Jokes of the Day!
You know the gig! When I feel like shit, I share the humor so...
1. Remember when...?
A computer was something on TV from a science fiction show. A window was something you hated to clean and RAM was the cousin of a goat...
Meg was the name of a girlfriend and gig was your middle finger upright. Now they all mean different things and that really mega bytes.
An application was for employment. A program was a TV show. A cursor used profanity. A keyboard was a piano.
Memory was something that you lost with age. A CD was a bank account. And if you had a 3 1/2" floppy you hoped that nobody found out.
Compress was something you did to the garbage not something you did to a file. And if you unzipped anything in public you'd be in jail for awhile.
Log on was adding wood to the fire. Hard drive was a long trip on the road. A mouse pad was where a mouse lived and a backup happened to your commode.
Cut you did with a pocket knife. Paste you did with glue. A web was a spider's home and a virus was the flu.
I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper and the memory in my head. I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash but when it happens they wish they were dead!
2. For us women...
This is an actual letter and the woman who wrote it lives in Austin .
AN OPEN LETTER TO MR. JAMES THATCHER, BRAND MANAGER PROCTER & GAMBLE
Dear Mr. Thatcher:
I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr.Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?
As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's boys into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, all you people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."
Are you freaking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness-actual smiling, laughing happiness-is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"?
Or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending "BS".
And that's a promise I will keep. Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons
The New Drink
R-Rated
A woman and her boyfriend are out having a few drinks. While they're sitting
there having a good time together, she starts talking about this really great
new drink. The more she talks about it, the more excited she gets, and starts
trying to talk her boyfriend into having one.
After a while he gives in and lets her order the drink for him. The bartender
brings the drink and puts the following items on the bar:
A salt shaker, a shot of Baileys, and a shot of lime juice. The boyfriend looks
at the items quizzically and the woman explains
"First you put a bit of the salt on your tongue, next you drink the shot of
Baileys and hold it in your mouth, and finally you slam the lime juice."
So, the boyfriend, trying to go along and please her, goes for it.
He puts the salt on his tongue... salty but OK.
He drinks the shot of Baileys...smooth, rich, cool, very pleasant.
He thinks...this is OKAAAAAY!
Finally he picks up the lime juice and slams it.
In one second the sharp lime taste hits.
At two seconds the Baileys curdles.
At three seconds the salty, curdled taste and mucous-like consistency hits.
At four seconds it feels as if he has a mouth full of nasty snot.
This triggers his gag reflex, but being manly, and not wanting to disappoint his
girlfriend, he swallows the now foul tasting drink.
When he finally chokes it down he turns to his girlfriend, and says, "Holy shit,
what do you call that drink?"
She smiles angelically at him and says, "Blow Job Revenge."
1. Remember when...?
A computer was something on TV from a science fiction show. A window was something you hated to clean and RAM was the cousin of a goat...
Meg was the name of a girlfriend and gig was your middle finger upright. Now they all mean different things and that really mega bytes.
An application was for employment. A program was a TV show. A cursor used profanity. A keyboard was a piano.
Memory was something that you lost with age. A CD was a bank account. And if you had a 3 1/2" floppy you hoped that nobody found out.
Compress was something you did to the garbage not something you did to a file. And if you unzipped anything in public you'd be in jail for awhile.
Log on was adding wood to the fire. Hard drive was a long trip on the road. A mouse pad was where a mouse lived and a backup happened to your commode.
Cut you did with a pocket knife. Paste you did with glue. A web was a spider's home and a virus was the flu.
I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper and the memory in my head. I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash but when it happens they wish they were dead!
2. For us women...
This is an actual letter and the woman who wrote it lives in Austin .
AN OPEN LETTER TO MR. JAMES THATCHER, BRAND MANAGER PROCTER & GAMBLE
Dear Mr. Thatcher:
I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr.Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?
As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's boys into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, all you people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."
Are you freaking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness-actual smiling, laughing happiness-is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"?
Or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending "BS".
And that's a promise I will keep. Always.
Best,
Wendi Aarons
The New Drink
R-Rated
A woman and her boyfriend are out having a few drinks. While they're sitting
there having a good time together, she starts talking about this really great
new drink. The more she talks about it, the more excited she gets, and starts
trying to talk her boyfriend into having one.
After a while he gives in and lets her order the drink for him. The bartender
brings the drink and puts the following items on the bar:
A salt shaker, a shot of Baileys, and a shot of lime juice. The boyfriend looks
at the items quizzically and the woman explains
"First you put a bit of the salt on your tongue, next you drink the shot of
Baileys and hold it in your mouth, and finally you slam the lime juice."
So, the boyfriend, trying to go along and please her, goes for it.
He puts the salt on his tongue... salty but OK.
He drinks the shot of Baileys...smooth, rich, cool, very pleasant.
He thinks...this is OKAAAAAY!
Finally he picks up the lime juice and slams it.
In one second the sharp lime taste hits.
At two seconds the Baileys curdles.
At three seconds the salty, curdled taste and mucous-like consistency hits.
At four seconds it feels as if he has a mouth full of nasty snot.
This triggers his gag reflex, but being manly, and not wanting to disappoint his
girlfriend, he swallows the now foul tasting drink.
When he finally chokes it down he turns to his girlfriend, and says, "Holy shit,
what do you call that drink?"
She smiles angelically at him and says, "Blow Job Revenge."