A husky foreigner, looking for sex, accepted a prostitutes terms.
When she undressed, he noticed that she had no pubic hair.
The man shouted, What, no wool? In my country all women have wool down there.
The prostitute snapped back, What do you want to do, knit or have sex?
A nun is walking down a deserted road when a man grabs her and starts raping her. After the rapist is done, he says, Hey Sister, what are you going to tell the other Sisters now?
Ill tell them the truth, that you grabbed me, threw me to the ground, and raped me twice….unless youre tired. she responded.
Javier y Pablo eran dos hermanos ricos y malvados que asistÃan a la misma iglesia. Cuando Pablo murió, Javier le entregó al pastor un cuantioso cheque para que mandara construir un nuevo templo a todo lujo.
Sólo le pongo una condición: que en el oficio fúnebre diga que mi hermano era un santo, le aclaró en tono despótico.
El pastor accedió y depositó el cheque en el banco. En la ceremonia fúnebre, subió al púlpito y declaró:
Pablo era un hombre malvado que engañaba a su mujer y traicionaba a sus amigos pero, comparado con Javier, era un santo.
Knock Knock
Whos there?
Heart!
Heart who?
Heart who hear you, speak louder!
Inspiration and perspiration are related by more than rhyme.
Whats so good about an Ethiopian blowjob?
– You know shell swallow.
A drunken man staggers in to a Catholic church and wanders over to the confessional box. He opens the door, sits down and says nothing.
The bewildered priest waits for a few minutes, allowing the drunken man some time to collect his thoughts. Growing impatient, the priest coughs to attract his attention, but still the man says nothing. The priest then knocks on the wall three times in a final attempt to get the man to speak.
Finally, the drunk replies: No use knockin mate, theres no paper in this one either.
A keen but unskilled golfer plays the same course every week, and has particular trouble with the water trap on the 14th hole, losing a ball in it every time he plays that hole. One round he decides that this process is too expensive and decides to use an old cut-up ball instead of a good ball. He opens his bag and gets the old ball, tees it up and addresses it. Just as he commences his backswing, a mighty voice comes from on high: USE THE NEW BALL… Figuring any advice from such a source should be worth following, he picks up the old ball and tees up the new one again. He starts his backswing, but once again is interrupted by a voice from the sky: TAKE A PRACTICE SWING.. The man steps away from the ball and rehearses his swing. Just as he steps forward to readdress the ball, the voice speaks again: USE THE OLD BALL.
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor, Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, still I sat there, doing spreadsheets. Having reached the bottom line, I took a floppy from the drawer. Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command And waited for the disk to store, only this and nothing more.
Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wondring, fearing, Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more. Save! I said, You cursed mother! Save my data from before! One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more, Just, Abort, Retry, Ignore?
Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion? These were choices undesired, ones Id never faced before. Carefully, I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises. The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more. Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more, From Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore?
With my fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending, Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee, timidly I pressed a key. But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before. Ghastly grim, they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore, Saying Abort, Retry, Ignore?
I tried to catch the chips off-guard — I pressed again, but twice as hard. I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore. Now in desperation, trying random combinations, Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before. Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before. Reading, Abort, Retry, Ignore?
There I sat, distraught, exhausted by my own machine accosted Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor. And then I saw dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night. A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my core. The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore. Not even, Abort, Retry, Ignore?
To this day I do not know the place to which lost data goes. What demonic nether world is wrought where data will be stored, Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes? But sure as theres C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more, You will one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore, Pleading, Abort, Retry, Ignore?
A: She threw it off a cliff.