How to shower like a woman:
Take off clothing and place it in sectioned laundry basket according to whites and coloured.
Walk to bathroom wearing long dressing gown.
If you see husband along the way, cover up any exposed areas.
Look at your womanly physique in the mirror - make mental note to do more sit-ups.
Get in shower.
Use face cloth, arm cloth, leg cloth, long loofah, wide loofah, and pumice stone.
Wash hair once with cucumber and sage shampoo with 43 added vitamins.
Wash hair again to make sure it is clean.
Condition hair with grapefruit mint conditioner enhanced with natural avocado oil, leave on hair for 15 minutes.
Wash face with crushed apricot facial, scrub for 10 minutes until red.
Wash entire rest of body with ginger-nut and jaffa cake body wash.
Shave armpits, legs and top lip.
Turn off shower.
Squeegee off all wet surfaces in shower, spray mould spots with Tilex.
Get out of shower.
Dry with towel the size of a small country.
Wrap hair in super absorbent towel.
Check entire body for spots, tweeze eyebrow hairs.
Return to bedroom wearing long dressing gown and towel on head.
If you see husband along the way, cover any exposed areas.
=================================================
How to Shower Like A Man:
Take off clothes while sitting on the edge of the bed.
Leave in a pile.
Walk naked to the bathroom.
If you see wife along the way, shake willy at her making woo-woo sound
Look at manly physique in the mirror.
Admire size of your willy and scratch your bum
Get in the shower.
Wash your armpits.
Blow your nose in your hands and let the water rinse them off.
Make fart noises (real or artificial) and laugh at how loud they sound in the shower.
Spend majority of time washing privates and surrounding area.
Wash your bum leaving those coarse hairs stuck on the soap.
Shampoo hair.
Make shampoo mohawk.
Pee.
Rinse off and get out of shower.
Partially dry-off.
Fail to notice water on floor.
Admire willy size in mirror again.
Return to bedroom with towel around waist.
If you pass wife, pull off towel, shake willy at her and make woo-woo noise again
Weight loss Forum - weightloss.com.au
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AFL 2006 SEASON CANCELLED!!
by Fairie » Sat Dec 03, 2005 12:46 pm
Advance notice .......AFL 2006 season cancelled
It is likely that the AFL competition for 2006 will have to be cancelled.
Under the new Anti Terrorism Laws the Bombers are banned, the new Industrial Relations legislation rules out the Dockers and the Asian flu epidemic is wreaking havoc with the Crows, Eagles, Hawks, Magpies and Swans.
Any transfers to the Kangaroos, Cats, Lions, Dogs and Tigers must now be quarantined for at least 12 months. Religious vilification laws mean that no one can legally barrack for the Demons or the Saints.
This only leaves the Power and the Blues who no one wants to barrack for anyway.
It is likely that the AFL competition for 2006 will have to be cancelled.
Under the new Anti Terrorism Laws the Bombers are banned, the new Industrial Relations legislation rules out the Dockers and the Asian flu epidemic is wreaking havoc with the Crows, Eagles, Hawks, Magpies and Swans.
Any transfers to the Kangaroos, Cats, Lions, Dogs and Tigers must now be quarantined for at least 12 months. Religious vilification laws mean that no one can legally barrack for the Demons or the Saints.
This only leaves the Power and the Blues who no one wants to barrack for anyway.
-Fay-
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-
Fairie - Posts: 1503
- Joined: Thu Jul 21, 2005 10:01 pm
- Location: Adelaide SA
by Fairie » Fri Dec 09, 2005 8:13 pm
You possibly will wet yourself laughing. so be warned.
When I was a teenager, we used to take our annual holidays in Italy and
my mum insisted my father drive non-stop through France rather than
risk another horrifying encounter with a French pissoir. I don't know
if you have ever tried to hold your bladder in for four hours in a car
travelling at speeds in excess of 120 miles an hour, but it may explain
why my mother had the thigh muscles of an Olympic athlete. Those of you
who have never been to France may think my mother was a bit picky, but
then you've probably never had to squat over a smelly hole in the
ground whilst clinging for dear life to two rusty, iron chains in a
damp cellar illuminated by a single light bulb dangling from the
ceiling that had last been changed during the German occupation
forty years earlier, while a cadaverous male attendant reeking of garlic
politely enquired if you would like another sheet of newspaper.
Toilets may have improved a bit since then (though not in France), but
taking a pee is still fraught with more unseen dangers for us girls
than exploring the uncharted rain forests of the Amazon.
The first thing my mother taught me was to grab a handful of toilet
paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet
paper to cover the seat. Lesson two was learning to assume 'The
position'. This required carefully balancing over the toilet in a
squatting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
contact with the toilet seat. The flaw in this strategy was that by the
time I was ready to pee, my thigh muscles had given up the struggle,
I'd overbalance, land heavily on the seat and the trickle of wetness
down the inside of my leg meant we'd have to go home to change my knickers.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my forties, 'The Position' is
excruciatingly difficult to maintain for more than thirty seconds,
especially when one's bladder is bursting.
If that wasn't bad enough, when you have to visit a public loo, you
usually find a line of anxious women have got there before you, which
makes you think you must have taken a wrong turning and stumbled across
a half-price sale of M&S underwear. So, you wait, trying not to look as if you're
squeezing your legs together and smile politely at all the
other women, who are also trying not to cross their legs and smiling
through clenched teeth.
As you get closer to your goal, you start checking for feet under
cubicle doors. Naturally every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens
and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter; you have
long arms and tell yourself: 'I'll just keep one hand against it.' At
this point you would hang your handbag on the coat hook if there was
oneâ€â€but there isn't so you hang it around your neck whilst glancing
furtively about to make sure no one saw you commit such a dreadful faux
pas. You could put it on floor, but given that the floors in public
toilets are invariably wet, you might just as well pee in it yourself.
Finally, you yank down your knickers, and assume the dreaded
'Position'.
Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake, not
helped by the fact that your left arm is stretched to its fullest
extent trying to keep the door shut. You'd love to sit down but you
didn't have time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper down, so you hold
'The Position' as a quake that would register an eight on the Richter
scale travels through your aching thighs. To take your mind off the
pain, you reach for what you now discover is an empty toilet paper
dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying:
"Darling, if you'd cleaned the seat first, you would have KNOWN there
was no toilet paper!"
Your thigh muscles are seconds away from snapping like old knicker
elastic. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday the one that's in your handbag, which you cannot unzip
because you only have one free hand. So you take your hand off the door
and scrabble about in your bag until you find a ball of paper that
would barely cover a gnat's arse. You smooth it out and fluff it up,
but it is still only slightly larger than your thumbnail. At this point
someone pushes open the door because you've taken your hand away to
open your bag. The door hits your handbag, which thumps you in the
chest and you and your bag topple backward against the toilet
cistern which is disconcertingly wet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you slam the door shut, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue on the wet floor and parking your naked
bum directly on the odious toilet seat. You recoil instantly, knowing
only too well the damage is done. Your bare arse has made contact with
every imaginable germ on the planet because YOU never laid down toilet
paper on the filthy seat not that there was any, even if you had
bothered to look. You may even have contracted a sexually transmitted
disease or worse, been impregnated by some adventurous sperm that
escaped from the disgusting slut who sat on the seat before you, and
has been patiently biding its time waiting for its next victim.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew,
because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public
toilet seat in her life. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back
of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of
water to rival Niagara Falls that sucks everything down with such force
that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of having your
bottom dragged off to Australia.
At that point, you give up. Your skirt is soaked by the splashing
water, your blouse is sticking to your back, there's pee running down
your legs and your expensive Aubade knickers look like the cat's been
sleeping in them. You're exhausted. You try to wipe yourself with a
crumpled bus ticket you found in your pocket, and slink out
inconspicuously to the washbasins, but not before laddering your tights
on the broken door latch which you now discover has a bloody great nail
sticking out of it.
You can't work out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors,
so you wash your hands with liquid soap (most of which ends up on your
blouse) and dry them under the hot air blower because, of course, there
are no
paper towels in the dispensers. Have you ever tried drying
liquid soap with hot air? Ten minutes later you stumble out and shuffle
past the queue of waiting women, still cross-legged and, at this point,
you no longer care that your manic grimace is met with disapproving
stares.
Just when you thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, one kind
soul at the very end of the queue points out that you are trailing a
piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the river Nile! (Where
was it when you NEEDED it??) You rip the paper from your shoe, shove it
in the woman's hand and tell her cattily, "Hereâ€â€you might need this."
As you leave the house of horrors, you spot your husband loitering
impatiently outside, having long since entered, used and left the men's
toilets and read a copy of Gone with the Wind whist waiting for you.
The icing on the cake will be when he asks: "What took you so long,
darling, and why is your
skirt tucked into the back of your knickers?"
Silently you curse the censored who pointed out the toilet paper stuck to
your shoe, but omitted to mention that your bum has been on display to
every pervert in the place.
Our male readers will now know not only why women take so long to
powder their noses, but also why we always go to the toilet in pairs.
It's so the other woman can hold the door shut and pass you the toilet
paper under the door.
When I was a teenager, we used to take our annual holidays in Italy and
my mum insisted my father drive non-stop through France rather than
risk another horrifying encounter with a French pissoir. I don't know
if you have ever tried to hold your bladder in for four hours in a car
travelling at speeds in excess of 120 miles an hour, but it may explain
why my mother had the thigh muscles of an Olympic athlete. Those of you
who have never been to France may think my mother was a bit picky, but
then you've probably never had to squat over a smelly hole in the
ground whilst clinging for dear life to two rusty, iron chains in a
damp cellar illuminated by a single light bulb dangling from the
ceiling that had last been changed during the German occupation
forty years earlier, while a cadaverous male attendant reeking of garlic
politely enquired if you would like another sheet of newspaper.
Toilets may have improved a bit since then (though not in France), but
taking a pee is still fraught with more unseen dangers for us girls
than exploring the uncharted rain forests of the Amazon.
The first thing my mother taught me was to grab a handful of toilet
paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet
paper to cover the seat. Lesson two was learning to assume 'The
position'. This required carefully balancing over the toilet in a
squatting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
contact with the toilet seat. The flaw in this strategy was that by the
time I was ready to pee, my thigh muscles had given up the struggle,
I'd overbalance, land heavily on the seat and the trickle of wetness
down the inside of my leg meant we'd have to go home to change my knickers.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my forties, 'The Position' is
excruciatingly difficult to maintain for more than thirty seconds,
especially when one's bladder is bursting.
If that wasn't bad enough, when you have to visit a public loo, you
usually find a line of anxious women have got there before you, which
makes you think you must have taken a wrong turning and stumbled across
a half-price sale of M&S underwear. So, you wait, trying not to look as if you're
squeezing your legs together and smile politely at all the
other women, who are also trying not to cross their legs and smiling
through clenched teeth.
As you get closer to your goal, you start checking for feet under
cubicle doors. Naturally every one is occupied. Finally, a door opens
and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter; you have
long arms and tell yourself: 'I'll just keep one hand against it.' At
this point you would hang your handbag on the coat hook if there was
oneâ€â€but there isn't so you hang it around your neck whilst glancing
furtively about to make sure no one saw you commit such a dreadful faux
pas. You could put it on floor, but given that the floors in public
toilets are invariably wet, you might just as well pee in it yourself.
Finally, you yank down your knickers, and assume the dreaded
'Position'.
Ahhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake, not
helped by the fact that your left arm is stretched to its fullest
extent trying to keep the door shut. You'd love to sit down but you
didn't have time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper down, so you hold
'The Position' as a quake that would register an eight on the Richter
scale travels through your aching thighs. To take your mind off the
pain, you reach for what you now discover is an empty toilet paper
dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying:
"Darling, if you'd cleaned the seat first, you would have KNOWN there
was no toilet paper!"
Your thigh muscles are seconds away from snapping like old knicker
elastic. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday the one that's in your handbag, which you cannot unzip
because you only have one free hand. So you take your hand off the door
and scrabble about in your bag until you find a ball of paper that
would barely cover a gnat's arse. You smooth it out and fluff it up,
but it is still only slightly larger than your thumbnail. At this point
someone pushes open the door because you've taken your hand away to
open your bag. The door hits your handbag, which thumps you in the
chest and you and your bag topple backward against the toilet
cistern which is disconcertingly wet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you slam the door shut, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue on the wet floor and parking your naked
bum directly on the odious toilet seat. You recoil instantly, knowing
only too well the damage is done. Your bare arse has made contact with
every imaginable germ on the planet because YOU never laid down toilet
paper on the filthy seat not that there was any, even if you had
bothered to look. You may even have contracted a sexually transmitted
disease or worse, been impregnated by some adventurous sperm that
escaped from the disgusting slut who sat on the seat before you, and
has been patiently biding its time waiting for its next victim.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew,
because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public
toilet seat in her life. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back
of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of
water to rival Niagara Falls that sucks everything down with such force
that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of having your
bottom dragged off to Australia.
At that point, you give up. Your skirt is soaked by the splashing
water, your blouse is sticking to your back, there's pee running down
your legs and your expensive Aubade knickers look like the cat's been
sleeping in them. You're exhausted. You try to wipe yourself with a
crumpled bus ticket you found in your pocket, and slink out
inconspicuously to the washbasins, but not before laddering your tights
on the broken door latch which you now discover has a bloody great nail
sticking out of it.
You can't work out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors,
so you wash your hands with liquid soap (most of which ends up on your
blouse) and dry them under the hot air blower because, of course, there
are no
paper towels in the dispensers. Have you ever tried drying
liquid soap with hot air? Ten minutes later you stumble out and shuffle
past the queue of waiting women, still cross-legged and, at this point,
you no longer care that your manic grimace is met with disapproving
stares.
Just when you thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, one kind
soul at the very end of the queue points out that you are trailing a
piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the river Nile! (Where
was it when you NEEDED it??) You rip the paper from your shoe, shove it
in the woman's hand and tell her cattily, "Hereâ€â€you might need this."
As you leave the house of horrors, you spot your husband loitering
impatiently outside, having long since entered, used and left the men's
toilets and read a copy of Gone with the Wind whist waiting for you.
The icing on the cake will be when he asks: "What took you so long,
darling, and why is your
skirt tucked into the back of your knickers?"
Silently you curse the censored who pointed out the toilet paper stuck to
your shoe, but omitted to mention that your bum has been on display to
every pervert in the place.
Our male readers will now know not only why women take so long to
powder their noses, but also why we always go to the toilet in pairs.
It's so the other woman can hold the door shut and pass you the toilet
paper under the door.
-Fay-
[url=http://www.TickerFactory.com/weight-loss/wSDGUdx/]
[/url]
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[/url]
-
Fairie - Posts: 1503
- Joined: Thu Jul 21, 2005 10:01 pm
- Location: Adelaide SA
by Dolly » Sun Feb 05, 2006 11:13 am
Delicious Chewing Gum
A Frenchmen is calmly having his breakfast when an American (noisily chewing gum) sits beside him.
The Frenchman ignores the American who (not happy about this) starts a conversation.
American: "Do you eat the whole bread?"
Frenchman (in a bad mood): "Of course!"
American: "We don't. We only eat what is inside and the outside we put together in a container, recycle it, transform it into croissants and sell it to France."
The French listens in silence.
The American insists: "Do you eat the bread with jam?"
French (now more annoyed): "Of course!"
American: "We don't. We eat fresh fruit for our breakfast, put all the seed and the rest in containers, recycle them, transform them into jam and sell the jam to France."
The Frenchman then asks: "And what do you do with condoms once you used them?"
American: "We throw them away, of course!"
French: "We don't. We put them in a container, recycle them, transform them into chewing gum and sell it to America."
A Frenchmen is calmly having his breakfast when an American (noisily chewing gum) sits beside him.
The Frenchman ignores the American who (not happy about this) starts a conversation.
American: "Do you eat the whole bread?"
Frenchman (in a bad mood): "Of course!"
American: "We don't. We only eat what is inside and the outside we put together in a container, recycle it, transform it into croissants and sell it to France."
The French listens in silence.
The American insists: "Do you eat the bread with jam?"
French (now more annoyed): "Of course!"
American: "We don't. We eat fresh fruit for our breakfast, put all the seed and the rest in containers, recycle them, transform them into jam and sell the jam to France."
The Frenchman then asks: "And what do you do with condoms once you used them?"
American: "We throw them away, of course!"
French: "We don't. We put them in a container, recycle them, transform them into chewing gum and sell it to America."
-
Dolly - Posts: 3335
- Joined: Wed Jul 13, 2005 10:49 pm
- Location: Perth, WA
Reasons To Smile
by Fairie » Fri Mar 24, 2006 6:15 pm
Reasons to Smile
>Now that food has replaced censored in my life,
>I can't even get into my own pants.
>
>Marriage changes passion.
>Suddenly you're in bed with a relative.
>
>I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with "Guess" on it.
>So I said "Implants?" She hit me.
>
>A good friend will come and bail you out of jail...but, a true friend
will be sitting next to you saying,
"Wow...that was fun!"
>
>I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting
>clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing,
I wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
>
>When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just "chunky
dunk."
>(really liked this one)
>
>Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we could simply
press
>'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
>
>Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but they can
in prison?
>
>Wouldn't you know it...
>Brain cells come and brain cells go, but FATcells live forever.
>
> And remember: life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it
gets to the end, the faster it goes.
>Now that food has replaced censored in my life,
>I can't even get into my own pants.
>
>Marriage changes passion.
>Suddenly you're in bed with a relative.
>
>I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with "Guess" on it.
>So I said "Implants?" She hit me.
>
>A good friend will come and bail you out of jail...but, a true friend
will be sitting next to you saying,
"Wow...that was fun!"
>
>I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting
>clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing,
I wouldn't have signed up in the first place!
>
>When I was young we used to go "skinny dipping," now I just "chunky
dunk."
>(really liked this one)
>
>Wouldn't it be nice if whenever we messed up our life we could simply
press
>'Ctrl Alt Delete' and start all over?
>
>Why is it that our children can't read a Bible in school, but they can
in prison?
>
>Wouldn't you know it...
>Brain cells come and brain cells go, but FATcells live forever.
>
> And remember: life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it
gets to the end, the faster it goes.
-Fay-
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[/url]
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[/url]
-
Fairie - Posts: 1503
- Joined: Thu Jul 21, 2005 10:01 pm
- Location: Adelaide SA
by Dolly » Fri Apr 07, 2006 1:25 pm
At The GYM
A regular workout routine.
Dear Diary:
For my fortieth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a
week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I
am still in great shape since playing on my High School football team
25 yrs ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it
a try.
Called the club and made my reservation with a personal trainer named
Belinda, who identified herself as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor
and model for athletic clothing and swimwear. My wife 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 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but it was well
worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for
me. She was something of a Greek goddess -- with blonde hair, dancing
eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!!!!
Belinda gave me a tour and showed me the machines. She took my pulse
after 5 minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast,
but I attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobics
outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her
aerobics class after my workout today.
Very inspiring, Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although
my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she 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.
Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air,
and then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the
treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda'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.
Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered
other club members. Her voice is a little too perky for early in the
morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whine that is VERY
annoying.
My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the
stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate
an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would
help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other censored too.
THURSDAY:
Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her
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.
Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking,
I ran and hid in the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment,
put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.
FRIDAY:
I hate that censored Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any
other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic
little cheerleader. If there were a part of my body I could move
without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it.
Belinda 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 *&%#(#&**!!@*@
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:
Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly
voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her 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 wife (the censored); will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a
root canal or a vasectomy.
Have a great day!
A regular workout routine.
Dear Diary:
For my fortieth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a
week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I
am still in great shape since playing on my High School football team
25 yrs ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it
a try.
Called the club and made my reservation with a personal trainer named
Belinda, who identified herself as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor
and model for athletic clothing and swimwear. My wife 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 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but it was well
worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for
me. She was something of a Greek goddess -- with blonde hair, dancing
eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!!!!
Belinda gave me a tour and showed me the machines. She took my pulse
after 5 minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast,
but I attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobics
outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her
aerobics class after my workout today.
Very inspiring, Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although
my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she 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.
Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air,
and then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the
treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda'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.
Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered
other club members. Her voice is a little too perky for early in the
morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whine that is VERY
annoying.
My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the
stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate
an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would
help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other censored too.
THURSDAY:
Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her
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.
Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking,
I ran and hid in the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment,
put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.
FRIDAY:
I hate that censored Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any
other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic
little cheerleader. If there were a part of my body I could move
without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it.
Belinda 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 *&%#(#&**!!@*@
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:
Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly
voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her 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 wife (the censored); will choose a gift for me that is fun -- like a
root canal or a vasectomy.
Have a great day!
-
Dolly - Posts: 3335
- Joined: Wed Jul 13, 2005 10:49 pm
- Location: Perth, WA
by Dolly » Tue Apr 11, 2006 5:48 pm
The retired corporate executive
A retired corporate executive decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life ... until the boat sank!
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day, when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks her, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"
She replies, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank."
"Amazing," he says. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."
"Oh, this?" replies the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branch and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."
"But, where did you get the tools?"
"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable, ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware." The guy is stunned.
"Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few hours of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls out off the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.
As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please.
Would you like a drink?"
"No. No, thank you," he says, still dazed. "Can't take any more coconut juice."
"It's not coconut juice," the woman replies. "I have a still. How about a Pina Colada?"
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.
After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, is a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he muses. "What next?"
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines and flowers strategically positioned, and smelling of gardenias.
She beckons for him to sit down next to her! . "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for a really long time. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for all these months?" She stares into his eyes and takes his hand in hers...
He can't believe what he's hearing. He swallows excitedly, tears start to form in his eyes, and he says,
"You mean... I can check my e-mail from here?"
A retired corporate executive decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life ... until the boat sank!
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.
After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day, when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks her, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"
She replies, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank."
"Amazing," he says. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."
"Oh, this?" replies the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branch and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."
"But, where did you get the tools?"
"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable, ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware." The guy is stunned.
"Let's row over to my place," she says. After a few hours of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf.
As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls out off the boat. Before him is a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.
As they walk into the house, she says casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please.
Would you like a drink?"
"No. No, thank you," he says, still dazed. "Can't take any more coconut juice."
"It's not coconut juice," the woman replies. "I have a still. How about a Pina Colada?"
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk.
After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, is a razor made from a bone handle. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he muses. "What next?"
When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but vines and flowers strategically positioned, and smelling of gardenias.
She beckons for him to sit down next to her! . "Tell me," she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, "We've been out here for a really long time. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for all these months?" She stares into his eyes and takes his hand in hers...
He can't believe what he's hearing. He swallows excitedly, tears start to form in his eyes, and he says,
"You mean... I can check my e-mail from here?"
-
Dolly - Posts: 3335
- Joined: Wed Jul 13, 2005 10:49 pm
- Location: Perth, WA
Snow
by Livy » Sat May 06, 2006 9:47 pm
Donald and Nora live in Aberdeen. One winter morning while listening to
the radio, they hear the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10
inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even numbered side
of the street, so the snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car.
A week later while they are eating breakfast, the radio announcer
says, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today.
You must park your car on the odd numbered side of the street, so the
snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car again.
The next week they are having breakfast again, when the radio
announcer says "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today.
You must park ........." then the electric power goes out and Nora is
very upset.
With a worried look on her face Nora says, "Honey, I don't know what
to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the plough can
get through?"
With the love and understanding in his voice that all men who are
married to blondes exhibit, Donald says, "Why don't you just leave it
in the garage this time?
the radio, they hear the announcer say, "We are going to have 8 to 10
inches of snow today. You must park your car on the even numbered side
of the street, so the snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car.
A week later while they are eating breakfast, the radio announcer
says, "We are expecting 10 to 12 inches of snow today.
You must park your car on the odd numbered side of the street, so the
snow plough can get through."
Nora goes out and moves her car again.
The next week they are having breakfast again, when the radio
announcer says "We are expecting 12 to 14 inches of snow today.
You must park ........." then the electric power goes out and Nora is
very upset.
With a worried look on her face Nora says, "Honey, I don't know what
to do. Which side of the street do I need to park on so the plough can
get through?"
With the love and understanding in his voice that all men who are
married to blondes exhibit, Donald says, "Why don't you just leave it
in the garage this time?
- Livy
- Posts: 89
- Joined: Thu Apr 20, 2006 9:17 am
- Location: QLD
Aunty Sharon
by Livy » Sat May 06, 2006 9:48 pm
A teacher gave her class of 11 year olds an assignment:
Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.
The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell
their stories.
Karl said, "My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg laying
chooks. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on
the front seat of the car when we hit a big bump in the road and all
the eggs went flying and broke and made a mess."
"What's the moral of the story?" asked the teacher.
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket!"
"Very good," said the teacher.
Next little Emily raised her hand and said,"Our family are
Farmers too, but we raise chooks for the meat market. One day we had a dozen
eggs, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to
this Story is, "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched'."
That was a fine story Emily.
Next Mick raised his hand.
"Mick, do you have a story to share?"
Yeah. My dad told me this story about my Aunty Sharon. Aunty
Sharon is In the air force and she was a flight engineer on a plane in the
Gulf War and her plane got hit.
She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was 3
bottles Of rum, a machine gun and a machete. She drank all the rum on the
Way down so it wouldn't break and then she landed right in the
middle of 100 enemy troops.
She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out
of bullets.
Then she killed twenty more with the machete until the blade
broke.
And then she killed the last ten with her bare hands !!"
"Good heavens," said the horrified teacher, "What kind of moral
did Your father tell you from that horrible story?"
"Stay the f**k away from Aunty Sharon when she's been on the piss !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.
The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell
their stories.
Karl said, "My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg laying
chooks. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on
the front seat of the car when we hit a big bump in the road and all
the eggs went flying and broke and made a mess."
"What's the moral of the story?" asked the teacher.
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket!"
"Very good," said the teacher.
Next little Emily raised her hand and said,"Our family are
Farmers too, but we raise chooks for the meat market. One day we had a dozen
eggs, but when they hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to
this Story is, "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched'."
That was a fine story Emily.
Next Mick raised his hand.
"Mick, do you have a story to share?"
Yeah. My dad told me this story about my Aunty Sharon. Aunty
Sharon is In the air force and she was a flight engineer on a plane in the
Gulf War and her plane got hit.
She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was 3
bottles Of rum, a machine gun and a machete. She drank all the rum on the
Way down so it wouldn't break and then she landed right in the
middle of 100 enemy troops.
She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out
of bullets.
Then she killed twenty more with the machete until the blade
broke.
And then she killed the last ten with her bare hands !!"
"Good heavens," said the horrified teacher, "What kind of moral
did Your father tell you from that horrible story?"
"Stay the f**k away from Aunty Sharon when she's been on the piss !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- Livy
- Posts: 89
- Joined: Thu Apr 20, 2006 9:17 am
- Location: QLD
Have to be 40 or over for this one
by Livy » Sat May 06, 2006 9:50 pm
A different slant on an old theme.
Gotta Be Over 40 to Understand
Mum used to cut chicken, slice eggs and spread mayo on the same cutting board with the same knife and no bleach, but we didn't get food poisoning.
My Mum used to defrost mince-meat on the kitchen sink AND I used to eat a bite raw sometimes, too. Our school sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper, in a brown paper bag, not in icepack coolers, but I can't remember anybody getting e.coli.
Almost all of us would have rather gone swimming in the lake instead of a pristine pool (talk about boring), no beach closures then.
The term cell phone would have conjured up a phone in a jail cell, and a pager was the school PA system.
We all played sport, and also did PE... and risked permanent injury with a pair of Dunlop runners (only worn in the gym or the sports ground) instead of having cross-training athletic shoes with air cushion soles and built-in light reflectors.. I can't recall any injuries but they must have happened, because they tell us how much safer we are now....
Flunking sport was not an option.... even for stupid kids! There were not many fat kids.
Speaking of school, we all said prayers and sang the National Anthem and got free school milk for strong bones and teeth, and staying in detention after school caught all sorts of negative attention. We must have had horribly damaged psyches.
What an archaic health system we had then. Remember school nurses? Ours wore a hat and everything, and she could even give you an aspirin for a headache or fever.
I thought that I was supposed to accomplish something before I was allowed to be proud of myself. I just can't recall how bored we were without computers, Play Station, Nintendo, X-box or 270 digital TV cable stations.
Oh yeah..and where was the Benadryl and sterilization kit when I got that bee sting? I could have been killed!
We played 'king of the castle' on piles of gravel left on vacant construction sites, and when we got hurt, Mum pulled out the 48-cent bottle of Mercurochrome (kids liked it better because it didn't sting like iodine did) and then we got our hair ruffled and got told to get back out there! Now it's a trip to the emergency room, followed by a 10-day dose of a $49 bottle of antibiotics, and then Mum calls the Solicitor to sue the contractor for leaving a horribly vicious pile of gravel where it was such a threat.
We didn't misbehave at the mate's house either, because if we did, we got our bum smacked there, and then we got bum belted again when we got home. I recall Donny Reynolds from next door coming over and doing his tricks on the front veranda, just before he fell off. Little did his Mum know that she could have owned our house. Instead, she picked him up and swatted him for being such a yobbo.
It was a neighbourhood run amuck.
To top it off, not a single person I knew had ever been told that they were from a "dysfunctional family". How could we possibly have known that we needed to get into group therapy and anger management classes? We were obviously so duped by so many societal ills, that we didn't even notice that the entire country wasn't taking Prozac! How did we ever survive?
LOVE TO ALL OF US WHO SHARED THIS ERA, AND TO ALL WHO DIDN'T---- SORRY FOR WHAT YOU MISSED. I WOULDN'T TRADE IT FOR ANYTHING
Gotta Be Over 40 to Understand
Mum used to cut chicken, slice eggs and spread mayo on the same cutting board with the same knife and no bleach, but we didn't get food poisoning.
My Mum used to defrost mince-meat on the kitchen sink AND I used to eat a bite raw sometimes, too. Our school sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper, in a brown paper bag, not in icepack coolers, but I can't remember anybody getting e.coli.
Almost all of us would have rather gone swimming in the lake instead of a pristine pool (talk about boring), no beach closures then.
The term cell phone would have conjured up a phone in a jail cell, and a pager was the school PA system.
We all played sport, and also did PE... and risked permanent injury with a pair of Dunlop runners (only worn in the gym or the sports ground) instead of having cross-training athletic shoes with air cushion soles and built-in light reflectors.. I can't recall any injuries but they must have happened, because they tell us how much safer we are now....
Flunking sport was not an option.... even for stupid kids! There were not many fat kids.
Speaking of school, we all said prayers and sang the National Anthem and got free school milk for strong bones and teeth, and staying in detention after school caught all sorts of negative attention. We must have had horribly damaged psyches.
What an archaic health system we had then. Remember school nurses? Ours wore a hat and everything, and she could even give you an aspirin for a headache or fever.
I thought that I was supposed to accomplish something before I was allowed to be proud of myself. I just can't recall how bored we were without computers, Play Station, Nintendo, X-box or 270 digital TV cable stations.
Oh yeah..and where was the Benadryl and sterilization kit when I got that bee sting? I could have been killed!
We played 'king of the castle' on piles of gravel left on vacant construction sites, and when we got hurt, Mum pulled out the 48-cent bottle of Mercurochrome (kids liked it better because it didn't sting like iodine did) and then we got our hair ruffled and got told to get back out there! Now it's a trip to the emergency room, followed by a 10-day dose of a $49 bottle of antibiotics, and then Mum calls the Solicitor to sue the contractor for leaving a horribly vicious pile of gravel where it was such a threat.
We didn't misbehave at the mate's house either, because if we did, we got our bum smacked there, and then we got bum belted again when we got home. I recall Donny Reynolds from next door coming over and doing his tricks on the front veranda, just before he fell off. Little did his Mum know that she could have owned our house. Instead, she picked him up and swatted him for being such a yobbo.
It was a neighbourhood run amuck.
To top it off, not a single person I knew had ever been told that they were from a "dysfunctional family". How could we possibly have known that we needed to get into group therapy and anger management classes? We were obviously so duped by so many societal ills, that we didn't even notice that the entire country wasn't taking Prozac! How did we ever survive?
LOVE TO ALL OF US WHO SHARED THIS ERA, AND TO ALL WHO DIDN'T---- SORRY FOR WHAT YOU MISSED. I WOULDN'T TRADE IT FOR ANYTHING
- Livy
- Posts: 89
- Joined: Thu Apr 20, 2006 9:17 am
- Location: QLD
Children
by Livy » Sat May 06, 2006 9:51 pm
THE BIRTH ORDER OF CHILDREN
Your Clothes:
1st baby:
You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby:
You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby:
Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
____________________________________________________
Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby:
You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby:
You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby:
You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.
______________________________________________________
The Layette:
1st baby:
You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby:
You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby:
Boys can wear pink, can't they? ______________________________________________________
Worries:
1st baby:
At the first sign of distress--a whimper, a frown--you pick up the baby.
2nd baby:
You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby:
You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
______________________________________________________
Pacifier:
1st baby:
If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby:
When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby:
You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in. ______________________________________________________
Diapering:
1st baby:
You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby:
You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby:
You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
______________________________________________________
Activities:
1st baby:
You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby:
You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby:
You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
______________________________________________________
Going Out:
1st baby:
The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby:
Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby:
You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
______________________________________________________
At Home:
1st baby:
You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby:
You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
______________________________________________________
Swallowing Coins (a favorite):
1st child:
When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child:
When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child:
When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance!
______________________________________________________
Pass this on to everyone you know who has children . . . . or everyone who KNOWS someone who has had children . . (The older the mother, the funnier this is!)
GRANDCHILDREN God's reward for allowing your children to live
Your Clothes:
1st baby:
You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby:
You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby:
Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
____________________________________________________
Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby:
You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby:
You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby:
You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.
______________________________________________________
The Layette:
1st baby:
You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby:
You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby:
Boys can wear pink, can't they? ______________________________________________________
Worries:
1st baby:
At the first sign of distress--a whimper, a frown--you pick up the baby.
2nd baby:
You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby:
You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
______________________________________________________
Pacifier:
1st baby:
If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby:
When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby:
You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in. ______________________________________________________
Diapering:
1st baby:
You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby:
You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby:
You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
______________________________________________________
Activities:
1st baby:
You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby:
You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby:
You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
______________________________________________________
Going Out:
1st baby:
The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby:
Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby:
You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
______________________________________________________
At Home:
1st baby:
You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby:
You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
______________________________________________________
Swallowing Coins (a favorite):
1st child:
When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child:
When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child:
When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance!
______________________________________________________
Pass this on to everyone you know who has children . . . . or everyone who KNOWS someone who has had children . . (The older the mother, the funnier this is!)
GRANDCHILDREN God's reward for allowing your children to live
- Livy
- Posts: 89
- Joined: Thu Apr 20, 2006 9:17 am
- Location: QLD
Condoms
by Livy » Sat May 06, 2006 9:54 pm
My wonderful girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year, and we decided to get married. There was only one little thing bothering me.
It was her beautiful younger sister. My prospective sister-in-law was
twenty-two, wore very tight miniskirts, and generally was braless. She would regularly bend down when she was near me, and I always got more than a pleasant view. She never did it when she was near anyone else.
One day "little" sister called and asked me to come over to check the
wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived, and she whispered to me that she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't overcome.
She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got
married and committed my life to her sister. Well, I was in total shock, and couldn't say a word. She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want one last wild fling, just come up and get me."
I was stunned- frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. She
pulled off her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and made a beeline straight to the front door. I opened the door, and headed straight towards my car.
Lo and behold, my entire future family was standing outside, all clapping! With tears in his eyes, my future father-in-law hugged me and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the
family."
And the moral of this story is . . . .
Always keep your condoms in your car!
Have a good day!
It was her beautiful younger sister. My prospective sister-in-law was
twenty-two, wore very tight miniskirts, and generally was braless. She would regularly bend down when she was near me, and I always got more than a pleasant view. She never did it when she was near anyone else.
One day "little" sister called and asked me to come over to check the
wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived, and she whispered to me that she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't overcome.
She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got
married and committed my life to her sister. Well, I was in total shock, and couldn't say a word. She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want one last wild fling, just come up and get me."
I was stunned- frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. She
pulled off her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and made a beeline straight to the front door. I opened the door, and headed straight towards my car.
Lo and behold, my entire future family was standing outside, all clapping! With tears in his eyes, my future father-in-law hugged me and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test. We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the
family."
And the moral of this story is . . . .
Always keep your condoms in your car!
Have a good day!
- Livy
- Posts: 89
- Joined: Thu Apr 20, 2006 9:17 am
- Location: QLD
by Dolly » Wed Jun 07, 2006 10:56 pm
The Quarantine Diet
A man returns from Africa and is feeling very ill. He goes to see his doctor, and is immediately rushed to the Hospital, to undergo a barrage of tests.
The man wakes up after the tests in a private room at the hospital, and the phone by his bed rings.
"This is your doctor. We've had the results back from your tests and we've found you have an extremely nasty virus, which is extremely contagious!"
"Oh my gosh," cried the man, "what are you going to do, doctor?"
"Well, we're going to put you on a diet of pizzas, pancakes, and pitta bread."
"Will that cure me?" asked the man.
The doctor replied, "Well no, but...it's the only food we can get under the door."
A man returns from Africa and is feeling very ill. He goes to see his doctor, and is immediately rushed to the Hospital, to undergo a barrage of tests.
The man wakes up after the tests in a private room at the hospital, and the phone by his bed rings.
"This is your doctor. We've had the results back from your tests and we've found you have an extremely nasty virus, which is extremely contagious!"
"Oh my gosh," cried the man, "what are you going to do, doctor?"
"Well, we're going to put you on a diet of pizzas, pancakes, and pitta bread."
"Will that cure me?" asked the man.
The doctor replied, "Well no, but...it's the only food we can get under the door."
-
Dolly - Posts: 3335
- Joined: Wed Jul 13, 2005 10:49 pm
- Location: Perth, WA
44 posts
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