Three rats are sitting at the bar talking.
The first says, Im so tough, once I ate a whole bagful of rat poison!
The second says, Well Im so tough, once I was caught in a rat trap and I bit it apart!
At this the third rat gets up and says, Later guys, Im off home to fuck the cat…
16. Thou shalt confine thy messages to those of friendship, requests for assistance, aid to the needy, advice, and advancement of thy hobby; and thou art obligated to repel any who wouldst transgress upon those commandments.
Un lanchero acapulqueño va caminando por la playa, en eso, ve venir a una rubia escultural y le piropea a su modo:
¡Mamacita, qué chichotas! ¡Qué nalgotas! ¡Qué piernotas!
La rubia, molesta, se vuelve y le lanza:
¡Prieto! ¡Peludo! ¡Apestoso!
El costeño, muy enojado, anuncia:
Mamacita, si es adivinanza, es el culo; pero si te refieres a mÅ ¡Chinga tu madre!
Un matrimonio llevó a su hijo de vacaciones a una playa nudista. El padre salió a dar un paseo por la playa mientras el hijo jugaba en el agua.
De pronto, el niño llegó corriendo hasta donde estaba su mamá diciendo:
¡Mamá, acabo de ver mujeres con los senos mucho más grandes que los tuyos!
No te preocupes hijo, mientras más grandes los tengan más tontas son.
Asà que el niño se regresó a jugar en el agua. Varios minutos después, el pequeño regresó corriendo:
¡Mamá, acabo de ver a papá platicando con la mujer más tonta que he visto, y mientras más hablaban, mi papá se volvÃa cada vez más tonto también!
In the back woods of Arkansas, Mr. Stewarts wife went into labor in the middle of the night, and the doctor was called out to assist in the delivery.To keep the nervous father-to-be busy, the doctor handed him a lantern and said, Here, you hold this high so I can see what Im doing. Soon, a wee baby boy was brought into the world.Whoa there Scotty! said the doctor. Dont be in a rush to put
the lantern down … I think theres yet another wee one to come! Sure enough, within minutes he had delivered another little baby. No, no, dont be in a great hurry to be putting down that lantern, young man… It seems theres yet another one besides! cried the doctor.The new father scratched his head in bewilderment, and asked the doctor. Do you think its the light thats attractin them?
A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight
around, looking for valuables, and when he picked up a CD player to
place in his sack, a strange, disembodied voice echoed from the dark
saying, Jesus is watching you.
He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight out, and
froze. When he heard nothing more after a bit, he shook his head,
promised himself a vacation after the next big score, then clicked
the light back on and began searching for more valuables. Just as
he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as
a bell he heard, Jesus is watching you.
Freaked out, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the
source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his
flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot. Did you say that? He
hissed at the parrot.
Yep, the parrot confessed, then squawked, Im just trying to warn
you.
The burglar relaxed. Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?
Moses, replied the bird.Â
Moses? the burglar laughed. What kind of stupid people would name
a parrot Moses?
The bird promptly answered, Probably the same kind of people that
would name a Rotweiller Jesus!
Judi was standing in front of an ice machine saying, You are a dumb looking button. You dont have much of a future, either. People are going to be punching you all your life. Then you are going to be replaced by a much better looking button. I foolishly asked her what she was doing. Judi pointed to the notice on the front of the machine, which read, Depress button for ice.
Copyright 2001 W. Bruce Cameron http://www.wbrucecameron.com/
Believing that maybe it would help my relationship with my 12 year old son if we had a common hobby, I bought him a beer-making kit. My wife seemed to think that the situation called for female incredulity.
You got your son a BEER-making kit? she demands. Are you out of your mind?
Hey, you were the one who said we needed to do more things together, I point out.
So you picked drinking beer, she scoffs.
Of course not. Hell only make it. ILL be the one drinking it, I respond. I hold my hands up in a representation of harmonious balance in the universe.
She fixes me with a scorching look that I recognize from early in our marriage, when I tried to train her to bring me snacks during football games, but I will not be deterred. Its very scientific, I declare. Fermentation. Carbonation.
Intoxication?
My son is even less enthusiastic. It smells bad; you DRINK this stuff? he sniffs, stirring the batch of malt and hops.
Yes, but not until there is alcohol in it, I explain with fatherly wisdom.
Alcohol is a by-product of fermentation, he quotes, looking through the little handbook. He squints at me. Youll be drinking yeast pee.
Real men dont read directions, I advise.
When were finished, my home brew sits tightly sealed in a plastic keg. This is the pressure valve, I lecture my son. The yeast builds up carbon dioxide, which escapes out the valve; otherwise there would be an explosion that would level houses in a four-block area.
Im hoping this will excite him, but hes been reading the manual again. Carbon dioxide is another waste by-product, he intones.
Yes.
In other words, yeast farts.
For three days, the mixture sits implacably inside the plastic vessel, as exciting as a bucket of paint. Concerned, I sneak in a little more sugar to get the yeast motivated. Youre not supposed to do that, Dad, my son warns.
The next day, the yeast have suddenly sprung to life, bubbling and hissing as they busily produce waste products. Impatient, I pull on the little tap, pouring an ounce of muddy liquid into a glass and taking a sip.
Does it taste like beer? my son asks anxiously.
Maybe beer thats already been through somebody, I respond ruefully.
That night my son prods me awake. Dad, the beer is calling you.
My wife gives me a frown, as this is exactly the excuse I give her whenever I meet my buddies at the sports bar. What do you mean? I ask him.
He shrugs. You sort of need to come hear it. Its making noises.
My wife puts her hand on my arm. Could it be dangerous? she inquires anxiously.
I laugh. Of course not. How could beer be dangerous? Beer Is Our Friend. I follow my son out into the kitchen and, at his urging, put my ear to the plastic keg. Hes right: There is some sort of creaking noise emitting from the seams around the edge of the thing. Through the thick, dark plastic, I can see that the yeast has rioted, filling the vessel with foam.
Maybe you put in too much sugar, he worries. Should I start calling people in a four-block area?
Nonsense. More sugar just means a higher alcohol content. How could that be bad? But his question has drawn my attention to the filter, which should be allowing yeast farts to escape. Instead, it looks locked in place, a little button that should be bobbing up and down. I reach out a finger.
Dad… my son starts to say.
The moment I pry at the valve it fires straight up like a bullet, the little button gone in an instant. The entire contents of the keg follow half a second later, a thick spray of foam coating everything in the kitchen. I dont even have time to blink and it is over, except that a steady rain of gooey sludge comes down on my head from the ceiling.
Tilting my jaw, Im able to catch a few drops in my mouth. My wife bursts into the kitchen and stares at me, shocked.
Not bad, I tell her, licking my lips.
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Copyright W. Bruce Cameron 2001
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how many cowboys does it take to change a light bulb?
two one to change it and another to sing about how theyll miss the old one.