Today's jokes [2.24.10]
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Moe: My wife converted me to religion.
Moe: Yes. Until I married her I didn't believe in hell.
A man calls his wife and says to her, "Honey, I just got the chance of a
lifetime to go on a week-long fishing trip with my boss. Could you pack
up my things so that they will be ready when I get home?" "Sure, honey," his
wife answers."Oh, and could you please pack my blue silk pyjamas?" "Sure,
honey," his wife answers again. The man comes home, picks up his things and
takes off for the week. He returns a week later, smiling. His wife greets
him at the
front door. "So honey, how was your fishing trip?"
"It was great..." the husband answers. "But you forgot to pack my blue
silk pyjamas." "No I didn't," said his wife. "They were in your tacklebox."
My penis made me locally famous. I didn't find out about it until I got to
the University. Before then my experience with women was non-existent. I'd
been at a boys' school, and anyway I was pretty spotty. I couldn't believe
when, all of a sudden, at the Freshman Ball, I was snuggling. I was even
more amazed when we were in her room. We were both wasted. I didn't have a
clue how to behave, I was terrified, but she knew what to do and in no
time we were naked, in bed. She was kissing my mouth. My neck. My chest,
my stomach, my....
-- She stopped.
"Oh my goodness!" she said, incredulous, "Your cock tastes just like
Melanie (her name) wasn't a shy girl. She must have told her friend Suzy.
I realized this the next day when a very attractive girl, with hip clothes
and trainers, approached me in the Union Bar and just started chatting.
This had NEVER happened to me before. She asked me if I wanted to hear a
new CD she'd bought, and then we were in her room. Halfway through the
second track we were naked. She'd hardly even kissed me before her face
disappeared under the duvet.
"It does!", she exclaimed suddenly. "It bloody well DOES!!"
Two weeks into college I was still a virgin. I had, however, received
twenty three blowjobs from twelve different girls and heard words such as
'incredible', 'amazing', `Bournville', 'Swiss' and 'Belgian' exclaimed by
mops of hair beneath my bedclothes. I had also been requested to immerse
myself in a glass of milk and move vigorously to see if any of the flavor
rubbed off. It didn't.
I went to the Doctor. She didn't believe me. Nor did she try it out, which
I thought shockingly unscientific. But she did see the state I was in and
gave me a salve.
Okay, so I'll admit it. For the first year it was great. I could have
loads of women, any time I wanted. I got cunning and made them sleep with
me first. I got fussy. All the guys on campus were jealous. People who
didn't know me looked wide eyed to see one or more stunning girls on the
arm of a spotty, pale youth, with lank dark hair and glasses. "What's he
got?", they seemed to ask themselves.
When the second year came I got really tired of it. There was a whole new
year of girls who wanted to try me out. I felt like an object. A specimen.
And there was something missing from my life, a yearning. I tried to have
conversations with girls, in the coffee bar say, but all the time their
eyes would be flicking to my crotch. Their tongues would run over their
lips, their eyes would glaze over. I would make a hasty excuse and leave.
It was about this time I began to get really upset about it. Everyone had
started calling me Hob Nob.
When I say "everyone", it's not quite true: Some people called me Willy
Hey, it is NOT funny! I was a person! I was more than a sexual organ that
just happened to be flavored like confectionery. Everyone stared at me.
All the girls laughed when they saw me. I overheard them talking about me.
About it! I think I had a bit of a breakdown, I couldn't take it. All
through my third year I stayed in. I saw no one.
I had given up on my little University world. Everyone knew everything.
Because I didn't have anything to do I studied all the time. I did well
and then I went to New York, Columbia, for a Masters. I took a deep breath
of fresh air. Fantastic!
It was great! Nobody knew me! If it hadn't been for the lousy beer it
would have been perfect. I met Laurie a few months later and we started to
I'd seen her around in the cafeteria on campus, but it was only when I
heard her give a paper on radical feminism that I really noticed her. She
wrote about the politics of oral sex. She stood at the lectern in black
jeans, white tee shirt, her hair tied back severely, her little fists
clenching to emphasize a point.
"Oral sex", she had concluded, "is degrading. The worship of the phallus
only serves to enforce the enslavement of women. No woman should ever do
it, and I certainly won't do it ever again. Ever. Thank you."
She stepped down from the platform to rapturous applause from a room
mainly filled by women. I was enraptured, entranced. I had to get to know
Well, eventually we got it together. Having no chocolate penis to rely on,
I had to be myself and for a long time she wasn't interested. But then it
all happened. Nights discussing politics, poetry, walks in the park, old
Cocteau movies. Love, smooth and slow, calm as an angel. About a year
after we met, she was lying in my bed, naked, her black hair blooming like
an impossible rose against my sheets, her flawless skin almost as white as
they were. I was so happy. I started to kiss her, to cover her with
kisses. I wanted to adore her, to make her feel better than anything;
sighs escaped her like wind from a wood across a wheat field...
"No!" she said.
She took me by the scruff of the neck. "Not there!"
"Why not?", I asked.
"I knew it", she said firmly. "I won't do it to you in return. I won't.
"I know," I assured her. "I *want* to do it to you. But I don't want you
to do it to me, ever."
"You will", she said, "You will! I knew this would happen..."
I didn't listen to her. I knew. There was no way I'd let her even if she
wanted to. Never. I covered the insides of her thighs with my face and
rested my hands on the tops of her legs. I pushed them apart slightly. She
resisted a little but then she opened her legs wider and I --
I lifted my head up.
"Guinness!" I cried, "Guinness!!"
Why did the one-handed man cross the road?
To get to the second hand shop.
The sales girl at the Pink Pussycat boutique didn't bat
an eye when the customer purchased an artificial vagina.
"What are you going to use it for?" she asked.
"None of your business," answered the customer, beet
red and throughly offended.
"Calm down, buddy," soothed the salesgirl. " The only
reason I'm asking is that if it's food, we don't have
to charge you sales tax."
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