This thread could do with a resurrection.

The Devil and David Webster

by Chris R. Lunt.

Heaven's donuts are jelly donuts. The blend of texture, from the cool, sweet ooze of the jelly, mined with tiny raspberry seeds, to the firm, spongy cake, so lightly encrusted in a thin glaze of sugar, that cracks and flakes as you gingerly tear off small pieces of delight, is certainly the greatest experience a humble man can afford.

I was eating a jelly donut when he first appeared in my office, smelling slightly of gunpowder. He was tall and gaunt, with deep-set eyes and crooked teeth, long, delicate fingers, and sloped shoulders. He wore a black Ozzy Osborne concert t-shirt, frayed black jeans, and dusty black high-tops, unlaced. He smiled at me in an ugly way. I put down my donut and glanced at my watch. 7:00 PM.

"You're David Webster."

I nodded.

"You're a programmer for Core."

I nodded again. Not only was I a programmer for Core--I was the best damn programmer this group had ever or would ever see. I suppose I should introduce myself. I am David Elijah Webster, master programmer. I'm not just blowing smoke here either. I'm the best damn programmer to come out of MIT since code was constructed one bit at a time. I can do it all: C, LISP, assembly--even the languages no self-respecting programmer would deign to look at. I can do it all in no time flat, with the most elegant of style. Code sprinkled with glistening semicolons and flowing rivers of indentation. Lesser programmers avert their eyes when I enter the room.

"They say you're the best, and I'm here to challenge you."

I sized this guy up again. He had the right shape. The pot-belly, the greasy hair, parted with precision. The fingers. And the funny smell.

I told him I didn't have time.

"I'll make it worth your while," he said. "I have something you might be interested in. Follow me."

I grabbed my box of donuts, and followed him down the hall and into the elevator. He pressed a button and the elevator descended into the basement. I'd never been in the basement before. For that matter, I didn't even recall that the building had a basement. Nonetheless, the elevator chimed, the doors opened, and we stepped out into a wide room that was entirely featureless. That is, except for the fog on the floor and two workstations that were set up, side by side. One of the workstations was mine. The other was a workstation like none other that I had seen before. It was magnificent.

It was matte black. More than an object, it looked like a hole in space. The monitor it sported was the biggest I had ever seen, and the keyboard was a flow of liquid lines, containing a field of keys of different sizes and shapes, packed in like cobblestones. The mouse floated above the table, and had no wire. Next to the computer was a box with a small chute coming out of one side, and a large red button on the top. The monitor was flanked by two gigantic speakers, and I could see a sub-woofer poking up out of the fog. It hummed. It steamed. It was the most beautiful computer I had ever seen.

"You approve," said the stranger.

I swallowed and said, "It is beyond description."

"It's a custom job. And it's yours. If," he said, "If you can beat me in a coding contest."

I looked at him incredulously. "What's in it for you?"

"I will have defeated the greatest coder in the world, and thus, I can claim that title. AND, I get to keep your immortal soul."

He smiled the ugly smile again.

Here was a dilemma. I was dealing with the Devil. There was no doubt about that. And he was no doubt very good. I am somewhat attached to my soul, but oh, the prizes. The glory. I can easily claim to be the best coder in the company, in the Bay Area, probably on the whole planet, but if I pulled this off, I will have shown myself to be the best coder in this entire theology! Vanity got the better part of me.

"What's the contest?" I asked.

I won't bore you with the details, but it was seriously ugly. Ugly in a way that makes the most arrogant of coders cringe and causes managers to pad development schedules into the next century. It had to run in any language, including the nasty chicken-scratch ones. It had to be backward compatible all the way to the ENIAC. And it had to run on Windows. I cringed.

But vanity won. I signed the forms, agreed on a deadline of midnight, and we sat down at our machines and started to code.

My watch said 8:00 PM, and I started warming up. Class definitions flew off my fingertips like throwing stars. Structures and declarations grew like perfect crystals, and I didn't even break a sweat. True to the task, I soon lost myself in an endless cycle of postulate, create, instantiate and verify. Bits grew to bytes, to K, to Megs, and finally to Gigs. By 11:00 PM it had come to that crucial point. With an hour to go, I had to put all the pieces together. It wasn't going to be easy. It was going to take all the concentration I had.

Then I hit the first bug.

At first, I wasn't sure where it was coming from, but then I spotted it. It wasn't mine. It was bug in Windows. Even worse, it was a bug in Windows that stemmed from a timing problem with the system clock itself. I couldn't see a workaround. I was stymied. I genuflected and called Microsoft support.

"Hello, and welcome to the Microsoft help line. Please enter your 64 digit user identification number, followed by your 32 digit password."

While I frantically typed number after number, trying to navigate through layer upon layer of phone menu, I heard him pick up his phone and call a number.

"Hello, is Bill in? ... I don't care, wake him up ... Tell him it's Mr. Black ... Hey Bill, what's shakin'? Listen, I needed to know a workaround to one of your bugs ... Yes, I know what time it is ..... Yes, I know ... Bill ... Bill! You remember our little deal? ..... That's right. Now be a dear and give me that workaround ... Mm-hm ..... Right ... Thank you, Bill. I'll be seeing you."

I was shocked. It was obviously pointless continuing my desperate journey through Microsoft's Help line. I needed immediate genius! I scarfed down a grape jelly. Sugar shock engulfed me, and my vision tunneled. I shuddered once, something clicked, and I determined the answer I needed--I could use the clock on the sound chip to get my timings.

I dove back into the code, and was quickly integrating modules when I hit bug number two. It was even uglier than the first. In fact, it was the ugliest bug I had ever seen. It was a problem with C. With the language itself. There's no way fix a broken hammer using the same hammer.

I wracked my brains. I clenched and grunted and sweated and thought and Thought and THOUGHT, but to no avail. Over my shoulder, I could hear Him chime in, "Bugger, isn't it? I remember putting that one in back when I was working on the Unix kernel. Did you really think there was a Kernighan and Ritchie? Rearrange the letters in their names and you'll discover an interesting anagram."

I ignored him and continued thinking. My mind went deeper and deeper into the problem at hand--my senses dulled, my breathing grew shallow. My eyes rolled back and sweat beaded on my forehead. Clumsily, blindly, my hand pawed it's way to the box on my desk, containing my last jelly donut. It raised slowly to my lips, and I bit.

Pounding waves of sugar induced euphoria washed through my mind. I felt my brain hum and crackle. My hands trembled, my body shuddered, and I began to type. I was a man possessed. Complex topographical math equations formed on my screen. Klien bottles and hypercubes locked neatly into place like pieces of a puzzle. Beyond my control, a complex mathematical world formed in my computer, with additional dimensions unimaginable.

I felt a small pop, and I came to. I looked at my screen. I had worked around the bug.

My watch read 11:45. Frantically I continued putting all the modules into place. Glancing for a moment at my rival, I could see I had him worried. He was typing furiously. Smoke poured from his ears, and flames licked around his collar.

Then I hit the third bug.

It was not so much a bug, it was a limit. I only had 4 Gigabytes of memory, and I had used it all. There wasn't a bit left. I had compressed data to a point so fine that it was in danger of collapsing into a black hole. I was storing memory in every conceivable way, including keeping a chain of sound waves running between the speaker and the microphone. There was no memory left to be had.

Frantic, I reached into my box of donuts, and my heart sank into my stomach when I realized that I had eaten the last one. I glanced at my watch, but it was too late. I was sunk. I had done the best that I could, and I had nothing more to give.

The Devil laughed, and grinning cruelly, he reached over to the box with the chute and the button. Remember the box? Slowly, firmly, his hand pressed the red button, and a jelly donut slid down the chute and onto the table.

My jaw dropped. "What...is...that?" I asked.

He languorously chewed as he replied, "The Box of Eternal Donuts."

"The Box of Eternal Donuts!?"

"Yes," he said.

"It never runs out?"

"Never," he said.

"It's mine if I win?!?!"

"If you can win, it is entirely yours," he replied, grinning cockily. My mind reeled. The Box of Eternal Donuts. The Box of Eternal Donuts! My eyes darted everywhere, my jaw hung slack, and my throat emitted strange animal-like noises. Anything. I would do anything to win! I just needed the smallest amount of memory. But where could I get it from? I glanced at my watch again, and a plan came into my mind. A beautiful, devious plan.

I went quickly upstairs and retrieved the emergency toolkit that we keep in the medicine cabinet. I ripped the case off my computer, and quickly scanned for the right connections. I pulled two wires, and unscrewed the back of my watch. The Devil's eyes widened and he desperately started coding again, but it was too late. I got the last of the memory I needed out of my watch, and pressed the ENTER key seconds before he did.

The watch burst into flames. Sparks flew from the disk drives and the monitor glowed and throbbed, finally melting into a puddle of glass. The computer exploded in a shower of sparks, and then there was absolute silence.

There was a pause, and both of us turned as the printer started, slowly emitting a single sheet that wafted gently into the out bin. I nonchalantly strolled over, and held up to the Devil's scowling face, a sheet imprinted with two words. "Hello World".

Nothing more needs to be told, other than, as I write this, I am sitting in front of my new computer, munching on what is undoubtedly the best jelly donut I have ever eaten.



(c) Copyright Chris Lunt May 1995

 

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?


Plato:

For the greater good.


Karl Marx:

It was a historical inevitability.


Machiavelli:

So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken's dominion maintained.


Hippocrates:

Because of an excess of black bile and a deficiency of choleric humour.


Jacques Derrida:

Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!


Thomas de Torquemada:

Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I'll find out.


Timothy Leary:

Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.


Douglas Adams:

Forty-two.


Nietzsche:

Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.


B.F. Skinner:

Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.


Carl Jung:

The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.


Jean-Paul Sartre:

In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.


Ludwig Wittgenstein:

The possibility of "crossing" was encoded into the objects "chicken" and "road", and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.


Albert Einstein:

Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.


Aristotle:

To actualize its potential.


Buddha:

If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.


David Hume:

Out of custom and habit.


Salvador Dali:

The Fish.


Darwin:

It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.


Emily Dickinson:

Because it could not stop for death.


Epicurus:

For fun.


Ralph Waldo Emerson:

It didn't cross the road; it transcended it.


Johann von Goethe:

The eternal hen-principle made it do it.


Ernest Hemingway:

To die. In the rain.


Werner Heisenberg:

We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.


Jack Nicholson:

'Cause it (censored) wanted to. That's the (censored) reason.


Pyrrho the Skeptic:

What road?


The Sphinx:

You tell me.


Henry David Thoreau:

To live deliberately ... and suck all the marrow out of life.


Howard Cosell:

It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurence.


Ronald Reagan:

I forget.


Mark Twain:

The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.


Zeno of Elea:

To prove it could never reach the other side.

 

How do you Scalp a Spastic? Give him a potato Peeler and tell him is a comb

 

Two olives are sitting on a bench. One falls off. The other asks, "Are you okay?" in concern. The one that fell off replies, "Olive."

 

That's hilarious, I love it...

My Contribution:
A Canadian Farmer, An American, and a Muslim all meet at a crossroads in which a mysterious genie is sitting in the middle. "I'll grant you three wishes," he says, "and since there are three of you, each one gets one wish." He looks at the Canadian.
"I wish for the fields of Canada to be forever fertile and green" he replied, and POOF so it was. The Muslim went next.
"I wish for the city of Mecca to be surrunded by a wall that is impenetrable and for all infidels to be vanished from it forever, and I want to be it's Leader." he said with enthusiasm, and POOF so it was. Now the American sat down on a rock and thought for a moment. Then he asked the genie a question, "Can you describe this wall for me," he says politely.
"Well, it's so high no planes can fly into it, it's so thick not even a nuke can break it, and no one can go in or out, or under it." The genie replied.



The American smiled, "Fill it with water," he said and laughed

 

The Proxy Father

The Smiths had no children and decided to use a proxy father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon".

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.

"Good morning madam. You don't know me, but I've come to...."

"Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in.

"Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good! I've made a specialty of babies."

"That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat. Just where do we start?" asked Mrs. Smith, blushing.

"Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out."

"Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work for Harry and me."

"Well, madam, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results."

"I hope we can get this over with quickly," gasped Mrs. Smith.

"Madam, in my line of work, a man must take his time. I'd love to be in and out in five minutes, but you'd be disappointed with that, I'm sure."

"Don't I know!!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a bus in downtown London." "Oh my God!!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, tugging at her handkerchief.

"And these twins turned out exceptionally well when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with." The photographer handed Mrs. Smith the picture.

"She was difficult?" asked Mrs. Smith.

"Yes, I'm afraid so I finally had to take her to Hyde Park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep, pushing to get a good look."

"Four and five deep?" asked Mrs. Smith, eyes widened in amazement.

"Yes," the photographer said. "And for more than three hours too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling. I could hardly concentrate. Then darkness approached and I began to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment I just packed it all in."

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "You mean they actually chewed on your, er..,um.., ah.... equipment?"

"That's right. Well madam, if you're ready, I'll set up my tripod so that we can get to work."

"Tripod??" Mrs. Smith looked extremely worried now.

"Oh yes, I have to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too big for me to hold while I'm getting ready for action. Madam? Madam? Good Lord, she's fainted!!

 

The Pregnancy Advice Column

Author unknown


Am I more likely to get pregnant if my husband wears boxers rather than briefs?

Yes, but you'll have an even better chance if he doesn't wear anything at all.


What is the easiest way to figure out exactly when I got pregnant?

Have sex once a year.


What is the most common pregnancy craving?

For men to be the ones who get pregnant.


My blood type is O-positive and my husband's is A-negative. What if my baby is born, say, type AB-positive?

Then the jig is up.


My husband and I are very attractive. I'm sure our baby will be beautiful enough for commercials. Whom should I contact about this?

Your therapist.


I'm two months pregnant now. When will my baby move?

With any luck, right after he finishes college.


How will I know if my vomiting is morning sickness or the flu?

If it's the flu, you'll get better.


My brother tells me that since my husband has a big nose, and genes for big noses are dominant, my baby will have a big nose as well. Is this true?

The odds are greater that your brother will have a fat lip.


Since I became pregnant, my breasts, rear end, and even my feet have grown. Is there anything that gets smaller during pregnancy?

Yes, your bladder.


Ever since I've been pregnant, I haven't been able to go to bed at night without onion rings. Is this a normal craving?

Depends on what you're doing with them.


The more pregnant I get, the more often strangers smile at me. Why?

Cause you're fatter then they are.


My wife is five months pregnant and so moody that sometimes she's borderline irrational.

So what's your question?


Will I love my dog less when the baby is born?

No, but your husband might get on your nerves.


Under what circumstances can sex at the end of pregnancy bring on labor?

When the sex is between your husband and another woman.


What's the difference between a nine-months pregnant woman and a Playboy centerfold?

Nothing, if the pregnant woman's husband knows what's good for him.


My childbirth instructor says it's not pain I'll feel during labor, but pressure. Is she right?

Yes, in the same way that a tornado might be called an air current.


When is the best time to get an epidural?

Right after you find out you're pregnant.


Is there any reason I have to be in the delivery room while my wife is in labor?

Not unless the word "alimony" means anything to you.


I'm modest. Once I'm in the hospital to deliver, who will see me in that delicate position?

Authorized personnel only-doctors, nurses, oderlies, photographers, florists, cleaning crews, journalists, etc.


Does labor cause hemorrhoids?

Labor causes anything you want to blame it for.


Where is the best place to store breast milk?

In your breasts.


Is there a safe alternative to breast pumps?

Yes, baby lips.


What does it mean when a baby is born with teeth?

It means that the baby's mother may want to rethink her plans to nurse.


How does one sanitize nipples?

Bathe daily and wear a clean bra. It beats boiling them in a saucepan.


What are the terrible twos?

Your breasts after baby stops nursing cold turkey.


What is the best time to wean the baby from nursing?

When you see teeth marks.


What is the grasp reflex?

The reaction of new fathers when they see a new mother's breasts.


Can a mother get pregnant while nursing?

Yes, but it's much easier if she removes the baby from her breast and puts him to sleep first.


What happens to disposable diapers after they're thrown away?

They are stored in a silo in the Midwest, in the event of global chemical warfare.


Do I have to have a baby shower?

Not if you change the baby's diaper very quickly.


What causes baby blues?

Tanned, hard-bodied bimbos.


What is colic?

A reminder for new parents to use birth control.


What are night terrors?

Frightening episodes in which the new mother dreams she's pregnant again.


Our baby was born last week. When will my wife begin to feel and act normal again?

When the kids are in college.

 

The Preacher's Ass

A preacher who wanted to raise money for his church was told there was a fortune in horse racing, so he decided to buy a horse and enter it in the races. However, at the local auction, the going price for horses was so steep that the preacher ended up buying a donkey instead. He figured, however, that since he had it, he might as well go ahead and enter it in the races. To his surprise, in the first race, his donkey came in second. The next day the paper read:

PREACHER'S ASS SHOWS​

The preacher was so pleased that he entered the donkey in another race. This time, it won, and the paper read:

PREACHER'S ASS OUT IN FRONT​

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the preacher not to enter the donkey in another race. The new headline read:

BISHOP SCRATCHES PREACHER'S ASS​

​

This was too much for the Bishop, and he ordered the preacher to get rid of the animal. The preacher, being a charitable chap, gave it to a nun in a nearby convent. The headline the next day said:

NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN​

The Bishop fainted! He told the nun that she would have to dispose of the donkey, and she finally found a farmer who would take it off her hands for ten dollars. The paper said:

NUN PEDDLES ASS FOR TEN BUCKS​

​

They buried the Bishop the next day. The following day's paper read:

TOO MUCH ASS RESPONSIBLE FOR BISHOP'S DEATH​

​

 

Ismisms - Philosophies explained​

Author unknown


Taoism

Shit happens.​

Confucianism

Confucius say, shit happens.​

Buddhism

If shit happens, it is not really shit.​

Zen Buddhism

What is the sound of shit happening?​

Hinduism

This shit happened before.​

Islam

If shit happens, it is the will of Allah.​

Protestantism

Let shit happen to someone else.​

Catholicism

If shit happens, then you deserve it.​

Judaism

Why does this shit always happen to us?​

New Age

Affirm that shit does not happen to me.​

Rastafarianism

Let´s roll this shit up and smoke it.​

Hare Krishna

She-it happens, She-it happens, happens, happens, she-it, she-it...
(Repeat until you become one with she-it)​

7th Day Adventism

Shit happens on Saturdays.​

Calvinism

Shit happens because you don't work hard enough.​

Episcopalianism

If shit happens, hold a procession.​

Lutheranism

Shit happens, but as long as you're sorry, it's OK.​

Charismatic Catholicism

Shit is happening because you deserve it, but we love you anyway.​

Darwinism

Survival of the shittiest.​

Creationism:

And the Lord said "Let there be shit" ... and there came piles of it. After six days of this shit, He rested.​

Atheism

I don't believe this shit!​

Southern Baptist

Shit will happen. Praise the lord!​

Mysticism

This is really weird shit.​

Satanism

We hope bad shit happens to all of you.​

Witchcraft

Mix this shit together and it will happen!​

Shamanism

Whoaa...Holy Shit!​

Creation Science

Shit has only been happening since October 23rd 4004 B.C.​

Discordianism

Shit makes the flowers grow and that's beautiful.​

Kibology

What's shit, and where can I get some?​

SubGenius

Shit has happened. For $20 "BoB" will sell you a way to make money from it.​

 

That's some good shit .

Aekiel

 

A young man goes into a drug store to buy condoms. The pharmacist says the condoms come in packs of 3, 9 or 12 and asks which the young man wants.
"Well," he said, "I've been seeing this girl for a while and she's really hot. I want the condoms because I think tonight's "the" night. We're having dinner with her parents, and then we're going out. And I've got a feeling I'm gonna get lucky after that. Once she's had me, she'll want me all the time, so you'd better give me the 12 pack." The young man makes his purchase and leaves.
Later that evening, he sits down to dinner with his girlfriend and her parents. He asks if he might give the blessing and they agree. He begins the prayer, but continues praying for several minutes. The girl leans over to him and says, "You never told me that you were such a religious person."
The boy leans over to her and whispers, "You never told me that your father is a pharmacist."

 

*snorts loudly* sick.

Il gastro
(this joke contains graphic sex)

An English man was playing golf with his Italian friend. He noticed that the other man was examining the hole into which his golf ball had been plunged seconds ago with an upset expression on his face.

"Il gastro," the Italian man whined sadly. The man thought it was a strange reaction from someone who had just scored, but shrugged it off.

The game ended, and the men parted ways. Our man came back to his home to be greeted by his beautiful and young Italian wife, whom he had just married a night ago. The marriage was set by, say, 'higher-ups', so they didn't really know each other. One of the few things the man had learnt about his wife was that she couldn't speak English.

Later that night, they shagged. The man noticed with vague curiosity that when he was thrusting his organ into his wife's hole, the woman groaned rather painfully, "Il gastro... Il gastro..."

His eyebrows furrowed. Weren't they the same words his friend had said this afternoon? It was too dark to see what caused her apparent displeasure, and he didn't bother to ask, knowing that his wife wouldn't understand. Shrugging it off, he went on thrusting.

And the morning came. The man woke up to meet her wife's... not-so-beautiful face. Somehow, her nose had gotten three times bigger than its size yesterday.

Only when the man went to work and asked his Italian friend about the mystery of the two words did he understand that Il gastro actually meant 'wrong hole'.

-------------------


It isn't all that funny, but it's the only joke I can think about now.

 

Whats funnier than a dead baby in a corner?...a dead baby in a corner dressed as a clown.

what goes round and round and knocks on the window?.... a baby in a microwave.

whats the hardest part of a vegetable to eat?........the wheelchair

whats black and sits on top of the stairs?...........cripple after a housefire

whats the difference between a truckload of sand and a truckload of babys?.......... you cant unload a truckload of sand with a pitchfork.

 

There were two brother's They were rich, and used their money to keep there way's from the public, then there vicar retired, and a new one took over. not only could he could see right though the brother's deception but he spoke well and true and the church started to swell in number's,
a fund-rasing campaign was started to repair the roof. All of a sudden one of the brothers died the remaining brother sought out the vicar the day before the funeral and handed him a cheque to pay for the roof.
"i have only one condition" he said "at his funeral, you must say my brother was a saint" the vicar gave his word, and deposited the cheque.
the next day at the funeral the vicar did not hold back, "he was an evil man" he said "he cheated on his wife and abused his family" after going on for hour he concluded "but compared with his brother he was a saint"

 

the $65,000 question
Jane was a first time contestant on the $65,000 quiz show. Lady luck had smiled in her favor, as Jane had a gained a substantial lead over her opponents. She even managed to win the game but, unfortunately, time had run out before the show's host could ask her the big question. Jane agreed to return the following day. Jane was nervous as her husband drove them home. "I've just gotta win tomorrow. I wish I knew what the answer might be! You know I'm not going to sleep at all tonight. I will probably look like garbage tomorrow."
"Relax honey," her husband, Roger, reassured her, "It will all be OK."
Ten minutes after they arrived home, Roger grabbed the car keys and started heading out the door. "Where are you going?" Jane asked.
"I have a little errand to run. I should be back soon." After an agonizing three hour absence, Roger returned, sporting a very wide and wicked grin. "Honey, I managed to get tomorrow's question and answer!"
"What is it?" she cried excitedly.
"OK. The question is: What are the three main parts of the male anatomy? And the answer is: The head, the heart, and the penis." The couple went to sleep with Jane, now feeling at ease, plummeting into a deep slumber. At 3:30 a.m., however, Jane was shaken awake by Roger, who was asking her the quiz show question. "The head, the heart, and the penis," Jane replied groggily before returning to sleep. And Roger asked her again in the morning, this time as Jane was brushing her teeth. Once again, Jane replied correctly. So it was that Jane was once again on the set of the quiz show. Even though she knew the question and answer, she could feel butterflies in her stomach. The cameras began running and the host, after reminding the audience of the previous days' events, faced Jane and asked the big question: "Jane, for $65,000, what are the main parts of the male anatomy? You have 10 seconds."
"Hmm, uhm, the head?" she said nervously.
"Very good. Six seconds."
"Eh, uh, the heart?"
"Very good! Four seconds."
"I, uhh, ooooooohh, darn! My husband drilled it into me last night and I had it on the tip of my tongue this morning..."
"That's close enough!" said the game show host, "CONGRATULATIONS--YOU WIN!!"

 

This woman is sitting on a subway train, next to a man reading the newspaper. The man sneezes, pulls down his pants and wipes off his penis with a tissue. The woman is visibly offended, but says nothing about it and goes back to her thoughts. This process happens 3 more times and finally the woman speaks up, "What the hell are you doing?" The man responds, "Every time I sneeze, I have an orgasm." The woman responds, "Oh you poor man. Are you taking anything for it?" The guy says, "Yeah. Pepper."

 

[Corny Jokes]

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So a young man walks into church on a Saturday night and into confession sitting down he speaks "Bless me father for I have sinned, I've been with a loose woman tonight"

"Oh is that you Tommy?"

"Yes Father."

"and who was it you were with."

"I couldn't tell you Father."

"Was it Brenda?"

"No Father"

"Was it Margaret?"

"No Father"

"Was it Anne?"

"No Father"

"Say Four hail Marys and six our fathers and the lord forgive you your sins"

So as our young man was leaving the church two of his friends came up on either side of him "So how did it go?" they asked...

"Well boys I got four hail marys six our fathers and three good leads."
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So a pickle walks into a bar, and the barman looks up from cleaning out a glass and he sets it down and exclaims "Hey.... you're a pickle... what are you doing here?" So the pickle says "For starters I'm celebrating the fact that I can walk."

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So a man goes to his priest in Amsterdam and sits down in the confessional, "Bless me father for I have sinned. During World War II, I hid a jew in my attic"

"Well my son, thats not a sin thats a good deed."

"But I made him pay me for every week that he stayed."

The Father demurred for a moment "Well thats not good but you did it for a good cause and its only right that he should help with the expenses"

"Alright Father, but I have one more question"

"What is that my son?"

"Do I have to tell him the war is over?"

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Q: What does it take to keep an Amish woman happy?

A: Two Mennonite

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Q: Why do blondes carry transparent lunchboxes?

A: So they know if they're going to work or coming home

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Q: How do porcupines mate?

A: Very very carefully.

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A sailor on shore leave in Japan has a night of fun. The next morning he wakes up, and sees the ships doctor about a strange growth.

The doctor says, "That's gotta come off".
The man replies with, "No way. I'm getting a 2nd opinion".

So he goes and finds a Japanese doctor that speaks English.
The doctor asks, "You spent night with prostitute didn't you?"
The guy replies, "Yes"
"It's going to have be chopped off," The doctor says. This time the guy doesn't even bother replying and runs out the door.

He finally finds a Chinese herbalist. He explains his problem. He shows the doctor his problem.
The herbalist says,"Other doctors told you it had to come off,"
"Yes," says the man.
"Don't worry, it fall off by itself in couple of days,"

 

Words of love



A woman's husband had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day.


One day, he motioned for her to come nearer. She sat by him.

He whispered, eyes full of tears, 'You know what? You have been with me all through the bad times.

When I got fired, you were there to support me.

When my business failed, you were there.

When I got shot, you were by my side.

When we lost the house, you stayed right here.

When my health started failing, you were still by my side . . .

You know what?'

'What dear?' She gently asked, smiling as her heart began to fill with warmth.

'I think you're bad luck, fuck off!'