Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
Finally, Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Well, me boys, someone gots to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?" They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."
Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost $500, and is afraid to come home."
"Tell him to drop dead!" says Murphy's wife.
"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.
***********************************************************
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.
"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
"Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.
"That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."
"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it, too."
"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"
"That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was---but useless in a fight."
************************************************************
An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulls him over.
"So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?"
"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.
"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening. "
"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.
"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"
"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."
**********************************************************
Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door.
"Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya".
"Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?"
"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery."
"Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me."
"I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry."
Finally, she looked up at Tim. "How did it happen, Tim?"
"It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout, and drowned."
"Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim, did he at least go quickly?"
"Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee."
*************************************************************
Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears. He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"
She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night."
The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?"
She says, "That he did, Father."
The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"
"He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun.' "
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alcohol. Show all posts
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
A few facts...
- There are two sides to every divorce: Yours and Shithead's.
- The closest I ever got to a 4.0 in college was my blood alcohol content.
- I live in my own little world but it's OK, everyone knows me here.
- I saw a rather large woman wearing a sweatshirt - sorry. i chose to delete this one.
- I don't do drugs 'cause I find I get the same effect just by standing up really fast.
- A sign In a Chinese Pet Store: "Buy one dog, get one flea."
- Money can't buy happiness but it sure makes misery easier to live with.
- I got a sweater for Christmas. I really wanted a screamer or a moaner.
- If flying is so safe, why do they call the airport the "terminal"?
- I don't approve of political jokes. I've seen too many of them get elected.
- The most precious thing we have is life, yet it has absolutely no trade-in value.
- If life deals you lemons, make lemonade. If life deals you tomatoes, make Bloody Marys.
- I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.
- Shopping tip: You can get shoes for a buck at bowling alleys.
- I am a nobody; nobody is perfect, and therefore I am perfect.
- Everyday I beat my own previous record for number of consecutive days I've stayed alive.
- That Claudia Schiffer must be a genius because I told a friend my plan to attain world peace, and he told me I have "Schiffer Brains."
- No one ever says, "It's only a game!" when their team is winning.
- Marriage changes passion... suddenly you're in bed with a relative.
- Why is it that most nudists are people you don't want to see naked?
- Snowmen fall from heaven unassembled.
- Every time I walk into a singles bar I can hear Mom's wise words: Don't pick that up, you don't know where it's been.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Ruminations #116
(for those of you who wonder what living in Los Angeles is like...)
RUMINATIONS
Aaron Karo’s world-famous email column
________________________________________________________________________
1997
"Celebrating ten years of writing what you’re thinking!"
2007
________________________________________________________________________
Issue #116 – "Manifest Destiny’s Child" – July 30th, 2007
Circulation: Over 50,000 subscribers worldwide
Subscribe or Read More @ www.AaronKaro.com
________________________________________________________________________
-One of the oldest running jokes in Los Angeles is that no one is actually born here, they’ve just moved here from someplace else. That’s why at parties, when asked how long they’ve lived in LA, people will often tell you their exact anniversary – like they’re an alcoholic telling you how long they’ve been sober. For instance, having left New York on July 31st, 2005, tomorrow marks two years since I arrived in California. The second-oldest running joke in LA is that people come out here only intending to stay temporarily, and then never leave. Considering my original lease was a five-month sublet, I can’t argue with that one either. Having long since resigned to the fact that my foreseeable future will be spent on the West Coast, I’ve tried my best to adapt. Like our forefathers, who believed that America was destined to reach the Pacific Ocean, I too have come here to follow my dreams. Though of course, back then, no one could have imagined that Manifest Destiny would eventually spawn the whacked-out freak show known as Los Angeles that I call home today.
-Whenever a celebrity enters a bar in LA, the paparazzi set up camp outside. Then, when you walk out of the bar wasted at 2am, they’ll look you up and down to figure out if you’re famous or not, before letting you pass. They might even snap a picture or two just in case. If you really want to fuck with them, you can walk out with your hands covering your face, which makes them take pictures like crazy. And there’s nothing like seeing a photographer’s disappointment when he realizes you’re merely just a regular, upstanding, underwear-wearing citizen.
-Before I moved here, I checked weather.com to get an idea of what the weather would be like. I didn’t know what any of the local zip codes were, so I simply entered 90210. Only later did I feel stupid. Not because my knowledge of LA was limited to a cheesy ‘90s television show, but because it turns out the weather here never varies more than five degrees.
-The most striking difference between New York and LA is that New York is so much more egalitarian. Everyone takes public transportation in New York. In LA, there’s a bus and subway system that half the people (myself included) have never used. Merely waiting at a bus stop in LA reveals much about your socioeconomic status. I hate that. New Yorkers never really know exactly how much one another makes, but rather assume it based on preconceived notions and rash judgment – you know, like normal people.
-You know those absurdly hot chicks that walk around in every scene of Entourage? It’s not too much of a stretch. I’ve been in fairly low-key bars in LA and still had trouble keeping track of how many “tens” were in the room. I’m not saying I hook up with them, or even talk to them, but I’m strangely comforted by the fact that at least someone is.
-By far the most frequently asked question I get from friends and fans is: “How is LA?” But the emphasis is always on the word “is” – “How IS LA?” – as if I moved to Mars. No one asks, “How IS Chicago?” or “How IS Boston?” Why are we subjected to such scrutiny? I think it’s because people are fascinated by Hollywood. But in truth, the city of Hollywood is only a small segment of Los Angeles (and, ironically, one of the seedier parts at that). Most people in LA don’t even work in the entertainment industry. Of course, I don’t know any of those people, but I’m sure it’s true. That’s why, from now on, when people ask me, “How IS LA?”, instead of racking my brain for an appropriate response, I’ll merely tell the them truth: 85 degrees and sunny. Every fucking day.
-As always, here are some random things I've been ruminating about lately…
-It still bugs me out that there are a lot of “open-air” buildings in LA. Like if you walk out of the elevator in my apartment building, you end up outside. And my hallway has no door or anything; it just leads to a courtyard where there’s a gourmet pool and Jacuzzi. Pool-worthy days a year in LA? 300. Times I’ve actually swam? One. Seeing hot chicks sunbathing on my way to the mailbox? Priceless.
-LA is dominated by graduates from colleges that feed the entertainment industry, namely Harvard, Syracuse, Northwestern, USC, and UCLA. This is a marked difference from New York, which I found to be filled with alums from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Cornell, and Penn. Luckily, however, we’re all brought together by the common language of Flip Cup.
-Despite the unapproachable but Entourage-worthy chicks that abound, one area that LA is severely lacking in is nightlife. Sure there are cool bars, but there’s much fewer of them, they’re much farther away from each other, and they’re much harder to get into than any other city I’ve partied in. Plus they’re either dives or really upscale – there’s nothing in between. Getting laid is supposed to be hard work; getting drunk is not.
-People tell me all the time that they love LA because the “quality of life” is better than on the East Coast. But how is having to get in your car to go to the ATM better? How is waiting 90 minutes for your food to be delivered better? How is spending half your day searching for parking better? To me, quality of life means instant gratification and not having to deal with people who use the word “stoked.”
-In New York, if you run into someone in the street who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re hurrying back to your apartment to use the bathroom. In LA, if someone calls who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re gonna lose them because you’re about to drive into an underground parking structure.
-And, finally, a cursory glance at my life would seem to reveal that I’m not only living in the state of California, but a state of denial as well. After all, I still have a New York State driver’s license, still subscribe to New York Magazine, still have a New York cell phone number, and still see my dentist in New York every six months. I have a clock set to New York time in my home office, the only Lakers games I’ve ever been to have been against the Knicks, and despite my open-air apartment building and pool, I’m still pale as fuck. But despite all that, my current career path in comedy necessitates that I live in Los Angeles, and I’ve been doing my best to integrate. I’ve made some great new friends out here and reconnected with old ones. I’ve learned my way around the city pretty well (thank you, Google Maps!). I have a doctor and a broker here, bought a pair of Chuck Taylors, and even have a landline with a local area code. And, OK, I’ll admit, I occasionally say “stoked.” I guess I just eventually realized that living in Los Angeles doesn’t change the fact that I’m originally from New York, and never will. So, I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll learn to love LA. After all, when the paparazzi mistake me for someone else and snap my picture – there’s no reason I shouldn’t be smiling. Fuck me.
RUMINATIONS
Aaron Karo’s world-famous email column
________________________________________________________________________
1997
"Celebrating ten years of writing what you’re thinking!"
2007
________________________________________________________________________
Issue #116 – "Manifest Destiny’s Child" – July 30th, 2007
Circulation: Over 50,000 subscribers worldwide
Subscribe or Read More @ www.AaronKaro.com
________________________________________________________________________
-One of the oldest running jokes in Los Angeles is that no one is actually born here, they’ve just moved here from someplace else. That’s why at parties, when asked how long they’ve lived in LA, people will often tell you their exact anniversary – like they’re an alcoholic telling you how long they’ve been sober. For instance, having left New York on July 31st, 2005, tomorrow marks two years since I arrived in California. The second-oldest running joke in LA is that people come out here only intending to stay temporarily, and then never leave. Considering my original lease was a five-month sublet, I can’t argue with that one either. Having long since resigned to the fact that my foreseeable future will be spent on the West Coast, I’ve tried my best to adapt. Like our forefathers, who believed that America was destined to reach the Pacific Ocean, I too have come here to follow my dreams. Though of course, back then, no one could have imagined that Manifest Destiny would eventually spawn the whacked-out freak show known as Los Angeles that I call home today.
-Whenever a celebrity enters a bar in LA, the paparazzi set up camp outside. Then, when you walk out of the bar wasted at 2am, they’ll look you up and down to figure out if you’re famous or not, before letting you pass. They might even snap a picture or two just in case. If you really want to fuck with them, you can walk out with your hands covering your face, which makes them take pictures like crazy. And there’s nothing like seeing a photographer’s disappointment when he realizes you’re merely just a regular, upstanding, underwear-wearing citizen.
-Before I moved here, I checked weather.com to get an idea of what the weather would be like. I didn’t know what any of the local zip codes were, so I simply entered 90210. Only later did I feel stupid. Not because my knowledge of LA was limited to a cheesy ‘90s television show, but because it turns out the weather here never varies more than five degrees.
-The most striking difference between New York and LA is that New York is so much more egalitarian. Everyone takes public transportation in New York. In LA, there’s a bus and subway system that half the people (myself included) have never used. Merely waiting at a bus stop in LA reveals much about your socioeconomic status. I hate that. New Yorkers never really know exactly how much one another makes, but rather assume it based on preconceived notions and rash judgment – you know, like normal people.
-You know those absurdly hot chicks that walk around in every scene of Entourage? It’s not too much of a stretch. I’ve been in fairly low-key bars in LA and still had trouble keeping track of how many “tens” were in the room. I’m not saying I hook up with them, or even talk to them, but I’m strangely comforted by the fact that at least someone is.
-By far the most frequently asked question I get from friends and fans is: “How is LA?” But the emphasis is always on the word “is” – “How IS LA?” – as if I moved to Mars. No one asks, “How IS Chicago?” or “How IS Boston?” Why are we subjected to such scrutiny? I think it’s because people are fascinated by Hollywood. But in truth, the city of Hollywood is only a small segment of Los Angeles (and, ironically, one of the seedier parts at that). Most people in LA don’t even work in the entertainment industry. Of course, I don’t know any of those people, but I’m sure it’s true. That’s why, from now on, when people ask me, “How IS LA?”, instead of racking my brain for an appropriate response, I’ll merely tell the them truth: 85 degrees and sunny. Every fucking day.
-As always, here are some random things I've been ruminating about lately…
-It still bugs me out that there are a lot of “open-air” buildings in LA. Like if you walk out of the elevator in my apartment building, you end up outside. And my hallway has no door or anything; it just leads to a courtyard where there’s a gourmet pool and Jacuzzi. Pool-worthy days a year in LA? 300. Times I’ve actually swam? One. Seeing hot chicks sunbathing on my way to the mailbox? Priceless.
-LA is dominated by graduates from colleges that feed the entertainment industry, namely Harvard, Syracuse, Northwestern, USC, and UCLA. This is a marked difference from New York, which I found to be filled with alums from Michigan, Wisconsin, Indiana, Cornell, and Penn. Luckily, however, we’re all brought together by the common language of Flip Cup.
-Despite the unapproachable but Entourage-worthy chicks that abound, one area that LA is severely lacking in is nightlife. Sure there are cool bars, but there’s much fewer of them, they’re much farther away from each other, and they’re much harder to get into than any other city I’ve partied in. Plus they’re either dives or really upscale – there’s nothing in between. Getting laid is supposed to be hard work; getting drunk is not.
-People tell me all the time that they love LA because the “quality of life” is better than on the East Coast. But how is having to get in your car to go to the ATM better? How is waiting 90 minutes for your food to be delivered better? How is spending half your day searching for parking better? To me, quality of life means instant gratification and not having to deal with people who use the word “stoked.”
-In New York, if you run into someone in the street who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re hurrying back to your apartment to use the bathroom. In LA, if someone calls who you don’t want to talk to, all you have to do is say that you’re gonna lose them because you’re about to drive into an underground parking structure.
-And, finally, a cursory glance at my life would seem to reveal that I’m not only living in the state of California, but a state of denial as well. After all, I still have a New York State driver’s license, still subscribe to New York Magazine, still have a New York cell phone number, and still see my dentist in New York every six months. I have a clock set to New York time in my home office, the only Lakers games I’ve ever been to have been against the Knicks, and despite my open-air apartment building and pool, I’m still pale as fuck. But despite all that, my current career path in comedy necessitates that I live in Los Angeles, and I’ve been doing my best to integrate. I’ve made some great new friends out here and reconnected with old ones. I’ve learned my way around the city pretty well (thank you, Google Maps!). I have a doctor and a broker here, bought a pair of Chuck Taylors, and even have a landline with a local area code. And, OK, I’ll admit, I occasionally say “stoked.” I guess I just eventually realized that living in Los Angeles doesn’t change the fact that I’m originally from New York, and never will. So, I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll learn to love LA. After all, when the paparazzi mistake me for someone else and snap my picture – there’s no reason I shouldn’t be smiling. Fuck me.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Water vs. Wine
It has been scientifically proven that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli (E. coli) bacteria found in feces. Body waste.
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop. However, we do not run that risk when drinking wine (or rum, whiskey, beer or other liquor) because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling or filtering and/or fermenting.
WATER = poop
WINE = HEALTH
Ergo: It's better to drink wine and talk stupid than to drink water and be full of shit.
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop. However, we do not run that risk when drinking wine (or rum, whiskey, beer or other liquor) because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling or filtering and/or fermenting.
WATER = poop
WINE = HEALTH
Ergo: It's better to drink wine and talk stupid than to drink water and be full of shit.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Office Party
A little out of season, but still a good one.
Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's Christmas Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn't taste like alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.
Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose? Jack sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed.? He looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order,... spotlessly clean.
So is the rest of the house!
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick:
"Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get
groceries to make you your favorite dinner tonight. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian"
He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating.
Jack asks, "Son... what happened last night?"
"Well, you came home after 3am, drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door.
Confused, he asked his son, "So,... why is everything in such perfect order and so clean? I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me!" His son replies -----
"Oh, THAT.? Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed: "Leave me alone, I'm married!!"
Saying the right thing, at the right time . . PRICELESS.
Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's Christmas Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn't taste like alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.
Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose? Jack sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed.? He looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order,... spotlessly clean.
So is the rest of the house!
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick:
"Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get
groceries to make you your favorite dinner tonight. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian"
He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating.
Jack asks, "Son... what happened last night?"
"Well, you came home after 3am, drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door.
Confused, he asked his son, "So,... why is everything in such perfect order and so clean? I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me!" His son replies -----
"Oh, THAT.? Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed: "Leave me alone, I'm married!!"
- Broken Coffee Table $239.99
- Hot Breakfast $4.20
- Two Aspirins $.38
Saying the right thing, at the right time . . PRICELESS.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Hangovers
*One Star Hangover
No pain. No real feeling of illness. You're able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 5 cokes and still feel this way. For some reason, you are craving a steak & fries.
**Two Star Hangover
No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancake from the 3:00 AM Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.
***Three Star Hangover
Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 iced teas and a diet Coke--yet you haven't peed once.
****Four Star Hangover
Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. 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 only shaved one side of your face. For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars. Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your hair hurts. Your ass is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five craps you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom.
*****Five Star Hangover
You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the poop fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate spit so your tongue is suffocating you. You don't have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Death sounds pretty good about right now...
No pain. No real feeling of illness. You're able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 5 cokes and still feel this way. For some reason, you are craving a steak & fries.
**Two Star Hangover
No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancake from the 3:00 AM Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.
***Three Star Hangover
Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 iced teas and a diet Coke--yet you haven't peed once.
****Four Star Hangover
Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. 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 only shaved one side of your face. For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars. Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your hair hurts. Your ass is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five craps you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom.
*****Five Star Hangover
You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the poop fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate spit so your tongue is suffocating you. You don't have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Death sounds pretty good about right now...
Monday, August 07, 2006
Drinking Rules
A Mexican drinks his beer and suddenly throws his glass in the air, pulls out his pistol and shoots the glass to pieces.
He says, "In Mexico our glasses so cheap we don't need to drink from the same glass twice."
An Iraqi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his AK-47 and shoots the glass to pieces.
He says, "In Iraq we have so much sand to make glasses that we don't need to drink out of the same glass twice either."
The Texas boy, cool as a cucumber, picks up his beer and drinks it, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the Mexican and the Iraqi, and catches his glass.
He says, "In Texas we have so many illegal Aliens that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice."
He says, "In Mexico our glasses so cheap we don't need to drink from the same glass twice."
An Iraqi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his AK-47 and shoots the glass to pieces.
He says, "In Iraq we have so much sand to make glasses that we don't need to drink out of the same glass twice either."
The Texas boy, cool as a cucumber, picks up his beer and drinks it, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the Mexican and the Iraqi, and catches his glass.
He says, "In Texas we have so many illegal Aliens that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice."
Friday, July 21, 2006
Bubba & The Lawyer
Somewhere in the deep South, Bubba called an attorney and asked, "Is it true they're suing the cigarette companies for causing people to get cancer?"
"Yes, Bubba, that is true."
"And people are suing the fast food restaurants for making them fat and clogging their arteries with all them burgers and fries ... is that true, mister lawyer?"
"Sure is Bubba, but why do you ask?"
"Cause I was thinkin'........maybe I can sue Budweiser for all them ugly women I've been wakin' up with!"
"Yes, Bubba, that is true."
"And people are suing the fast food restaurants for making them fat and clogging their arteries with all them burgers and fries ... is that true, mister lawyer?"
"Sure is Bubba, but why do you ask?"
"Cause I was thinkin'........maybe I can sue Budweiser for all them ugly women I've been wakin' up with!"
Friday, July 14, 2006
IQ Test
You are driving in a car at a constant speed. On your right side is a valley and on your left side is a fire engine traveling at the same speed as you.
In front of you is a galloping pig which is the same size as your car you cannot overtake it. Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level. Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also traveling at the same speed as you. What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?
Answer:
Get your drunk ass off the merry-go-round.
In front of you is a galloping pig which is the same size as your car you cannot overtake it. Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level. Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also traveling at the same speed as you. What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?
Answer:
Get your drunk ass off the merry-go-round.
Monday, July 10, 2006
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