510
------------------------------------
in case you missed it!!
--
on the lighter side
------------------------
Anklebiters!!
thanks Kitty L
--
thanks Duke
------------------------
---
Tour de fail
-----------------------
Those Funny Animals
cat nightmare
------
A blackjack dealer and a player with a thirteen count in his hand were arguing about whether or not it was appropriate to tip the dealer.
The
player said, "When I get bad cards, it's not the dealer's fault. And, when
I get good cards,the dealer obviously has nothing to do with it. So, why should
I tip him?"
The
dealer replied, "When you eat out, do you tip the waiter?"
"Yes,
sure I do," responded the player.
"Well then, he serves you food,
and I'm serving you cards. So you see, you should tip me."
"Okay, I see your point," agreed the player. "But, the waiter
gives me what I ask for ... I'll take an eight."
---------------------------------
Faithful Dog
-------------------------------
some great black and white pictures from days gone
thanks Karl
-----------------------
I have posted this video before
but its worth repeating
thanks Jayne M
--------
An astronomer is on an expedition to Darkest Africa to observe a
total
eclipse of the sun, which will only be observable there, when he's captured
by cannibals. The eclipse is due the next day around noon.
To gain his freedom he plans to pose as a god and threaten to extinguish
the sun if he's not released, but the timing has to be just right. So, in the
few words of the cannibals' primitive tongue that he knows, he asks his
guard what time they plan to kill him.
The guard's answer is, "Tradition has it that captives are to be killed when
the sun reaches the highest point in the sky on the day after their capture
so that they may be cooked and ready to be served for the evening meal."
"Great," the astronomer replies.
The guard continues, though, "But because everyone's so excited about it,
in your case we're going to wait until after the eclipse."
eclipse of the sun, which will only be observable there, when he's captured
by cannibals. The eclipse is due the next day around noon.
To gain his freedom he plans to pose as a god and threaten to extinguish
the sun if he's not released, but the timing has to be just right. So, in the
few words of the cannibals' primitive tongue that he knows, he asks his
guard what time they plan to kill him.
The guard's answer is, "Tradition has it that captives are to be killed when
the sun reaches the highest point in the sky on the day after their capture
so that they may be cooked and ready to be served for the evening meal."
"Great," the astronomer replies.
The guard continues, though, "But because everyone's so excited about it,
in your case we're going to wait until after the eclipse."
Strange Cargo
-------------------------
Strange People
------------------------------------------
thanks Kitty L
I like Texas
---------------------------
This weeks POSTERS
--------------------------------
Road block Prank
MEN
-----------------------------
The Rules...
** The female always make the rules.
** The rules are subject to change at any time without prior
notification.
** No male can possibly know all the rules.
** If the female suspects the male knows the
rules she must immediately change some or all of the rules.
** The female is never wrong.
** If the female is wrong, it is due to a
misunderstanding which was a direct result of something the male did or said
wrong.
** The male must apologize immediately for
causing said misunderstanding.
** The female may change her mind at any
time.
** The male must never change his mind
without the express written consent of the female.
** The female has every right to be angry or
upset at any time.
** The male must remain calm at all times
unless the female wants him to be angry and/or upset.
** The female must, under no circumstances,
let the male know whether or not she wants him to be angry and/or upset.
** The male is expected to mind read at all
times.
** The female is ready when she is ready.
** The male must be ready at all times.
** Any male who doesn't abide by the rules
can't take the heat, lacks backbone, and is a wimp.
|
When I was a child in the 1950's, the bathing suit for the
mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as
engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this time. Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain, with or without a stylish bathing suit!
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this time. Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain, with or without a stylish bathing suit!
,_._
----------------------------
|
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------------------------
|
__._,
This weeks SIGNS
----------------------------
PHILS PHILOSOPHY
Disclaimer
All posts, jokes, stories, cartoons, photos and videos on this site
All posts, jokes, stories, cartoons, photos and videos on this site
are understood to be in the public domain.
If you hold the copyright to any of them and would
like me to remove them,
please contact Phil at
philco@iinet.net.au.
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