Please make me smile!
bushidowoman
Posts: 1,599 Member
in Chit-Chat
I'm having a horrible day. I really need some silliness. Or a cyber hug.
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Replies
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How do you make a kleenex dance? Blow a little boogie in it. LOL0
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A man went to the doctor's. The doctor came in and said,
"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad
news is that you have an inoperable brain tumor. The good
news is our hospital has just been certified to do brain
transplants and there has been an accident right out front
and a young couple was killed and you can have whichever
brain you'd like. The man's brain costs $100,000.00 and the
woman's brain costs "30,000.00."
The patient could not help but ask, "Why such a large
difference between the male and the female brain?"
The doctor replied, "The female brain is used."0 -
Why couldn't Mrs.Ghost get pregnant?
Because Mr. Ghost has a hollow weenie.0 -
What do you call a nun who had a sex change operation?
A transistor.0 -
I want to make a Facebook account and name it Nobody so that when I like some post, it would say Nobody Likes This.
Unknown
I grew up with six brothers. That's how I learned to dance - waiting to get into the bathroom.
Bob Hope
Don’t knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell and run! He hates that!
well i hope this cheered you up0 -
Silly kitty cats, corny jokes, and hugs do the trick every time! Thanks.0 -
Help! Get me outta here!!!
Aaaah! 0 -
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Here is an e-mail that was sent to me a while back...gets me every time:
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way backto the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:
0.Occupied.
1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
2.Poo on seat.
3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall ..1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ******. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****** was blathering to Mrs. ****** about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my *kitten* cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased;
(2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and
(3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way underthe stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.0 -
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Lauramac, I laughed so hard I cried at that one--had to stop to dry my eyes 4 times before I could finish reading it. Reminded me of the hilarious bathroom scene in "Dumb and Dumber."0
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Ditto! Belly laughs here. I can't wait to share that one with the hubs. As medical folks, we are both amused by "bathroom humor"!Lauramac, I laughed so hard I cried at that one--had to stop to dry my eyes 4 times before I could finish reading it. Reminded me of the hilarious bathroom scene in "Dumb and Dumber."0 -
One more from http://hahasforhoohas.com/the-fart-that-almost-altered-my-destiny/
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it's the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That's when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good. He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'm not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a
15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms. We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. I didn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home. On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn't having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.
Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble. The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard. "Seriously, you need to hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad? What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out.
The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced it's way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud.
Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort of way. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. "Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's going on?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ..." then it hit him.
I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down the windows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows.
We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way. He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, "Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob's voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?"
"Get away from the door!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist. "Ok, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
"I'm fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sure you're ..."
"I'm fine! Get away from the door!"
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hear from him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours. But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's laying on the couch while I type this ... "It was your rack that saved you," he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.0 -
^^^Classic!!! :laugh:0
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(((Hugs))) Hope your feeling better 0
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disturbing, yet hilarious.0 -
I can't top any of the previous posts - but wanted to add this. Hope you-all don't mind....
A nurse was on duty in the ER when a young woman with a purple mohawk, myriad tattoos, and rather unusual clothing was admitted. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was immediately scheduled for surgery. When she was finally disrobed, it was revealed that her pubic hair was dyed green and above it there was a tattoo that read "keep off the grass".
Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a note on the patient's dressing -
"Sorry - had to mow the lawn."0 -
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:laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:0 -
Never Bulla ****a you MaMa
Mrs. Ravioli comes to visit her son Anthony for dinner. He lives with a female roommate, Maria.
During the course of the meal, his mother couldn't help but notice how pretty Anthony's roommate is.
Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than met the eye.
Reading his mom's thoughts, Anthony volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Maria and I are just roommates.''
About a week later, Maria came to Anthony saying, "Ever since your mother came to dinner, I've been unable to find the silver sugar bowl. You don't suppose she took it, do you?"
"Well, I doubt it, but I'll email her, just to be sure." So he sat down and wrote an email:
Dear MaMa,
I'm not saying that you "did" take the sugar bowl from my house ; I'm not saying that you "did not" take it. But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Your Loving Son
Anthony
Several days later, Anthony received a response email from his MaMa which read:
Dear son,
I'm not saying that you "do" sleep with Maria, and I'm not saying that you "do not" sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.
Your Loving MaMa
Moral:
Never Bulla ****a you MaMa0 -
A laugh for you...and a {hug}...
A married couple went to the hospital to have their baby delivered.
Upon their arrival, the doctor said that the hospital was testing an amazing
new high-tech machine that would transfer a portion of the mother's labour pain
to the baby's father. He asked if they were interested, both said they were very much in favour of it.
The doctor set the pain transfer to 10% for starters, explaining that even 10% was
probably more pain than the father had ever experienced before. But as the labour
progressed, the husband felt fine and asked the doctor to go ahead and kick it up a notch.
The doctor then adjusted the machine to 20% pain transfer.
The husband was still feeling fine. The doctor then checked the husband's blood
pressure and was amazed at how well he was doing.
At this point they decided to try for 50% . The husband continued to feel quite well.
Since the pain transfer was obviously helping the wife considerably, the husband
encouraged the doctor to transfer ALL the pain to him. The wife delivered a healthy
baby with virtually no pain, and the husband had experienced none. She and her
husband were ecstatic.
When they got home they found the postman dead on the porch.0 -
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One more from http://hahasforhoohas.com/the-fart-that-almost-altered-my-destiny/
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it's the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That's when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good. He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'm not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a
15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms. We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. I didn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home. On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn't having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.
Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble. The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard. "Seriously, you need to hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad? What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out.
The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced it's way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud.
Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort of way. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. "Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's going on?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ..." then it hit him.
I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down the windows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows.
We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way. He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, "Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob's voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?"
"Get away from the door!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist. "Ok, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
"I'm fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sure you're ..."
"I'm fine! Get away from the door!"
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hear from him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours. But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's laying on the couch while I type this ... "It was your rack that saved you," he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
too funny!:laugh: :laugh: :laugh:0 -
Two strangers are sitting in an adjacent seats in airplane.
One guy says to the other, "Let's talk. I hear that the flight will go
faster if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger."
The other guy, who had just opened a good book, closes it slowly, takes off
his glasses and asks, "What would you like to discuss?"
The first guy says, "Oh, I don't know - How about Nuclear Power?"
The other guy says, "OK, that could make for some pretty interesting
conversation. But let me ask you a question first:
A horse, a cow and a deer all eat the same stuff.
But the deer excretes pellets; the cow - big patties; and the horse - clumps
of dried grass.
Why is that?"
The first guy says, "I don't know."
The other guy says, "Oh? Well then, do you really think you're qualified to
discuss Nuclear Power when you don't know ****?"0 -
what an awesome story...thx for sharingOne more from http://hahasforhoohas.com/the-fart-that-almost-altered-my-destiny/
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it's the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That's when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good. He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'm not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a
15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms. We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. I didn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home. On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn't having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks.
Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble. The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard. "Seriously, you need to hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad? What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out.
The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced it's way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud.
Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort of way. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. "Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's going on?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ..." then it hit him.
I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down the windows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows.
We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way. He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, "Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob's voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?"
"Get away from the door!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist. "Ok, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
"I'm fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sure you're ..."
"I'm fine! Get away from the door!"
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hear from him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours. But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's laying on the couch while I type this ... "It was your rack that saved you," he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny. 0 -
Lauramac426 - I have NEVER EVER EVER EVER laughed that hard! Both of your posts had me laughing until I cried. The second one about your first date had tears streaming and holding my belly. My husband came to check on me because he thought I was crying as I was laughing so hard!!!!!!
Oh, I HAVE to share those if you don't mind. :drinker:0 -
OMG...I laughed so hard I cried!!! I needed this tonight, thanks!!!:laugh: :laugh: :laugh: :laugh:0
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To the lady in Wal-Mart with 6 screaming kids... If you are wondering about the extra large box of condoms you found in your shopping cart... you are welcome.0
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