“Sounds great,” says Eve, with ironically raised eyebrows, “but what’s the catch Lord?”
“Well, you can have him on one condition.”
“And what’s that Lord? ”
“As I said, he’ll be proud, arrogant and self-admiring … so you’ll have to let him believe that I made him first. And it will have to be our little secret. Woman to woman.”
Bisexuality doubles your chances
for a date on Saturday night.
A TRIFECTA OF OUR FAVORITE LOVERLY JOKES
WIN
AT THE DRUG STORE
Sarah walked into a pharmacy and told the pharmacist that she needed some cyanide.
The pharmacist said, “Why in the world do you need cyanide?”
Sarah then explained she needed it to poison her husband.
The pharmacist’s eyes got big and he said, “Lord, have mercy. I
can’t give you cyanide to kill your husband! That’s against the
law!
I’ll lose my license, they’ll throw both of us in jail and all
kinds of bad things will happen! Absolutely not, you can NOT have any cyanide!”
Sarah reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her
husband in bed with the pharmacist’s wife.
The pharmacist looked a the picture and replied, “Well, now. You didn’t tell me you had a prescription.”
PLACE
WORKS WELL
Sally, Betty, and Jo Ann were all getting married. Sally and Betty were from the city, Jo Ann from the country.
They met at the marriage counselor‘s office to discuss the options of having or not having children right away.
The counselor asked them if they planned on having a baby right away or were going to wait.
All three said that they had discussed this with their potential husbands and all agreed to wait for several years.
The counselor then asked Sally what type of birth control she planned to use. Her answer was, “the rhythm method.”
“That will work,” said the counselor, “if you keep a good record.”
He asked the Betty what system she planned on using. “I plan on using birth control pills,” she said.
Again he said, “Yes that will work as long as you don’t forget to take them.”
He then asked the Jo Ann what system she was planning on using.
Her answer was, “The pail and saucer method.”
After a short delay, he again told her that should also work.
He asked them all to come back in one year on a specific date for a follow up on how things were going.
They all met again one year later and Betty and Sally were pregnant. Only Jo Ann was slim and trim yet.
The counselor asked Sally what method she used and what went wrong.
She replied that she used the rhythm method, but somehow got her notes mixed up and, well here I am, going to have a baby.
He asked the second Betty what method she used. She replied, “The birth control pill, but we were camping one weekend and I didn’t have my pills with me and as you can see, I too, am going to have a baby.
He turned to Jo Ann and said, “I vaguely remember you were going to use the pail and saucer method. Now I must admit that I don’t have a clue what the pail and saucer method is. Will you explain it to me as I see it has worked well for you?
Jo Ann replied, “Well, we make love standing up, and since I am quite a bit taller than my husband, he stands on a pail turned upside down. Now as we are making love, I watch his eyes, and when his eyes get as big as saucers, I kick the pail out from under him.”
SHOW
JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE
A husband was in BIG trouble when he forgot his wedding anniversary.
“Tomorrow,” his wife angrily told him, “there had better be something in our driveway that goes from zero to 200 in two seconds flat!”
The next morning, the wife looked outside and saw a small package in the driveway. She brought it inside, opened it, and found a brand new bathroom scale.
His funeral is on Saturday at 2 p.m.
Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question.
“Yes” is the answer.
ODE TO SPAM
by Charlie Johnston
Oh SPAM! Oh SPAM! Gourmet delight!
My food by day, my dreams by night.
To carve, to slice, to dice you up –
pureed in a blender and sipped from a cup.
What shining deity from Olympus knelt
down to the earth and hog butt smelt?
Creating then man’s eternal desire
for swine entrails congealed by fire.
On some corporate farm, a pig has died.
Eyes, tongue, and snout end up inside
that cube of SPAM hidden in the can
I now hold in my trembling hand.
More than mere food, SPAM is for me
a hedonistic expression of gluttonous glee.
Mottled with pork fat, the pink cube engrosses.
My mouth takes it in, my intestine disposes.
Long have my arteries clogged to the sound
of sizzling SPAM when there’s no one around –
furtively chewing or swallowing whole.
Triple bypass by forty, my medical goal.
Other processed meat products I’ve tried or declined
Vienna Sausages, Treet, even pig’s feet in brine.
Though each may be tasty in different ways,
none matches SPAM for gelatinous glaze.
That glistening pinkness beckons me
with gristle, fat, and BHT.
Oh Spam, my Spam – the taste, the smell –
The sacred meat product from Hormel.
Right now I’m having amnesia and deja vu at the same time.
I think I’ve forgotten this before.
POTTY MOUTH
A woman went up to the bar in a quiet rural club. She gestured alluringly to the bartender who approached her immediately.
