Marriage Jokes, Family Jokes
Dear Connie, …
…
I know the counsellor said we should’t contact each other during our “cooling off” period, but I could’t wait anymore.
…
The day you left, I swore I’d never talk to you again but that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that me pride’s cost me a lot of things. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. Maybe it’s time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. …
…
This is what my heart says: “There’s no one like you, Connie. I look for you in the eyes and вrеаsтs of every woman I see, but they’re not you. They’re not even close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19; with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Тiтs like you wouldn’t believe and an аss that just wouldn’t quit. Every man’s dream, right?
As I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we’ve made important in our lives. It’s all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart that my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I’d never really thought of that before. I don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little.
Later, after I’d tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why do I feel so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn’t feel the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, Im just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t know what she meant till later, but that’s not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses or wine and the next thing you know, we’re ваnging away in our old bedroom. And this таrт’s a total monster in the sack. She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she’s not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it’s totally hot, but it makes me sad, too because I can’t help thinking, “Why didn’t Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sеx toy.”
Saturday, your little sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicki’s just a kid and all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she’s been a real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is.
So we’re doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here’s this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Vicky’s really into that whole аnаl thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside your baby sister’s cinnamon ring, all I can do it think of you?
It’s true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don’t you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fuскing remote is?
I had been with my now ex-girlfriend for a few years when a new neighbour moved in next door. His name was Joseph, and he had a son (also named Joseph, or Joey, but not relevant to the story). Anyway. Joseph seemed nice enough, and he would often talk to me and my girlfriend about this and that. He and his wife were divorced, and somehow he got sole custody of Joey. He had a strange accent, but when we asked about it, he always brushed it aside.
About a year after he moved in, my girlfriend fell pregnant. I wasn’t really sure what to do because I was young, but I didn’t want to leave her. So, we got engaged and planned on getting married. A few months after that, she told me the truth. She had been sleeping with Joseph. I was beyond furious. I demanded a paternity test, and she complied. Weeks later, I got the news. “Sir, we’re sorry, but you’re not the father.” The news was too much. I broke down. I broke up with my girlfriend, went over to Joseph’s house, rang the doorbell, and when he answered, I hit him square in the eye. He laughed and slammed the door in my face. The next day, he was wearing cotton-wool over his eye. It made me feel slightly better knowing he was in pain, if only for a little while. About a month later, Joseph and Joey moved out, leaving my ex-girlfriend to become a single mother. She asked me if I knew anything about where he had gone, and I told her I didn’t. That’s the truth though. He just packed up and left without saying a word.
Anyway, the point is… If it hadn’t been for cotton-eyed Joe, I’d been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, cotton-eyed Joe?
Jill had applied for a job and when she returned home, her mother asked how the interview went.
"Pretty good I think," replied Jill. "But if I go to work there, I won't get a vacation unless I'm married."
Her mother, of course, had never heard of such a thing and asked, "Is that what they told you?"
"No," replied Jill, "they didn't tell me that, but on the application it said, 'Vacation time may not be taken until you've had your First Anniversary.'"
Grandma is eighty-eight years old and still drives her own car. She writes:
Dear Grand-daughter,
The other day I went up to our local Christian book store and saw a 'Honk if you love Jesus' bumper sticker ..
I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting.
So, I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper.
Boy, am I glad I did; what an uplifting experience that followed.
I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good he is, and I didn't notice that the light had changed.
It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed.
I found that lots of people love Jesus!
While I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, 'For the love of God!'
`Go! Go! Go! Jesus Сhrisт, GO!'
What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus! Everyone started honking! I just leaned out my window and started waving and smiling at all those loving people. I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love!
There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yelling something about a sunny beach.
I saw another guy waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air.
I asked my young teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant.
He said it was probably a Hawaiian good luck sign or something.
Well, I have never met anyone from Hawaii, so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign right back.
My grandson burst out laughing.
Why even he was enjoying this religious experience!!
A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed.
So, grinning, I waved at all my brothers and sisters, and drove on through the intersection.
I noticed that I was the only car that got through the intersection before the light changed again and felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all the love we had shared. So I slowed the car down, leaned out the window and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away. Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!!
Will write again soon,
Love, Grandma
Pauly’s family is at dinner, the 10-year-old daughter isn’t eating much, and she just keeps her head down.
After a few minutes, she says, “I have something to tell you.”
Everyone gets silent and they all listen.
“I am no longer the virgin I used to be.” And she begins to cry.
A long silence, and Mr Pauly speaks to Mrs Pauly, “It’s your fault, you know, always dressed and made up like a тrамр. You think that’s an example for your daughter? Always wallowing on the sofa; it’s just terrible; that’s why problems like this come up!”
Then Mrs Pauly lights in on Mr Pauly, “And you! Do you think that you’re a good example? Wasting your scrawny paycheck with your drinking buddies who even come drunк into the house - do you think that’s a good example for a little girl 10 years old?”
Then Pauly charges back in, “And her sister, that no-good, with her hairy and dope-crazed boyfriend, always with their hands all over each other - you think that’s a good example too?”
And it goes on and on, back and forth. Then the grandmother hugs the little girl to console her and asks, “Now, darling, how did this happen?
And the little girl answers, trying to hold back her sobbing, “Father Michael chose another girl to be the Virgin in the Christmas pageant this year.”
My Dear Sirs;
In reply to your request to send a check, I wish to inform you that the present condition of my bank account makes it almost impossible. My shattered financial condition is due to federal laws, state laws, county laws, city laws, corporation laws, liquor laws, mother-in-laws, brother-in-laws, sister-in-laws, outlaws, and blue laws.
Through these laws I am compelled to pay a business tax, amusement tax, head tax, school tax, gas tax, light tax, sales tax, liquor tax, carpet tax, income tax, food tax, furniture tax, and excise tax, even my brains are taxed.
I am required to get a business license, car license, hunting and fishing license, truck license, not to mention a marriage license, and a dog license.
I am also required to contribute to every society and organization which the genius of man is capable to bringing to life. To the women’s relief, unemployed relief, and gold diggers relief; also to every hospital and charitable institution in the city including the black cross, the blue cross, the purple cross, and the double cross.
For my own safety I am required to carry a life insurance, property insurance, liability insurance, burglar insurance, accident insurance, business insurance, earthquake insurance, tornado insurance, unemployment insurance, old age and fire insurance.
My business is so governed that it is no easy matter for me to find out who owns it. I am inspected, suspected, disrespected, rejected, dejected, examined, informed, required, summoned, commanded, and compelled, until I’ve provided an in-exhaustible supply of money for every known need of the human race.
Simply because I refuse to donate to something-or other I am boycotted, talked about, lied about, held up, held down, and robbed until I am almost ruined. I can tell you honestly that except for the miracle that happened I could not enclose this check. The wolf that comes to many doors these days just had pups in my kitchen. I sold them and … here is your money!