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Daily Chuckle September 16, 2004

This week, a compendium of wit, wisdom and neat stuff
you can tell at parties.  Enjoy!


Bumper Snickers

Bumper Snickers


Taxation WITH representation isn't so hot, either!


Who were the beta testers for Preparations A through G?


5 days a week my body is a temple.  The other two, it's an amusement park.


My wife keeps complaining I never listen to her… or something like that.


Stop repeat offenders.  Don't re-elect them!


Dyslexics have more fnu.


Clones are people two.




Microbiology Lab: Staph Only!


Santa's elves are just a bunch of subordinate Clauses.


Eschew obfuscation.


186,000 miles/sec: Not just a good idea, it's the LAW.


A mouse is an elephant built by the Japanese.


A waist is a terrible thing to mind.


Atheism is a non-prophet organization.


Chemistry professors never die, they just smell that way!


Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?


Editing is a rewording activity.


Gene Police: YOU! Out of the pool!


I used to be indecisive; now I'm not sure.  


Rap is to music what "Etch-a-Sketch" is to art.

What if there were no hypothetical questions?




No sense being pessimistic. It wouldn't work anyway.


All men are idiots ... I married their king.


Help wanted: telepath. You know where to apply.


Jesus loves you ... everyone else thinks you're a jerk.


I love cats ... they taste just like chicken.


Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.


Jesus saves, passes to Moses; shoots, SCORES!


Laugh alone and the world thinks you're an idiot.


Lord save me from your followers.


Forget about World Peace . . . Visualize Using Your Turn Signal!




There was a much-married woman who walked into a bridal shop one day and told the sales clerk that she was looking for a wedding gown for her fourth wedding.


"Well", replied the sales clerk, "exactly what type of dress are you looking for?"


The bride to be said: "A long frilly white dress with a veil."


The sales clerk didn't know quite what to say but she finally

said, "Frankly, madam, gowns of that nature are considered more appropriate for brides who are being married the first time-for those who are a bit more innocent, if you know what I mean?"


"Well" replied the customer, more than a little put out, "I can

assure you that I am as innocent as the rest of them. Believe it or not, despite all my marriages, I remain as innocent as any first time bride.


"You see, my first husband was so excited about our wedding he died as we were checking into our hotel. My second husband and I got into a terrible fight in the limo on our way to the reception and have not spoken since. We had that wedding annulled immediately."


"What about your third husband" asked the sales clerk?


"Well" said the woman, "he was a Republican and every night for four years he just sat on the edge of the bed and told me how good it was going to be."



Why Women Are Crabby


We start to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find anything that comes in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurts so bad it brings us to tears. Enter the almighty, uncomfortable training bra contraption the boys in school will snap until we have calluses on our backs.


Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner ). Along with those budding boobs, we now bloat, we cramp, we get the hormone crankies, have to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't  even know we had.


Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) is having sex for the first time which is about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.


Then it's off to Motherhood where we learn to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we don't spend the entire day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learn to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we're having Rosemary's Baby.


Our once flat bellies now look like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee our pants every time we sneeze. When the big moment arrives, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions will invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we'll waddle with our big cartoon feet moaning in pain all the way to the ER.


Then it's huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more (or 10 ... good  ... push," warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the doctor (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb bowling ball through a keyhole.


After that, it's time to raise those angels only to find that when all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morph into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.


The teen years. Need I say more?


The kids are almost grown now and we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.


Now we hit the grand finale: "The Menopause," the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take the HR. and chance cancer in those now

seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.


Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men when men get off so easy INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks ...


Now I love being a woman but "Womanhood" would make the Great Ghandi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right.