gift-[H-03]---part-1-of-1

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A Gift for my Wife

Part-1-of-1

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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:
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Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 25-th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Dora. 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?
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WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought Dora the device and brought it home.
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I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
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Nothing!
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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 Dora what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.
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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 Callie looking on intently (trusting little soul that she was) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood living breathing moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Callie (for a fraction of a second) but then 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?
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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-inches 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!'
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What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best...
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I'm sitting there alone, Callie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, 'don't do it dip-shit,' 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 ‘the body’ Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both the recliner and me on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal 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 a tingling in my legs?
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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.
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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 over the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8-feet or so from where it originally rested. 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. and 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, was coming from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!!

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P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it! Actually she liked it so much that she had me buy one for our daughter who was away at college? When I buy our daughter’s, I’ll bet she’ll be smart enough not to test it on herself.

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The end…

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moment-[H-16]--part-1-of-1

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Best moment

Part-1-of-1

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I was walking in a store today and passed some dude. As he passes, he says, "Why don't you trim that fucking thing?" really loud. I have a large, bushy mustache. I'm talking Wilfred Brimley. I like a big ol' mustache and it's my face so I reply, "Why don't you mind your own fucking business?"

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Shit. Of course this guy gets all ‘red-neck.’ I turn around and then I notice that he's got a boot camp buzz-cut, still sporting issue sunglasses and a ‘Marines’ t-shirt. He starts talking all kinds of shit about ‘disrespect.’

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I shrug and start to walk away because I really don't give a damn.
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Then he really got pissed off and sprinted past me, turned around, took off his shades and really got in my face. "I was in the Marines, you fucking (here's where I tuned out) blah-blah-blah-blah . . ."
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The fact that I was a navy vet was none of his business so I replied, "I really don't give a shit."
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You'd have thought I slapped his mamma. Really, what the fuck? I’d served my time in the military, I doubt if I’ll get re-called so why the hell should I groom myself to military standards? I am clean, I shower at least once a day using actual soap, I keep my hair cut short 'cause I'm balding (like Bruce Willis) and my clothes are clean. I don't stink or anything, so I don't see why this asshole has to have an issue, other than he is fucked in the head and has a chip on his shoulder about something.

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I start to walk away and he's still hollering about his military service. I just gave an ‘I still don't give a shit’ wave of dismissal and went on about my business.
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He had to have the last word, though. He gets in front of the door and proceeds to lecture me about the sacrifices of military personnel and how white trash like my family has never served the country (my great-great-grandfather and his 2-brothers were in the Texas army fighting Santa Ana, and someone in my family has been in every war since) blah-blah-blah. Then he says "How do you like your freedom that I fought for?"
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I said, "What freedom?" sidestepped around him and went about my business and forgot about the loud mouth idiot.
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Then a few days later I had one of the greatest moments of my life.

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I am 25 and have been doing boxing and even dabbling a little in the martial arts as a hobby since high school. I have never been in a street fight nor have I ever done any competition in the ring, again because I like it as a hobby.

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Last week while I was at the gym a friend of mine told me about a ‘fight club’ that goes down at a bar. I was a little curious mostly because this friend who was telling me about it, was a really hot girl who shouldn’t be boxing but for some reason was. To have the chance to see her outside the gym in a social setting, I couldn’t past this up.

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I ask some of my friends to join me but in fear that they might be forced to fight just for being there, they left me to this adventure alone. That night I make my way to the location and walk into a hole in a wall type of bar. There were tons of people and as I squeeze my way into the bar. I down a quick shot of Jack Daniels and a Miller lite to calm my nerves. I order one more beer and follow a group of people to the back behind close doors that was obvious where the fights took place. There were also tons of people back there including a lot of hot looking females. I meet my friend from the gym and her friends. After watching a couple a good fights from both female and male fighters, I get the bug and wanted to give it a try. All the fights have been really sloppy so far as if they were a regular street fight. Thinking I could do better, I raise my hand and asked, “Can I be next?”

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After the fight in progress ended in a brutal beat down, the man made circle split open like the Red Sea giving me an easy path to center stage. As I moved into the fight circle I looked down at the fresh blood stains from the past fighters and thought, “What have I gotten myself into?” Just then a mean looking guy with a buzz-cut that looked like he would scare his own grandma steps into the circle on the opposite side from me. He had some intimidating tattoos all over his upper body, was a bit heavier than me, and looked like he meant business. He was a bit shorter then me so I knew that I’d have to work that to my advantage.

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As he turned towards me, I realized that he was the jackass with the Marine t-shirt from before.

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The ‘ring leader’ approached us and quickly ran through the rules; no crotch shots, no small limb submissions, and fights only stop when one quits or is knocked out. He asked for our names and introduced us to the hungry fans ready to see a blood bath.

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As soon as the fights started I approach him and he tried to give me a heavy right hook. I easily duck under his punch and countered with a 4-hit combination that left him stunned. When I ducked under his punch the people all around were amazed, because every fight at the bar up until now had been really sloppy. No one was fighting with proper skill or technique. Unfortunately for my opponent he quickly realized that he did not have the skills to do any kind of damage to me. I also realized that I’ve greatly under-estimated my fighting skills for years. And I discovered that I liked the feel of my body bobbing and weaving, as it moved like a well-oiled machine. The feel of my appoint’s punches on my forearms as I blocked them and lashed out with punches of my own as my bare knuckles connected with my opponent’s body. .

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I was quickly giving the public such a good show that they eventually started chanting my name. I have no words to describe that feeling. There were at least a hundred pair of eyes on me, that including the girl from my gym and her friends who I wanted to impress but also all the other hot girls that were there. I felt no pain but pure adrenalin rush. They kept chanting my name, they wanted me to finish him off, and so I gave them what they wanted. I ended up cornering him and worked his body for a few punches. Then I knock him out with a one two to the jaw. As I raised my fist in victory, all the yelling, screaming, and cheering washed over me like waves on the beach.

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As I was trying to snake my way through the crowds of people towards the bar for a much-needed drink, people were congratulating me and giving me money as a ‘tip.’ I had been the underdog and wasn’t expected to win because my opponent looked like he would kill me. So everyone who placed a bet for me to win had won a lot of money. As was the custom among gamblers, some were sharing the wealth.

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I had a great fight, made some money and made some new friends because of my great fight. When it was over, I felt as if I’d just had some great hot fucking sweaty sex. Which to be quite honest would have been a good way to end the night, with some sex that is. But it turned out that the hot girl from my gym was a lesbian. I don’t know why didn’t put two and two together before but she is so fucking hot I guess I was in denial.
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Anyways, that was my moment...

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911 Call (Texas)

911 Call of Texas Man, Shoots Two Robbers
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Please click below
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPuM_XAo2BE&NR=1

hot shit-[H-14]-part-1-of-1

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Hot Shit

Part-1-of-1

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I went grocery shopping recently even though I was not altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'You're definitely going to poop yourself' chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.
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Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after 2-cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's Movement #2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my colon, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next-door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
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Knowing that a moment of reckoning was soon to come, yet just not sure when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
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When I entered the store, at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping in the items that I wanted to purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that 'Uh oh, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
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The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms that would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
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There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, so I began to slowly move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.

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I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate. I could've warned that poor woman but didn't. I simply watched as she walked unsuspectingly into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh.
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Laughing was a mistake, a big mistake. Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things 'clamped down', if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.
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Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down an odorous cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal ass-plosion took place.
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Fortunately, luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my butt is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe'. He made a gagging sound disgustedly, before quickly leaving.
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Once finished I left the restroom, hunted down and reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster has set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.'
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That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!' Then ran off, returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.
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Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was still nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed 2-more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson's. I can't say anymore about that because we’re litigating the whole matter in court. They claim they're going to have to repaint the entire inside of the store...

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The end…

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gift----part-1-of-1 humor

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A Gift for my Wife

Part-1-of-1

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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:
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Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 25-th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Dora. 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?
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WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought Dora the device and brought it home.
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I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
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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 Dora 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 Callie looking on intently (trusting little soul that she was) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood living breathing moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Callie (for a fraction of a second) but then 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?
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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-inches 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!'
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What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best...
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I'm sitting there alone, Callie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, 'don't do it dip-shit,' 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 ‘the body’ Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both the recliner and me on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal 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 a tingling in my legs?
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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 over the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8-feet or so from where it originally rested. 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. and 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, was coming 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! Actually she liked it so much that she had me buy one for our daughter who was away at college? When I buy our daughter’s, I’ll bet she’ll be smart enough not to test it on herself.

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The end…
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Tid Bits

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While I sat in the reception area of my doctor's office, a woman rolled an elderly man in a wheelchair into the room. As she went to the receptionist's desk, the man sat there, alone and silent.

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Just as I was thinking I should make small talk with him, a little boy slipped off his mother's lap and walked over to the wheelchair. Placing his hand on the man's, he said, 'I know how you feel. My mom makes me ride in the stroller too.'

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As I was nursing my baby, my cousin's 6-year-old daughter, Krissy, came into the room. Never having seen anyone breast feed before, she was intrigued and full of all kinds of questions about what I was doing.

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After mulling over my answers, she remarked, 'My mom has some of those, but I don't think she knows how to use them.'

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Out bicycling one day with my 8-year-old granddaughter, Carolyn, I got a little wistful. 'In ten years,' I said, 'you'll want to be with your friends and you won't go walking, biking, and swimming with me like you do now.

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Carolyn shrugged. 'In 10-years you'll be too old to do all those things anyway.'

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Working as a pediatric nurse, I had the difficult assignment of giving immunization shots to children. One day I entered the examining room to give 4-year-old Lizzie her needle. 'No, no, no!' she screamed.

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'Lizzie,' scolded her mother, 'that's not polite behavior.'

.With that, the girl yelled even louder, 'No, thank you! No, thank you!

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On the way back from a Cub Scout meeting, my grandson asked my son the question. 'Dad, I know that babies come from mommies' tummies, but how do they get there in the first place?' he asked innocently.

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After my son hemmed and hawed awhile, my grandson finally spoke up in disgust. 'You don't have to make something up, Dad It's OK if you don't know the answer.'
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Just before I was deployed to Iraq , I sat my 8-year-old son down and broke the news to him. 'I'm going to be away for a long time,' I told him. 'I'm going to Iraq .' .

'Why?' he asked. 'Don't you know there's a war going on over there?'
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Paul Newman founded the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp for children stricken with cancer, AIDS and blood diseases.

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One afternoon he and his wife, Joanne Woodward, stopped by to have lunch with the kids. A counselor at a nearby table, suspecting the young patients wouldn't know that Newman was a famous movie star, explained, 'That's the man who made this camp possible. Maybe you've seen his picture on his salad dressing bottle?'

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Blank stares. 'Well, you've probably seen his face on his lemonade carton.'

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An 8-year-old girl perked up. 'How long was he missing?'
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His wife's grave side service was just barely finished, when there was a massive clap of thunder, followed by a tremendous bolt of lightning, accompanied by even more thunder rumbling in the distance. The little old man looked at the pastor and calmly said, 'Well, she's there.
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May happiness smile on your world and in your heart..
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Four friends, who hadn't seen each other in 30 years, reunited at a party

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Four friends, who hadn't seen each other in 30 years, reunited at a party.
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After several drinks, one of the men had to use the rest room.
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while he's gone the other 3 start talking about their sons.

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The first guy said, 'My son is my pride and joy.He started working at a successful company at the bottom of the barrel. He studied Economics and Business Administration and soon began to climb the corporate ladder and now he's the president of the company. He became so rich that he gave his best friend a top of the line Mercedes for his birthday.'
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The second guy said, 'Darn, that's terrific! My son is also my pride and joy. He started working for a big airline, then went to flight school to become a pilot. Eventually he became a partner in the company, where he owns the majority of its assets He's so rich that he gave his best friend a brand new jet for his birthday.'
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The third man said: 'Well, that's terrific! My son studied in the best universities and became an engineer. Then he started his own construction company and is now a multimillionaire.. He also gave away something very nice and expensive to his best friend for his birthday: A 30,000 square foot mansion.'
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The three friends congratulated each other just as the fourth returned from the restroom and asked: 'What are all the congratulations for?'
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One of the three said: 'We were talking about the pride we feel for the successes of our sons. ..What about your son?'
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The fourth man replied: 'My son is gay and makes a living dancing as a stripper at a nightclub.'
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The three friends said: 'What a shame... what a disappointment..'
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The fourth man replied: 'No, I'm not ashamed. He's my son and I love him. And he hasn't done too bad either. His birthday was two weeks ago, and he received a beautiful 30,000 square foot mansion, a brand new jet and a top of the line Mercedes from his three boyfriends.'

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“The Bizarre Tale of Mister Macintosh”

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Mister Macintosh was a shy, bald headed, obese, introvert with a wooden leg, from a childhood injury. He was very nearly paranoid and almost agoraphobic. He tried to avoid social contact because he believed that people were always making fun of him behind his back.

One day in the barber shop Mister Macintosh was intrigued by an advertisement on the back cover of one of the Zap comic books that he enjoyed perusing. It said:

It’s Halloween! Why not let the Acme Costume Company of Chicago design the perfect Costume for you this year? It’s easy, just drop us a brief note telling us a little about yourself and we’ll do the rest!

Fascinated, Mister Macintosh clipped the ad and tucked it in his pocket. When he got home, he composed a letter and mailed it to the vendor. A few days later, the brown UPS truck stopped in front of his house and dropped off a large cardboard box. Inside the carton were a Pirate Costume and a note, which read as follows.

Dear Mister Macintosh, thank you for letting the Acme Costume Company create your special ensemble this Halloween. Based on the information that you provided we chose a Pirate Costume including: A Cutlass, Gold Earring, Striped Shirt, Black Jacket, Clip-on Parrot, and a Hat which will conceal your balding condition, and of course your peg leg will go perfectly with all of the above. We trust that you will have a safe and happy holiday.

Well, Mister Macintosh thought that they were making fun of him and in a fit of rage he composed a scathing letter and sent it all back to them, collect.

A few days later, the UPS truck pulled up again with another box, and another letter.

Dear Mister Macintosh, we’re sorry that our first choice for your Halloween garb was found to be less than perfect so, enclosed please find a Monk’s Habit including: A Bible, Rosary Beads and a Long Flowing Hooded Robe which will help to conceal your hairless and legless conditions. Thank you for choosing the Acme Costume Company of Chicago. Happy trick-or-treating.

Again, Mister Macintosh was furious and immediately composed an even more scathing letter than the first, and sent the parcel back, collect.

A couple of days later the UPS truck pulled up and the driver brought a small box to the door. Inside was a 16-ounce bottle of Brer Rabbit Black Strap Molasses, and a note.

Dear Mister Macintosh, we’re sorry that our first two choices for your perfect Halloween outfit didn’t make the grade so please accept this, our third and final presentation: a 16-ounce bottle of Brer Rabbit Black Strap Molasses and these instructions.

Right before sundown on Halloween, you should completely disrobe and pour the entire contents of the bottle over your grotesquely misshapen gourd-like head. Then take your wooden leg off and jam it right up your big fat cancerous butt and you can go out as a candy-fucking apple! Sincerely, the Acme Costume Company of Chicago.

embarrassing story

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This article is believed to be public property as no copyright is expressed and the original authors are unknown. To the best of my knowledge it is being freely distributed via the Internet. I wish to give full credit to those who created it, whomever they may be.

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My Most Embarrassing Story...

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When I was 17 my girlfriend at the time was finally ready to have sex. I, as one might expect of a 17-year old, was excited. Neither hell nor high water was going to stand between my final destination and me.

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I get ready for the night; trim everything up, shower extra well. Unfortunately there was also an issue. I have a digestion disorder that sometimes cause my shit to become large and quite solid while still inside me. I was young and wasn't aware that it was a treatable problem and, in fact, just thought everyone had to deal with the equivalent of anal kidney stones. I bring this up because I had a mighty one that had been loaded into the gun for several days.

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Let me set the scene. Her parents were away, so we had her house to ourselves. She was always a little kinky so she demanded that we do it in her parent’s bed.

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I walk in to a candle holocaust. She's been working on this all day apparently, and it’s as bright as high noon in there with the lights off. That was good, because she immediately starting doing a sweet, sexy little dance for me. At 16, her body was truly amazing. For those of you who never experienced a female at that age, I pity the fool.

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I'm sitting on the bed, watching her dance. I smile and tell her how good she looks. Unfortunately, most of my attention is focused on the dull throbbing from my sphincter and the large amount of intestinal discomfort associated with not dropping duce in days. But somehow I still get hard and we go to town.

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She starts out on top, then we switch. I bend her over the bed, and I even … smack… swat her on her naked … smack… butt. a ballsy move at the time, but she loved it. Due to my built up distraction, I last for what seems like forever. All the time I'm pounding in and out of her, she can't stop moaning and telling me how good it feels. and then she says what every man wants to hear ,"I want to make you cum in my mouth." God, I fucking love women.

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Then before I know it, she’s going down on me. She was always average at best in the head department but at least she tried. She pops my cock out of her mouth long enough to looked up at me and said, "tell me if you like this."

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Then I felt it. She stuck her finger up my ass.

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My brain hit the panic switch and every muscle in my entire body locks up tighter than a 3-year old virgin. But it’s too late.

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I take a massive and painful, very painful shit, all over her parent’s comforter.

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No, you do not understand, I mean large, huge, immense shit. Take your largest shit ever and multiple it by 42-and you'll have an idea of what flew out of me. And gents, when I say ‘flew,’ I don't mean ‘I pooped.’ I mean ‘projectile,’ I mean ‘hurricane force winds hitting an umbrella stand.’ And due to my condition, it comes out as a large, dark brown, smelly mass.

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I didn't see it, but I know it hit her. She ran screaming, "OH MY GOD OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, EEEEEWWWWWWWW." but I always imagined that, due to her position, it hit her right in the chin, or at least on her breasts.

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I would like to say that I got up to go after her. But I heard the bathroom door shut and I just lied there. The smell hit me after a few seconds. It smelled like someone rolled a cat in shit and threw it into a tire fire. I looked down and saw, to date, the largest bowel movement I've ever heard of laying on the bed. Then I noticed the blood, and when I did, I noticed the pain.

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Apparently the fact that it was so large caused it to rip my ass a little bit, thought I was bleeding from the inside. A little doctor’s trip the next day was what educated me as to what my condition was. There was a small pool of blood on the bed where my ass had been. A final reminder of the exact place and moment I lost my virginity. I will treasure this memory for all my days.

Franticly I grabbed a double hand full of my shit and hurried to the downstairs bathroom. Fearing any more would clog it up and only add to my already significant woes, I throw around 1/3 of it into the toilet and flushed.

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I stand there, holding 2/3's of my biggest shit of all time, feeling a trickle of blood flow down my leg, trying to ignore the sharp pain stabbing my rectum. I find myself wishing I had a photo of this.

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Anyway, I finished flushing my baby, cleaned off my hands, jammed toilet paper between my butt cheeks (I skipped the band-aid) and went upstairs. I could hear my girlfriend sobbing from behind the bathroom door. I decided not to say anything to her and just keep moving. The smell in her parent’s room was abysmal. Its like when you take a shit and walk out of the bathroom you think, ‘hey not so bad today,’ but then you walk back in to grab your magazine and go, ‘Holy Shit!’ It was one of those moments.

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The scene is burned behind my eyelids for all time. My life, my shame, my very first time smelled like a pile of dead babies. I quickly got dressed while the heat from 10-thousand candles was making the room feel more like a port-a-potty. I was aware enough to grab the comforter on my way out and drag it downstairs to their washer. Also the top and bottom sheets since the blood had leaked on through all the way to mattress. Still no sign of my girlfriend, but at this point I considered that a blessing.

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I jammed everything in the washer with 3-loads worth of detergent and set it on spin, knowing that not even the hand of God would save these linens, let alone Tide and Snuggles.

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Then I left. I avoided my girlfriend's calls for days until she finally came to my house. We had a long talk about what happened. Talk being synonymous with ‘breaking up with me because I shit on her.’ And it was all over. She promised not to tell a soul and I don't think that she ever did. She was probably as ashamed as I was about the whole incident. But I will always think of this happening as the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me.

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The end…

hot shit

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ain't america great?

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A beautiful fairy appeared one day to a destitute Mexican refugee outside an Arizona immigration office.
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"Good man," the fairy said, "I've been sent here by President Obama and told to grant you three wishes , since you just arrived in the United States with your wife and eight children."
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The man told the fairy, "Well, where I come from we don't have good teeth, so I want new teeth, maybe a lot of gold in them."The fairy looked at the man's almost toothless grin and -- PING ! -- he had a brand new shining set of gold teeth in his mouth!
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"What else?" asked the fairy, "Two more to go." The refugee claimant now got bolder. "I need a big house with a three car garage in Annapolis on the water with eight bedrooms for my family and the rest of my relatives who still live in my country. I want to bring them all over here" --- and -- PING ! -- in the distance there could be seen a beautiful mansion with a three car garage, a long driveway, a walkout patio with a BBQ in an upscale neighborhood overlooking the bay.
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"One more wish", said the fairy, waving her wand.
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"Yes, one more wish. I want to be like an American with American clothes instead of these torn clothes, and a baseball cap instead of this sombrero. And I want to have white skin like Americans" ---and --- PING ! -- The man was transformed - wearing worn out jeans, a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt and a baseball cap. He had his bad teeth back and the mansion had disappeared from the horizon.
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"What happened to my new teeth?" he wailed, "Where is my new house?"
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The fairy said: "Tough shit Amigo, Now that you are a White American , you have to fend for yourself." (God Bless America)
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And she disappeared........

penis----part-1-of-1

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(Found this on the net and thought it was funny. Have no idea who wrote it. But I do know that it’s been around since the 60s in one form or another)

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The Day the Penis asked for a Raise

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I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:
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I do physical labor.
I work at great depths.
I plunge headfirst into everything I do.
I do not get weekends or public holidays off.
I work in a damp environment.
I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation.
I work in high temperatures.
My work exposes me to contagious diseases.
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Sincerely,
P. Niss
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-------------------------------------------
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The Response
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Dear Penis:
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After assessing your request, and considering the arguments you have raised, the administration rejects your request for the following reasons:
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You do not work 8-hours straight.
You fall asleep after brief work periods.
You do not always follow the orders of the management team. You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations.
You do not take initiative - you need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working.
You leave the workplace rather messy at the end of your shift.
You don't always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing the correct protective clothing.
You will retire well before you are 65.
You are unable to work double shifts.
You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed the assigned task.
And if that were not all, you have been seen constantly entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious-looking bags.
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Sincerely,

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V. Gina
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---------------------------------------------
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Response to V. Gina

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While I thank you for considering my request, I must take a moment to contest some of management’s reasons for denial.
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-I am not required to work 8-hours straight, although due to scientific breakthroughs, I am able! The last time I worked beyond what management deemed to be a ‘reasonable time,’ the attempt was made to throw me out.
- On the Job Site I am the ‘Designated Driver’ and personnel responsible for all ‘heavy lifting,’ which lately has become much heavier than usual!
-Management has not upheld the ‘Internal Advancement Program’ or the ‘Employee Stimulation Program’ that were discussed with the Human Resources Mgr. (M. Outh) at the time of my hire, hence the ‘initiative,’ demonstrated at the time of hire, to dive head first into my work if the wind blows has tapered off.
-Management constantly requires that I be tested for reaction time and response to commands (i.e.: faster, slower, stop, don't stop, etc.). A great majority of the time during testing, Management seems to forget my name and begins shaking violently and cursing at me. Added to my confusion is that after testing is over I'm always invited to cum again.
-Furthermore, Management has been in violation of my terms of employment through the exploration of a mechanized and automated employee replacement. While I do not have a problem with working ‘along side’ these ‘employee substitutes’ due to the enormous expansion of my work area over the years, if I am to be replaced, I will require thirty days notice and visitation as in our contract.
-Since workplace cleanliness has never been part of my job description, I will be taking my lunch breaks elsewhere and no longer be found eating at my workstation until Housekeeping Department resumes demonstrating the same pride that was once shown at the time of my hire.
-Management has with increasing frequency refused me access to my workstation claiming that the factory is operating in ‘sleep mode’ or that B. Rain is out for the day due to excessive pain.
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It is my wish to continue employment with this establishment, but the recent Hot and Cold methods of operation leave me concerned about the stability of our continued association.
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Thank you for your consideration,

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P. Niss
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Q. cc. Chief Executive Officer - B. Rain
cc. Human Resources Mgr. - M. Outh

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my story----part-1-of-1__________humor

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This article is believed to be public property as no copyright is expressed and the original authors are unknown. To the best of my knowledge it is being freely distributed via the Internet. I wish to give full credit to those who created it, whomever they may be.

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This my story and I’m sticking to it

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Last December my family and I drove to Orlando for a weeklong vacation. The first day, we split up and headed to our respective theme parks/places of interest. My uncle and I decided to go to the Kennedy Space Center in nearby Cape Canaveral. At around 7 AM, after I took a shower and a particularly large and satisfying shit, we left the condo and began our journey. Since neither of us had eaten, we stopped at a gas station and got some snacks. My snack consisted of a large black coffee, a bag of beef jerky, and a cheese Danish of questionable age.

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We pulled into the Space Center parking lot just as I polished off the last of the jerky. We bought our tickets, put film in our cameras, and began our look around. Around mid-afternoon, I began to feel a slight pressure in my lower gut. Convinced that my morning dump had cleaned me out thoroughly, I chalked it up to gas, or possibly a lone turdlet that was somehow denied its freedom. I ignored it, and onward we went. After a lot of walking and picture taking, my uncle and I both conceded that we were damn tired, and headed back to our suite.

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During the drive back my innards, cramping terribly, began to perform The Brown Concerto. As a classical music fan, I could tell this song was in the key of BM Major, and its final movement was fast approaching. I released a few boiling-hot farts, and suddenly the van smelled like a walk-in humidor filled with sun-ripened corpses and boiled eggs. Discharging this foul gas brought immediate relief, however, and caused the cramps to cease completely. By the time we got back to our suite, my gut was seemingly back to normal, so instead of heading straight to the toilet, I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep.

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A few hours later I woke up and fixed myself a small dinner, the previous happenings in my stomach long forgotten. Having nothing to do, and with nothing to watch on TV, my uncle and I grew bored and decided to go driving around the city. We were right by Epcot Center when I felt a huge fart coming on. I announced its arrival: "Uh-oh -- this one’s gonna reek!" I proudly grunted as I raised a cheek and let 'er rip.

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Uh-oh, indeed … almost as soon as the fart came to fruition, I could tell that disaster had struck. I felt warm liquid shit seep out of my tightly clenched butt-cheeks and spread all over my man-crack. As the gravity of my situation sank in, I loudly exclaimed, "Oh shit! I shit myself!" My uncle looked at me with an expression of horror, and then began to laugh uncontrollably. He laughed for quite a while as we hastily made our way back to the suite.
Throughout the drive back, I balanced precariously on my hands and feet in a crab-like posture, so as to keep my oozing butt up in the air. Since the minivan was rented, I was trying my damnedest to prevent the passenger seat from being soiled with my rank ass-juice. After a while, my muscles began to tire and I knew that I was gonna have to sit down soon. Fortunately, I had the foresight to quickly grab a plastic grocery bag from the floor and put it on the seat seconds before I collapsed.

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The feeling was heinous. All of the poop that had collected in my jockeys was suddenly forced fore and aft of my slimy crevice. I cringed as it oozed up my crack, making its way almost to my lower back. The worst feeling, however, was the liquid-shit that now covered my ballsack, my scrotum, up until this point an innocent bystander content to observe the carnage from his nearby perch, was now absolutely inundated with dookie.

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I wallowed in my filth for a few endless miles until we finally pulled into the condo complex. I don't think the car was even completely stopped before I opened the door and took off. Not wanting to wait for the elevator and risk being seen or smelled, I ran and waddled up 3-flights of stairs like an all-pro running back with a groin injury. After fumbling a bit with the key, I opened the door and headed right for the throne room. I quickly stripped naked, and as I dropped my jeans and my drawers, a puddle of the yellowiest, most foul-smelling diarrhea I have ever seen greeted me. It was like my asshole tried to bake me a pineapple upside-down cake, but forgot to turn on the oven.

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Needless to say, my undies were trashed. I threw them in the wastebasket and tied the bag tightly. I turned on the shower and climbed in to give myself a much-needed cleaning, using up the whole bar of complimentary soap on my filthy, reeking ass and groin. Slowly but surely I soaped and lathered my crotch, asshole, and buttocks to their former state of pristine cleanliness.

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As I dried off, relieved that my ordeal was over, I laughed quietly to myself about what had happened. But as I stood there buffing my crevice with the towel, a wave of cramps took me by surprise, and I doubled over in agony. Quickly I made my way to the toilet, and as soon as I sat down my pucker spewed out yet another helping of searing-hot yellow shit. I figured that the rest of it just needed to come out, and as I wiped off my semi-sore starfish, I felt completely confident that my woes were coming to an end. However, sitting on the couch a few minutes later, I was overwhelmed yet again by deadly, painful contractions.

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I dutifully ran to the shitter and repeated the aforementioned purging process, trying to convince myself that I had the situation under control. But after five more of these trips in roughly a 30-minute time span, my poor sphincter was throwing in the towel, slapping the canvas, and begging for mercy. I felt like I'd been repeatedly sodomized with a turpentine-soaked pinecone. Limping each time to the bathroom, I was Rocky Balboa preparing for another round with an invincible and disgusting opponent. But while my corporeal self submitted to the anal agony of each shitting session, my spirit remained strong. I returned again and again to the toilet, trying in vain to delay the inevitable torrent of shit that would pour forth and scorch my irritated sphincter. It got to the point where I couldn't even wipe anymore -- in one instance, I remember splashing water on my asshole to clean it, but stopping immediately because it felt like hot acid. If I had squatted down and put a mirror to my nether-regions, I am sure my bunghole would have been bubbling and sizzling like bacon in a frying pan.

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In total, I must have made around 12-trips to the bathroom until someone (my mom or my aunt) brought me some Imodium. I returned to the toilet for 2-more agonizing shits before the larger-than-normal dosage kicked in. For the rest of the evening, and most of the next day, I was forced to walk slowly and slightly bowlegged as my poor asshole began the long and painful road to recovery.

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For the rest of the trip my bowel movements were solid, although I cautiously avoided squeezing out any more farts unless I was within the privacy of my suite.

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The end…

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Pen & Teller's Bullshit!: Taxes

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9NSXy176oA
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Obama health care proposals.

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The American Medical Association has weighed in on the new Obama health care proposals.
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The Allergists voted to scratch it, but the Dermatologists advised not to make any rash moves. The Gastroenterologists had sort of a gut feeling about it, but the Neurologists thought the Administration had a lot of nerve.
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The Obstetricians felt they were all laboring under a misconception. Ophthalmologists considered the idea shortsighted. Pathologists yelled, "Over my dead body!" while the Pediatricians said, "Oh, Grow up!"
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The Psychiatrists thought the whole idea was madness, while the Radiologists could see right through it. Surgeons decided to wash their hands of the whole thing. The Internists thought it was a bitter pill to swallow, and the Plastic Surgeons said, "This puts a whole new face on the matter...."
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The Podiatrists thought it was a step forward, but the Urologists were pissed off at the whole idea. The Anesthesiologists thought the whole idea was a gas, and the Cardiologists didn't have the heart to say no.
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In the end, the Proctologists won out, leaving the entire decision up to the assholes in Washington .
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more funny shit

A MINOR MINORITY....
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjo85WhbYqM
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acQluy7nymw
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRMmhT0UMwk
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwQ_q8UrnRk
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funny shit

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you may have to watch a short commercial before the funny shits cones on...if so, hang in there...its worth the wait...
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http://www.theonion.com/content/video/sony_releases_new_stupid_piece_of
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Pants and Panties

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Pants and Panties

Jim was going to be married to Karen so his Father sat him down for a little chat.
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He said, 'Jim, let me tell you something. "On my wedding night in our honeymoon suite, I took off my pants, handed them to your Mother, and said, 'Here, try these on.''
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She did and said, 'These are too big. I can't wear them.'
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I replied, 'Exactly.. I wear the pants in this family and I always will.'
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Ever since that night, we have never had any problems.
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'Hmmm,' said Jim. He thought that might be a good thing to try.
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On his honeymoon,Jim took off his pants and said to Karen, 'Here, try these on..'
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She tried them on and said, 'These are too large. They don't fit me.'
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Jim said, 'Exactly. I wear the pants in this family and I always will. I don't want you to ever forget that.'
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Then Karen took off her panties and handed them to Jim She said, 'Here, you try on mine..'
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Jim did and said, 'I can't get into your panties.'
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Karen said, 'Exactly. And if you don't change your smart-ass attitude, you never will.'
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funny shit

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFR9xkZm4ck
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joke

Farrah, Michael, and Billy Mays in heaven

After entering the Pearly Gates, St Peter welcomed Farrah and told her she could have one wish granted for her long suffering. Without hesitation she wished that all the children in the world would be safe! Back on earth at that very moment Michael Jackson dropped dead. Then, when Michael approached the Pearly Gates, St. Peter asked him what he wanted. Michael said he needed someone to make a pitch for him to God. Poor Billy Mays never knew what hit him...