Wife and husband have bought condoms with different flavours.
- Darling, I will turn off the light, put one on and you guess the flavour.
As soon as he turns off the light, she takes it in the mouth and says:
- Gorgonzola!
- Wait, it is not on yet.

A wife catches her husband masturbating under the shower and approaches him. The husband:
- Oh dear, it was so dirty that I had to rub it so hard... it almost hurts!

8. Kid's letter to north pole comes back stamped, "Dream on, Chester!" Snowman

7. Kid asks for new bike, gets pack of smokes

6. Along with presents, Santa leaves hefty bill for shipping and handling.

5. By the time he gets to your house, all he has left is foam packing.

4. Christmas day, your kid wakes up with a Reindeer head in his bed.

3. Instead of "Naughty" or "Nice", Santa has him on the stupid list

2. Labels on all your kid's toys read "Straight from Craptown."

1. Four words: "Off my lap, Tubby!"

'Twas the Month after Chanukah

Twas the month after Chanukah, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibble, the latkas I'd taste
At Chanukah parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine or the egg creams, the bread and the cheese
and the way I'd never said, ''No thank you, please.''
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
and prepared once again to do battle with dirt---

I said to myself, as only I can
''You can't spend the winter disguised as a man!''
So... away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of all chocolate, each cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
''Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want to chew only a long celery stick.

I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

Yo' mama so poor, she has to chase down the garbage truck with a shopping list!

Yo Mama is like a bus, she's big she doesn't smell very good and it's only a dollar to ride.

You're so stupid, your mother told you to go buy a color television and you asked, “What color?”

A man left his cat with his brother while he went on vacation for a week. When he came back, the man called his brother to see when he could pick the cat up. The brother hesitated, then said, ''I'm so sorry, but while you were away, the cat died."

The man was very upset and yelled, ''You know, you could have broken the news to me better than that. When I called today, you could have said he was on the roof and wouldn't come down. Then when I called the next day, you could have said that he had fallen off and the vet was working on patching him up. Then when I called the third day, you could have said he had passed away.''

The brother thought about it and apologized.

"So how's Mom?" asked the man.

"She's on the roof and won't come down."

I feel at this time, fellow husbands, that I should warn you about a situation that can only be defined as the most horrendous and horrific scenario imaginable to the married man. (Not counting the dream where you wake up next to Richard Simmons.) I'm talking about running into your old girlfriend while you are with your wife.

A series of emotions will run through your system, predominantly, blacking out. However, if you follow these simple rules, you, too, will be able to escape this chance meeting unscathed.

Let's say you and your wife are shopping at the mall. (Actually, men don't go to the mall to shop. They go for the food court.) All of a sudden, coming in the opposite direction, you see your ex-girlfriend.

First, don't try to hide the fact that she was a former girlfriend. But, if you can duck behind a large, potted plant before she sees you, do it. You can always come up with some flimsy excuse to use on your wife as to why you are skulking behind a large fern. ("Oh, I thought I saw a dollar back there.")

Next, always introduce your wife to your ex-girlfriend, emphasizing the word "ex", and try to avoid using such terms as "former main-squeeze", "cuddle-bunny", or, "love of my life." Then, introduce your ex-girlfriend to your wife. The pitfall to watch for here, guys, is getting your wife's name right. ("I'd like you to meet my wife Mary, uh, Jane, uh, Mary-Jane, uh, Elliot.") NOTE: If you've gotten to this point in the introduction, it is highly advisable that you find the closest sharp object and slash your wrists.

Keep in mind that as all three of you are standing there, smiling stupidly at one another, you, the husband, are not the only one experiencing all of these different emotions.

Your former girlfriend and wife are challenging their imaginations. For instance, the girlfriend may be looking over the situation and asking herself, "Why didn't I duck behind that potted plant when I had the chance?" Or, she may be looking at your wife and observing, "The poor woman. I wonder if he's putting her through the same nightmare I went through."

Now your wife may be looking over your ex and asking, "Alright, she's attractive, but are those real?" Or, she may be wondering, "Poor thing. I wonder if he put her through the same nightmare I'm going through."

The husband, being driven by his over-inflated ego, can only ponder one scenario. "How can I get the two of them involved in a romantic evening?" As enticing as this may seem, guys, and even though it may contain the potential for an entire column of its own, the key thing to remember here is to end this conversation as quickly as possible. This can be done in a number of ways:

1. Fake a heart attack.

2. Remember that you left the water running in the tub.

3. Find the closest sharp object and slash your wrists.

If the situation should develop that the two women involved would like to have coffee or lunch together, under no circumstances are you to leave them alone for a moment. The thing to watch out for in this situation, men, is that while you're having coffee or lunch with two beautiful women, the male ego kicks into overdrive. Avoid reminiscing. ("Remember the night we made love in the linen closet at the Chicago Sheraton?") Or, ("How about the time we went skinny-dipping at that church fund raiser?")

Saying goodbye should be as brief as possible. No kiss. However, if your ex leans in for one, no tongue. Also, when parting company, as you and your wife head in one direction, don't turn around to take one last look. This could be the difference between watching a full or partial football season.

So, guys, follow these simple rules and you may be sleeping in your own bed again within a few, short weeks.

Help! I've just found out I'm plagiocephalic and I don't know what to do!

That's right, I've got plagiocephaly. It's bad enough that in my forties I was diagnosed with hemachromatosis. Now, in my fifties, I have this to contend with. It really is getting too much!

What does plagiocephaly mean? In a nutshell, to use an appropriate term, it means my noggin ain't round. I've got a flat spot on the back of my head.

It seems that when I was a bun fresh out of the oven I wasn't turned often enough. I was left to lie flat on my back, with the result that I have a misshapen scone.

There's no wonder my mind is given to feeling flat at times. I've also now got a vital clue as to why, whenever I try to bake a loaf, it goes flat in the middle. It's enough to leave you numb in the skull!

At this point my deformity still has a covering of hair, albeit sparse and rather grey, but hopefully it doesn't show too much. I've yet to figure out what I'll do when I get old and the grasslands recede, leaving a tell-tale desert.

Perhaps I can have a happy, positive message to the world tattooed on it, or maybe decorate it with a pair of eyes in readiness for a classic sarcastic response.

Whichever way, the craniologist says I can't do much about it now. I'm stuck with it, so I'm off to see a phrenologist to find out what it really says about my personality.

I'm also searching on the internet for a list of famous plagiocephalics who I can identify with to prove that I have a yet-to-be-discovered awesome talent at something or other.

I think perhaps someone should invent some sort of automatic rotisserie for babies so this won't happen in future.

It seems once Valentine's Day draws near, every website on the world wide web starts throwing around "single person survival guides." As a single person, I find this to be a ludicrous practice. A survival guide? Really, a "survival guide??" This is supposed to help? Survival guides are for desperate people lost in the wilderness, starving, freezing, and hunted by bears or zombies. Apparently that's what me and my single brethren are to the non-single world: the metaphorical equivalent of Ash from the movie, "The Evil Dead" Of course, even Ash found love in "Army of Darkness."

I have no problem with Valentine's Day. It is a fine day for people who love each other to take time out to celebrate that love. You may be one of those people who say, "you shouldn't need one day to be romantic, you should do it every day of the year." Come on, be serious. Everyday, you should also show your mother and father you love them, show thanks for everything you have, celebrate your religion, appreciate your freedom, honor those who fought for us in the past, and respect the people who work for you. But I don't hear people clamoring to eliminate Mother's Day, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Independence Day, Veterans and Memorial Day, and Administrative Professional's Day (formerly Secretary's Day). And for you cynical folk buying into urban myths, Hallmark did not invent Valentine's Day. They just took something someone else invented and turned it into a cash cow. Kind of like Vanilla Ice did when he "borrowed" the guitar riff from Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure." Yes, I just likened Hallmark to Vanilla Ice. I wonder if Hallmark makes a greeting card for that...

If we eliminated all holidays that honor things we should be doing anyway, wouldn't we be left with a bunch of useless holidays? Like Groundhog's Day? Though to be fair, Groundhog's Day does have the huge value of guaranteeing that some TV station will run the movie "Groundhog Day," which is a reason to celebrate in and of itself. But I digress...

Valentine's Day is a fine way for couples to celebrate, but implying that single folk need a "survival guide" is just ludicrous. It actually makes things worse. Rather than just happily going about our business around this time of year, we are constantly reminded of our singleness. It's like the guy who breaks your leg and then sells you crutches. "Hey thanks buddy for solving a problem I didn't have until you created it..."

The sad thing is that single folk buy into this. I used to get down on the Valentine's Days that I was single. "Woe is me! Why is everyone else in love but me?" I even used to throw "anti-Valentine's Day" parties where single people would get together and watch the most unromantic movies possible, like "Firestorm" with Howie Long.

(The absolute best "anti-Valentine's Day" party I ever had was when me and about 8 single guy buddies got together and watched a WWE pay-per-view. Nothing says, "We don't need women" like watching 3 solid hours of half naked men beating each other up. But I digress...)

Then there came a Valentine's Day where all of my friends were either dating or out of town. I felt a sense of dread creeping up, like the feeling you get when someone leaves you a voicemail that just says, "Give me a call, we need to talk." I was going to be single and alone on Valentine's Day! Oh no! Fortunately, I had a moment of clarity and thought back to the great words of Eleanor Roosevelt, "No on can make you feel small without your consent." By celebrating "Anti-Valentine's Day" I was just giving power and significance to it. The better approach was to just ignore it. It's similar to dealing with Paris Hilton; if we would all just stop paying attention, she would go away.

And that's been the case ever since. No more parties, no more depression. In this way, Valentine's Day is like any other day. I plan to get up, do some work, make some people laugh, have fun, and go to sleep just tickled pink with who I am and what I am up to (and yes, I realize the irony of telling you I am ignoring Valentine's Day in an article written about Valentine's Day, so don't bother pointing it out to me...).

You want a real survival guide? Here it is: If something is bothering you, you have two options; do something about it or let it go. Obsessing over the issue for a full day (plus the one-month build up), congregating with the girls to watch romantic movies, going out with the guys to get drunk, or sitting home alone feeling sorry for yourself does neither.

This is true for more than just Valentine's Day. Whether it's about money, career, relationships, family, activities, health, or anything at all, you have two options: do something or let it go. Everything else is just whining...

Avish Parashar is a dynamic keynote speaker who uses Improv Comedy to show organizations and individuals how to quickly make the most of whatever life throws at them. He weaves together humorous stories, witty observations, and interactive exercises from improvisational comedy to get people laughing, learning, and motivated!

First, let me assure you that I'm not going to bring this list down to the lowest common denominator with a bunch of mindless, idiotic, sexual references. If you want that kind of list, perhaps you should be reading such tripe somewhere else. Anyone can write an article that exploits sex. That's not where this article is going. As you'll read, all ten things that guys hate to hear in bed are all, pretty much, family friendly. Why, even Grandma could enjoy this list full of insightful and entertaining quotes. Providing, of course, Grandma has a sense of humor. So, without further adieu, a sensible list of 10 things guys hate to hear in bed:

1. I'm telling you, I heard a noise downstairs.

2. If you loved me, you'd get me a yogurt.

3. If I die tomorrow, how many hours would it be before you started dating?

4. If you die tomorrow, would it be okay if I had the cable guy over for dinner?

5. Please tell me we still have collision coverage.

6. When I say I'm eight days late, I don't mean on credit card payments.

7. How many days can I drive with the oil light on?

8. Billy needs new "everything."

9. How would you feel about working a third job?

10. Move your head, I can't see Lettermen.

Okay, I couldn't resist. So, shoot me.

Arrest me now. I may not be Arab, Muslim, or male but I do fit the profile of the two schmucks currently being much maligned by the FBI and the local papers for their "suspicious activities." You see, I once lived in a fundamentalist Muslim country and was married to a Palestinian. I grew up in a small southern town where the tallest building was the Merchants and Farmer's Bank and so I often stare up at the buildings in Seattle and any other large city I happen to be wandering.

I was a civil engineer in my previous career and find myself fascinated by bridges, viaducts, railroad bridges, locks, dams, and other key pieces of urban infrastructure. I sometimes go on line to study architectural drawings. I have even been known to photograph these critical pieces as well as churches, mosques, and even the airplanes on the tarmac at SEATAC. I live on an island and yet I am still fascinated by the roar of the engines and the speed of the water as it rushes beneath me on the ferry. I still take pictures of the skyline, the Colman Docks, the stern, the bow, the galley, and other urban places that interest me on the ferries that come and go from our bucolic little island port. I once took a picture of the cute little coast guard fellow on the ramp leading to the boat because he was just cute as hell in his battle dress.

There are more subversives in my family to arrest as well. Consider my son who is a commissioned officer in the US military currently training at a prestigious flight school sponsored by Uncle Sam. Seems to me he should be an object of great concern. Could he, an Irish/Cherokee/ Scottish/Arab American, be a deeply embedded covert Al Qaeda operative? Due to his deep-seated ancestral roots steeped in carnage and jihadist tribal behaviors could this red-blooded Arab American boy turn? Could he possibly be pre-programmed from infancy to ride his aircraft into a large building all in the name of Allah? Why else would he have gone to university to study to be an aviator? Why else would he have joined the military? He has to be a mole for Osama and the Boys!

How did the Arabs become the bad guys? When did we become so steeped in this new brand of ignorant isolationist bigotry? Islam, Muslim, Arab, Jihad. These words strike fear into the hearts of the ignorant masses of our country. FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Patriot Act. These are the words that should strike fear in our hearts. They are the weapons of Mass Destruction. Being scared all the time and spying on my neighbors doesn't seem to be a real productive way to live one's life.

Less than a century ago some of the finest men in the world fought against this same oppressive behavior in places called Omaha, Utah, Gold, Juno, and Sword beaches along the coast of Normandy. Have we as a nation forgotten the nationalistic behaviors of the Germans as they sought to rid themselves of their Jewish population? Jews were different looking and accused of manipulating the world monetary institutions thus causing the great depression so they could profit and grow their ambitions.

The NAZI party was a small but vocal group that instituted a system to spy on and seek out subversives who were Jewish or Jewish-looking. Photos and drawings were circulated to help the common folks identify potential suspects. Watched, photographed, and finally the leadership, knowing what was best for the "real" Germans, instituted a plan to take care of their "Jewish threat." Their initial solution? Isolated "work camps" in other countries where Jews and non-conformist others (gays, lesbians, jazz musicians, gypsies, the mentally handicapped, and pacifist clergy to name a few) were sent for further interrogation and evaluation. This was all done in the best interest of the German people by their government.

It's that time of the year where we reflect and look back at the top news stories of the year. But, what about those stories that didn't make the big headlines? The ones that were buried on page 97? This is due, in part, to the fact that many times the article is short on information and many of the questions that you would like to have asked go unanswered.

In keeping with the journalistic integrity that I swore to when I took my Oath of Hypocrisy, I would like to present several of these articles from the past year and ask those tough, unanswered questions.

The first article comes from Maryland where the Assistant Maryland State Veterinarian says that racing pigeons from New Jersey, New York and Pennsylvania must have health certificates before flying to Maryland because of avian influenza. My first question is obvious. How do you know when a pigeon has the flu? How do you get the thermometer under their little tongues? And, most importantly, do they get charged sick days if they don't race?

Another question comes to mind. How do they carry the health certificate? Isn't their just so much room in those containers strapped to their legs? And, what about this flu? Can humans catch it? What are some of the symptoms? Will I have an uncontrollable urge to want to leave little spots on my neighbor's windshield? Will I be found sitting in the park on top of the General Custer statue? These were the questions not answered in the article.

The next story comes from Frenchboro, Maine. Apparently, they had an opening for the sixth time, in as many years, for a teacher in it's twelve student, one-room schoolhouse. Here comes the kicker. Frenchboro, Maine is an island ten miles out in the Atlantic Ocean. My question here is, who makes up the twelve students? Gilligan, The Skipper, The Professor, The Movie Star, Mary Ann and Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell? The article goes on to say that qualifications include a love of solitude and the ability to survive harsh winters. They left out one important qualification. You must never have seen "The Shining." The article also says you must be able to do without stores, movie theaters, and restaurants. Now, there's a plus.

So, what is there to do in Frenchboro, Maine? The last teacher there said that she is stepping down to spend more time with her new baby. Okay, now I know what there is to do in Frenchboro, Maine.

The next story comes from Hillside, New Jersey. A Newark postal clerk was honored, recently, with a special headstone for bravely protecting the mail from going down with the Titanic ninety-five years ago. My question is, what kind of mail would be on the Titanic? A postcard from the ship's gift shop that says, "Dear Cousin Cleo, Having a wonderful time. Wish you were...what was that?"

So, there you have it. I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for another selection of interesting, yet pointless, stories in 2008 and I won't give up until I have asked the really tough questions. Now, where was that story about the guy who mailed himself to Latin America in a number ten envelope?

I never used to get scared when I was young, single, and living in an apartment complex overlooking the projects where even the sound of gunfire didn't keep us from opening a ground floor window to catch a breeze. I felt safe surrounded by my family of strangers who made window art out of beer cans, whose cars vibrated to the beat of their own drum, and who were prone to pack up and move in the middle of the night. I slept soundly to the pulse of the blue light blinking through my bedroom window. But somewhere between marriage, motherhood, and moving into a quiet house in a nothing-out-of-the-ordinary neighborhood, I became a chicken. Suddenly I'm convinced that it has become the American burglar's dream to get his hands on our dusty VCR, hand-me-down televisions, wallet with three dollars and a handful of Chuck-E-Cheese tokens, and a collection of Beanie Babies that I am convinced will get us through retirement - or even worse, to have his way with me, which even I have to admit makes for a pretty desperate burglar.

I considered an alarm system but decided that I would rather be taken by surprise and killed rather than hear an electronic voice whisper from my bedroom wall that an intruder is coming up the stairs. In fact, I would probably take myself out to spare myself the agony of suspense. And with my luck, I would get the electronic alarm voice with the bitter just-left-my-husband attitude. "See, I told you he was breaking in, you fool. Next time maybe you'll listen to me. I'm thinking you asked for that one. You should never have gotten married; this fool here isn't going to protect you. That's a man for you." No, I don't need an alarm system. I married an ex-football playing power lifter who is convinced that he can kill someone with his bare hands - despite the fact that our living room bookshelf collapsed in the middle of the night last week and he didn't even wake up. I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that if the burglar wants to come in, there's nothing that can stop him. I think the makers of alarm systems need to talk to the makers of toy packaging. If burglars had to work as hard getting into a house as parents have to work to open a new toy - the hard plastic, those twist ties, all those tiny screws - that boogey man will not stay the course. I'm just saying.

It's when hubby goes out of town that I struggle. I'm not scared at the thought of him going, and certainly not scared enough that I can't plan an enjoyable evening of scallion chicken, chocolate, scented candles, Gray's Anatomy, three episodes of Law and Order, and a Lifetime movie about a woman being stalked by her lover's ex-girlfriend's crazy roommate, starring Valerie Bertinelli. For some weird reason I'm not scared earlier that afternoon, or at dinner, or at 9pm, or at 10pm, or even at 11pm. But at 11:01 my eyes start to shift and campy horror music tracks start running through my head. In my mind, that's when the boogey man clocks in and starts creeping slowly down the street in his rusty old Dodge Dart and trunk full of duct tape and hefty bags. I am not scared until I put on my flannel nightgown (just so he won't be tempted), fuzzy socks, and crawl under the covers. That's when I hear the noise. Never fails. Every time. I hear a noise. I do a quick run through of all the explainable noises - ice maker, cat, air conditioner, leaky faucet, sound of the whistle inside my own nose. None of these. I am convinced that this is a noise only the boogey man can make.

I try to be logical - what are the odds that this guy would choose my house - which doesn't make me feel any better because it's the same logic I used when I convinced myself nobody would see me if I ran out to the mailbox in my bathrobe. That story didn't end well. There are still children in therapy over that one. In fact, odds were good that he was going to pick my house because I had just mopped the floors and wouldn't that just be a kicker, to go out after having spent hours cleaning your floors - like washing your car and it rains - those are my kind of odds. Okay, so I didn't actually mop them, I swept them. Okay, okay, so I just used the dust buster in the corners - what are you, the clean police? I considered making the boogey man's job easier by going ahead and putting all my belongings on the front porch so he wouldn't have to come in. But my lazy side convinced my fearful side that was a bad idea. Besides, last time I left piles of stuff on the curb, even the bums rejected it. I considered sleeping in a different room to surprise him but that would mean having to wash the sheets in the guest bedroom.

I imagine the boogey man looking through my car trying to remove the expensive electronic equipment that's not there - it's a ten-year-old Hyundai for gosh sakes - and I can actually hear him swear as his fingers wrap around a petrified french fry and the chewed-up nugget remains that have grown hair in between the seats. I see his lips curl up in disgust as he flips through my CD collection. If he were a smart burglar, he'd go for the bag of diet bars in the back seat that cost more than my car is now worth. Shoot, if he were smart, he'd pick a different house. Take the CD's, by golly, but those diet bars cost me a fortune. Only in America does it cost more money to eat less. Great, now he's mad and he's coming inside. I know this because I can hear him picking the lock downstairs -so what if I can't hear my husband when he gets locked out and bangs for thirty minutes on that downstairs door - now I am sure I can hear that boogey man breathing and breaking into the house in slow motion - because that's what they do you know, move in slow motion while looking both ways like kids about to cross the street. So much for the big dog house that's supposed to scare him away. I'm convinced that he's been casing the house long enough to know that the scary big dog went to the vet and didn't come home whereupon the burglar gossip line went crazy - "Dog gone at the Swanson's, I repeat, dog gone at the Swanson's."

That's when I realize I don't have the phone - dummy - any fool knows that you won't have time to get the phone if it's across the room. But now I'm worried. Do I have time to get to the phone before he reaches the top of the stairs? Should this time be spent finding a hiding place? And would I still fit on the top shelf of my closet like I imagined when I was smaller? Should this time be spent trying to get out of the bathroom window - oops - the same window that won't open anymore because I painted over it by mistake? Great. I can hear my husband now leaning over my dead body saying, "Well, you might have gotten away if you had listened to my advice. That's what you get when you do a rush job." I decided to make a run for the phone. I'm still here, so obviously it was a good call. Excuse the pun. Even when I'm scared, I've still got it.

Then I can hear the sound of his pick ax brushing the wall going up the stairs. It's weird how your heart can be throbbing through your chest, your life can be flashing before your eyes, you can be picking out thirty-seven escape routes and hiding places, and still wonder if this is the night gown you should be caught dead in, picturing your blue-haired relatives leaning over the casket saying, "What a shame. So young. You think she could have picked a better gown. I didn't realize she had put on that much weight."

These are the times when I always wish I had taken a self-defense class. I try to remember everything my husband told me to do when you're getting attacked. Shove him up the nose. No, too gross. Poke him in the eyes. Eeeewwww, even worse. No way. Knee him in the groin - maybe, but last time I tried to hike my knee up in aerobics I fell down. Beat him until he doesn't get up, my husband tells me - over and over. He obviously didn't see me when I cried in kickboxing class because my knuckles got scraped. He obviously hasn't seen my bruises from trying to get my three-year-old dressed. My husband has this image of me that doesn't exist, perhaps never did. He didn't know me the time I ran into the cement pole in front on Big Lots because I was looking down at my shoes to see if they made my feet look big. He didn't see me wave and smile at the swaying drunk guy who was pee'ing on the dumpster outside the Circle K because I didn't want him to think I was rude. The idea of me overwhelming my attacker is about realistic as the idea of me passing a Krispy Kreme without stopping.

It is for these reasons that I consider myself a pacifist, but sometimes the mind does crazy things and I decide that in order to protect myself and my sleeping child, it's time to get the gun. Yes, I said it. We have a gun. Not my idea. My husband brought guns into the marriage. I do not like guns and the idea of giving one to me is like giving a knife to someone with seizures - you don't know what will happen but you can bet it won't be good. But drastic times call for drastic measures and the gun is closer than the knives in the kitchen and I can somehow imagine myself shooting someone from a distance easier than trying to knife him the same way I poke a potato. I am sweating just thinking about the gun which is hidden in the top shelf of a closet in the next room. There are no bullets in it, so the best I can hope for is to throw it at him. But sitting there wide-eyed in my granny nightgown at three am - well, I'm not thinking clearly. I go for the gun. I practice pointing and saying, "Make my day. This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you. I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it. Give me all your aces." Okay, so at least I was entertained and momentarily forgot my fear. Until I had to pee.

Everybody knows that there are two moments when the traditional boogey man will strike - when you're in the shower and when you're squatting - both very vulnerable positions. Not as vulnerable though as if it were the middle of your annual exam. That would never happen though because the boogey man would take one look at the stirrups and syringes and run. Or tell him the stick turned pink and that'll get rid of him. I should sleep at the doctor's office when hubby is out of town - kind of like hunkering down in a safe bunker - or whatever the expression is. Anyway, the movies never show you how to handle the whole having to pee situation. But now I really have to go. Surely I can't put the gun down or he'll grab it and turn it on me - or rather throw it at me as the case may be. There is only one choice. I have to pee and stay armed at the same time. I once drove three miles, in the rain, with broken wipers, while applying lipstick and changing a diaper. I can do this. And I do. And with great skill and manual dexterity might I add. I complete my business and never once take my finger off the trigger. Annie Oakley, you got nothing on me.

Now I'm back in the bed, eyes wide, brandishing the gun wildly around the room and realize that my child is sleeping across the hall and what if the boogey man goes there first? Although there are days when I am convinced that if my wild-eyed toddler ever got abducted, they would certainly bring him back, I just don't want to take any chances. And it's usually at this point that I run into his room and grab him and bring his snoring body back to my bed where I am fully prepared to throw myself over him and yell, "Take me! Take me!" But now I've got the sleeping kid and the gun and I don't want him to wake up and see the gun - bullets or not. And what if my husband comes home early for some reason and can't reach me on the phone that is lying on my stomach because the battery has suddenly gone dead and so I don't know he's coming and he sneaks in and I don't hear him and I shoot him by mistake - and I know there are no bullets in there, but good grief, how can you be sure? I'm certainly not going to open it to find out.

I decide that I would rather be shot than accidentally shoot my family and I put the gun under the bed. Nope, not a good idea, because undoubtedly Junior will pull it out covered in dust bunnies the size of a small dog - he finds everything - and he'll start playing with it and put it in his backpack (despite the fact that he still can't work the zipper) take it to school and he'll get expelled from preschool and I'll get arrested and they'll say this is why the world is in the state it's in - and makes sense - she was the mom who sent chocolate bars for snack instead of carrots. And I'll go to jail and end up rooming with a boogey man or boogey lady, as the case may be, and find out that it was her cousin who broke into my house and caught me on the john and still has the mental scars to prove it. Better to put it back on the top shelf of the closet and resort to plan B where I tell the criminal to please hold a minute while I run and grab my unloaded gun.

It is 4:30am and I'm wide awake with one arm on the phone, fingers gripping my new razor in the hopes of nicking him to death, and the other arm on my Bible, having decide my best chance at scaring him off would be to witness to him - he would either run or be saved, either of which would work in my favor - while my son snores loudly beside me. And then somehow - as I'm praying that if this is my night to die, to please make sure that my husband does not find anyone else skinnier, and if there could be chocolate in heaven I would be really happy - by some wonderful miracle, I fall asleep and wake up at that magical hour of 6am where I am no longer afraid because the sun is now coming up and everybody knows that the boogey man gets off work at 6am - just like he gets snow days and Christmas eve off. And I drift back to sleep and all is right with the world and there is peace. I have had my brush with death and lived to write about it. Little do I know that there is another fear just lurking around the corner - when I would mistakenly think that with just a little bit of spandex I could fit my size fourteen body into a size ten pair of jeans. I still have the bruises to show for it.

The Dallas Cowboys, coming off their crushing playoff loss to the New York Giants in the NFL Playoffs, have announced a prime-time series based on the team to be televised on Fox this off-season. Following is a list of the top 10 characters to be on this prime-time soap opera. The show, aptly named, "Unlikable People Creating Horrible Karma," is the centerpiece of the new Fox season.

#1-Tony Romo, character name "Jinx." Jinx will be known for his ability to melt down in various ways when times get tough. Slippery footballs, weekend trips to Mexico with Jessica Simpson and throwdowns with T.O. will all be part of the drama.

#2-Jessica Simpson, character name "Minx." Minx will throw the Cowboys chemistry upside down by dating Jinx, taking him to Mexico when the team needs him most, and causing all kinds of drama.

#3-T.O., character name "Diva 81." Diva 81 will bring 'da drama on a weekly basis. His needy, almost effeminate desire to be loved and adored will be felt from the first episode. His crying outbursts from Jinx dating hot pop stars and stealing headlines will be on full display. Wait, I mean crying outbursts from the team losing and him caring so much.

#4-Britney Spears, character name "What The Hell Happened?" What The Hell Happened will provide the attempted love triangle between her, Jinx and Minx. What the hell happened will be a former child star with a mess of issues.

#5-Bill Parcells, character name "Big Bill." Deep in the heart of Texas sits Jerry Jones' mortal enemy, Big Bill. Bill will be the competing football man that comes back to take revenge on Jerry Jones (or J.J. as he will be known) and the 'Boys.

#6-Jimmy Johnson, character name "Hair Guy." Hair Guy will be known as the old, lovable ex-coach that led the Cowboys to their past glory. His legendary sense of hair care sensibilities and hair care product knowledge will be focused on.

#7-Bill Belichick, character name "Homeless Coach." A mysterious, homeless-looking man who wears torn garments, Homeless Coach is befriended by Big Bill to run the competing team in town.

#8-Shaq, character name "The Big Guest Star." It wouldn't be drama without The Big Guest Star. Dallas will be rocked by The Big Guest Star, as the basketball phenom whose dream it is to be the best Punter in the world.

#9-Wade Philips, character name "No Playoff Wins." No Playoff Wins is the lovable Coach who couldn't shoot straight. His firing is coming, but until then, he will try his best to lead the Cowboys on the field.

#10-Jerry Jones, character name "J.J." The head honcho of the Dallas Cowboys, J.J., much like his predecessor, J.R., will run the show and be the law of the Cowboys. Big ego and small results lately have made J.J. quite ornery. Watch the sparks fly as he, Jinx, Diva 81 and company come your way this season on Fox.

Ways the Bible would be different if written by college students….

Last Supper would have been eaten the next morning - cold.
The Ten Commandments are actually only five, double-spaced, and written in a large font.
New edition every two years in order to limit reselling.
Forbidden fruit would have been eaten because it wasn’t

I got stopped by a copper while i was going along the m25 i stopped opened the window and he said this is a spot check so i replied i've got 2 blackheads and a boil on my a**

Personally I don’t care for telemarketers, in fact I really don’t care for them. They call at the most inoppertune times - when you’re eating, sleeping, relaxing, or just sitting around doing nothing (yea even then it’s annoying). In the even you have alittle time on your hands and want to really ensure they don’t call back (let’s face it, the National Do Not Call List only goes so far)… here is the F&J top 10 list for getting rid of a telemarketer…

1. Say, “No,” over and over. Be sure to vary the sound of each no, and keep an even tempo even as they’re trying to speak. Maybe sing a song with all “No’s” This is the most fun if you can keep going until they hang up.
2. If they want to loan you money, tell them you just filed for bankruptcy and you could it. Ask, “How long can I keep it? Do I have to ever pay it back, or is it like that other money I borrowed before my bankruptcy?”
3. If they start out with, “How are you today?” say, “Why do you want to know?” Or you can say, “I’m so glad you asked, because no one seems to care these days and I have all these problems, my colon is acting up again, my rectum are sore, my pet rock just died…” When they try to get back to the sales process, just keep talking about your problems… if they persist - ask them why they don’t care.
4. If the person says he’s Joe Shmoe from the Acme Company, ask him to spell his name, then ask him to spell the company name, then ask for his address. Ask for landmarks. Continue asking questions about the company for as long as necessary.
5. This one works better if you are male: Telemarketer: “Hi, my name is Jessica and I’m with Roger Dodd Services…. You: “Hang on a second.” (few seconds pause) “Okay, (in a really husky voice) what are you wearing?”
6. If you get one of those pushy sales people who just won’t shut up, patiently listen to their sales pitch. When they try to close the deal, tell them that you’ll need to go get your credit card. Then, just set the phone down and go do laundry, go shopping or whatever. See how long that commission based scum waits for you to get your credit card.
7. If a long distance phone company calls trying to get you to sign up for their Family and Friends plan, reply, in as sinister a voice as you can, “I don’t have any friends… would you be my friend?” If that doesn’t work, say “Please.”
8. Tell them you work for the same company they work for. For example: Telemarketer: “This is John From Acme Sales.”
You: “Acme Sales, hey I work for them too! Which center are you calling from?”
Telemarketer: “Uh, Dallas, Texas.”
You: “Great, how’s business over there? The weather? Too bad the company has a policy against selling to employees! Oh well, see ya.”
9. Let the person go through their spiel, providing minimal but necessary feedback in the form of an occasional “Uh-huh, really, or, “That’s fascinating.” Finally, when they ask you to buy, ask them to marry you. They get all flustered, but just tell them you couldn’t give your credit card number to someone who’s a complete stranger. You might even find your soulmate.
10. Tell the telemarketer (this is my personal favorite) you are busy and if they will give you their phone number you will call them back. If they say they are not allowed to give out their number, then ask them for their home number and tell them you will call them at home (this is usually the most effective method of getting rid of telemarketers). If the sales person says, “Well, I don’t really want to get a call at home,” say, “Ya! Now you know how I feel.” (smiling, of course…)

What'd You Think?

A hack golfer spends a day at a plush country club, playing golf and enjoying the luxury of a complimentary caddy. Being a hack golfer, he plays poorly all day. Round about the 18th hole, he spots a lake off to the left of the fairway. He looks at the caddy and says, "I've played so poorly all day, I think I'm going to go drown myself in that lake."

The caddy looks back at him and says, "I don't think you could keep your head down that long."

A lady goes in to take a tennis lesson, and the instructor notices she is
using the wrong grip. After several failed attempts to correct her, he
finally says "OK,, just grip it like you do your husband's member".
After that, she immediately rips a couple of top spin winners down the
line. The instructor says, "Wow that's great. Now just try taking the
racquet out of your mouth."

A salesman from KFC walked up to the Pope and offers him a million dollars if he would change "The Lord's Prayer" from "give us this day our daily bread" to "give us this day our daily chicken." The Pope refused his offer.

Two weeks later, the man offered the pope 10 million dollars to change it from "give us this day our daily bread" to "give us this day our daily chicken" and again the Pope refused the man's generous offer. Another week later, the man offered the Pope 20 million dollars and finally the Pope accepted. The following day, the Pope said to all his officials, "I have some good news and some bad news. 'The good news is, that we have just received a check for 20 million dollars. The bad news is, we lost the Wonder Bread account!'''

Jab Jab nigahe meri takrayi teri aankho se

ek ajeeb nasha chaya dil pe haule - haule

khud ko bhul gayi main achanak

teri nazro ne niyat kharab mrei ki haule - haule