Collect Call
My wife was away all weekend at a business conference.
During a break, she decided to call home collect. Our six-year-old
son picked up the phone and heard a stranger's voice say, "We have a
Betty on the line. Will you accept the charges?"
Frantic, he dropped the receiver and came charging outside screaming,
"Dad! They've got Mom! And they want money!"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Leaky Roof"
Mr. Gable had a leak in the roof over his dining room, so he called a repairman to take a look at it. "When did you first notice the leak?" the repairman inquired.
Mr. Gable scowled. "Last night, when it took me two hours to finish my soup!"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
CleanQuote
"Put your troubles in a pocket that has holes in it."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Teamwork"
My wife works in the fuels squadron at an Air Force base, and many of her co-workers complain about the superior attitude of the pilots.
One day the fuel crew decided to put things in perspective for the proud pilots. They all came to work wearing shirts inscribed, "Without fuel, pilots are pedestrians."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Part way through his dinner date, my brother deduced the woman he was with
was more interested in his money than in him. When the check came, he took
out his credit card to pay the bill and was not surprised to hear her gush,
"Is that a platinum card?"
"No," my brother replied dryly. "It's aluminum."
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It is widely known that I am not the greatest cook in the world. In fact,
it is very rare that I ever even really cook anything. However, I did find
a recipe that even I was able to master. When I found this recipe I thought
it was perfect for people, like me, who just are not sure how to tell when
poultry is cooked thoroughly but not dried out. Give this a try.
BAKED STUFFED CHICKEN
6-7 lb. chicken
1 cup melted butter
1 cup stuffing
1 cup uncooked popcorn
salt/pepper to taste
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brush chicken well with melted butter, salt and
pepper. Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn. Place in baking pan with the
neck end toward the back of the oven. Listen for popping sounds. When the
chicken's butt blows the oven door open and the chicken flies across the
room, it's done.
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You'll always miss 100% of the shots you do not take, and, statistically
speaking, 99% of the shots you do take.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
An old favorite from the Friends List -- The Girl From
Arkansas
Three men were sitting together bragging about how
they had given their new wives duties.
The first man had married a woman from New York, and
bragged he had told his wife she was going to do all
the dishes and house cleaning.
He said it took a couple days but on the third day he
came home to a clean house and the dishes were done.
The second man had married a woman from Florida. He
bragged he had given his wife orders - she was to do
all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. On the
first day he didn't see any results, but the next day
it was better. By the third day his house was clean,
the dishes were done, and hehad a huge dinner on the
table.
The third man had married a Arkansas girl. He boasted
he told her that her duties were to keep the house
cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry done, and
hot food on the table for every meal. He said the
first day he didn't see anything, the second day he
didn't see anything. By the third day most of the swelling
had gone down and he could see a little out of his
left eye.
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From WS: Aging Alphabet
A is for Apple, and B is for Boat,
That used to be right, But now it won't float!
Age before Beauty is what we once said,
But let's be a bit more realistic instead.
Now A's for arthritis;
B's the bad back,
C is the chest pains, perhaps car-d-iac?
D is for dental decay and decline,
E is for eyesight, can't read that top line!
F is for fissures and fluid retention, �
G is for gas which I'd rather not mention.
H is high blood pressure--I'd rather it low;
I for incisions with scars you can show.�
J is for joints, out of socket, won't mend,
K is for knees that crack when they bend.�
L for libido, what happened to sex?
M is for memory, I forget what comes next�.
N is neuralgia, in nerves way down low;��� �
O is for osteo, the bones that don't grow!�
P for prescription's, I have quite a few,
just give me a pill and I'll be good as new!
Q is for queasy, is it fatal or flu?���
R for reflux, one meal turns to two.
S for sleepless nights, counting my fears,�
T for Tinnitus; there's bells in my ears!�
U is for urinary; big troubles with flow;�
V is for vertigo, that's "dizzy," you know.�
W is for worry, NOW what's going 'round?
X is for X ray, and what might be found.
Y is another year I'm left here behind,� �
Z is for zest that I still have--in my mind.� �
I've survived all the symptoms, my body's deployed,
And I am keeping twenty-six 'doctors' fully employed!!
anonymous
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The Last Laugh is an old favorite from GCFL: Bathroom
Conversation
I was just sitting down when I heard a voice from the
other stall saying, "Hi, how are you?"
I don't know what got into me, as I'm not the type to
start a conversation in a men's restroom at a rest
stop, but I answered, somewhat embarrassed: "Doin'
just fine!"
And the other guy says, "So what are you up to?"
What kind of question is that? At that point, I'm
thinking this is too bizarre, so I say, "Uhhh, I'm
like you, just traveling east!"
At this point I am just trying to get out as fast as I
can when I hear another question: "Can I come over to
your place after a while?"
Ok, this question is just wacky, but I figured I could
just be polite and end the conversation. I tell him,
"Well, I have company over, so today is a bad day for
me!"
Then I hear the guy say nervously...
"LISTEN, I'll have to call you back. There's an idiot
in the other stall who keeps answering all my
questions!"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Momma said, "Don't sit on the toilet seat!!!"
(Author unknown - but everybody's momma says it!)
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without
actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain. When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is
occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down
the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door
won't latch. It doesn't matter.
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by
someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance." To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do.You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases
you could get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out conspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe.( Where was that when you NEEDED it??)You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
. . This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.