Estaba un tipo sentado en

Estaba un tipo sentado en una banca del parque de la ciudad sin un cinco en el bolsillo y con unas ganas terribles de fumar. Desesperado estaba cuando se sienta un tipo en el extremo de la banca y se saca del bolsillo de saco un paquete nuevo de cigarrillos; lo abre, saca uno, lo enciende y se echa una bocanada de humo que se v� que lo saborea.

Nuestro amigo piensa que ya se acabaron sus problemas, por lo que decide pedir a su reciente acompa�ante un cigarrillo:

“�Me regalas un cigarro?” le dice.

El reci�n llegado lo ve de pies a cabeza y fr�amente responde:

“No.”

Desconcertado, el primero no sabe qu� hacer ni decir, por lo que le propone:

“�Me dejas la mitad?”

“No”, responde del modo m�s indiferente.

Desesperado, nuestro protagonista ruega:

“�Me permites un sorbo?”

“No”, recibe como �nica respuesta nuestro infortunado amigo.

“�Me podr�as regalar la colilla?” se aventura a solicitar.

Como �nica respuesta recibe una mirada de desd�n.

Y sin saber qu� hacer, qu� decir ni c�mo convencerlo, se tira de rodillas desesperado al suelo con las manos juntas e implora:

“�QU�MAME! �POR FAVOR, QU�MAME!”

Molesto, un tipo se dirige

Molesto, un tipo se dirige al farmac�utico:

“Vengo a protestar por los preservativos de colores que me vendi� ayer”.

“�Qu� sucede?”

“Que desti�en y hacen que uno quede en rid�culo”.

“Pero es imposible que vengan defectuosos porque �sta es una marca reconocida internacionalmente y son muy caros”.

“Ya, ya, pero de verdad que el paquete estaba defectuoso”.

“Pero si tienen un control de calidad que ni te imaginas, es imposible”.

“�Pues yo le digo que s�!”

“�Pues yo le digo que no!”

En eso estaban, cuando se acerca un viejecito que estaba escuchando todo y se dirige al encargado:

“Pues yo le aseguro que este joven tiene raz�n, porque el paquete que me vendi� el otro d�a tambi�n estaba defectuoso”.

“�Tambi�n deste��an sus condones?”

“No, pero se doblaban”.

Meeting the Irish Ma

A young Irish lad had fallen in love with a girl and felt the relationship had
gone far enough to take her home to meet his family.
So, one fine Sunday evening the lad, his lady friend and the rest of the
family (17 or so people) were gathered around the dining room table.
The matriarch or the family asked the girlfriend, “So, tell me, lass, what is
your occupation?”
The girl hesitated and said, “Well, Mrs. O’Malley, I’m a prostitute.”
Immediately the lad’s mother fainted and was surrounded by a dozen family
members who splashed her face with water. Finally, she regained consciousness,
returned to her seat. Soon, the family calmed down and resumed the meal.
At that point, the mother asked again, “Forgive me, diaries. I don’t think I
heard you correctly…. what is your occupation?”
Again the girl answered, “Mrs. O’Malley, I’m a prostitute.”
The mother laughed and said, “Oh my, diaries, for a moment there I thought you
said you were a Protestant!”

Ken’s Letter

Dear Santa,

I understand that one of my colleagues has petitioned you for changes in her contract, specifically asking for anatomical and career changes. In addition, it is my understanding that disparaging remarks were made about me, my ability to please, and some of my fashion choices. I would like to take this opportunity to inform you of some issues concerning Ms. Barbie, and some of my own needs and desires.

First of all, I along with several other colleagues feel Barbie DOES NOT deserve preferential treatment-the bitch has EVERYTHING!! I, along with Joe, Jem, Raggedy Ann & Andy, DO NOT have a dream house, Corvette, evening gowns, and in some cases, the ability t change our hairstyle. I personally have 3 outfits which I am forced to mix and match at great length. My decision to accessorize my outfits with an earring was my decision and reflects my lifestyle choice.

I, too, would like a change in my career. Have you considered :”Decorator Ken”, “Beauty Salon Ken”, or “Out of Work Actor Ken”? In addition, there are several other avenues which could be considered such as:”S&M Ken”, “Green Lantern Ken”, “Circuit Ken”, “Bear Ken”, “Master Ken”. These would more accurately reflect my desires and perhaps open new markets.

And as for Barbie needing bendable arms so she can “push me away”, I need bendable knees so I can kick that bitch to the curb. Bendable knees would also be helpful for me in other situations-we’ve talked about this issue before.

In closing, I would like to point out that any further concessions to the blond bimbo from hell will result in action taken by myself and others.

PS. Barbie can forget about having Joe-he’s mine, at least that is what he said last night.

Sincerely, Ken

Hangover Rating System

1 star hangover *
No pain. No real feeling of illness.. Your sleep last night was a mere disco
nap which is giving you a whole lot of misplaced energy. Be glad that you are
able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink
10 bottles of water and still feel this way. Even vegetarians are craving a
Cheeseburger and a side of fries.
2 star hangover **
Slight headache. Don’t feel sick, but something is definitely amiss. You may
look okay but you have the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The
coffee you chug to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling
gut, which is craving a full English breakfast. Last night has wreaked havoc on
your bowels and even though you have a nice demeanor about the office, you are
costing your employer valuable money because all you really can handle is
aimlessly surfing the net and writing junk e-mails.
3 star hangover ***
Definite headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely a space cadet and
so not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds
you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the
bouncer kicked you out at 1:45 a.m. Life would be better right now if you were
in your bed with a dozen donuts and a litre of coke watching Good Morning with
Richard and Judy. You’ve had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 2 Sausage
Rolls and a litre of diet coke – yet you haven’t peed once.
4 star hangover ****
Your head is throbbing and you can’t speak too quickly or else you might honk.
You have lost the will to live. Your boss has already lambasted you for being
late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes,
but that can’t hide the fact that you missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving,
(girls, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars),
your teeth have sweaters, your eyes look like one big vein
and your hair style makes you look like a reject from the class picture of
Moss side secondary school circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one the
following: 1. Home time, 2. A duvet and somewhere to be alone, or 3. A time
machine so you could go back and NOT have gone out the night before.
5 star hangover (aka Dante’s 4th Circle of Hell) *****
You have a second heartbeat in your head which is actually scaring the
employee who sits next to you. Death seems pretty good right now. You can’t
focus as your eyes are scrunched up against the overpowering glare from your
computer screen Rancid vodka vapour is seeping out of every pore, staining your
shirt and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of
your mouth, at least you think it’s toothpaste crust. You don’t give a damn
either way. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva and your tongue is
suffocating you. You’d cry but that would take the last of the moisture left in
your body. Talking is not an option. Your boss doesn’t even get mad at you and
your co-workers think that your dog just died because you look so pathetic. You
should have called in sick because all you can manage to do is breathe….very
gently.

How many sheep do I have?

There once was a blonde who was very tired of blonde jokes and insults directed at her intelligence. So she cut and dyed her hair, got a make-over, got in her car, and began driving around in the country. Suddenly, she came to a herd of sheep in the road. She stopped her car and went over to the shepherd who was tending to them.”If I can guess the exact number of sheep here will you let me have one?” she asked. The shepherd, thinking this was a pretty safe bet, agreed. “You have 171 sheep,” said the blonde in triumph. Surprised, the shepherd told her to pick out a sheep of her choice. She looked around for a while and finally found one that she really liked. She picked it up and was petting it when the shepherd walked over to her and asked, “if I can guess your real hair color, will you give me my sheep back?” The blonde thought it was only fair to let him try. Your a blonde! Now give me back my dog.

Real blonde

A film director was interviewing blonds for a movie. He asked
for natural blondes. First blonde walked in and he asked are
your pubic hairs blonde she replys no, “he says sorry I want a
real blonde” well after about the 20th blonde he had,had enough
so the next to walk in “he said look I need a real blonde” she
says im a natural blonde,he says proove it so she drops her
pants, he says your as black as the ace of spades you cant be a
natural blonde. She asks him to put his thumb on the desk, she
takes of her stilletto shoe and bangs it on his thumb nail,he
screams and says shit that hurt and its gone all black she
replys and thats only after one bang!

Un ambicioso entrenador de un

Un ambicioso entrenador de un equipo femenil de atletismo decidi� darles grandes dosis de hormonas a las chicas para mejorar su rendimiento. Por supuesto, el equipo empez� a mejorar sus resultados. Pronto ganaron las competencias locales, despu�s las estatales y finalmente vencieron f�cilmente en la competencia nacional.

Despu�s de la competencia, Pen�lope, una de las chicas m�s veloces del equipo, se acerc� al entrenador y le confi�:

“Oiga, entrenador, tengo un problema. Me ha estado saliendo pelo en el pecho…”

“�Qu�!”, exclam� el entrenador, muy alarmado. “�Qu� tan abajo te llega?”

Y ella le responde:

“Hasta los huevos. �sa es la otra cosa de que quer�a hablarle…”

Una se�ora de edad quer�a

Una se�ora de edad quer�a tener sexo, y como ya andaba en sus ultimos dias de vida, decide ir a un prost�bulo de hombres.

Al llegar, se pone a checar una tabla de la longitud de los penes y el precio.

Juan – 20 cent�metros – $1,000
Manuel – 30 cent�metro – $1,500
Goyo – 50 cent�metros – $2,500

Entonces la viejita decide meterse con Goyo, para que seg�n ella el recuerdo perdure.

Al terminar, la viejita sale del cuarto caminando con las piernas algo abiertas por el tama�o del miembro reci�n introducido y se va caminando a su casa, pero como quedaba algo lejos por el camino normal, la se�ora toma un atajo para llegar m�s rapido y se va por un callej�n oscuro.

De pronto, sale un ladr�n con un cuchillo y le dice a la viejita con tono amenazador:

“�Deme el dinero, o la degollo!”

Entonces la viejita le dice asustada:

“�Tome todo el dinero, pero la de Goyo ya no!”

3 Vampires

The first vampire goes into a bar and asks the tender for a glass of blood.

The tender says ok and gives it to him.

The second does the same, but when the third vampire comes in he asks for a glass of water.

Shocked the tender asks “Why are you asking for a glass of water?”.

Calmly, the vampire reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bloody tampon and said, “It’s tea time!”

Submitted by Admin
Edited by Curtis

International Beer S

An insect falls into a mug of beer. English Man: Throws his mug of bear on the floor and walks out. American Man: Takes out the insect and drinks tbe beer. Chinese Man: Eats the insect and throws the beer. Indian Man: Sells the insect to the Chinese and the beer to the Englishman and buys himself a new mug of beer. Pakistani Man: Accuses the Indian of throwing the insect into his mug, relates the issue to Kashmir, asks the Chinese for military aid and takes a loan to buy another mug of beer.