Larry gets home late one night and, Linda, his wife says,
'Where in the hell have you been?'

Larry replies, 'I was out getting a tattoo.'

'A tattoo?' she frowned. 'What kind of tattoo did you get?'

'I got a hundred dollar bill on my privates,' he said proudly.

'What the hell were you thinking?! She said, shaking her head in disgust. 'Why on earth would an accountant get a hundred dollar bill Tattooed on his privates?'

Well, One, I like to watch my money grow. Two, once in a while I like to play with my money. Three, I like how money feels in my hand. And, lastly, instead of you going out shopping, you can stay right here at home and blow a hundred bucks anytime you want.

Larry is recovering in room 217 at the Hospital

NEWSFLASH: The next Liverpool champions league match has been moved to the GAY Adult Channel. Apparently 11 arseholes getting hammered is too explicit for Sky Sports on weekday evenings!!

The Bathtub Test

During a visit to the mental asylum, I asked the Director, "How do you determine whether or not a patient should be institutionalised..?"

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," I said. "A normal person would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup."

"No." said the Director, "A normal person would pull the plug. Do you want bed near the window?"
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm

Just thought I would post all my letters before the strike.

(Cough)
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

When I checked into my hotel, I asked the lady at the desk, "I hope the porn channel on my TV is disabled."

"No," she said, "it's regular porn, you sick b@stard."
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon. As
she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and
listened to the bird's chest.

After a moment or two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, "I'm
sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has passed away."

The distressed woman wailed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. The duck is dead," replied the vet.

"How can you be so sure?" she protested. "I mean you haven't
done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a black Labrador Retriever.

As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his
hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the
duck from top to bottom. He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and
shook his head.

The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a cat.

The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird
from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its
head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said,
this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."

The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and
produced a bill, which he handed to the woman.

The duck's owner, still in shock, took the bill.

"$250?" she cried. "$250 just to tell me my duck is dead?"

The vet shrugged, "I'm sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the
bill would have been $20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it's now
$250.
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

I was in the pub yesterday when I suddenly realized I desperately needed to fart. The music was really, really loud, so I timed my farts with the beat.

After a couple of songs, I started to feel better. I finished my pint and noticed that everybody was staring at me.

Then I suddenly remembered that I was listening to my iPod.
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

ZAP: last one for now...

Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.

A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this:

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest.. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie.

What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety....??

WAY TOO COOL!

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.

Nothing! I was disappointed.

I learned, however, that if I pushed the button AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.

AWESOME!!!

Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?

There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat.

But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.

Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and taser in another.

The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5"long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself, 'no possible way!'

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best...?

I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, 'don't do it dipshit,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.

I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and ..

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . ... ... WHAT THE HELL!!!

I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again.

I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the foetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs?

The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.

Note: If you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a taser, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself!

You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would be considered conservative?

SON-OF-A-BITCH, THAT HURT LIKE HELL!!!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.

My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace.

The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling.  Apparently I shit myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe came from my hair.

I'm still looking for my nuts and I'm offering a significant reward for
their safe return!!

P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

Capitalization is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.."
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My Jamaican missus trying to describe Amy Winehouse the other day: "What's the name of that coke head woman who went to St Lucia?"

First picture of Kai Rooney:

An 18 year old Italian girl tells her Mom that she has missed her period for 2 months. Very worried, the mother goes
to the drugstore and buys a pregnancy kit. The test result shows that the girl is pregnant.

Shouting, cursing, crying, the mother says, 'Who was the pig that did this to you? I want to know!'

The girl picks up the phone and makes a call. Half an hour later, a Ferrari stops in front of their house. A mature and
distinguished man with grey hair and impeccably dressed in an Armani suit steps out of a Ferrari and enters the house.

He sits in the living room with the father, mother, and the girl and tells them: 'Good morning, your daughter has informed me of
the problem.

I can't marry her because of my personal family situation  but I'll take charge. I will pay all costs and provide for your daughter
for the rest of her life.

Additionally, if a girl is born, I will bequeath a Ferrari,  2 retail stores, a townhouse, a beach-front villa, and a $2,000,000 bank
account.

If a boy is born, my legacy will be a couple of factories  and a $4,000,000 bank account. If twins, they will receive a factory and
$2,000,000 each.

However, if there is a miscarriage, what do you suggest I do?'

At this point, the father, who had remained silent holding a shot gun, places a hand firmly on the man's shoulder and tells him.

'You gonna try again.
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"It's the team he wanted"  - Figo

Myles: Do you spend a lot of time listening to people chatting shit on the net?
Bobo32: Nah this is the only site I visit with Gobbi.