<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291</id><updated>2011-12-15T11:03:20.849+08:00</updated><title type='text'>* Just * For * Laughs *</title><subtitle type='html'>A collection of jokes to kick start your day.  Updated almost daily.  Feel free to come back for more.  You are also welcome to contribute your jokes by leaving your submissions as a comment.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>58</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5074189246321238074</id><published>2007-10-02T00:11:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T00:11:54.018+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Contagious</title><content type='html'>This teacher is teaching her grade four class, and she's telling them that the word of the day is 'Contagious.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asks if anyone can use this word in a sentence, and several people stick up their hands. "Carl," she says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Carl says, "My dad told me to stay away from kids with mumps, beause they're contagious."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very good," says the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she picks Suzie, who says, "The atmosphere was contagious," and the teacher says, "Excellent, Suzie!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she notices that little Johnny has his hand up, at the back of the class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Johnny?" she says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Johnny says, "The other day, me and my dad's a-sittin around, and we saw our blonde neighbour painting her fence. She had a tiny little model car paintbrush, and she was going in tiny little strokes up and down the fence, and my dad says to me, "Jesus, it's gonna take that cunt ages to finish that fence."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5074189246321238074?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5074189246321238074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5074189246321238074' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5074189246321238074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5074189246321238074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/10/contagious.html' title='Contagious'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-7727466611599726811</id><published>2007-10-02T00:09:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T00:09:36.594+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dying of Thirst</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt; There are these three guys in a desert dying of dehydration. Off in the horizon they see a house and finally manage to struggle to it. The first guy goes up to the door to ask for water. The door is opened by this really old, wart-covered, puss covered, scaly, toothless old woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"C-c-c-can I h-h-h-have some w-w-w-water for me and m-my friends?" he asks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "I will... if you have sex with me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy pukes all over the woman and runs back to his friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You guys would not believe who answered the door. Some really gross old lady!" he tells them. "She said we could have water if I had sex with her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why didn't you then?" asks he second guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because she was so ugly, I was sick and couldn't do it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you are such a wuss. I'll go up to the door," the second guy says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He goes up to the door and rings the bell. The old hag answers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"W-w-w-w-w-w-waaaaaa......" He uses all of his will power to not hurl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Water? Yes, I have water," she says knowingly. "But you have to have sex with me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"AAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He runs back to his friends and before he could say a word, the third guy goes to the door and rings the bell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you want for some water?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You have to have sex with me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that if he doesn't do something, he and his friends will all die. So he follows the lady into her kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do me here," she told him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sees 3 ears of corn on the counter and gets an idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Lay back and close your eyes. And keep them closed!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The witch lays back and spreads her legs. The guy nearly pukes after seeing this. He picks up an ear of corn and screws her with it. Finally she is finished. He throws the corn out the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, God. That was the best orgasm of my life. If you do that again I will give you a million dollars."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then lay back and close your eyes again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This she does and he does her with the second ear of corn until she is satisfied. Then he throws it out the window. This time she doesn't even open her eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you do that again, I will give you a Jeep so you can get out of the desert."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Eyes closed," he says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he does her with the last piece of corn. He brings her to multiple orgasms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ohhhhhhhhh........ The water, money and Jeep are outside," she says as she squirms in ecstasy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he runs like hell outside and grabs the water and money and jumps into the Jeep. He wonders where his friends are and drives around to find them. He finds them by the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the guys says to him, "Hey, man. I hope you had fun. We just ate the three best pieces of buttered corn you could have imagined!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-7727466611599726811?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/7727466611599726811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=7727466611599726811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7727466611599726811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7727466611599726811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/10/dying-of-thirst.html' title='Dying of Thirst'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-7784582597660331043</id><published>2007-10-02T00:06:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T00:07:58.705+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Strip Joint</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;/p&gt; Two guys are in a strip joint, one is sitting in front of the other. A woman comes on stage and starts stripping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy in back, Paul, says, "Oh yeah, Oh yeah!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the first guy turns around and says, " Hey Paul, shut up!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then two women come out and start stripping. Paul, once again, starts, "Yeah baby..mmmm....yeah!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again the guy in front turns around and tells Paul to be quiet. So three women come out and start stripping. Paul is silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy in front says, "Hey Paul, where's all your excitement now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Paul says, "All over your back!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-7784582597660331043?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/7784582597660331043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=7784582597660331043' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7784582597660331043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7784582597660331043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/10/strip-joint.html' title='Strip Joint'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6142030801565065199</id><published>2007-04-02T16:32:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T16:33:08.264+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blur Nurse</title><content type='html'>A doctor is going round the ward with a nurse and they come to the first bed where the chap is laying half dead.&lt;br /&gt;"Did you give this man two tablets every eight hours?" asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no," replies the nurse, "I gave him eight tablets every two hours!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the next bed the next patient also appears half dead.&lt;br /&gt;"Nurse, did you give this man one tablet every twelve hours?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oops, I gave him twelve tablets every one hour," replies the nurse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately at the next bed the patient is well and truly deceased, not an ounce of life. "Nurse," asks the doctor, "did you prick his boil?"&lt;br /&gt;"OH MY GOODNESS!" replies the nurse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6142030801565065199?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6142030801565065199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6142030801565065199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6142030801565065199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6142030801565065199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/04/blur-nurse.html' title='Blur Nurse'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6175537125462710361</id><published>2007-01-16T19:47:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T19:48:38.869+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shrunken Head</title><content type='html'>A Guy walked into a bar dressed in the latest designer gear, dripping with diamonds and platinum and googobs of money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His only visible problem was that he had a very little head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few drinks I had the courage to ask him what happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His story is that he was on vacation with his wife in the Bahamas and they had a humiliating argument. To cool down he took a walk on the beach. while picking up rocks to throw in the ocean he happened upon an intricately blown and embroidered bottle. Picking it up to brush off the sand, a genie popped out. Not your ordinary genie but an extremely beautiful genie the likes of which he had never seen. She granted him three wishes and he thought long and hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His first wish was for a billion dollars in cash, which materialized instsntly. Realizing that he had no way to move this much money, his second wish was for a fueled and piloted jet that would take him everywhere he desired. That satisfied his every wish and he looked at the beautiful genie and propositioned her for a roll in the sand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The genie said that she would love to, but she is a genie and not anatomically made like mortal women, she has no coochie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man then said "Then how about a little head".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6175537125462710361?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6175537125462710361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6175537125462710361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6175537125462710361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6175537125462710361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/shrunken-head.html' title='Shrunken Head'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5327165454856562665</id><published>2007-01-11T11:01:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-11T11:01:27.569+08:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Wishes</title><content type='html'>A woman was out golfing one day when she hit her ball into the woods. She went into the woods to look for it and found a frog in a trap. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog said to her, "If you release me from this trap, I will grant you 3 wishes." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman freed the frog. The frog said, "Thank you, but I failed to mention that there was a condition to your wishes -- that whatever you wish for, your husband will get 10 times more or better!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman said, "That would be okay." For her first wish, she wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog warned her, "You do realize that this wish will also make your husband the most handsome man in the world, an Adonis, that women will flock to." &lt;br /&gt;The woman replied, "That will be okay because I will be the most beautiful woman and he will only have eyes for me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, KAZAM - she's the most beautiful woman in the world! For her second wish, she wanted to be the richest woman in the world. The frog said, "That will make your husband he richest man in the world and he will be ten times richer than you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman said, "That will be okay because what's mine is his and what's his is mine." So, KAZAM she's the richest woman in the world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog then inquired about her third wish, and she answered, "I'd like a mild heart attack."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5327165454856562665?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5327165454856562665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5327165454856562665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5327165454856562665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5327165454856562665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/3-wishes.html' title='3 Wishes'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-3578015144838259572</id><published>2007-01-10T19:27:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-10T19:27:08.574+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Old Man</title><content type='html'>An old man was sitting on his front porch down in Louisiana watching the sunrise. He sees the neighbor's kid walk by carrying something big under his arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He yells out, "Hey boy, whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy yells back, "Roll of chicken wire."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says, "What you gonna do with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says, "Gonna catch some chickens."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells, "You damn fool, you can't catch chickens with chicken wire!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy just laughs and keeps walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening at sunset the boy comes walking by and to the old man's surprise he is dragging behind him the chicken wire with about 30 chickens caught in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same time next morning the old man is out watching the sunrise and he sees the boy walk by carrying something kind of round in his hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells out, "Hey boy, whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy yells back, "Roll of duck tape."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says, "What you gonna do with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says back, "Gonna catch me some ducks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells back, "You damn fool, you can't catch ducks with duck tape!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy just laughs and keeps walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night around sunset the boy walks by coming home and to the old man's amazement he is trailing behind him the unrolled roll of duck tape with about 35 ducks caught in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same time next morning the old man sees the boy walking by carrying what looks like a long reed with something fuzzy on the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says, "Hey boy, whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says, "It's a pussy willow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says, "I'll get my hat."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-3578015144838259572?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/3578015144838259572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=3578015144838259572' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3578015144838259572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3578015144838259572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/old-man.html' title='The Old Man'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-3657730802486656001</id><published>2007-01-08T15:47:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-08T15:47:40.807+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sick Blonde</title><content type='html'>A blonde came home from her first day commuting into the city. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her mother noticed she was looking a little off-color and asked, "Honey, are you feeling all right?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not really," the blonde replied. "I'm nauseous from sitting backward on the train."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Poor dear," Mom said. "Why didn't you ask the person sitting across from you to switch seats for a while?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I couldn't," she replied, "there was no one there."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-3657730802486656001?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/3657730802486656001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=3657730802486656001' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3657730802486656001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3657730802486656001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/sick-blonde.html' title='Sick Blonde'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-2498612156827307127</id><published>2007-01-04T16:45:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-04T16:45:33.625+08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Partition</title><content type='html'>Business was good at the local whorehouse and the madam decided to partition one of larger rooms. After the work was complete the carpenter asked for payment but was put off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several weeks he still hadn't been paid and he regularly threatened, "Pay me or I'll rip out the partition."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally the madam offered to pay him in trade. "Take any girl in the house and have your pleasure with her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll take you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Me? I'm an old lady. Take one of those young, good looking chicks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he took her upstairs and removed all her clothes, laid her on her back and put one finger in her pussy and one finger in her butt. "What are you doing?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I told you before. Pay me or I'll rip out the partition."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-2498612156827307127?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/2498612156827307127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=2498612156827307127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2498612156827307127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2498612156827307127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/new-partition.html' title='New Partition'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-2664987117786361673</id><published>2007-01-02T21:06:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-02T21:06:18.211+08:00</updated><title type='text'>First Taste of Sex</title><content type='html'>A young man goes to a whorehouse to expierence his first taste of sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The madam suggests that he start with 69. He decides to give it a try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The prostitute leads him to a room, gets undressed, and instructs the young man to eat her pussy. Unfortunately, just as he starts she farts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man quietly says to himself, "phew", but he goes down on her again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A moment later she farts again. He says "phew", but continues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once more she farts. This time he immediately gets up and starts walking out. She asks him what's wrong, and he replies "I don't think I can take another 66 of those!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-2664987117786361673?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/2664987117786361673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=2664987117786361673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2664987117786361673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2664987117786361673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/first-taste-of-sex.html' title='First Taste of Sex'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-746376742987541410</id><published>2007-01-01T18:07:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2007-01-01T18:07:54.965+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Careful What You Wish</title><content type='html'>A guy found a magic lamp and naturally, rubbed it. The genie popped out and said, "I'll grant you any wish you want." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy thought and thought and finally gave his answer, "I want to be hard all the time and get all the ass I want." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"As you wish," the genie replied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, the genie turned him into a toilet seat...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-746376742987541410?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/746376742987541410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=746376742987541410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/746376742987541410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/746376742987541410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2007/01/careful-what-you-wish.html' title='Careful What You Wish'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6227074514129115065</id><published>2006-12-31T10:42:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-31T10:43:14.040+08:00</updated><title type='text'>If WIshes Came True</title><content type='html'>A few months after his parents were divorced, little Johnny passed by his mom's bedroom and saw her rubbing her body and moaning, "I need a man, I need a man!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the next couple of months, he saw her doing this several times. One day, he came home from school and heard her moaning. When he peeked into her bedroom, he saw a man on top of her. Little Johnny ran into his room, took off his clothes, threw himself on his bed, started stroking himself, and moaning:&lt;br /&gt;"Ohh, I need a bike! Ahh, I need a bike!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6227074514129115065?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6227074514129115065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6227074514129115065' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6227074514129115065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6227074514129115065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/if-wishes-came-true.html' title='If WIshes Came True'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-3381585550357151344</id><published>2006-12-29T14:57:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-29T14:57:29.993+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pickle Slicer</title><content type='html'>Bill worked in a pickle factory. He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day and confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill indicated that he'd be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day a few weeks later, Bill came home absolutely ashen. His wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's wrong, Bill?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, Bill, you didn't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I did."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My God, Bill, what happened?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I got fired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, she got fired too."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-3381585550357151344?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/3381585550357151344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=3381585550357151344' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3381585550357151344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/3381585550357151344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/pickle-slicer.html' title='Pickle Slicer'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6850088550645553371</id><published>2006-12-28T10:23:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-28T10:23:38.345+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Married to God</title><content type='html'>A man was brought to Mercy Hospital for coronary surgery. The operation went well, and as the groggy man regained consciousness, he was reassured by a Sister of Mercy waiting by his bed. "Mr. Smith, you're going to be just fine," the nun said while patting his hand. "We do have to know, however, how you intend to pay for your stay here. Are you covered by insurance?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I'm not," the man whispered hoarsely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can you pay in cash?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm afraid I can't, Sister."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you have any close relatives, then?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just my sister in New Mexico," the patient replied, "But she's a spinster nun."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nuns are not spinsters, Mr. Smith," the nun replied, "They are married to God."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay," the man said with a smile, "Then send the bill to my brother-in-law."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6850088550645553371?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6850088550645553371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6850088550645553371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6850088550645553371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6850088550645553371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/married-to-god.html' title='Married to God'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-2262284900995301301</id><published>2006-12-26T13:35:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-26T13:35:21.674+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ribbit</title><content type='html'>A man takes the day off of work and decides to go out golfing. He is on the second hole when he notices a frog sitting next to the green. He thinks nothing of it and is about to shoot when he hears, "Ribbit. 9 Iron." The man looks round and doesn't see anyone so he tries again. "Ribbit. 9 Iron." He looks at the frog and decides to prove the frog wrong, puts his other club away, and grabs a 9 iron. Boom! He hits a birdie. He is shocked. He says to the frog, "Wow that's amazing. You must be a lucky frog eh?" The frog replies "Ribbit. Lucky frog. Lucky frog."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man decided to take the frog with him to the next hole. "What do you think frog?", the man asks. "Ribbit. 3 wood." was the reply. The guy takes out a 3 wood and Boom! Hole in one. The man is befuddled and doesn't know what to say. By the end of the day, the man golfed the best game of golf in his life and asks the frog, "Ok where to next?" The frog reply, "Ribbit. Las Vegas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They go to Las Vegas and the guy says, "Ok frog, now what?" The frog says, "Ribbit. Roulette." Upon approaching the roulette table the man asks, "What do you think I should bet?" The frog replies, "Ribbit. $3000, black 6." Now, this is a million to one shot that this would win but after the golf game, the man figures what the heck. Boom! Tons of cash comes sliding back across the table. The man takes his winnings and buys the best room in the hotel. He sits the frog down and says, "Frog, I don't know how to repay you. You won me all this money and I am forever grateful." The frog replies, "Ribbit. Kiss me." He figures why not, since after all the frog did for him he deserves it. All of a sudden the frog turns into the most gorgeous 16 year old girl in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And that, your honor, is how the girl ended up in my room".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-2262284900995301301?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/2262284900995301301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=2262284900995301301' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2262284900995301301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2262284900995301301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/ribbit.html' title='Ribbit'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5912284549737011693</id><published>2006-12-21T14:04:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-21T14:04:57.248+08:00</updated><title type='text'>God's Wish</title><content type='html'>The Lord finds a man whose faith is unparalleled and grants him one wish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Build me a bridge to Hawaii," says the man, "so I can drive over anytime."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lord says, "Think of the logistics of that kind of undertaking. The supports to reach the bottom of the Pacific. The concrete and steel it would take. I can do this, of course, but it's hard for me to justify your desire for worldly things. Take a little time and think of another wish, a wish you think would honor and glorify me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man thinks for a while and says, "I wish I could understand women."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few minutes, God says, "you want two lanes or four?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5912284549737011693?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5912284549737011693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5912284549737011693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5912284549737011693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5912284549737011693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/gods-wish.html' title='God&apos;s Wish'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6465685381043780940</id><published>2006-12-20T15:29:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-20T15:29:34.521+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Guy</title><content type='html'>A new guy in town walks into a bar and notices a very large jar behind the bar. It's filled to the brim with ten dollar bills. The man guesses there must be thousands of dollars there. He approaches the bartender and asks him: "What's up with the jar?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartender: "Well, you pay ten dollars and if you pass three tests then you get all of the money."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man: "What are the three tests?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartender: "Pay first. Those are the rules."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the guy gives him the ten bucks and the bartender adds it to the jar with the other bills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartender: "Ok, here's what you have to do. First you have to drink that whole gallon of pepper tequila, the WHOLE thing at once AND, you can't make a face while doing it. Second, there's a pit bull chained up out back with a sore tooth...you have to remove it with your bare hands. Third, there's a 90 year old woman up-stairs who's never had an orgasm in her life. You gotta make things right for her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man: "Well, I know I've paid my ten bucks but I'm not an idiot, I won't do it. You have to be nuts to drink a gallon of pepper tequila and they get crazier from there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bartender: "You're call. But your money stays in the jar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, as time goes on and the man drinks a few, he asks, "Wherez zat teeqeelah?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He grabs the gallon of tequila with both hands, and downs it with a big slurp. Tears are streaming down his cheeks but he does not make a face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next he staggers out back and soon all the people inside hear a huge scuffle going on. They hear barking, screams, yelps and growling, and eventually silence. Just when they think the man must surely be dead, he staggers back into the bar, his shirt ripped and big scratches all over his body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now," he says, "where's that woman with the sore tooth?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6465685381043780940?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6465685381043780940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6465685381043780940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6465685381043780940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6465685381043780940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/new-guy.html' title='The New Guy'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-8773344574839342873</id><published>2006-12-19T23:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-19T23:08:44.990+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crowded Subway</title><content type='html'>The subway car was packed. It was rush hour, and many people were forced to stand. One particularly cramped woman turned to the man behind her and said, "Sir, if you don't stop poking me with your thing, I'm going to the cops!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know what you're talking about miss - that's just my pay check in my pocket."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh really," she spat. "Then you must have some job, because that's the fifth raise you've had in the last half hour!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-8773344574839342873?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/8773344574839342873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=8773344574839342873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/8773344574839342873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/8773344574839342873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/crowded-subway.html' title='Crowded Subway'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-6333462479180839934</id><published>2006-12-15T16:08:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-15T16:09:01.448+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pain In The Groin</title><content type='html'>Guy goes to see a doctor because of a pain in his groin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: Describe your problem to me, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: Well, first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is shag my wife. I carpool to work with the lady next door, and she gives me a hummer on the way in. At my 9 AM break, I always meet one of my co-workers in the copy room and we have a quickie. At lunch, my secretary and I always find some secluded spot and do the horizontal mambo. On the way home, my neighbor always gives me another servicing. After supper, I usually do my wife right on the kitchen table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: Well, what seems to be the trouble?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy: It hurts when I masturbate.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-6333462479180839934?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/6333462479180839934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=6333462479180839934' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6333462479180839934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/6333462479180839934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/pain-in-groin.html' title='Pain In The Groin'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5048974538533177939</id><published>2006-12-14T10:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T10:54:27.323+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Kick The Animals</title><content type='html'>A boy awoke and wanted breakfast so he told his mother. She said, "Not until you feed the animals." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy went outside and said to the chicken, "I don't feel like feeding you today." So he kicked the chicken. He did the same with the cow and the pig. The boy then went back into the house and told his mother he was hungry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His mother said, "I saw you kick the chicken so you're not getting any eggs, I saw you kick the cow so you're not getting any milk and I saw kick the pig so you're not getting any bacon." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then the boy's father walked down the steps and tripped over and kicked the cat and the boy said, "Mom, should I tell him?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5048974538533177939?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5048974538533177939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5048974538533177939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5048974538533177939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5048974538533177939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/dont-kick-animals.html' title='Don&apos;t Kick The Animals'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-4037530709941680592</id><published>2006-12-13T13:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T13:47:07.344+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Miracle of Toilet Paper</title><content type='html'>Fresh from my shower I stand in front of the mirror complaining to my husband that my breasts are too small. Instead of characteristically telling me it's not so, he uncharacteristically comes up with a suggestion:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you want your breasts to grow then every day take a piece of toilet paper and rub it between your breasts for a few seconds".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Willing to try anything, I fetch a piece of toilet paper and I stand in front of the mirror rubbing it between my breasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How long will this take?" I ask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They will grow larger over a period of years" he replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stop. "Do you really think rubbing a piece of toilet paper between my breasts everyday will make my breasts larger over the years?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without missing a beat, he says, "Worked for your butt didn't it?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-4037530709941680592?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/4037530709941680592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=4037530709941680592' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/4037530709941680592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/4037530709941680592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/miracle-of-toilet-paper.html' title='Miracle of Toilet Paper'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5491502451252573375</id><published>2006-12-12T11:07:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T11:07:25.785+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Pet</title><content type='html'>A woman went into a store to buy her husband a pet for his birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After looking around, she found that all the pets were very expensive. She told the clerk she wanted to buy a pet, but she didn't want to spend a fortune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," said the clerk, "I have a very large bullfrog. They say it's been trained to do blowjobs."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Blowjobs!" The woman replied. "It hasn't been proven, but we've sold 30 of them this month," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman thought it would be a great gag gift and what if it's true...no more blowjobs for her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She bought the frog. When she explained frog's ability to her husband, he was extremely skeptical and laughed it off. The woman went to bed happy, thinking she may never need to perform this less than riveting act again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the noise of pots and pans flying everywhere, making hellacious banging and crashing sounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She ran downstairs to the kitchen, only to find her husband and the Frog reading cookbooks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are you two doing at this hour?" she asked. The husband replied, "If I can teach this frog to cook, your ass is outta here!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5491502451252573375?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5491502451252573375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5491502451252573375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5491502451252573375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5491502451252573375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/birthday-pet.html' title='Birthday Pet'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-8601542556714649456</id><published>2006-12-11T17:26:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-11T17:26:43.623+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Repairman</title><content type='html'>Mrs. Broomfield's dishwasher quit working, so she called a repairman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He couldn't accommodate her with an evening appointment, and since she had to go to work the next day, she told him: "I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you the check. By the way, don't worry about my Rottweiler. He won't bother you. But, whatever you do, do not under any circumstances talk to my parrot!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the repairman arrived at Mrs. Broomfield's apartment the next day, he discovered the biggest and meanest looking Rottweiler he had ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, just like she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet, watching the repairman go about his business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, the whole time he was there, the parrot drove him nuts with his incessant squawking and talking. Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled: "Shut up, you stupid bird!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which the parrot replied: "Get him, Brutus!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-8601542556714649456?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/8601542556714649456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=8601542556714649456' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/8601542556714649456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/8601542556714649456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/repairman.html' title='The Repairman'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5381761017954020700</id><published>2006-12-10T12:21:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-10T12:24:02.221+08:00</updated><title type='text'>How Women Get What They Want</title><content type='html'>Women are under the illusion they don't have to ask men for anything - that if the man really loved her, he would automatically and instinctively know what she needed. Right! As if the dysfunctional drone even knew you were in the room, let alone knew what you were feeling. A woman has a better chance of finding a bathing suit off the rack that fits than finding a man who knows what she is going through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ironically, however, men like to feel needed - like they're her knight in shining armor. Unfortunately, most turn out to be needy, like her nightmare from The Shining. Therefore, it is important that a woman ask a man directly for what she wants, not indirectly. He is not a mind reader. He doesn't even read a map, how's he going to read a mind?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;HOW TO ASK A MAN TO DO SOMETHING&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always remember these five important rules when asking a man to do something:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;1. Make sure the man is conscious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Crash the hard drive on his computer and line the bird cage with the sports section.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Be brief! Limit your nagging harangue to two, three hours, max.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Reward him for cooperative behavior. Offer to cook him something that doesn't have a peel-back cover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Punish him when he refuses to cooperate. Microwave his remote on high power for 55 minutes. Rotate 1/4 turn, and microwave again for another 35 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Use "would you" or "will you" instead of "you'd better" or "do as I say and no one will get hurt".&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The Right And Wrong Way to Ask A Man&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How you ask a man to do something makes all the difference. Women think that a subtle nuance or slight turn of phrase will have no effect whatsoever on the resolve of their mucho-macho muscular moron. It does! Which is why you should always use "would you" and "will you" instead of "could you" and "can you". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you please take out the garbage?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you get off your big butt and do something around here? What am I, the maid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you like to go out to a nice dinner Saturday night?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you please take me to any restaurant that doesn't have the words "burger", "king" or "happy meal" in their advertising??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you mind watching the kids while I take a night off with my girlfriends?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you, just for one night, watch the kids you helped spawn-that I never get a break from-ever! I haven't seen my friends in so long we wear name tags to identify ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you take me to a movie this week?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you prove to me you're not Velcroed to the couch and actually have the motor skills to take me to a motion picture? Something without Pamela Anderson in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you like me to listen to you talk about your day some more?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you step up the filibuster, Sparky? Jeopardy is on in ten minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you consider getting a vasectomy?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you even imagine what it feels like taking birth control pills that make you feel like Attila the Hun one minute and Attila the Hun's evil twin the next minute? Do it or I'll do it FOR you!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you like to take a vacation?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you move out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do say: Would you get out of my life?&lt;br /&gt;Do not say: Could you get out of my life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notice how different these two statements are. A man is much more likely to get out of your life if you say "would".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5381761017954020700?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5381761017954020700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5381761017954020700' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5381761017954020700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5381761017954020700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/how-women-get-what-they-want.html' title='How Women Get What They Want'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-2122764241076603331</id><published>2006-12-08T12:13:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-08T12:13:16.975+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Blonde Joke</title><content type='html'>A girl came skipping home from school one day. "Mommy, Mommy," she yelled, "we were counting today, and all the other kids could only count to four, but I counted to 10. See? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,7, 8, 9, 10!" "Very good," said her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is it because I'm blonde, Mommy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it's because you're blonde," her mother replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, the girl came skipping home from school. "Mommy, Mommy," she yelled, "we were saying the alphabet today, and all the other kids could only say it to D, but I said it to G. See? A, B, C, D, E, F, G!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very good," said her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is it because I'm blonde, Mommy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, pumpkin, it's because you're blonde."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the girl came skipping home from school. "Mommy, Mommy," she yelled, "we were in gym class today, and when we showered, all the other girls had flat chests, but I have these!" And she lifted her tank top to reveal a pair of 36Cs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very good," said her embarrassed mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is it because I'm blonde, mommy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, it's because you're 25."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-2122764241076603331?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/2122764241076603331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=2122764241076603331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2122764241076603331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/2122764241076603331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/another-blonde-joke.html' title='Another Blonde Joke'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-1034901222406924051</id><published>2006-12-07T16:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-07T16:38:37.733+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jesus Is Watching You!</title><content type='html'>Late one night, a burglar broke into a house that he thought was empty. He tiptoed through the living room but suddenly he froze in his tracks when he heard a loud voice say: "Jesus is watching you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silence returned to the house, so the burglar crept forward again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Jesus is watching you," the voice boomed again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The burglar stopped dead again. He was frightened. Frantically, he looked all around. In a dark corner, he spotted a birdcage and in the cage was a parrot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked the parrot: "Was that you who said Jesus is watching me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes", said the parrot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The burglar breathed a sigh of relief, then he asked the parrot: "What's your name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Clarence," said the bird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's a dumb name for a parrot," sneered the burglar. "What idiot named you Clarence?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The parrot said, "The same idiot who named the rottweiller, Jesus."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-1034901222406924051?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/1034901222406924051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=1034901222406924051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/1034901222406924051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/1034901222406924051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/jesus-is-watching-you.html' title='Jesus Is Watching You!'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-392573779015368865</id><published>2006-12-05T12:08:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-05T12:08:43.543+08:00</updated><title type='text'>She's Cheating!</title><content type='html'>A guy dials his home phone from work. A strange woman answers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy says, "Who is this?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is the maid," answered the woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We don't have a maid!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I was just hired this morning by the lady of the house."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, this is her husband. Is she there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um...she's upstairs in the bedroom with someone who I just figured was her husband."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy is fuming. He says to the maid, "Listen, would you like to make $50,000?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do I have to do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want you to get my gun from my desk in the den and shoot that witch and the jerk she is with." The maid puts down the phone. The guy hears footsteps, followed by two gunshots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The maid comes back to the phone. "What should I do with the bodies?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Throw them in the swimming pool!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What! There's no pool here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Uh...is this 221-1811?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-392573779015368865?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/392573779015368865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=392573779015368865' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/392573779015368865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/392573779015368865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/shes-cheating.html' title='She&apos;s Cheating!'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-7230643855998228196</id><published>2006-12-04T13:32:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-04T13:32:31.780+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aunt Gayle</title><content type='html'>The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the kids came back and began to tell their stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley said, "My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg laying hens. 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."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's the moral of the story?" asked the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't put all your eggs in one basket!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very good," said the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next little Sarah raised her hand and said, "Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. We had a dozen eggs one time, 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."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That was a fine story Sarah," said the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Michael, do you have a story to share?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, my daddy told me this story about my Aunt Gayle. Aunt Gayle was a flight engineer in the Gulf War and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whiskey, a machine gun and a machete. She drank the whiskey 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."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good heavens," said the horrified teacher, "what kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Stay the fuck away from Aunt Gayle when she's been drinking."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-7230643855998228196?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/7230643855998228196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=7230643855998228196' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7230643855998228196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7230643855998228196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/aunt-gayle.html' title='Aunt Gayle'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5643908888118668303</id><published>2006-12-01T14:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T14:38:55.487+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandkids</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;An old man turned 96 and was being interviewed by a reporter for the local paper. During the interview the reporter noticed that the yard was full of children of all ages playing together. A very pretty girl of about 19 served the old man and the reporter, keeping them in fresh tea and running errands for them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Are these your grandkids?" the reporter asked.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Naw, sir, they all be my younguns," the old man replied with a sly grin.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Your kids?" said the reporter. "What about this beautiful young lady who keeps bringing us tea?  Is she one of your children, too?"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Naw, sir," said the old man. "She be my wife."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Your wife?" said the surprised reporter. "But she can't be more than 19 years old."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Thass right," said the old man with pride.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Well, surely you can't have a sex life with you being 96 and she being only 19," the reporter remarked.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Naw, sir, " said the old man. "We have sex every night. Every night two of my boys helps me on it, and every morning six of my boys helps me off."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Wait just one minute," said the newspaperman. "Why does it only take two of your boys to put you on, but it takes six of them to take you off?"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Cause," the spry old man said with a tight fist, "I fights 'em."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5643908888118668303?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5643908888118668303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5643908888118668303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5643908888118668303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5643908888118668303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/12/grandkids.html' title='Grandkids'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-7759700437498387422</id><published>2006-11-30T15:26:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-30T15:29:09.345+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Joke Collection</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Man comes home, finds his wife with his friend in bed. He shoots his friend and kills him.&lt;br /&gt;Wife says "If you behave like this, you will lose ALL your friends"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;What is Mistress?&lt;br /&gt;Someone between the Mister and Mattress&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Husband asks, "Do u know the meaning of WIFE?? Without Information Fighting Everytime."&lt;br /&gt;Wife replies," No, It means, With Idiot For Ever!!!"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;What's the difference between stress, tension and panic?&lt;br /&gt;Stress is when wife is pregnant,&lt;br /&gt;Tension is when girlfriend is pregnant&lt;br /&gt;and Panic is when both are pregnant.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Teacher: Do you know the importance of a period?&lt;br /&gt;Kid: Yeah, once my sister said she has missed one, my mom fainted, dad got a heart attack &amp;amp; our driver ran away.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A women asks man who is traveling with six children, "Are all these kids yours??"&lt;br /&gt;The man replies, "No, I work in a condom factory and these are customer complaints".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A young boy asks his Dad, "What is the difference between confident and confidential.&lt;br /&gt;Dad says, "You are my son, I'm confident about that. Your friend over there is also my son, that's confidential! "&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-7759700437498387422?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/7759700437498387422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=7759700437498387422' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7759700437498387422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7759700437498387422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/joke-collection.html' title='Joke Collection'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5597194007631844623</id><published>2006-11-29T10:26:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-29T10:28:49.282+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blind Pilots</title><content type='html'>Passengers on a small commuter plane are waiting for the flight to leave. They're getting a little impatient, but the airport staff has assured them that the pilots will be there soon, and the flight can take off immediately after that. The entrance opens, and two men walk up the aisle, dressed in pilots' uniforms--both are wearing dark glasses, one is using a seeing-eye dog, and the other is tapping his way up the aisle with a cane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nervous laughter spreads through the cabin; but the men enter the cockpit, the door closes, and the engines start up. The passengers begin glancing nervously around, searching for some sign that this is just a little practical joke. None is forthcoming. The plane moves faster and faster down the runway, and people at the windows realize that they're headed straight for the water at the edge of the airport territory. As it begins to look as though the plane will never take off, that it will plow into the water, panicked screams fill the cabin, but at that moment the plane lifts smoothly into the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The passengers relax and laugh a little sheepishly, and soon they have all retreated into their magazines, secure in the knowledge that the plane is in good hands. Up in the cockpit, the copilot turns to the pilot and says, "You know, Bob, one of these days, they're going to scream too late, and we're all gonna die."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5597194007631844623?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5597194007631844623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5597194007631844623' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5597194007631844623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5597194007631844623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/blind-pilots.html' title='Blind Pilots'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-5048867141131128682</id><published>2006-11-28T10:48:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-28T10:48:20.607+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Statues</title><content type='html'>For decades, two heroic statues, one male and one female, faced each other in a city park, until one day an angel came down from Heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You've been such exemplary statues," she announced to them, "that I'm going to give you a special gift. I'm going to bring you both to life for thirty minutes, in which you can do anything you want." And with a clap of her hands, the angel brought the statues to life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two approached each other a bit shyly, but soon dashed for the bushes, from which shortly emerged a good deal of giggling, laughter, and shaking of branches. Fifteen minutes later, the two statues emerged from the bushes, wide grins on their faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You still have fifteen more minutes," said the angel, winking knowingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grinning even more widely, the female statue turned to the male statue and said, "Great! Only this time YOU hold the pigeon down and I'll shit on its head."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-5048867141131128682?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/5048867141131128682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=5048867141131128682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5048867141131128682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/5048867141131128682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/two-statues.html' title='Two Statues'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-7303656064964060100</id><published>2006-11-26T12:22:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-26T12:23:17.897+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Turn Around</title><content type='html'>A small white guy went into an elevator, when he got in he noticed a huge black dude standing next to him. The big black guy looked down upon the small white guy and said, "7 foot tall, 350 pounds, 20 inch dick, 3 pound left ball, 3 pound right ball, Turner Brown."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The small guy fainted!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The huge black dude picked up the little white guy and brought him to, slapping his face and shaking him. He asked the small white guy, "What's wrong?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our petite friend said, "Excuse me, but what did you say?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The black giant looked down and repeated, "7 foot tall, 350 pounds, 20 inch dick, 3 pound left ball, 3 pound right ball, my name is Turner Brown."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The white guy sighed, "Oh, thank God! I thought you said 'Turn around!!'"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-7303656064964060100?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/7303656064964060100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=7303656064964060100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7303656064964060100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/7303656064964060100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/turn-around.html' title='Turn Around'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116444073664907501</id><published>2006-11-25T15:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-25T15:45:36.656+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Genie</title><content type='html'>A couple was golfing one day on a very, very exclusive golf course, lined with million dollar houses. On the third tee the husband said, "Honey, be very careful when you drive the ball- don't knock out any windows. It'll cost us a fortune to fix."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wife teed up and shanked it right through the window of the biggest house on the course. The husband cringed and said, "I told you to watch out for the houses! Alright, let's go up there, apologize and see how much this is going to cost."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They walked up, knocked on the door, and heard a voice say, "Come on in." They opened the door and saw glass all over the floor and a broken bottle lying on its side in the foyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man on the couch said, "Are you the people that broke my window?" "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." the husband replied. "No, actually I want to thank you- I'm a genie that was trapped for a thousand years in that bottle. You've released me. I'm allowed to grant three wishes- I'll give you each one wish, and I'll keep the last one for myself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK, great!" the husband said. " I want a million dollars a year for the rest of my life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No problem-it's the least I could do. And you, what do you want?" the genie said, looking at the wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I want a house in every country of the world," she said. "Consider it done." the genie replied. "And what's your wish, genie?", the husband said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, since I've been trapped in that bottle, I haven't had sex with a woman in a thousand years. My wish is to sleep with your wife."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband looks at the wife and said, "Well, we did get a lot of money and all those houses, honey. I guess I don't care."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The genie took the wife upstairs and ravished her for two hours. After it was over, the genie rolled over, looked at the wife, and said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How old is your husband, anyway?" "35." she replied. "And he still believes in genies- that's amazing."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116444073664907501?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116444073664907501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116444073664907501' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116444073664907501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116444073664907501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/genie.html' title='The Genie'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116424982769849199</id><published>2006-11-23T10:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T10:43:47.706+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Ball</title><content type='html'>A man staggers into an emergency room with a concussion, multiple bruises, two black eyes and a five iron wrapped tightly around his throat. Naturally the doctor asks him what happened. "Well, it was like this", said the man. "I was having a quiet round of golf with my wife, when at a difficult hole, we both sliced our balls into a pasture of cows." "We went to look for them and while I was rooting around I noticed one of the cows had something white at its rear end. I walked over and lifted up the tail, and sure enough, there was a golf ball with my wife's monogram on it stuck right in the middle of the cow's butt. That's when I made my mistake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What did you do?" asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I lifted the tail and yelled to my wife, 'Hey! This looks like yours!'"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116424982769849199?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116424982769849199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116424982769849199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116424982769849199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116424982769849199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/lost-ball.html' title='Lost Ball'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116416254184857332</id><published>2006-11-22T10:28:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-22T10:29:01.870+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coma</title><content type='html'>A man was visiting his wife in hospital where she has been in a coma for several years. On this visit he decided to rub her left breast instead of just talking to her. On doing this she let out a sigh. The man ran out and told the doctor who said that was a good sign and suggested he should try rubbing her right breast to see if there is any reaction. The husband went in and rubbed her right breast. This produced a moan from his wife. He rushed out and told the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor said this was amazing and a real breakthrough. The doctor then suggested the man should go in and try oral sex, saying he would wait outside as it is a personal act and he didn't want the man to be embarrassed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man goes in, then came out about five minutes later, white as a sheet. He told the doctor his wife is dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor asked what happen to which the man replied, "She choked."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116416254184857332?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116416254184857332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116416254184857332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116416254184857332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116416254184857332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/coma.html' title='Coma'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116406907735260002</id><published>2006-11-21T08:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-21T14:33:34.156+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blonde + Computers</title><content type='html'>A blonde enters a store that sells curtains. She tells the salesman, "I would like to buy a pair of pink curtains."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The salesman assures her that they have a large selection of pink curtains. He shows her several patterns, but the blonde seems to have a hard time choosing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally she selects a lovely pink floral print. The salesman then asks, What size curtains she needs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blonde promptly replies, "Fifteen inches."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fifteen inches?" asked the salesman. "That sounds very small - What room are they for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blonde tells him that they aren't for a room, but they are for her computer monitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The surprised salesman replies, "But miss, computers do not need curtains!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blonde says, "Hellllooooooooo! I've got Windoooooows!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116406907735260002?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116406907735260002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116406907735260002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116406907735260002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116406907735260002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/blonde-computers.html' title='Blonde + Computers'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116401376277569388</id><published>2006-11-20T17:09:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-20T17:09:22.783+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Of Friends</title><content type='html'>Four friends, who hadn't seen each other in 30 years, reunited at a party. After several drinks, one of the men had to use the rest room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who remained talked about their kids. The first guy said, "My son is my pride and joy. He started working at a successful company at the bottom of the barrel. He studied Economics and Business Administration and soon began to climb the corporate ladder and now he's the president of the company. He became so rich that he gave his best friend a top of the line Mercedes for his birthday." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second guy said, "Darn, that's terrific! My son is also my pride and joy. He started working for a big airline, then went to flight school to become a pilot. Eventually he became a partner in the company, where he owns the majority of its assets. He's so rich that he gave his best friend a brand new jet for his birthday." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third man said: "Well, that's terrific! My son studied in the best universities and became an engineer. Then he started his own construction company and is now a multimillionaire. He also gave away something very nice and expensive to his best friend for his birthday: A 30,000 square foot mansion." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three friends congratulated each other just as the fourth returned from the restroom and asked: "What are all the congratulations for?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the three said: "We were talking about the pride we feel for the successes of our sons.... What about your son?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fourth man replied: "My son is gay and makes a living dancing as a stripper at a nightclub."  The three friends said: "What a shame... what a disappointment." The fourth man replied: "No, I'm not ashamed. He's my son and I love him. And he hasn't done too badly either. His birthday was two weeks ago, and he received a beautiful 30,000 square foot mansion, a brand new jet and a top of the line Mercedes from his three boyfriends."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116401376277569388?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116401376277569388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116401376277569388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116401376277569388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116401376277569388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/best-of-friends.html' title='Best Of Friends'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116391102305339233</id><published>2006-11-19T12:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-19T12:37:03.060+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lesbian Patient</title><content type='html'>A woman goes to the doctor's office and says to him. "Doctor, I've got a strange problem I need your opinion on."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Could you describe the symptoms to me?" the doctor asks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, it's easier if I show you," she said and, standing up, proceeds to undress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she was down to her underwear she sat on the edge of the examining table and spread her legs to reveal two small green circles on her inner thighs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They don't hurt or anything, but I was a little worried about them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'The doctor peered closely at the two circles and said, "Are you a lesbian, by any chance?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Embarrassed and slightly nonplussed at this question coming from a man with his head between her thighs, she replied, "Well, yes, I am actually. Why do you ask?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," the doctor says, "I'm afraid you'll have to tell your girlfriend that her earrings aren't real gold."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116391102305339233?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116391102305339233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116391102305339233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116391102305339233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116391102305339233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/lesbian-patient.html' title='Lesbian Patient'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116381629706989604</id><published>2006-11-18T10:17:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-18T10:18:17.076+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Technology Haikus</title><content type='html'>The Web site you seek&lt;br /&gt;Cannot be located.&lt;br /&gt;Countless more exist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chaos reigns within.&lt;br /&gt;Reflect, repent, and reboot.&lt;br /&gt;Order shall return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Program aborting.&lt;br /&gt;Close all that you have worked on.&lt;br /&gt;You ask far too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Windows XP crashed.&lt;br /&gt;I am the Blue Screen of Death.&lt;br /&gt;No one hears your screams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday it worked.&lt;br /&gt;Today it is not working.&lt;br /&gt;Software is like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your file was so big.&lt;br /&gt;It might be very useful.&lt;br /&gt;But now it is gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay the patient course.&lt;br /&gt;Of little worth is your ire.&lt;br /&gt;The network is down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A crash reduces&lt;br /&gt;your expensive computer&lt;br /&gt;to a simple stone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three things are certain:&lt;br /&gt;death, taxes and lost data.&lt;br /&gt;Guess which has occurred?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You step in the stream,&lt;br /&gt;but the water has moved on.&lt;br /&gt;This page is not here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Out of memory.&lt;br /&gt;We wish to hold the whole sky,&lt;br /&gt;but we never will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having been erased,&lt;br /&gt;the document you're seeking&lt;br /&gt;must now be retyped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serious error.&lt;br /&gt;All shortcuts have disappeared.&lt;br /&gt;Screen, mind, both are blank.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116381629706989604?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116381629706989604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116381629706989604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116381629706989604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116381629706989604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/technology-haikus.html' title='Technology Haikus'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116372932871626120</id><published>2006-11-17T10:08:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T10:08:48.723+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pearly Gates</title><content type='html'>A guy arrives at the pearly gates, waiting to be admitted. St. Peter is leafing through the Big Book to see if the guy is worthy of entering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several minutes, St. Peter closes the book, furrows his brow, and says, "I don't really see that you ever really did anything great in your life, but I don't see anything really bad either."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell you what," St. Peter says. "If you can tell me of one REALLY good deed you did in your life, I'll let you in."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy thinks for a moment and says, "OK, well there was this one time when I was driving down the highway and I saw a gang assaulting this poor girl. I slowed down, and sure enough, there they were, about 50 of 'em torturing this woman. Infuriated, I got out my car, grabbed a tire iron out of my trunk, and walked straight up to the leader of the gang. He was a huge guy with a studded leather jacket and a chain running from his nose to his ear. As I walked up to the leader, the gang members formed a circle around me. "So, I ripped the leader's chain out of his face and smashed him over the head with the tire iron," the guy says. "Then I turned around and yelled to the rest of them, 'Leave this poor, innocent girl alone! You're all a bunch of sick, deranged animals! Go home before I really teach you all a lesson in pain!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter, duly impressed, says "Wow! When did this happen?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just a couple of minutes ago."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116372932871626120?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116372932871626120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116372932871626120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116372932871626120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116372932871626120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/pearly-gates.html' title='Pearly Gates'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116364314476318908</id><published>2006-11-16T10:12:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T10:12:24.770+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving Work Early</title><content type='html'>Three girls all worked in the same office with the same female boss. Each day, they noticed the boss left work early. One day, the girls decided that, when the boss left, they would leave right behind her. After all, she never called or came back to work, so how would she know they went home early?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The brunette was thrilled to be home early. She did a little gardening, spent playtime with her son, and went to bed early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The redhead was elated to be able to get in a quick workout at the spa before meeting a dinner date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blonde was happy to get home early and surprise her husband, but when she got to her bedroom, she heard a muffled noise from inside. Slowly and quietly, she cracked open the door and was mortified to see her husband in bed with her boss! Gently she closed the door and crept out of her house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, at their coffee break, the brunette and redhead planned to leave early again, and they asked the blonde if she was going to go with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No way," the blonde exclaimed. "I almost got caught yesterday."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116364314476318908?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116364314476318908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116364314476318908' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116364314476318908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116364314476318908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/leaving-work-early.html' title='Leaving Work Early'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116355550772510931</id><published>2006-11-15T09:50:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T09:51:47.750+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Prayers</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;A Girl's Prayer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I lay me down to sleep,&lt;br /&gt;I pray for a man, who's not a creep,&lt;br /&gt;One who's handsome, smart and strong,&lt;br /&gt;One who's willy's thick and long.&lt;br /&gt;One who thinks before he speaks,&lt;br /&gt;When promises to call, he won't wait weeks.&lt;br /&gt;I pray that he is gainfully employed,&lt;br /&gt;and when I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.&lt;br /&gt;Pulls out my chair and opens my door,&lt;br /&gt;massages my back and begs to do more.&lt;br /&gt;Oh! Send me a man who will make love to my mind,&lt;br /&gt;knows just what to say, when I ask How big's my behind?&lt;br /&gt;One who'll make love till my body's a twitchin',&lt;br /&gt;in the hall, the garden, and in the kitchen!&lt;br /&gt;I pray that this man will love me to no end,&lt;br /&gt;and never attempt to shag my best friend.&lt;br /&gt;And as I kneel and pray by my bed,&lt;br /&gt;I look at the dickhead you sent me instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Amen.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A Boy's Prayer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pray for a girl with big tits and a big ass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116355550772510931?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116355550772510931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116355550772510931' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116355550772510931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116355550772510931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/prayers.html' title='Prayers'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116348997409156100</id><published>2006-11-14T15:39:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T15:39:34.106+08:00</updated><title type='text'>IRC Chat Logs</title><content type='html'>[Mikkel] If you went camping and you got REALLY drunk with your friend and you woke up the next morning with a condom stuck up your ass would you tell anybody? &lt;br /&gt;[Celestya] i dont think so &lt;br /&gt;[Mikkel] Wanna go camping?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-[Conroy_Bumpus]- OH FUCK ME&lt;br /&gt;-[Conroy_Bumpus]- I FORGOT TO PICK UP MY 7 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER FROM SOCCER PRACTICE&lt;br /&gt;-[Conroy_Bumpus]- 9 HOURS AGO&lt;br /&gt;-[Conroy_Bumpus]- HOLY SHIT&lt;br /&gt;-[Conroy_Bumpus]- BYE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Sigurd] a sprite is anything not static&lt;br /&gt;[SRElysian] a sprite is a variable object&lt;br /&gt;[SRElysian] be it 2d or 3d&lt;br /&gt;[TorMuck] a sprite is a fucking soda&lt;br /&gt;[TorMuck] you god damn geekass bastards&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[MortalKombat] stfu mat|t u cu.nt&lt;br /&gt;* Acaila sets mode: +b MortalKombat!*@*&lt;br /&gt;[@Acaila] FINISH HIM&lt;br /&gt;[mat|t] rofl&lt;br /&gt;[MortalKombat] omg wtf man&lt;br /&gt;* MortalKombat was kicked by Acaila (forward, forward, back, back, forward, punch)&lt;br /&gt;[@Acaila] FATALITY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jakefeb3: do you know a turtles only weakness?&lt;br /&gt;AvatarOfSolusek: no&lt;br /&gt;AvatarOfSolusek: well&lt;br /&gt;AvatarOfSolusek: thier slowness&lt;br /&gt;Jakefeb3: there weakness is they cant roll over when they are on their backs&lt;br /&gt;AvatarOfSolusek: lol&lt;br /&gt;Jakefeb3: now i have a plan&lt;br /&gt;Jakefeb3: if i duck tape 2 turtles together they are unstoppable&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Quake-Hat] brad, your mom is fine as shit&lt;br /&gt;[Quake-Hat] i think i will masturbate to her while i play with my balls&lt;br /&gt;[bad_brad] brad had to go blow his nose, but thanks for the compliment, i will be calling your mother&lt;br /&gt;[Quake-Hat] Jesus-fucking christ!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] so I was with my friend bryan the other night in a bar&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] well he got really drunk and said he was gonna puke&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] so i helped him walk to the toilet &lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] all the stalls were occupied&lt;br /&gt;[emoti_conartist] lol&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] bryan is a rugby player... so a big guy&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] so he FUCKing KICKS one of the stall doors open&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] and there's this guy in there taking a shit&lt;br /&gt;[emoti_conartist] hahahahahaha&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] and bryan throws up ALL OVER HIM&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] then (this is genius) bryan thinks 'oh shit... if i were taking a shit and someone came in and was sick all over me, i'd want to fuck him up... so i'd better hit him first'&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] so he fucking SMACKS this guy in the face&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] and runs away&lt;br /&gt;[cassius_clay13] imagine being that guy... WORST NIGHT OUT EVER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Ich] I have passed the transitional stage of internet geekhood&lt;br /&gt;[Ich] I was cashiering at work today, and was punching in the code for plums, which is 4040.&lt;br /&gt;[Ich] and the 0 key doesn't work this well, so I punched it in wrong.&lt;br /&gt;[Ich] and the machine flashed up "Item Not Found: 404"&lt;br /&gt;[Ich] and I actually laughed out loud&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Raize] can you guys see what I type? &lt;br /&gt;[vecna] no, raize &lt;br /&gt;[Raize] How do I set it up so you can see it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: omg dude&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: today i might the stupidest 3 people i ever met&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: thier 3 brains combined couldnt solve the dilemma they faced today&lt;br /&gt;siral21: what was it&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: ok before i say this&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: 100% true, not one second of a lie&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: this lady went into mcdonalds today and ordered a big mac for her&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: and ordered 2 mcgrittles one for each kid. one had bacon one without&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: her sons are around 18 or 19 so not infants&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: she went to the counter furious cause the son that wanted bacon has no bacon on his and the one that didnt want bacon has bacon on his&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: i fell on the floor beside her and couldnt stop laughing&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: so i finally stood up and asked her to repeat, thinking maybe shes drunk&lt;br /&gt;gentoogod: i swear to god she looked at me straight faced and repeated it. and her 2 sons were beside her mad that they didnt get the order they wanted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ikkenai] i don't have hard drives. i just keep 30 chinese teenagers in my basement and force them to memorize numbers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[BlackDeth] i like stalked this girl sorta &lt;br /&gt;[BlackDeth] like once she asked me for a ride home from work&lt;br /&gt;[BlackDeth] and i took her home... i dropped her off at her house&lt;br /&gt;[BlackDeth] and shes like... wait a minute..how did you know where i lived?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[blazemore] LITTLETON, Colo. - Colorado officials plan to try a 15-year-old boy as an adult for allegedly offering a Sony PlayStation to have his aunt killed.&lt;br /&gt;[FlipTopBx] is it modded?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[+kritical] christin: you need to learn how to figure out stuff yourself..&lt;br /&gt;[+Christin1] how do i do that&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[reuben] somebody keeps jiggling the doorknob on my front door, then running away&lt;br /&gt;[reuben] i don't know if i should call the police, or hook up some electricity to the doorknob&lt;br /&gt;[cristobal] why don't you put ice on the stairs&lt;br /&gt;[cristobal] and heat up the door knob&lt;br /&gt;[cristobal] and swing paint buckets down from your two story foyer&lt;br /&gt;[cristobal] then a few years later, fade from the public eye.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] there was this one time I was wanking to porn...&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] ... I kept a javascript tutorial open in another window so my parents didn't start wondering why I was always on the desktop with no windows showing&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] so I'm just about to splurge when I suddenly hear my dad coming up the stairs&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] alt-tabbed to the other window and tried to pull my boxers up... computer stalled JUST THEN as my dad was opening the door&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] I just stood up and was like "fuck... dad this honestly isn't what it looks like"&lt;br /&gt;[drmason] and he glanced at the screen and said "I sure hope so because it looks like you're masturbating to a fucking javascript tutorial&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Kazz] Do vampires have anuses? Cause that's why I wouldn't let this kid invade a vampire's anus in this RPG, right, I was GMing, and his character was an Anus Shade, with the power to possess and control the anuses of people and animals.. and I figured that vampires don't have anuses.&lt;br /&gt;[Zaratustra] a vampire's anus is present, but non-working.&lt;br /&gt;[Zaratustra] like a network card without the appropriate driver.&lt;br /&gt;[Kazz] Wow. You're the biggest dork on Earth.&lt;br /&gt;[Sharkey] And you're DMing an rpg with Anus Shades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[blazemore] omg i love this song&lt;br /&gt;[blazemore] Now playing: Unknown Artist - Track 2 @ 128 Kbps. (0:47/3:24)&lt;br /&gt;[Javi] blazemore: yeah, that's a bad ass song&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Nori123] You don't know jack shit&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] That's not true, I know him well&lt;br /&gt;[Nori123] Haha&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] I'm serious&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] Jack is the son of Awe Schitt and O. Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O. Schitt, the owner of Needeep N. Schitt Inc. They had one son, Jack. In turn Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt, the deeply religious couple produced 6 children&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] Holie Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Giva Schitt, Bull Schitt, and the twins: Deap Schitt and Dip Schitt. Against her parents' objections, Deap Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school drop out.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] However, after being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced. Noe Schitt later remarried Ted Sherlock and, because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] She was then known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock. Meanwhile, Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt and they produced a son of nervous disposition, Chicken Schitt.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] Two other of the 6 children, Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt, were inseparable throughout childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky]&gt;The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens wedding. The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd, and Hoarse.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently returned from Italy with his new Italian bride, Pisa Schitt.&lt;br /&gt;[VioletSky] So there.&lt;br /&gt;[FiPo] LOL&lt;br /&gt;[Nori123] I have actually chortled coke through my nose&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[green] We vegetarians love the environment. carnivores are sick freaks.&lt;br /&gt;[Frank] How can vegetarians possibly love the environment.. you keep eating all the fucking plants&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[samsim] I heard about this guy who broke into a lion's den at the zoo&lt;br /&gt;[samsim] and got mauled&lt;br /&gt;[samsim] and people were talking about how there should have been better defences put up to prevent people getting into the cage&lt;br /&gt;[samsim] a friend of mine suggested setting up some kind of deterrent&lt;br /&gt;[samsim] for example, putting some sort of fierce animal in the cage, which would attack anybody who climbed in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Quits: crag-- (crag@202.154.72.136) (Dead girls dont say no)&lt;br /&gt;* Quits: KiM (KiM@134.115.157.196) (going for a walk )&lt;br /&gt;[@ShowDowN] that is sick&lt;br /&gt;[@ShowDowN] we should ban him next time he comes in&lt;br /&gt;[@nekro] yeah, who the hell goes for walks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] hey jaimer&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] hey&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] i loves you sweet ass, baby&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] excuse me?&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] we gonna get together an fuck tonight&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] right?&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] You stupid shit&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] ? &lt;br /&gt;[Toller] What?&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] This is toby johnson, right&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] you know it is, duh. &lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] I'm doing tech support on Jamie's computer&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] I'm her father, you little shit&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] hah!&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] what's&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] your joking right/&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] I am. I know where you live. I'm coming over to your house now. Don't try to run, I'll find you. &lt;br /&gt;[Toller] Jamie, it's not funny&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] Jaime?&lt;br /&gt;[psmylie] You're screwed, dude. Her dad's psycho&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] fuck&lt;br /&gt;[Toller] FUCK!&lt;br /&gt;[psmylie] best run, boy&lt;br /&gt;*** Toller has quit IRC (Quit: )&lt;br /&gt;[psmylie] You're an evil bitch, Jamie. &lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] lol&lt;br /&gt;[psmylie] brilliant... but evil&lt;br /&gt;[jaimer] he's an asshole anyways&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mdiym42: note to self&lt;br /&gt;mdiym42: make sure your cat is not sleeping in the bass drum before you start playing them&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; Dude, wanna hear a fucked up story?&lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; So, Im at the usual weekend frat parties and i've been talking to this girl for the majority of the night. &lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; Anyway I ended up going back with her to her dorm. About another 8shots later, we end up fooling around on her bed. &lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; So about 10min's into her giving me head, I had to drop the fattest shit in my life. &lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; All my meals were followed by 3tsp of metamucil so I could get lots of fiber in me to combat the carbs a litte. Anyway im holdin my #2 in and finally it goes away. We both end up passing out on her bed, she's butt naked and im in my boxers. &lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; I wake up to piss and I find myself covered in shit. It was all over the bed,sheets,etc.... Im freakin out so I did the most horrible thing in the world. &lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; She's sleeping with her back towards me, so I take my boxers off, scoop up some shit and gently smear it on the inside of her butt, her lower back, and a little on the back of her hammies.&lt;br /&gt;Phoenix&gt; I get dressed and leave... This poor girl is gonna think she did it. I didnt know what else to do though. I have no clue what im gonna do when I end up running into her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] well that was like the coolest class period i've ever had&lt;br /&gt;[lasombra] tumult ?&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] this kid asks me for a dollar so he can get something from a vending machine&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] i tell him i don't have one (truth)&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] he says bullshit&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] i tell him to piss off&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] he stands up and punches me in the face three times&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] sits back down&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] teacher doesn't notice/care&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] so blood is pouring out onto my desk&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] from my lip&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] i turn to the girl next to me and say&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] "hey, can i use one of the tissues jammed into your bra?"&lt;br /&gt;[zyko^] what did she do?&lt;br /&gt;[tumult] punched me in the face&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Tsk] oiuyniyu98h987h89yh87y98yjn987j987y897yhkiuk;''''&lt;br /&gt;[Tsk] sorry.. there was a spider on my keyboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***********&lt;Casey8&gt; Diana Ross' husband died&lt;br /&gt;[Tarrier] how&lt;br /&gt;[Casey8] fell while climbing in South Africa or something&lt;br /&gt;[JennAway] that's sad&lt;br /&gt;[Bubbaprog] i guess there is a mountain high enough*********&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[beser] Today my History class took a feild trip to the Museum of Tolerance. Its a museum showing kids not to be prejudice and all that good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;[beser] Anyways, one exhibit is two doors next to each other. One door has a sign hanging over it saying "Those with prejudice walk through this door" The other door's sign said "Those without prejudice walk through this door". Obviously the door for people without prejudice isn't openable because as the tour guide says "Everyone has prejudice".&lt;br /&gt;[beser] So, I start tugging on the door and say "What the hell is wrong with this damn door, did some damn Jew make this?" and the tour guide kicked me out and i had to sit in the bus for 15 minutes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[@AntiHeiss] friend of mine went to jail last night&lt;br /&gt;[@AntiHeiss] he probably isn't getting out for a while&lt;br /&gt;[%The_Coolest] y?&lt;br /&gt;[+Enyo] why?&lt;br /&gt;[%The_Coolest] &lt;br /&gt;[@AntiHeiss] it was a girl cop, she was pretty cute too&lt;br /&gt;[@AntiHeiss] she said anything you say can and will be held against you....he sat there for a while and said 'tits'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: Best suicide plan ever&lt;br /&gt;[mcm310]: what is it?&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: you go up to the top of a roof&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: string piano wire tight across the front edge at neck level&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: tie a cord to your foot and the other end to the building so that you'll be above sidewalk level when its fully stretched&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: then you put super glue on your hands&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: and put your arms around the front of the wire and then back to touch your head&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: then you lean forward, so the piano wire cuts your neck but not your elbows&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: when the cord goes taut, youll be hanging upside down with no head....except your head will be in your outstretched arms thanks to gravity and the glue, staring at someone upside down and spewing blood everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;[evilada]: And some poor bastard will be traumatized for LIFE.&lt;br /&gt;[mcm310]: i dont think i can be your friend anymore&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] so there's this pimp right. he's collecting money from his three ho's.&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he goes to the first ho and asks for his $100. she says, "But I only owe you $50!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he slaps her and says, "don't correct me, bitch!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he asks the next ho for $150. she says, "But I only owe you $100!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he slaps her and says, "don't correct me, bitch!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] now he goes to his third ho.&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he asks for $200. "but I only owe you $150!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he slaps her and says, "don't correct me, bitch!"&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] next he visits the fourth ho.&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] he asks her for his $250.&lt;br /&gt;[Thy_Dungeonman] hold on, wait a sec&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] what?&lt;br /&gt;[Thy_Dungeonman] you said three ho's, not four. idioth.&lt;br /&gt;*Tedward slaps Thy_Dungeonman&lt;br /&gt;[Tedward] Don't correct me, bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[splosh123] Just a question if anyone knows... How many wind power mill things do you need to power... say... Brisbane&lt;br /&gt;[dazzawul] thousands&lt;br /&gt;[dazzawul] and they will be noisy&lt;br /&gt;[dazzawul] and push australia to the west&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ZombieKing] best way to get rid of a client with dial-up, told them to install service pack 2 and call back&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[ComputerNap] if you burn something at a lower speed, it doesn't read slower, does it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[nyk] i need a floppy disc, anyone know where I can get one this late?&lt;br /&gt;[Vulcan] walmart maybe, its open 24 hours.&lt;br /&gt;[Jordan_M] i know some mexicans that are hardcore tech guys that could get you a floppy disc&lt;br /&gt;[nyk] so you both say walmart?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Ninja_P] Okay, I just watched a guy puke in a glass, then drink it again&lt;br /&gt;[DragonAtma] Congratulations, you now know how congress operates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[BeaVer] why does my wife have to work nights&lt;br /&gt;[BeaVer] :/&lt;br /&gt;[broken] because the milkman's wife works days&lt;br /&gt;[BeaVer] true&lt;br /&gt;[BeaVer] but all the strippers work at night as well&lt;br /&gt;[broken] hence the balance in the universe&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[sd] I was once trying to explain to an exec why his account would never be absolutely secure.&lt;br /&gt;[sd] Me: "If somebody wants your account information badly enough, he's going to get it. He doesn't have to hack the system, he can just get it from you."&lt;br /&gt;[sd] Exec: "That's crazy, I'd never give anyone my password."&lt;br /&gt;[sd] Me: "Imagine you come home and find someone's broken in. He's got a gun to your daughter's head, and he tells you he's going to shoot in ten seconds if you don't give him your password. What would you do?"&lt;br /&gt;[sd] Exec: [long pause] ... Which daughter?&lt;br /&gt;[sd] To this day I still don't know if he was joking. But I no longer use that example.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[fabz] I think we need to work on our communication.. one guy is talking crap, one just goes "lol" and the other one doesn't understand what's going on&lt;br /&gt;[atsleek] lol&lt;br /&gt;[Nefemus] what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#6460 (1847/3805) &lt;br /&gt;[studdud] what the fuck is wtf&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[@manero] this song sounds like a fucking fire alarm&lt;br /&gt;[@manero] BEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE&lt;br /&gt;[@manero] oh shit&lt;br /&gt;[@manero] IT IS THE FIRE ALARM&lt;br /&gt;[@manero] hahah fuck me bbrk&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Kio has quit IRC (Quit: )&lt;br /&gt;* TRR has quit IRC (Ping timeout)&lt;br /&gt;* Aquazzz has quit IRC (Connection reset by peer)&lt;br /&gt;* RiotingNerd has quit IRC (Connection reset by peer)&lt;br /&gt;* flatface has quit IRC (Ping timeout)&lt;br /&gt;* Bobbobs has quit IRC (Ping timeout)&lt;br /&gt;* mikedepalma has quit IRC (Ping timeout)&lt;br /&gt;* evolsoulx has quit IRC (Peer Pressure)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[pigeon-mirk] davey made that avatar for me, i am eternally in his bed&lt;br /&gt;[pigeon-mirk] debt&lt;br /&gt;[pigeon-mirk] DEBT!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116348997409156100?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116348997409156100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116348997409156100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116348997409156100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116348997409156100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/irc-chat-logs.html' title='IRC Chat Logs'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116347806273370909</id><published>2006-11-14T12:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T12:21:02.733+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Appliance Store</title><content type='html'>A blonde went to an appliance store sale and found a bargain. "I would like to buy this TV," she told the salesman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sorry, we don't sell to blondes," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She hurried home and dyed her hair, then came back and again told the salesman, "I would like to buy this TV."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sorry, we don't sell to blondes," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Darn, he recognized me," she thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went for a complete disguise this time: a brown curly wig, big baggy clothes, and big sunglasses. Then she waited a few days before she approached the salesman again and said, "I would like to buy this TV."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sorry, we don't sell to blondes," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frustrated, she exclaimed, "How do you know I'm a blonde?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because that's a microwave," he replied.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116347806273370909?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116347806273370909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116347806273370909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116347806273370909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116347806273370909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/appliance-store.html' title='Appliance Store'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116347793348471725</id><published>2006-11-14T12:16:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T12:18:53.493+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Age</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Part 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three old guys are out walking.&lt;br /&gt;First one says, "Windy, isn't it?"&lt;br /&gt;Second one says, "No, its Thursday!"&lt;br /&gt;Third one says, "So am I. Lets go get a beer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 2&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man was telling his neighbor, "I just bought a new hearing aid. It cost me four thousand dollars, but it's state of the art. It's perfect"&lt;br /&gt;"Really," answered the neighbor. "What kind is it?"&lt;br /&gt;"Twelve thirty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 3&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morris, an 82 year-old man, went to the doctor to get a physical. A few days later the doctor saw Morris walking down the street with a gorgeous young lady on his arm.&lt;br /&gt;A couple of days later the doctor spoke to Morris and said, "You're really doing great, aren't you?"&lt;br /&gt;Morris replied, "Just doing what you said, Doc: 'Get a hot mamma and be cheerful.' "&lt;br /&gt;The doctor said, "I didn't say that. I said, 'You got a heart murmur. Be careful.'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 4&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little old man shuffled slowly into an ice cream parlor and pulled himself slowly, painfully, up onto a stool.&lt;br /&gt;After catching his breath he ordered a banana split.&lt;br /&gt;The waitress asked kindly, "Crushed nuts?"&lt;br /&gt;"No," he replied, "arthritis."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116347793348471725?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116347793348471725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116347793348471725' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116347793348471725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116347793348471725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/old-age.html' title='Old Age'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116340967023523509</id><published>2006-11-13T17:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T17:21:10.243+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spaghetti</title><content type='html'>A wealthy man was having an affair with an Italian woman for several years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night, during one of their rendezvous, she confided in him that she was pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he paid her a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to secretly have the child. If she stayed in Italy to raise the child, he would also provide child support until the child turned 18.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She agreed, but asked how he would know when the baby was born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To keep it discrete, he told her to simply mail him a post card, and write "Spaghetti" on the back. He would then arrange for child support payments to begin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, about 9 months later, he came home to his confused wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Honey," she said, "you received a very strange post card today."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, just give it to me and I'll explain it " he said. The wife obeyed, and watched as her husband read the card, turned white, and fainted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the card was written: "Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti. Two with meatballs, one without."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116340967023523509?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116340967023523509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116340967023523509' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116340967023523509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116340967023523509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/spaghetti.html' title='Spaghetti'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116340697214433760</id><published>2006-11-13T16:35:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T16:36:12.156+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Your office job sucks?</title><content type='html'>Last week I had a bad day at the office. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time of year the water is quite cool. So here's what we do to keep warm: We have a diesel-powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temp. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a damn good plan, doesn't it? I've used it several times with no complaints.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I get to the bottom and start working, what I do is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my neck and flood my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until my ass started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my itchy ass started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In agony I realized what had happened. The hot-water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. This is even worse than poison ivy under a cast. I had put that hose down my back, but I don't have any hair on my back, so the jellyfish couldn't get stuck to my back. My ass crack was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into my ass. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communications system. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he and 5 other divers were laughing hysterically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make 3 hellish in-water decompression stops totaling 35 minutes before I could reach the surface for my chamber dry decompression. I got to the surface wearing nothing but my brass helmet. My suit and gear were tied to the bell. When I got on board, the medic, with tears of laughter streaming down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to coat my ass when I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't shit for two days because my asshole was swollen shut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've since modified the equipment to filter out most sea creatures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the next time you have a bad day at the office, think of me. Think about how much worse your day would be if you were to squash a jellyfish on your ass. I hope you have no bad days at the office. But if you do, I hope this will make it more tolerable.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116340697214433760?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116340697214433760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116340697214433760' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116340697214433760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116340697214433760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/your-office-job-sucks.html' title='Your office job sucks?'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116339555713466338</id><published>2006-11-13T13:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T13:25:57.143+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa Fact or Fiction?</title><content type='html'>As a result of an overwhelming lack of requests, we are pleased to present the annual scientific research into Santa Claus and his once a year sleigh ride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Assumption: There are 2 billion children in the world. Due to religious affiliations, Santa only stops at approximately 15% of them - 378 million, according to the Census. At an average rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to different time zones and the rotation of the earth. This works out to 822.6 visits per second or 1/100th of a second per visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are distributed evenly around the earth, we are talking .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles. That means Santa's sleigh is moving 650 miles per second, 3000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a pokey 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run (tops) 15 mph.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium sized Lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" can pull 10 TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight or nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload, not even counting the weight of the sleigh, to 353,430 tons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. 353,000 plus tons traveling 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy per second, each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conclusion:&lt;br /&gt;The holidays are a time of magic and wonder&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116339555713466338?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116339555713466338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116339555713466338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116339555713466338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116339555713466338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/santa-fact-or-fiction.html' title='Santa Fact or Fiction?'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116330169040209217</id><published>2006-11-12T11:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-12T11:21:30.413+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sherlock Holmes &amp; Dr Watson</title><content type='html'>Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson go on a camping trip.  After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they retire for the night, and go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some hours later, Holmes wakes up and nudges his faithful friend. "Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes" replies Watson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And what do you deduce from that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watson ponders for a minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets.  Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo.  Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of the universe. What does it tell you, Holmes?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holmes is silent for a moment.  "Watson, you idiot!" he says.  "Someone has stolen our tent!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116330169040209217?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116330169040209217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116330169040209217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116330169040209217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116330169040209217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/sherlock-holmes-dr-watson.html' title='Sherlock Holmes &amp; Dr Watson'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116317953928141046</id><published>2006-11-11T01:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T01:25:39.290+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hunter Tomfoolery</title><content type='html'>A couple of New Jersey hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn't seem to be breathing, his eyes are rolled back in his head. The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps to the operator: “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator, in a calm soothing voice says: “Just take it easy. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.” There is a silence, then a shot is heard. The guy's voice comes back on the line. He says: “OK, now what?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116317953928141046?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116317953928141046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116317953928141046' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116317953928141046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116317953928141046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/hunter-tomfoolery.html' title='Hunter Tomfoolery'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116312610743433557</id><published>2006-11-10T10:34:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T10:35:07.440+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shy</title><content type='html'>A very shy guy goes into a bar and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. After an hour of gathering up his courage he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively, "Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She responds by yelling, at the top of her lungs, "No, I won't sleep with you tonight!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone in the bar is now staring at them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally, the guy is hopelessly and completely embarrassed and he slinks back to his table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few minutes, the woman walks over to him and apologizes. She smiles at him and says, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I'm a graduate student in psychology and I'm studying how people respond to embarrassing situations."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which he responds, at the top of his lungs, "What do you mean $2,000?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116312610743433557?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116312610743433557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116312610743433557' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116312610743433557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116312610743433557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/shy.html' title='Shy'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116303859914597392</id><published>2006-11-09T10:11:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T10:16:39.146+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Points to Consider</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days, you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hardly seems worth it)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A pig's orgasm lasts for 30 minutes.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(In my next life I want to be a pig)&lt;br /&gt;(How'd they figure this out, and why?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Still can't get over that pig thing)&lt;br /&gt;(Don't try this at home...maybe at work?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Is that why Flipper was always smiling?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(And pigs get 30-minute orgasms? Doesn't seem fair)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hmmmmmmmmm........)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people do.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(If you're ambidextrous do you split the difference?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The ant can lift 50 times its own weight, can pull 30 times its own weight and always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(From drinking little bottles of...?)&lt;br /&gt;(Did taxpayers pay for this research??)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Polar bears are left handed.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Who knew....? Who cares? How'd they find out, ask them?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(What can be so tasty on the bottom of the pond?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(30 minutes...can you imagine?? And why pigs?)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A cockroach will live nine days without it's head, before it starves to death.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Creepy)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Honey, I'm home. What the....)&lt;br /&gt;(Well, at least pigs get a break there )&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Some lions mate over 50 times a day.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(In my next life I still want to be a pig... quality over quantity)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Butterflies taste with their feet.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Oh, geez)&lt;br /&gt;(That's almost as bad as catfish)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;An ostrich's eye is bigger than it's brain.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(I know some people like that.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Starfish don't have brains.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;(I know some people like that too.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;After reading all these, all I can say is...Lucky Pig!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116303859914597392?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116303859914597392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116303859914597392' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116303859914597392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116303859914597392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/some-points-to-consider.html' title='Some Points to Consider'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116303792925319981</id><published>2006-11-09T10:04:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T10:05:29.260+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Kitchen Bitch</title><content type='html'>A mother was working in the kitchen listening to her 5-year-old son playing with his new electric train in the living room. She heard the train stop and her son saying, "All of you sons of bitches who want off, get the hell off now...cause this is the last stop! And all of you sons of bitches who are getting on, get your asses in the train...cause we're going down the tracks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The horrified mother went in and told her son, "We don't use that kind of language in this house. Now I want you to go to your room and you are to stay there for two hours. When you come out, you may play with your train...but I want you to use nice language."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours later, the son came out of the bedroom and resumed playing with his train. Soon the train stopped and the mother heard her son say... "All passengers, please remember your things, thank you and hope your trip was a pleasant one. We hope you will ride with us again soon." She heard her little darling continue..."For those of you just boarding, remember, there is no smoking in the train. We hope you will have a pleasant and relaxing journey with us today." As the mother began to smile, the child added, "For those of you who are pissed off about the two hour delay, please see the bitch in the kitchen...."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116303792925319981?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116303792925319981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116303792925319981' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116303792925319981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116303792925319981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/kitchen-bitch.html' title='The Kitchen Bitch'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116296137774956537</id><published>2006-11-08T12:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T12:49:37.756+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alligator Challenge</title><content type='html'>A guy walked into a bar with a pet alligator by his side. He put the alligator up on the bar and turned to the astonished patrons. "I'll make you a deal. I'll open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. Then the gator will close his mouth for one minute. He'll then open his mouth and I'll remove my unit unscathed. In return for witnessing this spectacle, each of you will buy me a drink."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crowd murmured their approval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man stood up on the bar, dropped his trousers, and placed his privates in the alligator's open mouth. The gator closed his mouth as the crowd gasped. After a minute, the man grabbed a beer bottle and rapped the alligator hard on the top of its head. The gator opened his mouth and the man removed his genital, unscathed as promised. The crowd cheered and the first of his free drinks was delivered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man stood up again and made another offer. "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A hush fell over the crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while, a hand went up in the back of the bar. A blonde timidly spoke up, "I'll try, but you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116296137774956537?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116296137774956537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116296137774956537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116296137774956537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116296137774956537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/alligator-challenge.html' title='Alligator Challenge'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116296021517614778</id><published>2006-11-08T12:26:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T12:30:15.186+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Living in the Electronic Age</title><content type='html'>You know you're living in 2006 when...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You accidentally enter your password on the microwave. &lt;br /&gt;2. You haven't played solitaire with real cards in years. &lt;br /&gt;3. You have a list of 15 phone numbers to reach your family of 3. &lt;br /&gt;4. You e-mail the person who works at the desk next to you. &lt;br /&gt;5. Your reason for not staying in touch with friends and family is that they don't have e-mail addresses. &lt;br /&gt;6. You go home after long days at work you still answer the phone in a business manner. &lt;br /&gt;7. You make phone calls from home, you accidentally dial "9" to get an outside line. &lt;br /&gt;8. You've sat at the same desk for four years and worked for three different companies. &lt;br /&gt;10. You learn about your redundancy on the 11 o'clock news. &lt;br /&gt;11. Your boss doesn't have the ability to do your job. &lt;br /&gt;12. You pull up in your own driveway and use your cell phone to see if anyone is home. &lt;br /&gt;13. Every commercial on television has a website at the bottom of the screen. &lt;br /&gt;14. Leaving the house without your cell phone, which you didn't have the first 20 or 30 (or 60) years of your life, is now a cause for panic and you turn around to go and get it. &lt;br /&gt;15. You get up in the morning and go online before getting your coffee. &lt;br /&gt;16. You start tilting your head sideways to smile. :) &lt;br /&gt;17. You're reading this and nodding and laughing. &lt;br /&gt;18. Even worse, you know exactly to whom you are going to forward this message. &lt;br /&gt;19. You are too busy to notice there was no #9 on this list. &lt;br /&gt;20. You actually scrolled back up to check that there wasn't a #9 on this list. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you are laughing at yourself. Go on, forward this to your friends. You know you want to!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signs that you've had too much of the 90's&lt;br /&gt;1. You just tried to enter your password on the microwave. &lt;br /&gt;2. You have a list of 15 phone numbers to reach your family of three. &lt;br /&gt;3. You call your son's beeper to let him know it's time to eat. He emails you back from his bedroom, "What's for dinner?" &lt;br /&gt;4. Your daughter sells Girl Scout Cookies via her web site. &lt;br /&gt;5. You chat several times a day with a stranger from South Africa, but you haven't spoken with your next door neighbor yet this year. &lt;br /&gt;6. You check the ingredients on a can of chicken noodle soup to see if it contains Echinacea. &lt;br /&gt;7. You check your blow-dryer to see if it's Y2K compliant. &lt;br /&gt;8. Your grandmother clogs up your e-mail inbox asking you to send her a JPEG file of your newborn so she can create a screen saver. &lt;br /&gt;9. You pull up in your own driveway and use your cell phone to see if anyone's home. &lt;br /&gt;10. Every commercial on TV has a web-site address at the bottom of the screen. &lt;br /&gt;11. You buy a computer. A week later it's out of date and selling at half the price you paid. &lt;br /&gt;12. The concept of using real money, instead of credit or debit cards, to make a purchase is foreign to you. &lt;br /&gt;13. Cleaning up the dining room means getting the fast food bags out of the back seat of your car. &lt;br /&gt;14. Your reason for not staying in touch with family is that they do not have e-mail addresses. &lt;br /&gt;15. You consider second-day air delivery painfully slow. &lt;br /&gt;16. Your dining room table is now your flat filing cabinet. &lt;br /&gt;17. Your idea of being organized is multiple-colored Post-it notes. &lt;br /&gt;18. You hear most of your jokes via e-mail instead of in person. &lt;br /&gt;19. You get an extra phone line so you can get phone calls. &lt;br /&gt;20. You turn off your Modem and get this awful feeling, as if you just pulled the plug on a loved one. &lt;br /&gt;21. You get up in morning and go online before getting your coffee. &lt;br /&gt;22. You wake up at am to go to the bathroom and check your E-mail on your way back to bed. &lt;br /&gt;23. You start tilting your head sideways to smile. :-) &lt;br /&gt;24. You're reading this. &lt;br /&gt;25. Even worse; you're going to save it or forward it to someone else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116296021517614778?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116296021517614778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116296021517614778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116296021517614778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116296021517614778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/living-in-electronic-age.html' title='Living in the Electronic Age'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116290179777224239</id><published>2006-11-07T20:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T01:54:17.616+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Or What?</title><content type='html'>The man tells his doctor that his wife hasn't wanted to have sex with him for the past seven months. The physician tells the man to bring his wife in so he can talk to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the wife comes to office, the doctor asks her why doesn't she want to have sex with her husband any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For the last seven months," the wife replies, "every morning I take a cab to work. I don't make much money and my husband doesn't give more than bus fare, so the cab driver always asks me, "So are you going to pay today &lt;strong&gt;or what&lt;/strong&gt;?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always give him an 'or what'. That makes me late for work, so the boss asks me, "So are we going to dock your salary, &lt;strong&gt;or what&lt;/strong&gt;?" That's another 'or what.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the way home, I take the cab and again I don't have any money so the cab driver asks me, "So are you going to pay this time &lt;strong&gt;or what&lt;/strong&gt;?" And, again, I do an 'or what'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you see, Doctor, when I get home I'm all tired out and I don't want sex any more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor thinks for a second. "So," he says, "are we going to tell your husband &lt;strong&gt;or what&lt;/strong&gt;?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116290179777224239?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116290179777224239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116290179777224239' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116290179777224239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116290179777224239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/or-what.html' title='Or What?'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37272291.post-116287677225913619</id><published>2006-11-07T13:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T13:19:32.260+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahh, romance...</title><content type='html'>These are the top entries to a competition asking for a rhyme with the most romantic first line, but the least romantic second line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss.&lt;br /&gt;But I only slept with you, because I was pissed.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I thought that I could love no other.&lt;br /&gt;Until, that is, I met your brother.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Roses are red, violets are blue,&lt;br /&gt;Sugar is sweet and so are you.&lt;br /&gt;But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead,&lt;br /&gt;The sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Of loving beauty you float with grace.&lt;br /&gt;If only you could hide your face.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Kind, intelligent, loving and hot.&lt;br /&gt;This describes everything you are not.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I want to feel your sweet embrace.&lt;br /&gt;But don't take that paper bag off of your face.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I love your smile, your face, and your eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Damn, I'm good at telling lies!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:&lt;br /&gt;Marrying you screwed up my life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I see your face when I am dreaming.&lt;br /&gt;That's why I always wake up screaming.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My love, you take my breath away.&lt;br /&gt;What have you stepped in to smell this way?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My feelings for you no words can tell.&lt;br /&gt;Except for maybe "go to hell".&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37272291-116287677225913619?l=humor-matters.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/feeds/116287677225913619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37272291&amp;postID=116287677225913619' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116287677225913619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37272291/posts/default/116287677225913619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://humor-matters.blogspot.com/2006/11/ahh-romance.html' title='Ahh, romance...'/><author><name>The StoryTeller</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v315/grimnar/grimwolfmoon3.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
