A gentleman is preparing to board a plane, when he hears that the Pope is on the same flight. “This is exciting,” thinks the gentleman. “Perhaps I'll be able to see him in person.” Imagine his surprise when the Pope sits down in the seat next to him. Shortly after take-off, the Pope begins a crossword puzzle. Almost immediately, the Pope turns to the gentleman and says, “Excuse me, but do you know a four letter word referring to a woman that ends in ‘unt?’” Only one word leaps to mind. “My goodness,” thinks the gentleman, “I can't tell the Pope that. There must be another word.” The gentleman thinks for quite a while, and then it hits him. Turning to the Pope, the gentleman says, “I think the word you're looking for is ‘aunt.’"
"Of course,” says the Pope. “Do you have an eraser?”
30 things only us men do:
1. Look in the tissue after blowing our nose.
2. Touch hot things, Just to see how hot it is.
3. Set off early, And arrive late.
4. Order food, And still keep looking at the menu.
5. Fаrт and be proud.
6. Put a sickipedia joke as our facebook status.
7. Beep at girls.
8. Dance to the toilet when out clubbing.
9. Call everyone mate.
10. Dance back from the toilet.
11. Put mobile phone in our front right pocket.
12. Check our phone for no reason.
13. Have a jar for loose change.
14. Hit snooze at least 3 times.
15. Moan about the weather, when inside.
16. Stub our toe, Then blame the thing we stubbed it on.
17. Say ‘I love you too’ Quietly.
18. Sit with our hands down our trousers, and fiddle.
19. Wear a t-shirt in winter, because we’ve been to the gym.
20. Call every woman darling.
21. Check our phone, Again.
22. Рiss in the shower.
23. Fаrт in the bath.
24. Lie about our dreams.
25. Give our car a name.
26. Laugh at the disabled.
27. Маsтurвате, Apparently
28. Lose the house keys, at home.
29. Save a girls number, With a blokes name.
30. Look in the mirror, and tense our arms
An old hillbilly farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully. From morning till night (and sometimes later), she was always complaining about something. The only time he got any relief was when he was out plowing with his old mule. He tried to plow a lot.
One day, when he was out plowing, his wife brought him lunch in the field. He drove the old mule into the shade, sat down on a stump, and began to eat his lunch. Immediately, his wife began haranguing him again. Complain, nag, nag; it just went on and on.
All of a sudden, the old mule lashed out with both hind feet; caught her smack in the back of the head. Killed her dead on the spot.
At the funeral several days later, the minister noticed something rather odd. When a woman mourner would approach the old farmer, he would listen for a minute, then nod his head in agreement; but when a man mourner approached him, he would listen for a minute, then shake his head in disagreement. This was so consistent, the minister decided to ask the old farmer about it.
So after the funeral, the minister spoke to the old farmer, and asked him why he nodded his head and agreed with the women, but always shook his head and disagreed with all the men.
The old farmer said:
"Well, the women would come up and say something about how nice my wife looked, or how pretty her dress was, so I'd nod my head in agreement."
"And what about the men?" the minister asked.
"They all wanted to know if the mule was for sale."
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?