Report, edit, etc...Posted by Sinister_X on 2004-12-02 at 12:14:28
Hi I just thought i would post some funny stuff keep in mind that none of this stuff is mine so dont give any credit. put what you thought of it so i can post more ok heres the first one
Man, I had the worst sleep last night.
First of all, my wife recently got an Itty-Bitty Book Light. Call me crazy, but I was always under the impression that this was a tiny reading lamp -- hence the name. Turns out it's a blazing solar flare that sears the retinas with its unholy power. You'd think they designed this thing to be a homing beacon for high-altitude aircraft. It was like trying to sleep next to the friggin' Luxor.
Finally my wife turned off the Itty-Bitty Orb of Fury, but I still couldn't sleep. I'm coming down with a cold, so I was hacking up hollandaise sauce all night long. It was like somebody serving up a runny omelette in my chest. Every time I'd start to drift off, my cough reflex would kick in, and I'd spend the next few minutes trying to pass an Egg McMuffin through my nose.
Then there was our three-year-old, who kept waking up at regular intervals to complain, like a slumbering czar summoning his servants. "I'm too cold!" he demanded. "The ox-hide blanket, if you please!" My wife would get up and tend to his demands. "And this thirst!" the three-year-old would cry a few minutes later. "Bring me a flagon of ale, wench!"
You never appreciate how long the night really is, until you stay awake through it. I tried all the usual tricks, starting with counting sheep. I got up to forty-two, then ran into a problem when #43 wouldn't go over the fence. The shepherd came out, tried some soothing words, to no avail. He tried softly stroking the sheep, which didn't work either, but did get the shepherd aroused. Before I knew what was happening, he had fitted the sheep's rear legs with a pair of black nylons, and was madly pumping it from behind.
Someone once told me the best trick for curing insomnia is to not try to fall asleep -- essentially, to give up. So I tried this (or, more accurately, I didn't try it), and found that it didn't work (or worked perfectly). How can you not do something you're trying to do? I just wanted to fall asleep, not ponder a Zen paradox for the final three hours.
I knew there were three hours left, because I made the cardinal mistake of looking at the clock. You're not supposed to look at the clock, because then you really get wound up, so to speak. I came up with a great idea for The Insomniac's Clock. It's essentially one of those digital clocks that projects the time in massive numbers on the ceiling, but with an added twist: every five minutes, the voice of Gilbert Gottfried yells, "ANOTHER FIVE MINUTES HAVE PASSED! YOU'RE STILL NOT ASLEEP!" Like one of those "sound soother" clocks, you could also set it to play back a continuous loop of other noises: car alarms, braying donkeys, or garbage trucks running over Julio Iglesias.
Anyway, I finally fell asleep. I'm sorry, did I say "asleep"? I meant "suspended in nightmarish dreamworlds." In one dream, I was hiding behind a large partially melted chocolate bar, waiting to surprise The View's Starr Jones with a collection of old videotapes. Apparently I was holding the entire first season of the hit sitcom M*A*S*H, except I referred to it for some reason as "R*A*S*H." As Starr walked around the side of the giant Hershey Bar, I jumped out and cried "R*A*S*H!" -- so loudly, I realized, that I had actually yelled it in my sleep. I screamed myself awake.
"Mmmzhuh?" mumbled my wife.
"How dare you rouse me!" cried my three-year-old from the other room. "Fetch my lute! Only a gay melody can soothe me now!"
I decided it was time to call it a night. Or, rather, a day. I trudged downstairs, bleary-eyed, and started writing. So if today's article put you to sleep, well, at the moment that seems like the greatest gift I could give to you.
ADDITION: what the hell ill post one more sorry for double post
My daughter, wife, and I went out to Wal-Mart recently, shopping for the essentials: soap, shampoo, toilet paper, aspirin, and lube. After a half-hour of shopping, we found everything on our list except for the personal lubricant. My wife and I scoured the pharmacy aisles in search of it, but came up empty. As you can imagine, neither of us had the courage to go up to the customer service counter and ask them, "Where do you keep the joy jelly?" So we abandoned our effort.
Later that day we had to go out again, this time to the local K-Mart. As I was passing by the pharmacy aisle, I broke off from our little troop and started "reconning" for the lubricant. I soon found the spermicide and the condoms, so I knew I was in the right place. And then I saw it. There on the shelf it sat, my grail. Actually it was a box, a box small enough for me to palm in my hand. I looked at it, I looked past it. I walked up the aisle like I was browsing for Q-Tips. Then I walked back down the aisle and grabbed it. The reach for, and the subsequent grasp of that product was such an artistic display of sleight-of-hand that even David Copperfield would've gone "Whaaaa??? How'd he do that!?!?"
With the goal in hand (so to speak), I caught up with my wife and daughter, all the while carefully palming the little box so I was able to keep it out of sight from my daughter, other shoppers, K-Mart personnel, and God.
Of course, this is where the story gets blogworthy.
We live only a mile or two from the Big K, and shop there often -- as do our friends, co-workers, neighbors, my daughter's teachers, waiters and waitresses at various restaurants we frequent, our bank teller, and the town mayor. Everyone shops there. YOU probably shop there. Needless to say, I'm in stealth mode when I give a quick wink and tell my wife, "Mission accomplished."
It's a Saturday, early afternoon, and K-Mart is crowded. People are lined up five deep in each checkout line. The three of us are standing in line, and when my kid asks if she can buy a pack of Skittles, I agree. She could've had a case of Skittles, as long as it would not draw attention to my purchase.
Finally, we're at the cashier. She starts ringing up our various items. She slides the notebook paper over the scanner, ping, then the Doritos, ping, then the 12 pack of Coke, ping, the instant grits, ping, the Skittles, ping, then the small box ...
No ping. Nothing.
She slides the box over the scanner again, still no ping. The cashier then breaks out into this wild arm flailing product-to-scanner shuffle slide in search of the missing ping. Now, Leslie whisks my daughter away to the car, shielding her eyes from the horror. I'm alone in the checkout line that is now seven deep and counting, waiting while the skilled K-mart cashier tirelessly tries to ring up my wretched little box of perv. OK, it's only lube, but the lady behind me is looking at me as if I'm going to try and sex up her cat. Sweat is dripping from my face.
Finally a light goes off in the cashier's head, she breaks down and enters the UPC numbers manually into the cash register. Still no
ing ping! She re-enters the numbers. NO PING!!! She calls over the manager, hands the box over to said manager who then proceeds to go through the wild-shuffle, UPC number entry routine. Still no ping. For some reason this item is not in the store's computer. The manager calls over to the pharmacy, asking the pharmacy clerk to give her a price on the item's UPC code. Apparently, the pharmacy clerk is in on this little conspiracy because she asks the manager for the NAME of the product.
"Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager. (I don't recall the exact name.)
"Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly?" the pharmacist repeats.
"Yes, Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager, taking care to emphasize each syllable for the benefit of those at neighboring registers.
"Please hold."
So now the manager is on hold, looking at me all slyly like "Yeah, I'd do ya." The lady behind me is horrified, the teenager behind her is snickering like Beavis, and the rest of line is looking at me like I'm holding up their heart transplant. Vomi-Nervousa!
Finally, said clerk gives the manager the proper UPC code. The manager overrides the cash register and inputs the price. She apologizes for the delay and explains that the box has a 20 cents off offer on it, and that the computer didn't recognize the cost difference.
"I went through all that for 20 CENTS?!?" I wanted to scream, but of course I paid for my purchase, and picked up my bags humiliated. But just as I was about to walk away, I looked at the cat lady, half-smiled, and confidently said, "It'll be worth every penny."
Man, I had the worst sleep last night.
First of all, my wife recently got an Itty-Bitty Book Light. Call me crazy, but I was always under the impression that this was a tiny reading lamp -- hence the name. Turns out it's a blazing solar flare that sears the retinas with its unholy power. You'd think they designed this thing to be a homing beacon for high-altitude aircraft. It was like trying to sleep next to the friggin' Luxor.
Finally my wife turned off the Itty-Bitty Orb of Fury, but I still couldn't sleep. I'm coming down with a cold, so I was hacking up hollandaise sauce all night long. It was like somebody serving up a runny omelette in my chest. Every time I'd start to drift off, my cough reflex would kick in, and I'd spend the next few minutes trying to pass an Egg McMuffin through my nose.
Then there was our three-year-old, who kept waking up at regular intervals to complain, like a slumbering czar summoning his servants. "I'm too cold!" he demanded. "The ox-hide blanket, if you please!" My wife would get up and tend to his demands. "And this thirst!" the three-year-old would cry a few minutes later. "Bring me a flagon of ale, wench!"
You never appreciate how long the night really is, until you stay awake through it. I tried all the usual tricks, starting with counting sheep. I got up to forty-two, then ran into a problem when #43 wouldn't go over the fence. The shepherd came out, tried some soothing words, to no avail. He tried softly stroking the sheep, which didn't work either, but did get the shepherd aroused. Before I knew what was happening, he had fitted the sheep's rear legs with a pair of black nylons, and was madly pumping it from behind.
Someone once told me the best trick for curing insomnia is to not try to fall asleep -- essentially, to give up. So I tried this (or, more accurately, I didn't try it), and found that it didn't work (or worked perfectly). How can you not do something you're trying to do? I just wanted to fall asleep, not ponder a Zen paradox for the final three hours.
I knew there were three hours left, because I made the cardinal mistake of looking at the clock. You're not supposed to look at the clock, because then you really get wound up, so to speak. I came up with a great idea for The Insomniac's Clock. It's essentially one of those digital clocks that projects the time in massive numbers on the ceiling, but with an added twist: every five minutes, the voice of Gilbert Gottfried yells, "ANOTHER FIVE MINUTES HAVE PASSED! YOU'RE STILL NOT ASLEEP!" Like one of those "sound soother" clocks, you could also set it to play back a continuous loop of other noises: car alarms, braying donkeys, or garbage trucks running over Julio Iglesias.
Anyway, I finally fell asleep. I'm sorry, did I say "asleep"? I meant "suspended in nightmarish dreamworlds." In one dream, I was hiding behind a large partially melted chocolate bar, waiting to surprise The View's Starr Jones with a collection of old videotapes. Apparently I was holding the entire first season of the hit sitcom M*A*S*H, except I referred to it for some reason as "R*A*S*H." As Starr walked around the side of the giant Hershey Bar, I jumped out and cried "R*A*S*H!" -- so loudly, I realized, that I had actually yelled it in my sleep. I screamed myself awake.
"Mmmzhuh?" mumbled my wife.
"How dare you rouse me!" cried my three-year-old from the other room. "Fetch my lute! Only a gay melody can soothe me now!"
I decided it was time to call it a night. Or, rather, a day. I trudged downstairs, bleary-eyed, and started writing. So if today's article put you to sleep, well, at the moment that seems like the greatest gift I could give to you.
ADDITION: what the hell ill post one more sorry for double post
My daughter, wife, and I went out to Wal-Mart recently, shopping for the essentials: soap, shampoo, toilet paper, aspirin, and lube. After a half-hour of shopping, we found everything on our list except for the personal lubricant. My wife and I scoured the pharmacy aisles in search of it, but came up empty. As you can imagine, neither of us had the courage to go up to the customer service counter and ask them, "Where do you keep the joy jelly?" So we abandoned our effort.
Later that day we had to go out again, this time to the local K-Mart. As I was passing by the pharmacy aisle, I broke off from our little troop and started "reconning" for the lubricant. I soon found the spermicide and the condoms, so I knew I was in the right place. And then I saw it. There on the shelf it sat, my grail. Actually it was a box, a box small enough for me to palm in my hand. I looked at it, I looked past it. I walked up the aisle like I was browsing for Q-Tips. Then I walked back down the aisle and grabbed it. The reach for, and the subsequent grasp of that product was such an artistic display of sleight-of-hand that even David Copperfield would've gone "Whaaaa??? How'd he do that!?!?"
With the goal in hand (so to speak), I caught up with my wife and daughter, all the while carefully palming the little box so I was able to keep it out of sight from my daughter, other shoppers, K-Mart personnel, and God.
Of course, this is where the story gets blogworthy.
We live only a mile or two from the Big K, and shop there often -- as do our friends, co-workers, neighbors, my daughter's teachers, waiters and waitresses at various restaurants we frequent, our bank teller, and the town mayor. Everyone shops there. YOU probably shop there. Needless to say, I'm in stealth mode when I give a quick wink and tell my wife, "Mission accomplished."
It's a Saturday, early afternoon, and K-Mart is crowded. People are lined up five deep in each checkout line. The three of us are standing in line, and when my kid asks if she can buy a pack of Skittles, I agree. She could've had a case of Skittles, as long as it would not draw attention to my purchase.
Finally, we're at the cashier. She starts ringing up our various items. She slides the notebook paper over the scanner, ping, then the Doritos, ping, then the 12 pack of Coke, ping, the instant grits, ping, the Skittles, ping, then the small box ...
No ping. Nothing.
She slides the box over the scanner again, still no ping. The cashier then breaks out into this wild arm flailing product-to-scanner shuffle slide in search of the missing ping. Now, Leslie whisks my daughter away to the car, shielding her eyes from the horror. I'm alone in the checkout line that is now seven deep and counting, waiting while the skilled K-mart cashier tirelessly tries to ring up my wretched little box of perv. OK, it's only lube, but the lady behind me is looking at me as if I'm going to try and sex up her cat. Sweat is dripping from my face.
Finally a light goes off in the cashier's head, she breaks down and enters the UPC numbers manually into the cash register. Still no
ing ping! She re-enters the numbers. NO PING!!! She calls over the manager, hands the box over to said manager who then proceeds to go through the wild-shuffle, UPC number entry routine. Still no ping. For some reason this item is not in the store's computer. The manager calls over to the pharmacy, asking the pharmacy clerk to give her a price on the item's UPC code. Apparently, the pharmacy clerk is in on this little conspiracy because she asks the manager for the NAME of the product. "Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager. (I don't recall the exact name.)
"Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly?" the pharmacist repeats.
"Yes, Doctor Love's Root Beer Flavored Jam Jelly," says the manager, taking care to emphasize each syllable for the benefit of those at neighboring registers.
"Please hold."
So now the manager is on hold, looking at me all slyly like "Yeah, I'd do ya." The lady behind me is horrified, the teenager behind her is snickering like Beavis, and the rest of line is looking at me like I'm holding up their heart transplant. Vomi-Nervousa!
Finally, said clerk gives the manager the proper UPC code. The manager overrides the cash register and inputs the price. She apologizes for the delay and explains that the box has a 20 cents off offer on it, and that the computer didn't recognize the cost difference.
"I went through all that for 20 CENTS?!?" I wanted to scream, but of course I paid for my purchase, and picked up my bags humiliated. But just as I was about to walk away, I looked at the cat lady, half-smiled, and confidently said, "It'll be worth every penny."
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Galuna on 2004-12-04 at 18:59:02
Quote Unneeded. I don't like these jokes very much, by the way, Galuna.
-- Aster
Woah....Darn. that's embarassing. Hey i think i'm gonna tell jokes too. Short ones.
ADDITION: Here are a few jokes from me then.
1. If you spin an Oriental Person around, do they get Dis-orientated?
2.3 men walk into a single's bar, what do they all have in common?
3. How many "Mentally Challenged" Kids does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Kid:Let's go play checkers!!
-- Aster
Woah....Darn. that's embarassing. Hey i think i'm gonna tell jokes too. Short ones.
ADDITION: Here are a few jokes from me then.
1. If you spin an Oriental Person around, do they get Dis-orientated?
2.3 men walk into a single's bar, what do they all have in common?
3. How many "Mentally Challenged" Kids does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Kid:Let's go play checkers!!
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Urmom(U) on 2004-12-04 at 19:06:55
omg you dont have to quote that! i hope a mod like aster will take it out. hmm i guess it would be dis oriented
Report, edit, etc...Posted by ShadowBrood on 2004-12-04 at 19:10:31
The second ones funny as lol.
lol.Report, edit, etc...Posted by Aster on 2004-12-04 at 19:53:02
Yeah, a mod like Aster took it out. 
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Golden-Fist on 2004-12-04 at 22:54:58
2 men walk onto a bus with black eyes. The Bus driver asks how they got the blackeye, then first guy says he had to go to pittsburg, the train lady had huge jugs and instead said "Tittsburg"
He asks the 2nd guy and he says "Well instead of asking my wife to pass the salt I said
'YOU RUINED MY LIFE YOU FAT WHORE'"
He asks the 2nd guy and he says "Well instead of asking my wife to pass the salt I said
'YOU RUINED MY LIFE YOU FAT WHORE'"
Report, edit, etc...Posted by Mr.Camo on 2004-12-07 at 13:40:39
