Category: Humour/Humor

A man wakes up in the hospital bandaged from head to foot.
The doctor comes in and says, “Ah, I see you’ve regained consciousness.
Now you probably won’t remember, but you were in a huge pile-up on the freeway.
You’re going to be okay, you’ll walk again and everything, however, your penis was severed in the accident and we couldn’t find it.”
The man groans, but the doctor goes on, “You have $9000 in insurance compensation coming and we now have the technology to build a new penis. They work great but they don’t come cheap. It’s roughly $1000 an inch.”
The man perks up.
“So,” the doctor says, “You must decide how many inches you want. I understand that you have been married for over thirty years and this is something you should discuss with your wife. If you had a five incher before and get a nine incher now she might be a bit put out.
If you had a nine incher before and you decide to only invest in a five incher now, she might be disappointed. It’s important that she plays a role in helping you make a decision.”
The man agrees to talk it over with his wife.
The doctor comes back the next day, “So, have you spoken with your wife?”
”Yes I have,” says the man.
”And has she helped you make a decision?”
”Yes, she has,” says the man.
”What is your decision?” asks the doctor.
”We’re getting granite kitchen counter tops.”

Our late, lamented poodle Moet was like this. No, on second thoughts, he was a tad more causative. Once merely staring you down faile to achieve the desired result he would bark at you as if to say, “Can’t you see I’m looking at you like I want some!”

No, I am not going to try this!

A woman was at her hairdresser’s getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, “Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking Continental,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“Continental?” exclaimed the hairdresser.” That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always
late. So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s Tiber River called Teste.”
“Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump.”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the hairdresser. You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this
lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the woman, “not only were we on time to catch one of Continental’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and
they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. The hotel was great! They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling job, and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the hairdresser, “that’s all well and good, but I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to
meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me.”
“Oh, really! What’d he say?”
He said, “Who screwed up your hair?”

It’s happening now!

How could you not love that face?