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Pierre, a brave French fighter pilot, takes his girlfriend, Marie,
out for a pleasant little picnic by the River Seine. It's a beautiful day and love is in the air. Marie leans over to Pierre
and says, "Pierre, kiss me!"
Pierre grabs a bottle of Merlot and splashes it on Marie's lips.
"What are you doing, Pierre?" says the startled Marie.
"I am Pierre, the fighter pilot! When I have red meat, I have red
wine!"
She smiles and they start kissing. Things began to heat up a little
and Marie says, "Pierre, kiss me lower." Our hero tears her blouse open, grabs a bottle of Chardonnay and pours
it on her breasts. "Pierre! What are you doing now?" asks the bewildered Marie. "I am Pierre, the fighter pilot! When I have
white meat, I have white wine!"
She giggles and they resume their passionate interlude, and things
really steam up. Marie leans close to his ear and whispers, "Pierre, kiss me much lower!" Pierre rips off her underwear, grabs
a bottle of Cognac and pours it in her lap. He then strikes a match and lights the cognac on fire.
Marie shrieks and dives into the River Seine. Standing waist deep,
Marie throws her arms into the air and screams furiously, "PIERRE, WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE
DOING?"
Our 'hero' stands and says defiantly, "I am Pierre, the fighter
pilot!
If I go down, I go down in flames!"
Don't take that bad day
out on someone you know, take it out on someone you DON'T know.
Now get this. I was sitting
at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and dialled it.
A man answered saying,
"Hello?" I politely said, "This is Fred Hanifin and could I please speak to Robin Carter?"
Suddenly the phone was
slammed down on me! I couldnt believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin's correct number and called her.
She had transposed the last two digits incorrectly. After I hung up with Robin, I spotted the wrong number still lying there
on my desk. I decided to call it again. When the same person once more answered, I yelled "You're an asshole!" and hung up.
Next to his phone number
I wrote the word asshole," and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills, or had a really bad
day, I'd call him up. He'd answer, and I'd yell, "You're an asshole!"
It would always cheer
me up.
Later in the year the
Phone Company introduced caller ID.
This was a real setback
for me; I would have to stop calling the asshole. Then one day I had an idea. I dialled his number and when I heard his voice,
"Hello?"
I made up a name. "Hi.
I'm with the Telephone Company and I'm just calling to see if you'd be interested in our caller ID program?"
"No" he shouted and slammed
the phone down.
I quickly called him back
and said, "Thats because you're an asshole!"
Keep reading this, it
gets better!
Some time later I was
looking for a parking spot at the shopping centre.
An old lady really took
her time pulling out of a parking space. I didn't think she was ever going to leave. Finally, her car began to move and she
started to very slowly back out of the slot. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room to pull out.
"Great", I thought, Shes
finally leaving."
All of a sudden this black
BMW flies up the parking aisle in the wrong direction and pulls into her space. I hit the horn and started yelling, "You can't
do that I was here first The guy climbed out of his BMW completely ignoring me. He walked toward the shopping centre as if
I didn't even exist. I thought to myself, "This guy's another asshole; there sure are a lot of assholes in this world." Then,
I noticed he had a "For Sale" sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the phone number. Then I hunted for another
place to park.
A couple of days later,
I'm sitting at my desk. I had just gotten off the phone after calling 823-4863 and yelling, "You're an asshole!" (It's really
easy since I have his number on speed dial now.) I noticed the phone number of the guy with the black BMW there on my desk
and thought I'd better call this guy, too. After a couple rings, someone answered the phone and said, "Hello."
I said, "Is this the man
with the black BMW for sale?"
"Yes, it is."
"Can you tell me where
I can see it?"
"Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th street.
It's a yellow house and the car's parked right out front."
I said, "What's your name?"
"My name is Don Hansen."
"When's a good time to
catch you, Don?"
"I'm home in the evenings."
"Listen, Don, can I tell
you something?"
"Sure..."
"Don, you're an asshole!"
And I slammed the phone down.
Then, I added Don Hansen's
number to my speed dialler. I must say, for a while things seemed to be going much better for me. Now, when I had a problem
I had two assholes to call. Then, after several months of calling the assholes and hanging up on them, it just wasn't as enjoyable
as it used to be. I gave the problem some serious thought and came up with this solution:
First, I had my phone
speed dial asshole #1.
A man answered nicely,
"Hello?"
I yelled, "You're an asshole!"
but I didn't hang up.
The asshole said, "Are
you still there?"
I said, "Yeah."
He said, "Stop calling
me."
I said, "Make me."
He said, "What's your
name, pal?"
So I told him, "Don Hansen."
He said, "Where do you
live?"
"1802 West 34th Street.
It's a yellow house and my black BMW's parked out front."
"I'm coming over right
now, Don. You'd better start saying your prayers."
"Yeah, like I'm really
scared, asshole" and I hung up.
Then I called asshole
#2.
Don Hansen answered, "Hello?"
I said, "Hello, asshole."
He said, "If I ever find
out who you are..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll kick your ass."
"Well, here's your chance.
I'm coming over right now, asshole." And I hung up.
Then I picked up the phone
and called the police. I told them I was on my way to 1802 West 34th Street
and that I was going to kill my gay lover as soon as I got there, and a quick call to Channel 13 about the gang war taking
place at West 34th Street. After that I climbed into my car and headed
over to 34th Street to watch the whole thing.
Glorious satisfaction!
Watching two assholes kicking the crap out of each other in front of 6 squad cars, a police helicopter and a news crew was
one of the greatest experiences of my life!
Now you know what to do
if you have a really bad day.
Crap Encyclopedia Every once in a while each of us
experiences a perfect crap. It's rare, but a thing of beauty in all respects. You sit down expecting the worst, but what you
get is the smooth-sliding, fartless masterpiece that breaks the water with the splashless grace of an expert diver.
But
that's not the end of it. You use some toilet paper only to find that it was totally unnecessary. It makes you feel that all
is right with the world and you are in perfect harmony with it.
On the other hand (so to speak) there is:
The
Beer Crap Talk about nasty craps. Depending on the crapper's tolerance, the beer crap is the result of too many beers.
It could have been two or 22, it doesn't matter. What you get is a sinister, lengthy, noisy crap accompanied by a malevolent
fog that could close a bathroom for days.
The Chilli Crap Hot when it goes in and rocket fuel when it leaves.
The chilli crap stays with you all day, making your tush feel like a heat shield.
The Cable Crap Long, curly and
perfectly formed like two feet of telephone coaxial cable. It loops lazily around the bowl, like a friendly serpent. You wonder
admiringly, 'Did I do that? Where did it come from?' You leave the toilet pleased with yourself.
The Latrine Crap
In case you didn't know, a latrine is a hole in the ground with a tent around it - where soldiers, boy scouts and flies
go to crap. Tip: don't ever look down the hole.
The Mona Lisa Crap This is the masterpiece of craps. It's as perfectly
formed as it can be. Delicate and slender with intricacies that would make Da Vinci weep. And just think, you made it yourself.
You may even want to break out the Polaroid camera, but maybe that's going too far.
The Empty Roll Crap You're
done... you reach for the toilet paper only to discover that empty cardboard cylinder. A mild panic begins coldly in your
throat. You could use the curtains... no, someone would say, 'Where are the curtains?' Then what would you say. The rug? Too
cumbersome. Then you must come to the same conclusion that every 'empty roll crapper' must face... pull up your daks, tighten
your arse and wriggle yourself to the nearest full roll.
A mate about to run the London Marathon lined up outside
the dozens of portaloos on Blackheath to unload a nervous one and discovered when the business was done and he was ready to
run a world record race, there was no paper. Panic. The only thing available was a pound note - the last he possessed because
they were being replaced by the coin - and he used that, being careful not to use the side with the Queen's head, of course!
The Splash Back Crap You send the crap on its way; it drops like a depth charge into the bowl creating a column
of cold bowl water that washes your bottom with a startlingly unpleasant shock. Now you're wet and embarrassed. Tip: blot
instead of wipe.
The Aborted Crap You are in mid-crap when the phone rings. What do you do? ABORT! Pinch it off;
go for the phone and save the rest for later. It isn't pretty, but you've gotta do what you've gotta do.
The Caesarean
Crap Pain, that's what this crap and childbirth have in common. It's simply a case of too much crap trying to go through
too small a hole and there's no obstetrician to help.
The Alfresco Crap Everyone has had to go outdoors from time
to time. This can be a rather pleasant experience really. The open air, the nature, and a good bush all contribute to the
peaceful ambience that our primitive forefathers must have enjoyed. What can screw up this harmonious interlude is a troop
of Brownies or a patch of poison ivy.
The Tijuana Trot Crap (also known as Delhi Belly, Rabat Runs, Seskatchewan Squits,
Balsall Heath Balti Bypass) The phrase 'shit happens' really applies here in a big way. When the ice in your tainted margarita
makes contact with your lower intestinal tract, the fun begins. For the next 72 hours you'd be better off if you carried your
own portable toilet with you because you will spend most of that time on the pot and the rest of the time in a fetal position.
The Machine Gun Crap You're just sitting there in a state of sublime peace when all of a sudden you emit a group
of noisy gassy bursts that break the silence like machinegun fire. The guy in the next stall hits the floor like a combat
veteran - cradling his umbrella like an AK47.
The Sound Effect Crap You feel a noisy one coming on. Relatives,
friends or workmates are within earshot, so you must employ some clever techniques to cover the disgusting sounds you are
about to emit. Timing is obviously very important here. At the precise moment of release, try the following sound effects:
1. Flush the toilet. 2. Sing the first two stanzas of your national anthem. 3. Drop a handful of change on the
floor.
The Security Crap You have enough on your mind when you're in the toilet without worrying about a lockless
door and someone bursting in to find you in mid-crap mode. So how can you prevent this embarrassing spectacle from taking
place? One way is to strategically place your foot against the door. If you can't reach to do this... hum loudly.
The
Cling-On Crap For the most part you've completed your crap, but there's one little morsel that refuses to drop off. You're
getting impatient. Someone else wants to use the toilet. So you grip the seat with both hands and wriggle, twist and pump
but that last little stubborn piece just hangs there, suspended, clinging like a canned peach between you and the water. Maybe
the person pounding impatiently on the door has scissors.
The Houdini Crap You go, then you stand up to flush
and the damn thing has disappeared. Where'd it go? Did it creep down the pipe? Did you dream the whole thing? Is it lurking
out of sight? Should you wipe... maybe you should just to make sure you went. Should you flush? You'd better, because if you
don't, you know it will reappear and smile at the next person who comes in.
The Hangover Crap You feel so bad
that you don't know which end of you to put down first. You have roaring cramps, so you sit down. Then a wave of nausea rolls
over you like a cold fog, so you stand up and cramps squeeze your intestines like a vice so you sit down again... up down,
up down. Don't you wish Mum was close by.
The Porta-Pottie Dump Construction workers and outdoor concertgoers
will tell you about going in a portable toilet. My best description would be, 'It's like taking a shit in an upright coffin.'
It's claustrophobic and it smells bad. Best advice: go in a paper cup.
The Proctologist Crap In the beginning,
the Lord created the earth, the sky and the firmament, but I hope he didn't create this dump because there is nothing biblical
about it. You run out of gas. That's right, you run out of propulsion. The crap is right there at the end of your barrel and
refuses to go any further. You grunt, you squeeze, you wriggle but it just stays there like a lump of lead. You've only got
two choices here. One is to squeeze the damn thing back up your intestine and wait until next time. The other is to pretend
you're a proctologist and go after it yourself. Not a pretty picture is it?
The Whole Roll Crap No matter how
much you wipe, it doesn't seem to be enough. You blow the whole roll and you have to flush 25 times too. The whole episode
is consumer waste.
The Graffiti Crap You flush the crap and the swirling motion of the receding bowl water forces
the crap to the porcelain sides, scraping a creative squiggle on its way down. You flush again but the curly-Q hangs there...
love it or leave it, it's your choice.
The Encore Crap 'Ahhh!' You're done, so you wipe, put yourself together,
wash your hands and are about to vacate the toilet when you feel another crap on its way. You have to return for a curtain
call.
The Born Again Crap This is a dump that's going badly. You say, 'Lord, if I live through this, I'll take
up religion.' You always get through it, but seldom keep the promises you made in desperation, because a born-again crap is
like childbirth - you forget the pain quickly.
The Geography of a Woman
Between the ages of 18 - 21 a woman is like Africa or
Australia. She is
half discovered, half wild and naturally beautiful with
bushland
around the fertile deltas.
Between the ages of 21 - 30 a woman is like America or
Japan.
Completely discovered, very well developed and open to
trade especially with countries with cash or cars.
Between the ages of 30 - 35, she is like India or Spain.
Very hot,
relaxed and convinced of its own beauty.
Between the ages of 35 - 40 a woman is like France or
Argentina. She
may have been half destroyed during the war but can still
be a warm and desirable place to visit.
Between the ages of 40 - 50 she is like Yugoslavia or
Iraq. She lost
the war and is haunted by past mistakes. Massive reconstruction
is
now necessary.
Between the ages of 50 - 60 she is like Russia or Canada.
Very wide,
quiet and the borders are practically unpatrolled but
the frigid climate keeps people away.
Between the ages of 60 - 70 a woman is like England or
Mongolia.
With a glorious and all conquering past but alas no future.
After 70, they become Albania or Afghanistan. Everyone
knows where
it is, but no one wants to go there.
The Geography of a Man
Between the age of 15 - 70 a man is like Zimbabwe - ruled
by a dick.
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Educate the men / click to download
The Most Powerful Word Well, shit... Shit may just be the most
powerful word in the English language. You can be shit faced, shit out of luck, or have shit for brains. With a little
effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit or decide to shit or get off the pot. You can smoke
shit, buy shit, sell shit, lose shit, find shit, forget shit, and tell others to eat shit and die. Some people know their
shit while others can't tell the difference between shit and shineola. There are lucky shits, dumb shits crazy shits,
and sweet shits. There is bull shit , horse shit and chicken shit. You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit, shoot
shit, or duck when shit hits the fan. You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle You can find yourself in deep
shit or be happier than a pig in shit. Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit, and some days are
just plain shitty. Some music sounds like shit, things can look like shit, and there are times when you feel like shit.
You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit. You can carry
shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up a shit creek without a paddle. Sometimes everything you touch turns
to shit and other times you swim in a lake of shit and come out smelling like a rose. When you stop to consider all the
facts, it's the basic building block of creation. And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything
else!
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THREE ITALIAN NUNS Three Italian nuns die and go to heaven where they
are met by St Peter at the Pearly Gates. The first nun says, "I want-a to be Sophia Loren!" POOF!! She is gone. The
second nun says, "I want-a to be Madonna!" POOF!! She is gone. The third nun says, "I want-a to be Sara Pipilini."
St. Peter shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, but that name is unfamiliar to me." The nun takes a newspaper out
and hands it to him. He reads the paper and starts laughing, then hands it back to her and says, "No, sister. This says,
Sahara Pipeline laid by 500 men in 7 days."
One night a guy takes his girlfriend home. As they are about to kiss each
other goodnight at the front door, when the guy starts feeling a little horny. With an air of confidence, he leans with his
hand against the wall and smiling, he says to her, "Honey, would you give me a blow job? Horrified, she replies, Are you mad,my
parents will see us!
"Oh come on! Who's gonna see us at this hour?" He asks grining at her.
"No, please. Can you imagine if we get caught?" "Oh come on! There's nobody around, they're all sleeping!" "No way. It's just
too risky!" "Oh please, please, I love you so much?!?" "No, no, and no. I love you too, but I just can't" "Oh yes you can.
Please?" "No, no. I just can't" "I'm begging you ... "
Out of the blue, the light on the stairs goes on, and the girl's sister
shows up in her pyjamas, hair disheveled, in a sleepy voice she says, "Dad says to go ahead and give him a blow job, or I
can do it. Or if need be, mom says she can come down herself and do it.
But for God's sake tell him to take his hand off the intercom!"
FYI guys, although it's too late for most of you! Police
warn all male clubbers, partygoers and unsuspecting pub regulars to be more alert and cautious when getting a drink offer
from a girl.
There is a date rape drug going around called "beer" and it is generally in liquid form. The drug is
now being used by female sexual predators at parties to persuade their male victims to have sex with them. The shocking
statistic is that "beer" is available virtually anywhere!
All girls have to do is persuade a guy to consume a few
units of "beer" and simply ask the guy home for no-strings-attached sex. Men are literally rendered helpless against such
attacks. After several "beers" men will often succumb to desires to perform sex acts on horrific looking women who they
would never normally be attracted to. Men often awaken after being given "beer" with only hazy memories of exactly what
has happened to them the night before, just a vague feeling that something bad occurred.
At other times these unfortunate
men might be set up for a bigger sting in a familiar scam know as "a relationship" -- apparently men are easier victims for
this scam after the "beer" has been administered and have already been sexually attacked.
Police also have had cases
where this scam leads into an even bigger one called "marriage" which will cause the victim's social life to be permanently
altered.
Please pass this message on so that all unexpecting males can be informed about the use of this drug.
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