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.
Brad was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Brad put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Brad told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other shit too.

THURSDAY :
Brad was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late, it took me that long to tie my shoes.
Brad took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny bitch to find me.
Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank!

FRIDAY :
I hate that Brad more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic little #@*. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.
Brad wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher.
Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY :
Brad left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing him made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY :
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over.. I will also pray that next year my daughter (the little shit) will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds

Long ago, I saw something at the gun shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 10th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife. What I came across was a
100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized tazer.
The effects of the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety. Needless to say, this was way too cool. Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the thing and pushed the button. f0kall! I was so disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get a blue arc
of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. Awesome!
Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to my wife what that burn spot is on the face of her LG convection oven.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right? Yah. There I sat in my recliner, my cat looking on intently, the trusting little soul, while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really
needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Kitty for a fraction of a second, but thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat and, as most of you already know, hell hath no fury like a cat pi$$ed off. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and my Blue Bulls supporter jersey, with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second
burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries. All the while I'm looking at
this little device measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in
circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA
batteries thinking to myself "no flippin' way!"
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
I'm sitting there alone, the cat looking on with her head tilted to one side as if to say, "don't do it, you stupid man," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thingy couldn't hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER OF @@@!!!!, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION, CRAP ON A STICK, F@&$ ME GEORGE!!!!! I'm pretty sure THE BLUE BULLS TEAM ran in through
the side door, picked me up, body slammed me on the carpet over and over and over again and then slammed the recliner over my head as a just for fun.
I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet smelling like [pee], both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and pins and needles in my legs. The cat was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, "Do it again, do it again you stupid d00s!"
Please take this from the voice of experience - there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself!!!!. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor! Three second burst would be considered conservative.
A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had let), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent and forlorn reading glasses were hanging miserably on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there? My
triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and judging by how my jaw hung listlessly, my bottom lip must have weighed 88 lbs. By the way, at this point my testicles, feeling like they withdrew into my body somewhere
around my ribcage, are still waiting for the all clear signal to emerge from the bomb shelter. Now I know how Tom Hanks' character felt when he had to go search for Private Ryan. I felt like I should offer a significant reward for their safe return. Even now, I experience shrinkage when I plug anything into the socket.
So if you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a tazer to test it, take my advice! Repeat after me...here, kitty kitty....

Tall Stories