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Summertime is Joke Time

You shall laugh, you shall cry, you sh– Okay you’ll mostly cry…

We were having some friends over for dinner and my wife was getting nervous.

“When it’s time to eat,” she said, “do I say ‘Dinner is ready’ or ‘Dinner is served’?”

I said, “If it’s anything like your usual cooking, just say ‘Dinner is fucked’.”

A man and a woman walk into a bank and ask to see the manager. They are ushered in and the manager, despite his professionalism, can hardly keep his eyes off the bulging cleavage and perfect curves of the woman.

“Mr Wilson” says the man, “I have an investment proposition that needs $20,000. I presume, as I bank here, that will be no problem?”

Smugly the bank manager replies, “In banking, one should never assume Sir. I will need to ask a few questions and run a few checks.”

“Here’s the deal.” says the man, leaning forward. “No questions. No checks. $20,000 today and I will let you have my wife for one night and one night only to do whatever you want. And she is very… adventurous.”

Once again Mr Wilson mentally undresses the woman, licks his lips, loosens his tie and becomes flustered. After a few moments he buzzes in his secretary and they draw up the paperwork. He arranges to bring the money to the executive suite of the Radisson hotel at 7 o’clock that evening.

At ten to seven, Mr Wilson nervously enters the hotel lobby and takes the lift to the 17th floor. He knocks shyly on the door of the suite and it is answered by the woman in a low cut short red dress and heels.

“Mr Wilson” she purrs. “Have you got the money?”

The bank manager shakily hands her an envelope.

She smiles. “Then come in.”

He follows the woman into the room and stops in shock. Lying on the bed is a hideously ugly woman in faded grey underwear eating a pie. At least in her 50s, she lies in a provocative pose showing unshaven armpits and bikini line.

The man is sitting in an armchair with a glass of Scotch.

“What’s this?!” stutters the bank manager.

“My wife” says the man. “In banking, Mr Wilson, one should never assume.”

For years, men and women have argued over which is more painful: being kicked in the balls, or giving birth.

So how can we reach an answer? Well, put it this way: about a year after a couple’s first child, a woman will say, “Let’s have another baby.”

But I challenge you to find a man who, one year on, will turn to his buddy and say, “Tell you what, Dave… Kick me in the nuts again.”

Old lady goes to the dentist, sits on the chair, lowers her panties and lifts her legs up.

Dentist says “I’m not a Gynecologist.”

“I know,” she says “I want you to take my husband’s teeth out.”

On January 9th, 2012 a group of bikers were riding west when they saw a girl about to jump off Murray Baker Bridge. So they stopped.

George, their leader, a big burly man of 53, gets off his Harley, walks through a group of gawkers, past the State Trooper, and says, “What are you doing?”

She says, “I’m going to commit suicide.”

While he didn’t want to appear “sensitive,” he didn’t want to miss a be-a-legend opportunity either so he asked … “Well, before you jump, why don’t you give me a kiss?”

So, with no hesitation at all, she leaned back over the railing and did just that … and it was a long, deep, lingering kiss followed immediately by another one.

After they finished, George gets approval from his biker-buddies, the onlookers, and even the State Trooper, and says, “Wow!  That was the best kiss I have ever had Honey!  That’s a real talent you’re wasting Sugar Shorts.  You could be famous if you rode with me.  Why are you committing suicide?”

“My parents don’t like me dressing up like a girl.”

It’s still unclear whether she jumped or was pushed.


2 Responses

  1. Well done Steve. Especially the last one. That vision will live with me a long time.

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