* One Star Hangover
No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep last night was a mere disco nap which is giving you a whole lot of misplaced energy. Be glad that you are able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 10 sodas and still feel this way. Even vegetarians are craving a huge steak and a side of gravy fries.
** Two Star Hangover No pain.
Something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have the attention span and mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee/coca-cola you chug to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is craving a Bacon & Egg McMuffin combo (with orange juice!!!).Last night has wreaked havoc on your bowels and even though you have a nice demeanour about the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all you really can handle is surfing the internet and writing junk e-mails.
*** Three Star Hangover Slight headache.
Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely a space cadet and so not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer 86d you at 1:45 a.m. Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a meatball sub watching the E! fashion awards. Youve had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 Vs and a litre of diet coke – yet you havent peed once!
**** Four Star Hangover Life sucks.
Your head is throbbing and you cant speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that cant hide the fact that you missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, (girls, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars) your teeth have sweaters, your eyes look like one big vein and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from the class picture of Revere High 76.
***** Five Star Hangover AKA Dantes 4th Circle of Hell.
You have a second heartbeat in your head which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cubical Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pour and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners on your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. Youd cry but that would take the last of the moisture left in your body. Death seems pretty good right now. Your boss doesnt even get mad at you and your co-workers think that your dog/cat has just died because you look so pathetic.
You should have called in sick because, lets face it, all you can manage to do is bitch about your state -which is a mystery to you because you definitely dont remember who you were with, where you were, or what you drank. The only thing you can do is pass out. Its when you wake up a few hours later with a lesser star hangover that you eat a large pizza,an order of KFC, a ham and cheese toastie and a batch of rice krispie treats.
JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Isnt it obvious? Cant you people see the plain truth in front of your face? The chicken was going to the other side. Thats why they call it: the other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And, if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like the other side. That chicken should not be free to cross the road. Its as plain and simple as that.
PAT BUCHANAN: To steal a job from a decent, hardworking American.
DR. SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed, Ive not been told!
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die. In the rain.
MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross the road without having their motives called into question.
GRANDPA: In my day, we didnt ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.
ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
KARL MARX: It was a historical inevitability.
RONALD REAGAN: What chicken?
CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK: To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.
FOX MULDER: You saw it cross the road with your own eyes. How many more chickens have to cross before you believe it?
FREUD: The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.
BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken XM, which will not only cross the road but also will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet explorer is an inextricable part of eChicken.
EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road or did the road move beneath the chicken?
LOUIS FARRAKHAN: The road, you will see, represents the black man. The chicken crossed the black man in order to trample him and keep him down.
THE BIBLE: And God came down from the heavens, and He said unto the chicken, Thou shalt cross the road. And the chicken crossed the road, and there was much rejoicing.
COLONEL SANDERS: I missed one?
How careers end…
Drunks are distilled.
Alpine climbers are dismounted.
Piano tuners are unstrung.
Orchestra leaders are disbanded.
Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
You always find something in the last place you look.
Confucius says:
Man who plays with titty gets bust in mouth.
The day everyone dreaded had finally come – Quasimodo had died and the Bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame was in a quandry. Who would ring the bells now that Quasimodo was gone?
A message was sent throughout the streets of Paris that a bellringer was needed as soon as possible. The Bishop decided that he would personally interview each candidate for the position.
On the first day of receiving prospective personnel, he went up to the church belfry and left word below that all applicants would have to demonstrate their ability with the bells. After watching several people go through the motions, he was about to call it a day when a lone armless man approached him and announced he wanted the job.
The Bishop was amazed. You have no arms!
It doesnt matter, said the man, observe!
He then began striking the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The Bishop could not believe his eyes and ears and just as he was about to tell this mystery figure that he had the job, an even more incredible thing happened.
Rushing forward to strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the belfry window to his death in the street below. The Bishop raced down the stairs.
A crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn there initially only moments before by the beautiful music of the bells. As they made room to let the Bishop through, one of them asked, Bishop, who was this man?
I dont know his name, the Bishop sadly replied, but his face rings a bell.
22. Thou shalt not ask stupid questions that are already fully explained in the BBS instructions.
A un negro lo invitan a una fiesta y el pobre no tenÃa ni para vestirse.
Decide ir a donde un amigo para que le preste algo de ropa… El amigo accede gustosamente y le dice que entre y saque lo que necesite. En eso ve unos zapatos de charol negros que brillaban como un espejo y le dice:
¡Oye, préstame éstos que están bárbaros!
Ni loco. ¡Me costaron más de 500 y si me los rompes te quiebro a patadas!
Tanto insiste el otro que el amigo accede.
El tipo va a la fiesta, se acerca a una chica y la saca a bailar. Después de un rato se sientan en la barra a conversar. En eso el hombre, allà sentado como estaba, se lustra disimuladamente el zapato con el pantalón y coloca el pie entre las piernas de la mujer, que tenia minifalda, para poder mirarla en el brillo del zapato y le dice:
¡Cómo me gustan las mujeres con ropa interior negra!
La chica huye despavorida a contarles a sus dos amigas.
¿Ven aquel tipo? ¡Te adivina el color de ropa interior que tienes!
¡Vamos a ver! le dice la otra y se acerca a conversar con el hombre.
El tipo repite la escena. Se lustra el zapato, lo coloca sigilosamente entre las piernas de la mujer, mira en el zapato brillante como un espejo y dice:
¡Cómo me gustan las mujeres con ropa interior blanca!
Corriendo la mujer va donde están las amigas y grita:
¡Es cierto, el atorrante aquel te adivina el color de la ropa interior!
La tercera amiga dice con aire sobrador:
A mi este no me viene a engañar. ¡Vamos a ver si adivina tanto!
Se va al baño, se quita la ropa interior y se acerca a hablar con el hombre.
Otra vez el tipo hace lo mismo, se lustra el zapato y cuando quiere mirar entre las piernas de la chica, se le baja la presión y se pone blanco.
Disimuladamente, para que la mujer no se de cuenta, se vuelve a lustrar el zapato y trata de mirar otra vez, pero le quedan los ojos como dos huevos duros.
Al intentar por tercera vez, el tipo no da más y le dice a la mujer, como suplicándole:
Oye negra, dime que estás en pelotas, porque si le digo a mi amigo que me hice un rayón asà en el zapato, ¡ME MATA!
This guy goes to see his doctor. Doc, he says, Ive got a problem, every minute of every day Ive got that old song, Delilah, running through my head. I catch myself humming it and sometimes singing it in public places. My wife says I even sing it in my sleep, its driving her nuts. What is the matter with me?
The doctor replies, Sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome to me.
Is it a rare disorder? the guy asks.
The doctor answers, Its not unusual..