Secret

An old man was relaxing at his hundredth birthday party when a
reporter went up to him. "Sir, what is the secret of your long life?"

The man considered this for a moment, then replied, "Every day
at 9 PM I have a glass of port. Good for the heart I've heard."

The reporter replied, "That's ALL?"

The man smiled, "That, and canceling my voyage on the Titanic."


NEW OFFICE
Having just moved into his new office, a pompous, new colonel was sitting at
his desk when an airman knocked on the door. Conscious of his new position,
the colonel quickly picked up the phone, told the airman to enter, then said
into the phone, "Yes, General, I'll be seeing him this afternoon and I'll
pass along your message. In the meantime, thank you for your good wishes,
sir."

"Feeling as though he had sufficiently impressed the young enlisted man, he
asked, "What do you want?"

"Nothing important, sir," the airman replied, ... "I'm just here to hook up
your telephone."

Computer lingo guide

Hard drive - Trying to get home during a heavy snow storm



One-Liners

A day without sunshine is like night.

A disagreeable task is its own reward.

A donkey is a horse designed by a study team.

A fail-safe circuit will destroy others.

A flying particle will seek the nearest eye.

A fool and his money are soon elected.

A fool and his money stabilize the economy.

A free agent is anything but.

A friend in need is a pest indeed.

A geophysicist is not drunk as long as he can hang onto a single blade of
grass and not fall off the face of the earth.







Regards…Gidd



UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)

**
Top Ten Things You'll Never Hear from your Consultant


1. You're right; we're billing way too much for this.
2. Bet you I can go a week without saying "synergy" or "value-added".
3. How about paying us based on the success of the project?
4. This whole strategy is based on a Harvard business case I read.
5. Actually, the only difference is that we charge more than they do.
6. I don't know enough to speak intelligently about that.
7. Implementation? I only care about writing long reports.
8. I can't take the credit. It was Ed in your marketing department.
9. The problem is, you have too much work for too few people.
10. Everything looks okay to me. You really don't need me.


You Might Be a Computer Support Technician if...


* when asked about a bus schedule, you wonder if it is 16 or 32 bits.
* you dream in 256 pallettes of 256 colors.
* you are reading a book and look for the scroll bar to get to the next page.
* after fooling around all day with routers etc, you pick up the phone and start dialing an IP number.
* you get in the elevator and double-click the button for the floor you want.
* you look for a icon to double-click to open your bedroom window.
* you look for the undo command after making a mistake.
* you disdain people who use low baud rates.
* you know how to take the cover off of your computer, and what size screwdriver to use.
* you can understand sentences with four or more acronyms in them.
* you would rather get more dots per inch than miles per gallon.
* you rotate your screen savers more frequently than your automobile tires.
* you see a bumper sticker that says "Users are Losers" and you have no idea it is referring to drugs.
* you know without a doubt that diskettes come in five-and-a-quarter and three-and-a-half inch sizes.
* you have ended friendships because of irreconcilably different opinions about which is better -- the track ball or the track pad.
* you are zen-like in your acceptance of users, realizing that there is no limit to the depths of cluelessness, and yet you help them anyway.



How many Support staff does it take to change a light bulb?
"Wait! Maybe the bulb isn't broken. Let's try it again."
"It's in the manual. Didn't you read the manual?"
"The bulb was fine; you just forgot to turn the switch on."
"The light bulb doesn't work? You must be using a non-standard socket."
"Well, we have an exact copy of your light bulb here and it seems to be working OK. Can you be more specific about the exact problem?"
"Our engineers are busy at the moment... We have assigned query number 987632 to your question. Please refer to it in all future correspondence."

How many first-time computer users does it take to change a light bulb?
One, but it takes him three hours and two phone calls to the electrician before he realizes he forgot to turn the switch on.

How many Microsoft Support technicians does it take to change a light bulb?
None, they have declared darkness to be the new standard.
One, but only if "light bulb" can be found in the Microsoft Knowledge Base



Regards…Gidd

This posting was submitted via the Web interface

The Older Poodle

A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in Africa, taking her
faithful aged poodle named Cuddles, along for the company.

One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles
discovers that she's lost. Wandering about, she notices a leopard heading
rapidly in her direction with the intention of having lunch.

The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep stuff now!" Noticing some bones
on the ground close by, she immediately settles down to chew on the bones
with her back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap,
the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I
wonder if there are any more around here."

Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike; a look of
terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!" says the
leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby
tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for
protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him
heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must
be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and
strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.

The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here,
monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving
canine!"

Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and
thinks, "What am I going to do now?" But instead of running, the dog sits
down with her back to her attackers, pretending she hasn't seen them yet,
and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says: "Where's
that monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"

Moral of this story...

Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and
skill! Bull and brilliance only come with age and experience!


Terri Lockwood


UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)

Terri,

Ain't that the truth !!

Regards...Gidd

-----Original Message-----
From: Action Request System discussion list(ARSList)
[mailto:arslist@ARSLIST.ORG]On Behalf Of Lockwood, Teresa
Sent: Friday, June 03, 2005 11:38 AM
To: arslist@ARSLIST.ORG
Subject: OT: Friday Humor


The Older Poodle

A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in Africa, taking her
faithful aged poodle named Cuddles, along for the company.

One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles
discovers that she's lost. Wandering about, she notices a leopard heading
rapidly in her direction with the intention of having lunch.

The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep stuff now!" Noticing some bones
on the ground close by, she immediately settles down to chew on the bones
with her back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap,
the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I
wonder if there are any more around here."

Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike; a look of
terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!" says the
leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby
tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for
protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him
heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must
be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and
strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.

The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here,
monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving
canine!"

Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and
thinks, "What am I going to do now?" But instead of running, the dog sits
down with her back to her attackers, pretending she hasn't seen them yet,
and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says: "Where's
that monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"

Moral of this story...

Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and
skill! Bull and brilliance only come with age and experience!


Terri Lockwood



UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)


UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)

**
A bachelor tried to take a vacation every summer. He was a golf nut and spent two weeks at Hilton Head. Last summer he met a woman out there and fell head over heels in love with her. On the last night of his vacation, the two of them went to dinner and had a serious talk about how they would continue the relationship. They agreed that total honesty was important so there would be "no surprises" later that would destroy their love. "It's only fair to warn you, I'm a total golf nut," Ed said to his lady friend. "I eat, sleep and breathe golf, so if that's a problem, you'd better say so now." "Well, if we're being honest with each other, here goes," she replied. "I'm a hooker." "I see," Ed replied, and was quiet for a moment. Then he added, "You know, it's probably because you're not keeping your wrists straight when you tee off."

=======================================================================

A man standing in line at a check out counter of a grocery store was very surprised when a very attractive woman behind him said, "Hello!" Her face was beaming. He gave her that "who are you look," and couldn't remember ever having seen her before.
Then, noticing his look, she figured she had made a mistake and apologized. "Look," she said, "I'm really sorry but when I first saw you, I thought you were the father of one of my children," and walked out of the store.

The guy was dumbfounded and thought to himself, "What the hell is the world coming to? Here is an attractive woman who can't keep track of who fathers her children!"

Then he got a little panicky. "I don't remember her," he thought but, MAYBE....during one of the wild parties he had been to when he was in college, perhaps he did father her child!

He ran from the store and caught her in the parking lot and asked, "Are you the girl I met at a party in college and then we got really drunk and had wild crazy sex on the pool table in front of everyone?"

"No," she said with a horrified look on her face. "I'm your son's second grade teacher."

==============================================================


As part of an effort to crack down on terrorist activity within Britain, Prime Minister Tony Blair has instituted a new series of tests that any applicant for British citizenship must pass:
- The ability to express the full range of human emotion by gentle throat clearing.

- The ability to drink a full pint of warm flat beer (non-alcoholic beer is permitted, but in this case two pints must be consumed).

- The ability to complement the cook after consuming a dinner of cold mashed potatoes, cold peas, and cold burnt meat.

- The ability to instinctively know if it's tea first or milk first.

- The ability to praise the French while clearly indicating that since 1066 they've pretty much been a bunch of losers.

- The ability to praise the Americans while clearly indicating that they got lucky that one time in the late 1700's.

- The ability to colour in red those bits of the globe that still should properly belong to Britain (extra credit if the United States is included).

And finally

- The ability to utter the phrase "British Way of Life" without cracking even the hint of a smile


Regards…Gidd




This posting was submitted via the Web interface

**

>Enjoy everyone, I know I did. I must have spent 30 minutes laughing so hard and releasing every bit and piece of pent of frustration after a long day.



The Squirrel



THE LAUGH!!

>I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a

residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

>Little did I suspect!

>I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect

lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry

missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in

front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across

the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast,

but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close.

>

>I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a

motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had

time to brace for the impact.

>

>Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take

care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his

feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie

with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and

at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the

scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking,

heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ... as he shot

straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the

chest.

>

>Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would

have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.

Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of

activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding

gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry

little tornado was doing some damage!

>

>Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed

in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down

a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a

squirrel. And losing...

>

>I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I

finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil

rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb

as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter

should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could

have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his

business, and I could have headed home. No one would have

>been the wiser.

>

>But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an

ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF

DEATH!

>

>Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands

and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding

thump and an amazing impact; he landed squarely on my back and resumed

his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also

managed to take my left glove with him!

>

>The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His

attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled

to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having

one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back

unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the

throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have

one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is

very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the

pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in

ecstasy.

>

>I screamed in ... well ... I just plain screamed.

>

>Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser,

dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn-t-shirt, wearing only one

leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down

a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on

his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

>

>With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand

back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was

leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not

want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had

not yet figured out how to release the throttle ... my brain was just

simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had

little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

>

>About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying

sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is an evil

mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and

got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed part

way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed

intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on

The Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the

moment) so her front end started to drop.

>

>Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser,

dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather

glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large

puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face

helmet.

>

>By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again,

pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I

could. This time it worked ... sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of -- so to

speak.

>

>Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have

pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows

down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and

chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze,

and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one

wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength

throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

>

>I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big

motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I

then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke

at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to fess

up (and to get my glove back).

>

>I really would have. Really. Except for two things. First, the

cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at

the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol

car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his

back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away

from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in

the street and was aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So the

cops were not interested in me.

>

>They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.

That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and

flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could

also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little

fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.

A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.

>

>I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle

right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood I

decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves... and some

Band-Aids.


Shawn Rosenberry (SAIC Contractor)
Remedy Application Engineer
Support Technologies Group
NIH/CIT/DCS
301-594-9689 - Office

This posting was submitted via the Web interface

**
Thanks for the nice laughter at a Friday morning... really hilarious :-)

greetz to shawn of the squirrel



From: Action Request System discussion list(ARSList) [mailto:arslist@ARSLIST.ORG] On Behalf Of Rosenberry, Shawn (NIH/CIT)
Sent: Friday, September 02, 2005 12:39 AM
To: arslist@ARSLIST.ORG
Subject: OT: Friday Humor


**

>Enjoy everyone, I know I did. I must have spent 30 minutes laughing so hard and releasing every bit and piece of pent of frustration after a long day.



The Squirrel



THE LAUGH!!

>I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a

residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

>Little did I suspect!

>I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect

lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry

missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in

front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across

the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast,

but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close.

>

>I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a

motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had

time to brace for the impact.

>

>Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take

care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his

feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie

with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and

at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the

scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking,

heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ... as he shot

straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the

chest.

>

>Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would

have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.

Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of

activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding

gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry

little tornado was doing some damage!

>

>Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed

in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down

a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a

squirrel. And losing...

>

>I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I

finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil

rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb

as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter

should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could

have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his

business, and I could have headed home. No one would have

>been the wiser.

>

>But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an

ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF

DEATH!

>

>Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands

and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding

thump and an amazing impact; he landed squarely on my back and resumed

his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also

managed to take my left glove with him!

>

>The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His

attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled

to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having

one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back

unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the

throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have

one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is

very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the

pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in

ecstasy.

>

>I screamed in ... well ... I just plain screamed.

>

>Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser,

dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn-t-shirt, wearing only one

leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down

a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on

his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

>

>With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand

back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was

leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not

want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had

not yet figured out how to release the throttle ... my brain was just

simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had

little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

>

>About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying

sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is an evil

mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and

got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed part

way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed

intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on

The Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the

moment) so her front end started to drop.

>

>Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser,

dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather

glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large

puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face

helmet.

>

>By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again,

pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I

could. This time it worked ... sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of -- so to

speak.

>

>Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have

pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows

down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and

chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze,

and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one

wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength

throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

>

>I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big

motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I

then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke

at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to fess

up (and to get my glove back).

>

>I really would have. Really. Except for two things. First, the

cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at

the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol

car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his

back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away

from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in

the street and was aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So the

cops were not interested in me.

>

>They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.

That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and

flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could

also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little

fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car.

A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.

>

>I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle

right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood I

decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves... and some

Band-Aids.


Shawn Rosenberry (SAIC Contractor)
Remedy Application Engineer
Support Technologies Group
NIH/CIT/DCS
301-594-9689 - Office

This posting was submitted via the Web interface
This posting was submitted via the Web interface

I should know better...

Three newly married men were sitting in a bar together bragging how they
had given their new wives housework duties.

The first man had married a woman from Albania. He bragged that he had
told his wife she was to do all the washing up, laundry, dusting and
cleaning in the house. He said that on the first day he didn't see
anything but on the second day he came home to a clean house, the dishes
were all washed and put away and the laundry too had been done.

The second man had married a woman from the Ukraine. He bragged that he
had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, washing
up and the cooking. He told them that the first day he did not see any
results but the next day it was better. By the third day his house was
clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man married a girl from Liverpool. He boasted that he told his
wife that her duties were to keep the house clean, the dishes washed,
the lawn mowed, the laundry done and hot meals on the table for every
meal.

He said that on the first day he did not see anything, the second day he
still did not see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling
had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye.


UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)

Priceless...LMAO !!!


Regards...Gidd


-----Original Message-----
From: Action Request System discussion list(ARSList)
[mailto:arslist@ARSLIST.ORG]On Behalf Of David Sanders
Sent: Friday, September 09, 2005 10:46 AM
To: arslist@ARSLIST.ORG
Subject: HUM: Friday humor


I should know better...

Three newly married men were sitting in a bar together bragging how they
had given their new wives housework duties.

The first man had married a woman from Albania. He bragged that he had
told his wife she was to do all the washing up, laundry, dusting and
cleaning in the house. He said that on the first day he didn't see
anything but on the second day he came home to a clean house, the dishes
were all washed and put away and the laundry too had been done.

The second man had married a woman from the Ukraine. He bragged that he
had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, washing
up and the cooking. He told them that the first day he did not see any
results but the next day it was better. By the third day his house was
clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man married a girl from Liverpool. He boasted that he told his
wife that her duties were to keep the house clean, the dishes washed,
the lawn mowed, the laundry done and hot meals on the table for every
meal.

He said that on the first day he did not see anything, the second day he
still did not see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling
had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye.



UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)


UNSUBSCRIBE or access ARSlist Archives at http://www.ARSLIST.org
(Support: mailto:support@arslist.org)

**
"Sixty is the worst age to be," said the 60-year-old man. "You always feel like you have to pee and most of the time you stand there and nothing comes out."

"Ah, that's nothin," said the 70-year-old. "When you're seventy, you don't have a bowel movement any more. You take laxatives, eat bran, sit on the toilet all day and nothin' comes out!"

"Actually," said the 80-year -old, "Eighty is the worst age of all."

"Do you have trouble peeing, too?" asked the 60-year old.

"No, not really I pee every morning at 6:00. I pee like a racehorse on a flat rock; no problem at all."

"So, do you have a problem with your bowel movement?"

"No, I have one every morning at 6:30."

With great exasperation, the 60-year-old said, "Let me get this straight. You pee every morning at 6:00 and have a movement every morning at 6:30. So what's so bad about being 80?"

"I don't wake up until 7:00."

This posting was submitted via the Web interface