<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139</id><updated>2012-01-22T19:48:16.645+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Unsourced Jokes</title><subtitle type='html'>These jokes are of an unkown origin. Feel free to submit corrections or add to the list. I will edit when possible, to improve the flow and correct errors. </subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>379</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5139451211125578945</id><published>2011-12-14T21:23:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2011-12-14T21:23:29.035+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Saved?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;A man called Mark was lost in the Simpson desert&lt;br /&gt;He was just about at deaths door, when he hears someone calling out his name. MARK MARK MARK&lt;br /&gt;Thinking he,s saved, he crawls from his campfire over to the bushes, peers into the scrub and finds its a dog with a hare lip&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5139451211125578945?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5139451211125578945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5139451211125578945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/12/saved.html' title='Saved?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4312160712577568694</id><published>2011-12-14T21:22:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2011-12-14T21:22:57.751+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Lucky Old Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;An 80 year old man was having his annual checkup when the doctor asked how he was feeling. "I've never been better!" he boasted. "I've got an 18 year old bride who's pregnant and having my child! What do you think about that?"&lt;br /&gt;The doctor considered this for a moment, then said, "let me tell you a story:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew a guy who was an avid hunter. He never missed a season. But one day he went out in a &lt;span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "&gt;bit of a hurry and accidentally grabbed his umbrella instead of his gun." the doctor continued, "So he was in the woods and suddenly a grizzly bear appeared in front of him! He raised up his umbrella, pointed it at the bear and squeezed the handle." "And do you know what happened?" the doctor queried. Dumbfounded, the old man replied, "no." The doctor continued, "the bear dropped dead in front of him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's impossible!" exclaimed the old man. "someone else must of shot the bear."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's kind of what I'm getting at," replied the doctor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4312160712577568694?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4312160712577568694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4312160712577568694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/12/lucky-old-man.html' title='Lucky Old Man'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7334932524775986944</id><published>2011-08-30T20:56:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2011-08-30T20:56:29.868+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinking on his feet</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "&gt;A man walked into a Woolworth’s supermarket and asked to buy half a head of lettuce. The boy working in that department told him that they only sold whole heads of lettuce. The man was insistent that the boy ask the manager about the matt&lt;span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "&gt;er.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking into the back room, the boy said to the manager, "Some old bastard wants to buy a half a head of lettuce."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he finished his sentence, he turned around to find that the man was standing right behind him, so he quickly added,"and this gentleman kindly offered to buy the other half."&lt;br /&gt;The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, the manager said to the boy,"I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier, we like people who can think on their feet here, where are you from son?"&lt;br /&gt;"New Zealand, sir," the boy replied.&lt;br /&gt;"Why did you leave New Zealand ?"the manager asked.&lt;br /&gt;The boy said, "Sir, there's nothing but prostitutes and rugby players there."&lt;br /&gt;"Is that right?" replied the manager,"My wife is from New Zealand !"&lt;br /&gt;"Really?" replied the boy,"Who did she play for?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7334932524775986944?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7334932524775986944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7334932524775986944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/08/thinking-on-his-feet.html' title='Thinking on his feet'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8812601113354190072</id><published>2011-07-29T14:04:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2011-07-29T14:06:16.626+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Community Channel was gone for three months .. why?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yuBcZBQ7mY/TjIxgR8k2QI/AAAAAAAAA10/yJMfthhWGSg/s1600/Community%2BChannel.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yuBcZBQ7mY/TjIxgR8k2QI/AAAAAAAAA10/yJMfthhWGSg/s320/Community%2BChannel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634620514436962562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;iframe width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wO2qaIVsgtQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;Throwing out process at home: my bin to my mum. Do you guys get the same thing? Everything is a waste. Poor mum. New Vid in 4 Days, keep up to date: Twitter &lt;a href="http://www.twitter.com/natalietran" target="_blank" title="http://www.twitter.com/natalietran" rel="nofollow" dir="ltr" class="yt-uix-redirect-link" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 13px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(66, 114, 219); text-decoration: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;http://www.twitter.com/natalietran&lt;/a&gt; Facebook:&lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/community-channel/6783117830" target="_blank" title="http://www.facebook.com/pages/community-channel/6783117830" rel="nofollow" dir="ltr" class="yt-uix-redirect-link" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 13px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(66, 114, 219); text-decoration: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;http://www.facebook.com/pages/community-channel/6783117830&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope you guys have been well and I hope you have a fantastic weekend.&lt;br /&gt;x&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;===&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;you get the picture ..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8812601113354190072?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8812601113354190072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8812601113354190072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/07/community-channel-was-gone-for-three.html' title='Community Channel was gone for three months .. why?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yuBcZBQ7mY/TjIxgR8k2QI/AAAAAAAAA10/yJMfthhWGSg/s72-c/Community%2BChannel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5077258955997725593</id><published>2011-07-27T12:14:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2011-07-27T14:55:14.635+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Math Puzzle Two Guards Two Paths</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:documentproperties&gt;   &lt;o:template&gt;Normal.dotm&lt;/o:Template&gt;   &lt;o:revision&gt;0&lt;/o:Revision&gt;   &lt;o:totaltime&gt;0&lt;/o:TotalTime&gt;   &lt;o:pages&gt;1&lt;/o:Pages&gt;   &lt;o:words&gt;60&lt;/o:Words&gt;   &lt;o:characters&gt;344&lt;/o:Characters&gt;   &lt;o:company&gt;David Daniel Ball Education Advice&lt;/o:Company&gt;   &lt;o:lines&gt;2&lt;/o:Lines&gt;   &lt;o:paragraphs&gt;1&lt;/o:Paragraphs&gt;   &lt;o:characterswithspaces&gt;422&lt;/o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;   &lt;o:version&gt;12.0&lt;/o:Version&gt;  &lt;/o:DocumentProperties&gt;  &lt;o:officedocumentsettings&gt;   &lt;o:allowpng/&gt;  &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:trackmoves&gt;false&lt;/w:TrackMoves&gt;   &lt;w:trackformatting/&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridverticalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;    &lt;w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontvertalignintxbx/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Table Normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:12.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;  mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;  mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;  mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;    &lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;It is from an old math puzzle. I can't remember it well. But here is what I do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;"Two girls stand at an airport passageway. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;One route leads to Quantas and the other to Branson's service. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;One says you look nice and the other always tells the truth. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;You are allowed only one question before continuing your journey (Sydney airport)." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"    style="font-family:&amp;quot;Lucida Grande&amp;quot;; mso-bidi-Lucida Grande&amp;quot;;mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11.0pt;color:#262626;"&gt;I recall the solution being something like asking one girl what would the other say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5077258955997725593?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5077258955997725593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5077258955997725593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/07/old-math-puzzle-two-guards-two-paths.html' title='Old Math Puzzle Two Guards Two Paths'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6725439381108361441</id><published>2011-07-27T10:47:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2011-07-27T15:34:39.308+10:00</updated><title type='text'>New Car Search</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;o:documentproperties&gt;   &lt;o:template&gt;Normal.dotm&lt;/o:Template&gt;   &lt;o:revision&gt;0&lt;/o:Revision&gt;   &lt;o:totaltime&gt;0&lt;/o:TotalTime&gt;   &lt;o:pages&gt;1&lt;/o:Pages&gt;   &lt;o:words&gt;310&lt;/o:Words&gt;   &lt;o:characters&gt;1769&lt;/o:Characters&gt;   &lt;o:company&gt;David Daniel Ball Education Advice&lt;/o:Company&gt;   &lt;o:lines&gt;14&lt;/o:Lines&gt;   &lt;o:paragraphs&gt;3&lt;/o:Paragraphs&gt;   &lt;o:characterswithspaces&gt;2172&lt;/o:CharactersWithSpaces&gt;   &lt;o:version&gt;12.0&lt;/o:Version&gt;  &lt;/o:DocumentProperties&gt;  &lt;o:officedocumentsettings&gt;   &lt;o:allowpng/&gt;  &lt;/o:OfficeDocumentSettings&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:trackmoves&gt;false&lt;/w:TrackMoves&gt;   &lt;w:trackformatting/&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:drawinggridverticalspacing&gt;18 pt&lt;/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing&gt;   &lt;w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;    &lt;w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:dontvertalignintxbx/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Table Normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 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"&gt;Corinna Slade&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="messageBody" ft="{&amp;quot;type&amp;quot;:3}"&gt;John Clarke, Bryan Dawes skit&lt;br /&gt;[Scene: A car yard. BRYAN is perusing the stock. He is approached by JOHN]&lt;br /&gt;John: Morning! Looking for a new car?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Nope. New Prime Minister, actually.&lt;br /&gt;John: You’re the third one this morning. Anything in mind?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: You know....... nothing fancy, reliable, economical family model. Something to get the country from A to B.&lt;br /&gt;John: You mean like a Howard?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Yeah....a little Johnny. Nothing flash, does the job. Low maintenance, economical, sensible. Runs for years, no troubles.&lt;br /&gt;John: So.... you used to have one?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Yeah. About 10 years. Great little model – don’t know why I got rid of him -- biggest mistake I’ve ever made…&lt;br /&gt;John: What happened?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Traded him in for a Kevin 07.&lt;br /&gt;John: Big mistake…&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Lot of people bought it. Good political mileage.&lt;br /&gt;John: How was the Kevin 07?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Came with a $900 factory rebate – that was good.&lt;br /&gt;John: Anything else?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Not much. Sounded nice but nothing under the bonnet. It was a lemon.&lt;br /&gt;John: Didn’t stick around for long did it?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Nah – had a factory recall. Shipped overseas and was never seen again.&lt;br /&gt;John: What was the problem?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Lots. But the final straw was the navigation system. Plug it in and it automatically loses its own way.&lt;br /&gt;John: Whatcha got now?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: It’s a Gillard-Brown.&lt;br /&gt;John: The hybrid?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Yeah. The Eco-drive system – not a good idea. An engine that can’t deliver hooked up to a transmission stuck in permanent reverse…&lt;br /&gt;John: Green paintwork with a red interior. And steering that always lurches to the left for no apparent reason – that’s the one?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: The Fustercluck model.&lt;br /&gt;John: The only one they made, Bryan. Not the vehicle of choice for the road to recovery – but did they finish up fixing the navigation system?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: Made it worse. Turn it on and it does a press release, heads off in all directions and goes nowhere.&lt;br /&gt;John: So that’s why you’re here?&lt;br /&gt;Bryan: That’s right. I’m stuck with a government that's wasteful, expensive, ineffective and past its use by date. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the “Cash for Clunkers” scheme?&lt;br /&gt;John: Join the queue brother.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!--EndFragment--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6725439381108361441?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6725439381108361441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6725439381108361441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/07/new-car-search.html' title='New Car Search'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8338462750742575128</id><published>2011-02-20T16:04:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2011-02-20T16:05:12.181+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Army - Life in the Australian Army...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#FF0000;"&gt;Life in the Australian Army...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad. (For Those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a smalltown, west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland ) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Mum &amp;amp; Dad,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta bed until 6am . But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin' - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it don't move and it's not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - it's a piece of piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges, they comes in little boxes, and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes ya  gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.&lt;br /&gt;Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your loving daughter,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sheila&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8338462750742575128?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8338462750742575128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8338462750742575128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2011/02/army-life-in-australian-army.html' title='Army - Life in the Australian Army...'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6234612771736897665</id><published>2010-12-02T21:53:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-12-02T21:55:03.003+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Life after death?</title><content type='html'>"Do you believe in life after death?" the boss asked his employee.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Sir." the employee replied.&lt;br /&gt;"Well then, that makes everything just fine. After you left early yesterday to go to your grandmother's funeral, she stopped in to see you"&lt;br /&gt;===&lt;br /&gt;Found online from Maria Nguyen ..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6234612771736897665?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6234612771736897665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6234612771736897665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/12/life-after-death.html' title='Life after death?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1887104144228740794</id><published>2010-05-24T21:00:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T21:01:05.263+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Rushing Math Mistake</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(68, 68, 68); "&gt;&lt;pre style="white-space: normal; "&gt;Rushing to work, I was driving too fast and as a result was pulled over by the highway patrol. The state trooper noticed that my shirt had the name of a local high school on it. "I teach math there," I explained.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The trooper smiled, and said, "Okay, here's a problem. A teacher is speeding down the highway at 16mph over the limit. At $12 for every mile, plus $40 court costs, plus the rise in her insurance, what's her total cost?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I replied, "Taking that total, subtracting the low salary I receive, multiplying by the number of kids who hate math, then adding to that the fact that none of us would be any-where without teachers, I'd say zero."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He handed me back my license. "Math was never my favorite subject," he admitted. "Please slow down."&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1887104144228740794?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1887104144228740794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1887104144228740794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/rushing-math-mistake.html' title='Rushing Math Mistake'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6267123547123996872</id><published>2010-05-24T20:59:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T20:59:27.216+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Green Golf Balls</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(68, 68, 68); "&gt;&lt;pre style="white-space: normal; "&gt;A blonde golfer goes into the pro shop and looks around frowning.&lt;br /&gt;Finally the pro asks her what she wants. "I can't find any green golf balls," the blonde golfer complains.&lt;br /&gt;The pro looks all over the shop, and through all the catalogs, and finally calls the manufacturers and determines that sure enough, there are no green golf balls.&lt;br /&gt;As the blonde golfer walks out the door in disgust, the pro asks her, "Before you go, could you tell me why you want green golf balls?"&lt;br /&gt;"Well obviously, because they would be so much easier to find in the sand traps!"&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6267123547123996872?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6267123547123996872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6267123547123996872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/green-golf-balls.html' title='Green Golf Balls'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5598801999574550558</id><published>2010-05-24T20:57:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T20:57:44.815+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Sick</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(68, 68, 68); "&gt;&lt;pre style="white-space: normal; "&gt;Two immigrants meet on the street.&lt;br /&gt;'How’s by you?' asks one.&lt;br /&gt;'Could be worse. And you?'&lt;br /&gt;'Surviving. But I have been sick a lot this year and it's costing me a fortune. In the past five months, I've spent over $10,000 on doctors and medicine.'&lt;br /&gt;'Ach, back home on that kind of money, you could be sick for two years.'&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5598801999574550558?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5598801999574550558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5598801999574550558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/feeling-sick.html' title='Feeling Sick'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8644398347561982530</id><published>2010-05-11T09:43:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:43:50.372+10:00</updated><title type='text'>IRS</title><content type='html'>Moshe, the owner of a small Kosher New York deli, was being questioned by an IRS agent about his tax return. He had reported a net profit of $80,000 for the year.&lt;br /&gt;'Why don't you people leave me alone?' the deli owner said. 'I work like a dog, everyone in my family helps out; the place is only closed three days a year. And you want to know how I made $80,000?'&lt;br /&gt;'It's not your income that bothers us,' the agent said. 'It's these travel deductions. You listed ten trips to Israel for you and your wife.&lt;br /&gt;'Oh, that?' the owner said smiling. 'Well... we also deliver.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8644398347561982530?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8644398347561982530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8644398347561982530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/irs.html' title='IRS'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5214134009341873545</id><published>2010-05-11T09:42:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:43:05.964+10:00</updated><title type='text'>GPS</title><content type='html'>Scene: A conversation between two of my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Friend #1: Are you visiting us tomorrow? Do you need directions?&lt;br /&gt;Friend #2: I'm all set. I have the address, a GPS, and a GPS override.&lt;br /&gt;Friend #1: What's a GPS override?&lt;br /&gt;Friend #2: My wife.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5214134009341873545?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5214134009341873545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5214134009341873545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/gps.html' title='GPS'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4777373735566088708</id><published>2010-05-11T09:41:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:42:22.710+10:00</updated><title type='text'>What do you Want me to Wear?</title><content type='html'>Rhoda and Irwin, a retired couple living in Boca Raton, are getting ready to go out to dinner.&lt;br /&gt;Rhoda says, 'Irwin, darling, do you want me to wear this Chanel suit or the Gucci?'&lt;br /&gt;Irwin says, 'Do I care?'&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later Rhoda says, 'Irwin, should I wear my Cartier watch or my Rolex?'&lt;br /&gt;Irwin says, 'Who cares?'&lt;br /&gt;A few more minutes pass and Rhoda says, 'Irwin, love, shall I wear my five-carat pear diamond ring or my six-carat round diamond ring with the baguettes?'&lt;br /&gt;Irwin says, 'Rhoda, I really don't care what you wear, but if you don't move your tuchas, we're going to miss the Early Bird Special.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4777373735566088708?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4777373735566088708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4777373735566088708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/what-do-you-want-me-to-wear.html' title='What do you Want me to Wear?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6448266241788522606</id><published>2010-05-11T09:41:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:41:43.151+10:00</updated><title type='text'>View</title><content type='html'>As a realtor, I deal with all types of people. Recently, I showed a home to a couple who seemed eager to check out the fantastic view from the living room. But when I dramatically pulled back the drapes, the disappointed husband asked, "Where is the view? Those mountains must be blocking it."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6448266241788522606?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6448266241788522606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6448266241788522606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/view.html' title='View'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5681203898393243747</id><published>2010-05-11T09:40:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T09:41:20.053+10:00</updated><title type='text'>The Race Track</title><content type='html'>A stock analyst and a Wall Street broker went to the race-track. The broker suggested betting $12,000 on a certain horse. The analyst was skeptical; he had never been to the races before and wanted to understand the rules and look over all the horses before placing a wager.&lt;br /&gt;"You're too cautious and detail-oriented," the broker criticized as he placed his large bet. His horse won and he raked in a bundle of money.&lt;br /&gt;"What's your secret?" the analyst asked.&lt;br /&gt;"It's simple," the broker explained. "I have two kids... ages two and six...so I add their ages together and bet on number nine."&lt;br /&gt;"But two and six is eight, not nine!" protested the analyst.&lt;br /&gt;"See!" the broker replied, "I told you you're too cautious and detail-oriented."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5681203898393243747?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5681203898393243747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5681203898393243747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/race-track.html' title='The Race Track'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3422403710455537096</id><published>2010-05-07T21:32:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2010-05-07T21:33:01.800+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Grant T. COOK 's brilliant reply to an idiot</title><content type='html'>A man enters a bar and orders a drink.  The bar has a robot barman. &lt;br /&gt;The robot serves him a perfectly prepared cocktail, and then asks him, “What’s your IQ?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man replies “150” and the robot proceeds to make conversation about global warming factors, Quantum physics and spirituality, bio-mimicry, environmental interconnectedness, string theory, nanotechnology, and &lt;br /&gt;sexual proclivities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The customer is very impressed and thinks, “This is really cool.” He decides to test the robot. He walks out of the bar, turns around, and comes back in for another drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the robot serves him the perfectly prepared drink and asks him, “What’s your IQ?” The man responds, “About 100.” Immediately the robot starts talking, but this time about league, Holdens, racing, the new BIG Mac, tattoos, Jennifer Hawkins and women in general.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really impressed, the man leaves the bar and decides to give the robot &lt;br /&gt;one more test. He heads out and returns, the robot serves him and asks, “What’s your IQ?” The man replies, “Err, 50, I think.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the robot says...real slowly… “So...............are ya gonna vote for Kevin again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3422403710455537096?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3422403710455537096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3422403710455537096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/05/grant-t-cook-s-brilliant-reply-to-idiot.html' title='Grant T. COOK &apos;s brilliant reply to an idiot'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7874756660953024640</id><published>2010-04-21T06:07:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T06:07:55.205+10:00</updated><title type='text'>The Guru</title><content type='html'>Goldie Cohen, an elderly Jewish lady from New York, goes to her travel agent. "I vont to go to India."&lt;br /&gt;"Mrs. Cohen, why India? It's filthy, much hotter than New York, it's full of poor, dirty people."&lt;br /&gt;"I vont to go to India."&lt;br /&gt;"But it's a long journey, and those trains, how will you manage? What will you eat? The food is too hot and spicy for you. You can't drink the water. You must not eat fresh fruit and vegetables. You'll get sick: the plague, hepatitis, cholera, typhoid, malaria, God only knows. What will you do? Can you imagine the hospital, no Jewish doctors? Why torture yourself?"&lt;br /&gt;"I vont to go to India."&lt;br /&gt;The necessary arrangements are made, and off she goes. She arrives in India and, undeterred by the noise, smell and crowds, makes her way to an ashram. There she joins the seemingly never-ending line of people waiting for an audience with the guru. An aide tells her that it will take at least three days of standing in line to see the guru.&lt;br /&gt;"Dotz OK."...she says.&lt;br /&gt;Eventually she reaches the hallowed portals. There she is told firmly that due to the long lines she can only say SEVEN words to the guru.&lt;br /&gt;"Fine."&lt;br /&gt;She is ushered into the inner sanctum where the guru is seated, ready to bestow spiritual blessings upon his eager initiates. Just before she reaches the holy of holiest she is once again reminded:&lt;br /&gt;"Remember, just SEVEN words."&lt;br /&gt;Unlike the other devotees, she does not prostrate at his feet. She stands directly in front of him, crosses her arms over her chest, fixes her gaze on his, and says: ...&lt;br /&gt;"Sheldon, I'm your mother. Come home...NOW!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7874756660953024640?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7874756660953024640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7874756660953024640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/guru.html' title='The Guru'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2093626263107793748</id><published>2010-04-21T06:07:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T06:07:25.199+10:00</updated><title type='text'>The Governor</title><content type='html'>A lawyer phoned the governor's mansion shortly after mid-night. "I need to talk to the governor, it's an emergency!" exclaimed the lawyer.&lt;br /&gt;After some cajoling, the governor's assistant agreed to wake him up. "So, what is it that's so important that it can't wait until morning?" grumbled the governor.&lt;br /&gt;"Judge Pierson just died, and I want to take his place," begged the attorney. &lt;br /&gt;"Well, it's OK with me if it's OK with the funeral home," replied the governor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2093626263107793748?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2093626263107793748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2093626263107793748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/governor.html' title='The Governor'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5476909723918675291</id><published>2010-04-21T06:06:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T06:06:57.045+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Business Trip</title><content type='html'>I returned home from my ninth business trip of the year with a severe bout of jet lag induced foot-in-mouth disease. As we prepared to go to sleep that night, I wrapped my arms around my better half, gave her a kiss, and announced, "It's good to be in my own bed, with my own wife!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5476909723918675291?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5476909723918675291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5476909723918675291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/business-trip.html' title='Business Trip'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6489495704266017918</id><published>2010-04-13T06:04:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T06:05:06.486+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Harry Houdini</title><content type='html'>I'm the postmaster for a small town in Pennsylvania. One of my regular customers, Jeff, bought several sheets of newly released commemorative stamps.&lt;br /&gt;Soon after he left, a woman came in carrying two crisp sheets of Harry Houdini stamps she'd found in the parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, I gave Jeff the sheets of stamps he'd lost. "You know," Jeff said to me, "I'm not at all that surprised the Houdini stamps reappeared."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6489495704266017918?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6489495704266017918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6489495704266017918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/harry-houdini.html' title='Harry Houdini'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8961594480253142818</id><published>2010-04-13T06:04:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T06:04:37.393+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Garden of Eden</title><content type='html'>After the fall in Garden of Eden, Adam was walking with his sons Cain and Abel.&lt;br /&gt;As they passed by the ruins of the Garden of Eden, one of the boys asked, "Father, what's that?"&lt;br /&gt;Adam replied, "Boys, that's where your mother ate us out of house and home."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8961594480253142818?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8961594480253142818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8961594480253142818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/garden-of-eden.html' title='Garden of Eden'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7119825041894785897</id><published>2010-04-12T19:21:00.003+10:00</published><updated>2010-04-12T19:22:30.159+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Golf Genie</title><content type='html'>A Husband takes his wife to play her first game of golf.....Of course, the wife promptly whacked her first shot right through the window of the biggest house adjacent to the course.&lt;br /&gt;The husband cringed, 'I warned you to be careful! Now we'll have to go up there, find the owner, apologize and se e how much your lousy drive is going to cost us.'&lt;br /&gt;So the couple walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A warm voice said, 'Come on in.'&lt;br /&gt;When they opened the door they saw the damage that was done: glass was all over the place, and a broken antique bottle was lying on its side near the broken window.&lt;br /&gt;A man reclining on the couch asked, 'Are you the people that broke my window?'&lt;br /&gt;'Uh...yeah, sir.. We're sure sorry about that,' the husband replied.&lt;br /&gt;'Oh, no apology is necessary. Actually I want to thank you... You see, I'm a genie , and I've been trapped in that bottle for a thousand years. Now that you've released me, I'm allowed to grant three wishes. I'll give you each one wish, but if you don't mind, I'll keep the last one for myself.'&lt;br /&gt;'Wow, that's great!' the husband said. He pondered a moment and blurted out, 'I'd like a million dollars a year for the rest of my life.'&lt;br /&gt;'No problem,' said the genie. 'You've got it, it's the least I can do. And I'll guarantee you a long, healthy life!' 'And now you, young lady, what do you want?' the genie asked.&lt;br /&gt;'I'd like to own a gorgeous home complete with servants in every country in the world,' she said.&lt;br /&gt;'Consider it done,' the genie said. 'And your homes will always be safe from fire, burglary and natural disasters!'&lt;br /&gt;'And now,' the couple asked in unison, what's your wish, genie?'&lt;br /&gt;'Well, since I've been trapped in that bottle and haven't been with a woman in more than a thousand years, my wish is to have sex with your wife.'&lt;br /&gt;The husband looked at his wife and said, 'Gee, honey, you know we both now have a fortune, and all those houses. What do you think?'&lt;br /&gt;She mulled it over for a few moments and said, 'You know, you're right. Considering our good fortune, I guess I wouldn't mind, but what about you, honey?'&lt;br /&gt;'You know I love you sweet heart,' said the husband. I'd do the same for you!'&lt;br /&gt;So the genie and the woman went upstairs where they spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other in every way. After about three hours of non-stop sex, the genie rolled over and looked directly into her eyes and asked, How old are you and your husband?'&lt;br /&gt;'Why, we're both 35,' she responded breathlessly.&lt;br /&gt;'NO SHIT.' He said, 'Thirty-five years old and both of you still believe in genies?'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7119825041894785897?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7119825041894785897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7119825041894785897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/04/golf-genie.html' title='Golf Genie'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7561639356624428343</id><published>2010-03-29T05:14:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T05:15:31.310+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Shabbos</title><content type='html'>Moshe and Miriam, a young orthodox married couple, were expecting their first baby. Unfortunately, Miriam's water broke on Shabbos, and they had no choice but to call for a taxi to take them to the hospital's maternity ward.&lt;br /&gt;Because Moshe wanted to try and minimize the Shabbos violation, he told the dispatcher that he must send them only a non-Jewish driver.&lt;br /&gt;The taxi quickly arrived, but when Moshe and Miriam were getting in, they overheard the dispatcher on the two-way radio ask the driver, "Have you picked up the anti-Semites yet?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7561639356624428343?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7561639356624428343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7561639356624428343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/shabbos.html' title='Shabbos'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2900325950565828382</id><published>2010-03-29T05:13:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T05:13:57.600+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Garter</title><content type='html'>Helping me sort clothes into "save" and "give away" piles, my six-year-old daughter came across a garter belt. "What's this?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;"It's a garter belt," I said. Seeing that meant nothing to her, I added, "It's for holding up stockings."&lt;br /&gt;"Ah," she said, carefully placing it in the "save" pile, "we'll use it next Christmas Eve."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2900325950565828382?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2900325950565828382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2900325950565828382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/garter.html' title='Garter'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3225034071345045180</id><published>2010-03-29T05:12:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T05:13:13.801+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Prospective Tenant</title><content type='html'>A property manager of single-family residence was showing a unit to prospective tenants and asking the usual questions. "Professionally employed?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;"We're a military family," the wife answered.&lt;br /&gt;"Children?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yes, ages nine and twelve," she answered proudly.&lt;br /&gt;"Animals?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no," she said earnestly. "They're very well behaved."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3225034071345045180?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3225034071345045180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3225034071345045180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/prospective-tenant.html' title='Prospective Tenant'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-581022604383719105</id><published>2010-03-22T17:48:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T17:48:39.451+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Is it Okay to Take Viagra on Shabbat?</title><content type='html'>One Rabbi says that Jewish law forbids the ingestion of Viagra on Shabbat, lest one violate the infraction of erecting a structure on the Sabbath.&lt;br /&gt;But another Rabbi says that as a medication that adds pleasure to the Sabbath, it is permissible. But it is banned during Passover along with all other agents causing things to rise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-581022604383719105?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/581022604383719105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/581022604383719105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/is-it-okay-to-take-viagra-on-shabbat.html' title='Is it Okay to Take Viagra on Shabbat?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7517000999741982075</id><published>2010-03-22T17:47:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T17:47:55.161+11:00</updated><title type='text'>I love this Doctor!</title><content type='html'>Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?&lt;br /&gt;A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... Don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?&lt;br /&gt;A:You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?&lt;br /&gt;A:No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit.&lt;br /&gt;Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?&lt;br /&gt;A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies your ratio is two to one, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?&lt;br /&gt;A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain...Good!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?&lt;br /&gt;A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING!!! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?&lt;br /&gt;A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is chocolate bad for me?&lt;br /&gt;A :Are you crazy? HELLO Cocoa beans! Another vegetable!!! It's the best feel-good food around!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is swimming good for your figure?&lt;br /&gt;A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?&lt;br /&gt;A: Hey! 'Round' is a shape!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And remember:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming 'WOO HOO, What a Ride'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who watch what you eat , here's the final word on nutrition and health. It's a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The Germans drink a lot of beers and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Americans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CONCLUSION&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7517000999741982075?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7517000999741982075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7517000999741982075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-love-this-doctor.html' title='I love this Doctor!'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-9150195851479055732</id><published>2010-03-22T17:45:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T17:47:25.357+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Doctoring In Dublin</title><content type='html'>A doctor in Dublin wanted to get off work and go fishing, so he approached his assistant.&lt;br /&gt;'Murphy, I am going hunting tomorrow and don't want to close the clinic I want you to take care of the clinic and take care of all me patients'.&lt;br /&gt;'Yes, sir!' answers Murphy.&lt;br /&gt;The doctor goes fishing and returns the following day and asks: 'So,Murphy, how was your day?'&lt;br /&gt;Murphy told him that he took care of three patients.&lt;br /&gt;'The first one had a headache so he did, so I gave him Paracetamol.'&lt;br /&gt;'Bravo Murphy lad, and the second one?' asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;'The second one had indigestion and I gave him Gaviscon, so I did sir' says Murphy.&lt;br /&gt;'Bravo, bravo! You're good at this and what about the third one?' asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;'Sir, I was sitting here and suddenly the door flies open and a young gorgeous woman borsts in so she does. Like bolt outta the blue, she tears off her clothes, taking off everyting including her bra and her panties and lies down on the table, spreading her legs and shouts: 'HELP ME for the love of St Patrick! For five years I have not seen any man!''&lt;br /&gt;'Tunderin' lard Murphy, what did you do?' asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;'I put drops in her eyes!'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-9150195851479055732?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/9150195851479055732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/9150195851479055732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/doctoring-in-dublin.html' title='Doctoring In Dublin'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2731363773244538174</id><published>2010-03-09T12:32:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:33:12.207+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Passover is Approaching</title><content type='html'>At the seder table, every Jewish child will be retold the story of Moses and the Pharaoh, and how God brought boils, locusts, hail and the other plagues onto the Egyptians. Yet in spite of this overwhelming evidence of God's intentions,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pharaoh refused to let the Jews go, until a tenth plague, the death of the first-born children was inflicted on every Egyptian home, passing over the Jewish homes. Only after this tragedy did the Pharaoh relent and let the Jews leave slavery and Egypt to begin their journey to the promised land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This has been known for generations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What has not been known is why the Pharaoh, in the face of such overwhelming evidence would refuse to release the Jews after the first nine plagues?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took eight years of research by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the renowned psychologist and nurse, to find the definitive answer. Dr. Kubler-Ross spent those years studying the Dead Sea Scrolls before discovering the answer. And once found, it was obvious The Pharaoh was still in de Nile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2731363773244538174?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2731363773244538174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2731363773244538174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/passover-is-approaching.html' title='Passover is Approaching'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3635790275280321757</id><published>2010-03-09T12:31:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:32:02.800+11:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Car</title><content type='html'>Recently I bought a new Subaru Forrester but I had to return it to the dealer the next day because I couldn't get the radio to work.&lt;br /&gt;The car salesman explained that the radio was voice activated and demonstrated this brilliant feature.&lt;br /&gt;"Nelson," the salesman called to the radio.&lt;br /&gt;The radio then responded "Ricky or Willie?"&lt;br /&gt;"Willie!" he called back and immediately the radio burst into song "On theRoad Again".&lt;br /&gt;Then the salesman calls "Ray Charles," and in an instant "Georgia on My Mind" immediately replaces the Willie Nelson song.&lt;br /&gt;I drove away very happy, and for the next few days, every time I'd say, "Beethoven," I'd receive beautiful classical music for the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;Then I would say "Beatles," and I would hear a multitude of those great awesome songs from the 60-80's.&lt;br /&gt;It was fun and even my wife even got into it too.&lt;br /&gt;"Billy Joel" and up came 'The Piano Man"&lt;br /&gt;"Rolling Stones" and up came "Jumpin Jack Flash" plus many other great Stone's hits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yesterday, I had the best experience of all.&lt;br /&gt;A couple tried to run a red light and I nearly creamed my new car, but luckily I managed to swerve in time to avoid hitting them.&lt;br /&gt;I immediately yelled in anger, "Arseholes!"&lt;br /&gt;Guess what!&lt;br /&gt;Immediately up came the ESSENDON Team Song through my speakers!!&lt;br /&gt;Goddamnit, I just LOVE this new car!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3635790275280321757?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3635790275280321757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3635790275280321757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-new-car.html' title='My New Car'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3448976923567132363</id><published>2010-03-09T12:30:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:31:02.496+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Gasoline</title><content type='html'>Becky, who belonged to a synagogue group devoted to visiting and helping the sick members of her congregation, was out making her rounds visiting homebound patients when she ran out of gas.&lt;br /&gt;As luck would have it, a gas station was just a block away. She walked to the station to borrow a gas can and buy some gas. The attendant told her the only gas can he owned had been loaned out but she could wait until it was returned. Since Becky was on the way to see another patient, and behind schedule, she decided not to wait and walked back to her car. She looked for something in her car that she could fill with gas and spotted the bedpan she always had handy for needy patients. Always resourceful, she carried the bedpan to the station, filled it with gas, and carried the full bedpan back to her car which was decorated with many Hebrew decals and bumper stickers. As she was pouring the gas into her tank, two men watched from across The street. One of them turned to the other and said: "If it starts, I'm converting to Judaism."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3448976923567132363?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3448976923567132363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3448976923567132363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/gasoline.html' title='Gasoline'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4559496330726290674</id><published>2010-03-09T12:29:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:29:48.564+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Sitting Together</title><content type='html'>A reform Rabbi was having an argument with an orthodox rabbi. He asked him, "Why don't you let the men and women of your congregation sit together as they do in my congregation?"&lt;br /&gt;The orthodox Rabbi replied, "If you want to know the truth, I don't really mind them sitting together at all. The trouble is, however, that I give sermons and I can't have them sleeping together."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4559496330726290674?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4559496330726290674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4559496330726290674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/sitting-together.html' title='Sitting Together'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4768489230382151057</id><published>2010-03-09T12:28:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:28:53.582+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying</title><content type='html'>Flying through the Midwest in the summertime means one thing: turbulence. I was working as a flight attendant on one particular flight when we hit a patch of very rough air just after a young teenager, obviously on her first flight, had entered the bathroom. After the bumps had sub-sided, she exited the bathroom, a look of sheer terror etched on her face.&lt;br /&gt;"Are you all right?" I asked as I helped her to her seat. "Don't worry, that turbulence was as bad as it gets."&lt;br /&gt;"So that's what it was," she said. "I thought I'd pushed the wrong button."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4768489230382151057?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4768489230382151057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4768489230382151057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/flying.html' title='Flying'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4627002968839763087</id><published>2010-03-09T12:28:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T12:28:27.862+11:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Supermarket</title><content type='html'>A woman in a supermarket is following a grandfather and his badly behaved 3 year-old grandson.&lt;br /&gt;It's obvious to her that he has his hands full with the child screaming for sweets in the sweet aisle, biscuits in the biscuit aisle; and for fruit, cereal and pop in the other aisles.&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Gramps is working his way around, saying in a controlled voice, "Easy, William, we won't be long . . . easy, boy."&lt;br /&gt;Another outburst, and she hears the granddad calmly say, "It's okay, William, just a couple more minutes and we'll be out of here. Hang in there, boy."&lt;br /&gt;At the checkout, the little terror is throwing items out of the cart, and Gramps says again in a controlled voice, "William, William, relax buddy, don't get upset. We'll be home in five minutes; stay cool, William." Very impressed, the woman goes outside where the grandfather is loading his groceries and the boy into the car.&lt;br /&gt;She said to the elderly gentleman, "It's none of my business, but you were amazing in there. I don't know how you did it. That whole time, you kept your composure, and no matter how loud and disruptive he got, you just calmly kept saying things would be okay. William is very lucky to have you as his grandpa."&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks, lady," said the grandfather, "but I'm William . . .. the little bastard's name is Steve."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4627002968839763087?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4627002968839763087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4627002968839763087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/03/in-supermarket.html' title='In a Supermarket'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8224500808070545615</id><published>2010-02-22T12:54:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:54:16.943+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Bar Mitzvah Invitation</title><content type='html'>It is with great stress, emotional and physical fatigue and incredible financial sacrifice beyond comprehension, that we invite you to join us as our wonderful son&lt;br /&gt;Jacob Adam&lt;br /&gt;is called to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah.&lt;br /&gt;Saturday, May 12th - (yes we realize its Mother's Day Weekend)&lt;br /&gt;Temple Israel&lt;br /&gt;14 Coleytown Road&lt;br /&gt;Westport, Connecticut 06880&lt;br /&gt;at the ungodly hour of 9 am&lt;br /&gt;even though you don't really need to be there until 10:20am to catch the real action.&lt;br /&gt;If you make it through the 3 hour service, please skip the kiddush (its just cookies and cake) and join us instead for an overly large and ostentatious Kosher (my husband's idea) evening meal, which starts at 7 PM, (not 8 PM.. or you will miss out on the 2000 canapes).&lt;br /&gt;Birchwood Country Club&lt;br /&gt;25 Kings Hwy S&lt;br /&gt;Westport, CT 06880&lt;br /&gt;(which we had to join just for this event and you would not believe the initiation fees)&lt;br /&gt;You will be in the presence of lots of boisterous and expensive entertainment and 60 to 70 unruly pre-teens wearing expensive dresses, funny hats, fake bling and brand new white ankle socks as well as 80-100 middle aged+ adults, some balding, some with bad toupees, most will be professionally coiffed, designer attire galore, lots of REAL bling, and most "tootsed" to the nines. At least 1/3 will be hormonally challenged and some will act stupid while under the influence. Some will not even know where or who they are. Some will complain about the food. Blah Blah Blah.&lt;br /&gt;Please have the courtesy of showing up if you RSVP that you are attending, or you will be billed for $210.00 a plate if you are a no-show. Please RSVP as soon as you get this and not a day before the cut-off date. I can't take the stress.&lt;br /&gt;The gift of choice is either green, or contains a routing and account number.&lt;br /&gt;"Off the top of your head" gifts &amp; Gift Cards are a waste of your time and ours.&lt;br /&gt;Hope you can make it!&lt;br /&gt;Lisa and David Miller&lt;br /&gt;Dress: Black Tie optional Theme: 007 James Bond&lt;br /&gt;BYO Kippot. I don't have the strength.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8224500808070545615?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8224500808070545615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8224500808070545615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/bar-mitzvah-invitation.html' title='Bar Mitzvah Invitation'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2553172178463601084</id><published>2010-02-22T12:45:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:51:15.818+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Application For Permission To Date My Daughter</title><content type='html'>NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless accompanied by a complete financial statement, job history, lineage, and current medical report from your doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NAME: ___________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH: ____________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HEIGHT: _______________ WEIGHT: __________________ IQ: _______________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INCOME TAX NUMBER: ________________ DRIVERS LICENSE: _______________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BOY SCOUT RANK AND BADGES: ________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOME ADDRESS: ____________________ CITY: ___________ POSTCODE: _____&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have parents? Yes ___No_____&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is one male and the other female Yes ___No_____&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If No, explain: _______________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number of years they have been married: ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If less than your age, explain: ___________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ACCESSORIES SECTION:&lt;br /&gt;A. Do you own or have access to a van? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B. A truck with oversized tyres? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C. A waterbed? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D. A vehicle with a mattress in the back? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E. A tattoo? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;F. Do you have an earring, nose ring,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pierced tongue, pierced cheek or a belly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;button ring? Yes __No__&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(IF YOU ANSWERED 'YES' TO ANY OF THE ABOVE, DISCONTINUE APPLICATION AND LEAVE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY. I SUGGEST RUNNING&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ESSAY SECTION:&lt;br /&gt;In 50 words or less, what does 'LATE' mean to you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 50 words or less, what does 'DON'T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER' mean to you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 50 words or less, what does 'ABSTINENCE' mean to you? ________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;REFERENCES SECTION:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Church you attend: __________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How often you attend: ________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When would be the best time to interview your:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father? _______________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother? ______________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Priest or Pastor? _______________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SHORT-ANSWER SECTION:&lt;br /&gt;Answer by filling in the blank. Please answer freely all answers are confidential.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: If I were shot, the last place I would want shot would be: _________________&lt;br /&gt;B: If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is my: ________________&lt;br /&gt;C: A woman's place is in the: ___________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;D: The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is: ______________&lt;br /&gt;E. What do you want to be IF you grow up? ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;F: When I meet a girl, the thing I always notice about her first is: _____________&lt;br /&gt;G: What is the current going rate of a hotel room? _________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I SWEAR THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE AND CORRECT TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, INDIGENOUS AUSTRALIAN BULL ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE WATER TORTURE and RED HOT POKERS.&lt;br /&gt;___________________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Applicant's Signature (that means sign your name, moron!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_______________________________ ____________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother's Signature Father's Signature&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pastor/Priest/Rabbi State or Federal Government Representative&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_______________________________ (Their stamp goes here)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notary Public&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for your interest, and it had better be genuine and non-sexual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please allow four to six years for processing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You will be contacted in writing if you are approved. Please do not try to call or write. If your application is rejected, you will be notified by two gentleman wearing white ties carrying violin cases. (You might watch your back)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To prepare yourself, start studying Daddy's Rules for Dating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daddy's Rules for Dating&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your dad's rules for your boyfriend (or for you if you're a guy):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and beep you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world sex without utilizing a 'Barrier method' of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Five: It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: 'early.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool, places where there is darkness, places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with strong romantic or sexual themes are to be avoided; movies that feature chain saws are okay. Cricket games are okay...Old folks homes are better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dim witted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2553172178463601084?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2553172178463601084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2553172178463601084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/application-for-permission-to-date-my.html' title='Application For Permission To Date My Daughter'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7971526114872247515</id><published>2010-02-22T12:45:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:45:45.211+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Break Time</title><content type='html'>I'd had enough of my employees' abusing their allotted break time. In an effort to clarify my position, I posted a sign on the bulletin board: "Starting immediately, your 15-minute breaks are being cut from a half-hour to 20 minutes."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7971526114872247515?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7971526114872247515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7971526114872247515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/break-time.html' title='Break Time'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1555107165321881773</id><published>2010-02-22T12:44:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:44:39.172+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Jewish Eskimos?</title><content type='html'>I was speaking with an Anthropologist, who was studying the Inuit (Eskimos).&lt;br /&gt;He is a Methodist, unfamiliar with Jewish customs.&lt;br /&gt;He told me of a group of Inuit who mourn the death of relatives by sitting on small blocks of ice for a week after burial.&lt;br /&gt;When I asked him what they call this custom of sitting on a block of ice, he replied: "I think they call it sitting shiver."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1555107165321881773?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1555107165321881773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1555107165321881773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/jewish-eskimos.html' title='Jewish Eskimos?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2133256997771772140</id><published>2010-02-22T12:42:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:43:23.475+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Chocolate Calculator</title><content type='html'>DON'T CHEAT BY SCROLLING DOWN FIRST!&lt;br /&gt;It takes less than a minute&lt;br /&gt;Work this out as you read.&lt;br /&gt;Be sure you don't read the bottom until you've worked it out!&lt;br /&gt;This is not one of those waste of time things, it's fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. First of all, pick the number of times a week that you would like to have chocolate (more than once but less than 10)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Multiply this number by 2 (just to be bold)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Add 5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Multiply it by 50 -- I'll wait while you get the calculator &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.. If you have already had your birthday this year add 1759.&lt;br /&gt;If you haven't, add 1758.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Now subtract the four digit year that you were born.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You should have a three digit number&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first digit of this was your original number&lt;br /&gt;(i.e., how many times you want to have chocolate each week).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next two numbers are YOUR AGE! (Oh YES, it is!)&lt;br /&gt;THIS IS THE ONLY YEAR (2009) IT WILL EVER WORK, SO SPREAD IT AROUND WHILE IT LASTS.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2133256997771772140?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2133256997771772140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2133256997771772140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/chocolate-calculator.html' title='Chocolate Calculator'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7322227070015498361</id><published>2010-02-22T12:41:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:42:05.183+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fight</title><content type='html'>A little boy came home from the playground with a bloody nose, black eye, and torn clothing. It was obvious he'd been in a bad fight and lost. While his father was patching him up, he asked his son what happened.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, Dad," said the boy, "I challenged Larry to a duel. And, you know, I gave him his choice of weapons."&lt;br /&gt;"Uh-huh," said the father, "that seems fair."&lt;br /&gt;"I know, but I never thought he'd choose his big sister!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7322227070015498361?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7322227070015498361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7322227070015498361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/fight.html' title='The Fight'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7060890462161600988</id><published>2010-02-22T12:40:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:40:27.544+11:00</updated><title type='text'>At a Jewish Burial Society</title><content type='html'>At the Jewish Burial Society two Jewish gentlemen were working at the society, when a corpse was sent to them to be prepared for the burial.&lt;br /&gt;One of them, looking at the dead man 's penis, asks: NU, YOSSL HOST DU SHOIN GEZEIN AZANE?&lt;br /&gt;(Yossl, have you ever seen one like this?)&lt;br /&gt;Yoss l says: AVREIMALE, ICH HOB DEM ZELBE.&lt;br /&gt;(Avi, I've got one just like it)&lt;br /&gt;Astonished, Avreimale asks: AZOY GROISS?&lt;br /&gt;(as big as this one?)&lt;br /&gt;Yossl answers: NEIN, AZOY TOIT!&lt;br /&gt;(no, as dead as this one!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7060890462161600988?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7060890462161600988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7060890462161600988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/at-jewish-burial-society.html' title='At a Jewish Burial Society'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8973536112742959439</id><published>2010-02-22T12:38:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:39:35.216+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Importance of Walking</title><content type='html'>Walking 20 minutes can add to your life.&lt;br /&gt;This enables you at 85 years old&lt;br /&gt;To spend an additional 5 months in a nursing&lt;br /&gt;Home at $7000 per month.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;My grandpa started walking&lt;br /&gt;Five miles a day when he was 60.&lt;br /&gt;Now he's 97 years old&lt;br /&gt;And we don't know where he is.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;I like long walks,&lt;br /&gt;Especially when they are taken&lt;br /&gt;By people who annoy me.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;I have to walk early in the morning,&lt;br /&gt;Before my brain figures out what I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;I joined a health club last year,&lt;br /&gt;Spent about 400 bucks.&lt;br /&gt;Haven't lost a pound.&lt;br /&gt;Apparently you have to go there?&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;Every time I hear the dirty word 'exercise',&lt;br /&gt;I wash my mouth out with chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;The advantage of exercising every day&lt;br /&gt;Is so when you die, they'll say,&lt;br /&gt;'Well, he looks good doesn't he?'&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;If you are going to try cross-country skiing,&lt;br /&gt;Start with a small country.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;I know I got a lot of exercise&lt;br /&gt;The last few years ...&lt;br /&gt;Just getting over the hill.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;We all get heavier as we get older,&lt;br /&gt;Because there's a lot more information in our heads.&lt;br /&gt;That's my story and I'm sticking to it.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;AND&lt;br /&gt;Every time I start thinking too much&lt;br /&gt;About how I look,&lt;br /&gt;I just find a Happy Hour&lt;br /&gt;And by the time I leave,&lt;br /&gt;I look just fine.&lt;br /&gt;***************************************&lt;br /&gt;You could run this over to your friends,&lt;br /&gt;But it's much easier to just e-mail it to them!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8973536112742959439?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8973536112742959439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8973536112742959439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/importance-of-walking.html' title='Importance of Walking'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3746398286145008058</id><published>2010-02-22T12:38:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:38:30.106+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Married</title><content type='html'>"Congratulations my boy!" said the groom's uncle. "I'm sure you'll look back and remember today as the happiest day of your life."&lt;br /&gt;"But I'm not getting married until tomorrow." protested his nephew.&lt;br /&gt;"I know," replied the uncle. "That's exactly what I mean."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3746398286145008058?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3746398286145008058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3746398286145008058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/getting-married.html' title='Getting Married'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4084412225403335027</id><published>2010-02-22T12:35:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:36:38.995+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Son-In-Law</title><content type='html'>Mr. Shwatrz goes to meet his new son-in-law to be, Sol.&lt;br /&gt;He says to Sol (who is very religious), "So nu, tell me Sol my boy what do you do?&lt;br /&gt;"I study the Torah," he replies.&lt;br /&gt;"But Sol, you are going to marry my daughter, how are going to feed and house her?"&lt;br /&gt;"No problem," says Sol, "I study Torah and it says G-d will provide."&lt;br /&gt;"But you will have children, how will you educate them?" asks Mr. Shwartz.&lt;br /&gt;"No problem," says Sol, "I study Torah and it says G-d will provide."&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Shwartz goes home and Mrs. Shwartz, his wife, anxiously asks what Sol is like.&lt;br /&gt;"Well," says Mr. Shwartz, "he's a lovely boy, I only just met him and he already thinks I'm G-d."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4084412225403335027?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4084412225403335027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4084412225403335027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/son-in-law.html' title='Son-In-Law'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3996215346163634983</id><published>2010-02-22T12:34:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:35:12.889+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Expensive Cigars</title><content type='html'>A lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against, among other things, fire.&lt;br /&gt;Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars, the lawyer filed a claim against the insurance company.&lt;br /&gt;In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost 'in a series of small fires.'&lt;br /&gt;The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason, that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.&lt;br /&gt;The lawyer sued and WON!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous.. The judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer held a policy from the company, in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable 'fire' and was obligated to pay the claim.&lt;br /&gt;Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars that perished in the 'fires'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!!&lt;br /&gt;With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3996215346163634983?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3996215346163634983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3996215346163634983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/expensive-cigars.html' title='Expensive Cigars'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3631197869910668878</id><published>2010-02-22T12:34:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:34:50.319+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Party</title><content type='html'>Little Tommy had been to a birthday party at a friends house.&lt;br /&gt;Knowing his sweet tooth Tommy's mother looked straight into his eyes and said, "I hope you didn't ask for a second piece of cake."&lt;br /&gt;"No," replied Tommy, "but I asked Mrs. Smith for the recipe so you could make some like it, and she gave me two more pieces without me asking."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3631197869910668878?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3631197869910668878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3631197869910668878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/birthday-party.html' title='Birthday Party'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8237145182358700034</id><published>2010-02-22T12:33:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:34:01.452+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Committing Adultery</title><content type='html'>Moses saw a crowd chasing down a woman to stone her and approached them. "What's going on here, anyway?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;"This woman was found committing adultery, and the law says we should stone her!" one of the crowd responded.&lt;br /&gt;"Wait," yelled Moses. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, a stone was thrown from out of the sky, and knocked the woman on the side of her head.&lt;br /&gt;"Aw, c'mon, Hashem..." Moses cried, "I'm trying to make a point here!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8237145182358700034?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8237145182358700034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8237145182358700034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/committing-adultery.html' title='Committing Adultery'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5733489801011366475</id><published>2010-02-22T12:33:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:33:23.398+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Explanation of Stimulus Bill</title><content type='html'>Shortly after class, an economics student approaches his economics professor and says, "I don't understand this stimulus bill. Can you explain it to me?"&lt;br /&gt;The professor replied, "I don't have any time to explain it at my office, but if you come over to my house on Saturday and help me with my weekend project, I'll be glad to explain it to you." The student agreed.&lt;br /&gt;At the agreed-upon time, the student showed up at the professor's house. The professor stated that the weekend project involved his backyard pool.&lt;br /&gt;They both went out back to the pool, and the professor handed the student a bucket. Demonstrating with his own bucket, the professor said, "First, go over to the deep end, and fill your bucket with as much water as you can." The student did as he was instructed.&lt;br /&gt;The professor then continued, "Follow me over to the shallow end, and then dump all the water from your bucket into it." The student was naturally confused, but did as he was told.&lt;br /&gt;The professor then explained they were going to do this many more times, and began walking back to the deep end of the pool.&lt;br /&gt;The confused student asked, "Excuse me, but why are we doing this?"&lt;br /&gt;The professor matter-of-factly stated that he was trying to make the shallow end much deeper.&lt;br /&gt;The student didn't think the economics professor was serious, but figured that he would find out the real story soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;However, after the 6th trip between the shallow end and the deep end, the student began to become worried that his economics professor had gone mad. The student finally replied, "All we're doing is wasting valuable time and effort on unproductive pursuits. Even worse, when this process is all over, everything will be at the same level it was before, so all you'll really have accomplished is the destruction of what could have been truly productive action!"&lt;br /&gt;The professor put down his bucket and replied with a smile, "Congratulations. You now understand the stimulus bill."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5733489801011366475?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5733489801011366475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5733489801011366475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/explanation-of-stimulus-bill.html' title='Explanation of Stimulus Bill'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3686145392270005883</id><published>2010-02-22T12:32:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T12:33:02.138+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Speeding</title><content type='html'>A police car pulled me over near the high school where I teach.&lt;br /&gt;As the officer asked for my license and registration, my students began to drive past. Some honked their horns, others hooted, and still others stopped to admonish me for speeding.&lt;br /&gt;Finally the officer asked me if I was a teacher at the school, and I told him I was.&lt;br /&gt;"I think you've paid your debt to society," he said with a smile, and left without giving me a ticket.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3686145392270005883?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3686145392270005883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3686145392270005883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/02/speeding.html' title='Speeding'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2866752375953069146</id><published>2010-01-18T17:11:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T17:11:27.100+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Next Survivor Series</title><content type='html'>Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.&lt;br /&gt;Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.&lt;br /&gt;There is no fast food.&lt;br /&gt;Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, and complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of 'pretend' bills with not enough money.&lt;br /&gt;In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.&lt;br /&gt;Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time--no Emailing.&lt;br /&gt;Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment.&lt;br /&gt;He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to Accident and Emergency.&lt;br /&gt;He must also make biscuits or cakes for a social function.&lt;br /&gt;Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.&lt;br /&gt;The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.&lt;br /&gt;The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, adorn himself with jewellery, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep fingernails polished and eyebrows groomed.&lt;br /&gt;During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties.&lt;br /&gt;They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.&lt;br /&gt;They will need to read a book to the kids each night and in the morning, feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair by 8:00 am.&lt;br /&gt;A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name.&lt;br /&gt;Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labour, each child's favourite colour, middle name, favourite snack, favourite song, favourite drink, favourite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up. All the above must be completed whilst working in either full time (preferably) or part time employment to assist in the financial input for the family.&lt;br /&gt;The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if... he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.&lt;br /&gt;If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years eventually earning the right to be called Mum!&lt;br /&gt;After you get done laughing, send this to as many girlfriends as you think will get a laugh out of it and as many men as you think can handle it! Just don't send it back to me....&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to bed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2866752375953069146?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2866752375953069146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2866752375953069146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/01/next-survivor-series.html' title='Next Survivor Series'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3978239117111920934</id><published>2010-01-18T17:10:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T17:10:53.995+11:00</updated><title type='text'>New House</title><content type='html'>Within two weeks of moving into a new house, the homeowner had to call an electrician, a roofer and a carpenter. One afternoon he returned early from work and saw a plumber's truck in the driveway.&lt;br /&gt;"Lord," he pleaded, looking skyward, "please let her be having an affair."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3978239117111920934?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3978239117111920934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3978239117111920934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/01/new-house.html' title='New House'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6817122793253160697</id><published>2010-01-18T17:09:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T17:10:06.658+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Wisdom</title><content type='html'>If the rich could hire other people to die for them, the poor could make a wonderful living. Yiddish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;The wise man, even when he holds his tongue, says more than the fool when he speaks. Yiddish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;What you don't see with your eyes, don't invent with your mouth. Yiddish proverb&lt;br /&gt;A hero is someone who can keep his mouth shut when he is right. Yiddish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;One old friend is better than two new ones. Yiddish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;One of life's greatest mysteries is how the boy who wasn't good enough to marry your daughter can be the father of the smartest grandchild in the world. Jewish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;Old friends, like old wines, don't lose their flavor. Jewish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;A wise man hears one word and understands two. Yiddish Proverb&lt;br /&gt;"Don't be so humble - you are not that great." Golda Meir (1898-1978) to a visiting diplomat.&lt;br /&gt;Pessimism is a luxury that a Jew can never allow himself. Golda Meir&lt;br /&gt;Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;When his wife asked him to change clothes to meet the German Ambassador, he said "If they want to see me, here I am. If they want to see my clothes, open my closet and show them my suits." Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;Intellectuals solve problems; geniuses prevent them. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;The hardest thing in the world to understand is income tax. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;You can't control the wind, but you can adjust your sails. Yiddish proverb&lt;br /&gt;Imagination is more important than knowledge. Sign hanging in Einstein's office at Princeton.&lt;br /&gt;Not everything that counts can be counted and not everything that can be counted counts. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school. Albert Einstein&lt;br /&gt;Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe. Albert Einstein&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6817122793253160697?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6817122793253160697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6817122793253160697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2010/01/wisdom.html' title='Wisdom'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3903350346833344304</id><published>2009-11-16T15:35:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T15:35:44.745+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rabbi's Cough Drops</title><content type='html'>It's bitterly cold outside the shul. Inside, Rabbi Bloom is getting fed up with the constant coughing that's disturbing his sermon, so after the service ends, he goes over to old Hyman the shammes and tells him that he needs his help to solve the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rabbi Bloom tells Hyman to have a large bowl of cough drops ready in shul for his next sermon and instructs him to give one cough drop to any shul member who begins coughing.&lt;br /&gt;So next shabbes, during the rabbi's sermon and following orders, every time a member coughs, Hyman walks over and hands out a cough drop. Rabbi Bloom watches this out of the corner of his eye and notices that each time Hyman does this; the member immediately gets up and walks out of the shul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the service, half the members are gone, so Rabbi Bloom goes over to Hyman and asks, "Nu, Hyman? So what did you say to the members that made them leave the shul?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hyman replies, "So vat did I say? All that I said wuz, 'the Rabbi said far cough'."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3903350346833344304?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3903350346833344304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3903350346833344304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/rabbis-cough-drops.html' title='The Rabbi&apos;s Cough Drops'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6908336677445250358</id><published>2009-11-16T15:33:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T15:33:57.244+11:00</updated><title type='text'>How Do These People Survive?</title><content type='html'>ONE&lt;br /&gt;Recently, when I went to McDonald's I saw on the menu that you could have an order of 6, 9 or 12 Chicken McNuggets.&lt;br /&gt;I asked for a half dozen nuggets.&lt;br /&gt;'We don't have half dozen nuggets,' said the teenager at the counter.&lt;br /&gt;'You don't?' I replied.&lt;br /&gt;'We only have six, nine, or twelve,' was the reply.&lt;br /&gt;'So I can't order half dozen nuggets, but I can order six?'&lt;br /&gt;'That's right.'&lt;br /&gt;So I shook my head and ordered six McNuggets&lt;br /&gt;(Unbelievable but sadly true...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TWO&lt;br /&gt;I was checking out at the local Woolworths with just a few items and the lady behind me put her things on the belt close to mine. I picked up one of those 'dividers' that they keep by the cash register and placed it between our things so they wouldn't get mixed.&lt;br /&gt;After the girl had scanned all of my items, she picked up the 'divider',&lt;br /&gt;looking it all over for the bar code so she could scan it.&lt;br /&gt;Not finding the bar code, she said to me, 'Do you know how much this is?'&lt;br /&gt;I said to her 'I've changed my mind; I don't think I'll buy that today.'&lt;br /&gt;She said 'OK,' and I paid her for the things and left.&lt;br /&gt;She had no clue to what had just happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THREE&lt;br /&gt;A woman at work was seen putting a credit card into her floppy drive and pulling it out very quickly.&lt;br /&gt;When I inquired as to what she was doing, she said she was shopping on the Internet and they kept asking for a credit card number, so she was using the ATM 'thingy.'&lt;br /&gt;(keep shuddering!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOUR&lt;br /&gt;I recently saw a distraught young lady weeping beside her car. 'Do you need some help?' I asked.&lt;br /&gt;She replied, 'I knew I should have replaced the battery to this remote door unlocker. Now I can't get into my car. Do you think they (pointing to a distant convenience store) would have a battery to fit this?'&lt;br /&gt;'Hmmm, I don't know. Do you have an alarm, too?' I asked. 'No, just this remote thingy,' she answered, handing it and the car keys to me. As I took the key and manually unlocked the door, I replied, 'Why don't you drive over there and check about the batteries. It's a long walk...'&lt;br /&gt;PLEASE just lay down before you hurt yourself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIVE&lt;br /&gt;Several years ago, we had an Intern who was none too swift. One day she was typing and turned to a secretary and said, 'I'm almost out of typing paper. What do I do?' 'Just use paper from the photocopier', the secretary told her. With that, the intern took her last remaining blank piece of paper, put it on the photocopier and proceeded to make five 'blank' copies.&lt;br /&gt;Brunette, by the way!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SIX&lt;br /&gt;A mother calls 911 very worried asking the dispatcher if she needs to take her kid to the emergency room, the kid had eaten ants. The dispatcher tells her to give the kid some Benadryl and he should be fine, the mother says, 'I just gave him some ant killer...'&lt;br /&gt;Dispatcher: 'Rush him in to emergency!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is tough. It's even tougher if you're stupid!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6908336677445250358?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6908336677445250358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6908336677445250358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/how-do-these-people-survive.html' title='How Do These People Survive?'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4683170548198155006</id><published>2009-11-16T15:30:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T15:30:27.175+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Prescription</title><content type='html'>A nice, calm and respectable woman went into a pharmacy, looked the chemist straight in his eyes &amp; said, 'I would like to buy some Cyanide.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chemist asked, 'Why in the world do you need Cyanide?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman replied, 'I need it to poison my husband.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chemist's eyes got big and he exclaimed, 'Lord, have mercy! I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband! That's against the law! My license! They'll throw both of us in jail! All kinds of bad things will happen! No! You CANNOT have any Cyanide!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the chemist's wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chemist looked at the picture and replied, 'Oh, you didn't tell me you had a prescription.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4683170548198155006?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4683170548198155006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4683170548198155006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/prescription.html' title='Prescription'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4983933171701443705</id><published>2009-11-03T12:03:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T12:04:24.739+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Three Contractors</title><content type='html'>Three contractors find themselves arriving at the pearly gates at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter greets them and tells them that the pearly gates are broken and in need of repair.&lt;br /&gt;He asks them each for estimates so god may choose a contractor.&lt;br /&gt;The first contractor, Tyrone Johnson, examines the gates and announces an estimate of 300 dollars.&lt;br /&gt;St.Peter asks for an explanation.&lt;br /&gt;He is told 100 dollars for materials, 100 dollars for labor and 100 dollars for profit.&lt;br /&gt;The second contractor, Hiram Berganstein, examines the gates and announces an estimate of 900 dollars.&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter asks again and is told 300 dollars for materials, 300 dollars for labor and 300 dollars for profit.&lt;br /&gt;The third contractor, Tony Carduchi, takes a look at the gates and announces an estimate of 2300 dollars.&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter is taken back and asks Tony why such an high price.&lt;br /&gt;Tony takes St. Peter aside and whispers "one thousand for me, one thousand for you, and we get Tyrone to do it for 300 dollars!".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4983933171701443705?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4983933171701443705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4983933171701443705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/three-contractors.html' title='Three Contractors'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7150264671326968052</id><published>2009-11-03T12:02:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T12:03:00.235+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Hubcaps</title><content type='html'>A rich lady is riding along with her chauffeur when they get a flat tire.&lt;br /&gt;He gets out and starts trying to pry off the hubcap.&lt;br /&gt;After he struggles a few minutes, she looks out at him and says, "You wanna screwdriver?" &lt;br /&gt;He says, We might as well. I can't get this damned hubcap off."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7150264671326968052?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7150264671326968052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7150264671326968052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/hubcaps.html' title='Hubcaps'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5101643752398969209</id><published>2009-11-03T12:01:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T12:02:07.114+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Complaining</title><content type='html'>A Russian Jew wanted to immigrate to Israel. The local commissar calls him in for questioning and asks:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Haven't we allowed you the right to worship in your Synagogue?&lt;br /&gt;A. Can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Haven't we let you live in peace with your fellow Jews?&lt;br /&gt;A. Can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Haven't we allowed you to travel freely within and beyond the village?&lt;br /&gt;A. Can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Haven't we allowed you to teach your children Torah?&lt;br /&gt;A. Can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Haven't we let you practice your profession?&lt;br /&gt;A. Can't complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Then why do you want to go to Israel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replies, "There I can complain!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5101643752398969209?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5101643752398969209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5101643752398969209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/11/complaining.html' title='Complaining'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-606646933769853216</id><published>2009-10-17T20:56:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T20:57:52.706+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrong Hole</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RUJ_DMjZ4gc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RUJ_DMjZ4gc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wrong hole 中文繁體版,請多指教啦~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;參與人員:DJ Lubel, Taryn Southern and Scott Baio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;而Taryn Southern就是那位正妹&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-606646933769853216?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/606646933769853216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/606646933769853216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/10/wrong-hole.html' title='Wrong Hole'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6988190495010653563</id><published>2009-10-11T07:42:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T07:47:24.600+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Obama's No Bell Piece Prize</title><content type='html'>John the farmer was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called “pullets”, and ten roosters, whose job it was to fertilize the eggs (for you city folks).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The farmer kept records and any rooster that didn’t perform went into the soup pot and was replaced. That took an awful lot of his time, so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so John could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The farmer’s favorite rooster was old Butch, and a very fine specimen he was, too. But on this particular morning John noticed old Butch’s bell hadn’t rung at all! John went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover. But to Farmer John’s amazement, old Butch had his bell in his beak, so It couldn’t ring. He would sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one. John was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the County Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The result…The judges not only awarded old Butch the No Bell Piece Prize but they also awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly old Butch was a politician in the making: Who else but a Politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren’t paying attention?&lt;br /&gt;===&lt;br /&gt;This is an old piece I thought I'd published here before .. I resourced it at &lt;a href="http://jo-kes.blogspot.com/2007/10/no-bell-piece-prize.html"&gt;http://jo-kes.blogspot.com/2007/10/no-bell-piece-prize.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6988190495010653563?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6988190495010653563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6988190495010653563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/10/obamas-no-bell-piece-prize.html' title='Obama&apos;s No Bell Piece Prize'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2772945624284766069</id><published>2009-10-08T18:36:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T18:36:39.073+11:00</updated><title type='text'>You know you're Sephardi when:</title><content type='html'>1. You are related to everyone you know but you're not exactly sure how&lt;br /&gt;2. You call your dad's good friends `uncle'&lt;br /&gt;3. You try to haggle in department stores&lt;br /&gt;4. At your Bar/Bat mitzvah loads of people you don't know came and lectured you on how cute you were as a baby&lt;br /&gt;5. At family gatherings you hear the word "Mashallah" at least 50 times&lt;br /&gt;6. You had a moustache at the age of 10&lt;br /&gt;7. You speak 5 Languages, but you are fluent in none&lt;br /&gt;8. In your home, you have more carpets than rooms&lt;br /&gt;9. You drink arak as if it was water&lt;br /&gt;10. You've never heard of tax&lt;br /&gt;11. You kiss on both cheeks&lt;br /&gt;12. You have more hair on your legs than on your head. (men only. I swear...)&lt;br /&gt;13. You have one joker of an uncle who has literally the funniest stories to tell&lt;br /&gt;14. He has either been married several times or has a model wife&lt;br /&gt;15. You have a don in your family. An elder that everyone respects and no-one argues with.&lt;br /&gt;16. Most family gatherings descend into fierce arguments about the Middle-East&lt;br /&gt;17. Your dad is in some way, shape or form an mental/crazy/extreme&lt;br /&gt;18. If you don't finish the food on your plate your mum gets offended&lt;br /&gt;19. If you finish what is on your plate, you are given twice the amount you started with&lt;br /&gt;20. You get stopped at security for "random checks"&lt;br /&gt;21. After family gatherings your cheeks hurt from being pinched so much&lt;br /&gt;22. You laugh at people who get fake tans&lt;br /&gt;23. Your mum screams at you until you come down to dinner&lt;br /&gt;24. You click and clap weirdly (variations include the "double handed two fingers in the air click")&lt;br /&gt;25. Your family reminisces about how life was `back home' but when asked if they want to go back reply "Are you out of your mind!!??"&lt;br /&gt;26. You know how to "kililililili!" (girls only I'm afraid)&lt;br /&gt;27. You smoke shisha better than anyone else&lt;br /&gt;28. Even sneezing makes you sweat&lt;br /&gt;29. You go skitz when people call you arab. You're NOT.&lt;br /&gt;30. You have strange medical theories and customs such as eating red onion when you catch a cold.&lt;br /&gt;31. You love the sun, sea and sand.&lt;br /&gt;32. You have a death warrant meaning that even if you wanted to you couldn't go back to your country.&lt;br /&gt;33. You are the master at changing the subject when people ask you where you're from.&lt;br /&gt;34. You're parties always include the standard Arabic tunes&lt;br /&gt;35. You tell no-one but they're also on your ipod&lt;br /&gt;36. People confuse your synagogue with a mosque&lt;br /&gt;37. You eat Shawarma, Rice and Hoummus on a regular basis&lt;br /&gt;38. You have strange curses and insults like: "May G-d strangle you" and "May your head be buried in the sand"&lt;br /&gt;39. You know that if you are gay, you WILL be disowned&lt;br /&gt;40. You wear a half buttoned white shirt with hair sticking out&lt;br /&gt;41. You have to teach your parents how to read a text&lt;br /&gt;42. You have more cousins than people in your school.&lt;br /&gt;43. You have had a slipper thrown at you by your mum at least once in your life&lt;br /&gt;44. Your dad is ALWAYS right. Or else...&lt;br /&gt;45. You have a normal first name but most people can't pronounce your surname. &lt;br /&gt;46. You go through more hair gel than water in one day&lt;br /&gt;47. When you were a kid you spoke with a some sort of a strange accent&lt;br /&gt;48. You play the bongos&lt;br /&gt;49. Half of your family have the same name. They have all been named after a great grandfather.&lt;br /&gt;50. You've grown every goatee possible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2772945624284766069?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2772945624284766069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2772945624284766069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/10/you-know-youre-sephardi-when.html' title='You know you&apos;re Sephardi when:'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7617572792104490487</id><published>2009-10-08T18:34:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T18:34:32.708+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Smoking Dope</title><content type='html'>Two young guys were picked up by the cops for smoking dope and appeared in court before the judge.&lt;br /&gt;The judge said, "You seem like nice young men, and I'd like to give you a second chance rather than jail time. I want you to go out this weekend and try to show others the evils of drug use and get them to give up drugs forever. I'll see you back in court Monday." &lt;br /&gt;Monday, the two guys were in court, and the judge said to the first one, "How did you do over the weekend?" &lt;br /&gt;"Well, your honor, I persuaded 17 people to give up drugs forever." &lt;br /&gt;"17 people? That's wonderful. What did you tell them?" &lt;br /&gt;"I used a diagram, your honor. I drew two circles and told them this (the big circle) is your brain before drugs and this (small circle) is your brain after drugs." &lt;br /&gt;"That's admirable," said the judge.&lt;br /&gt;"And you, how did you do?" (to the 2nd boy) "Well, your honor, I persuaded 156 people to give up drugs forever." &lt;br /&gt;"156 people! That's amazing! How did you manage to do that!" &lt;br /&gt;"Well, I used a similar approach. (draws two circles) I said (pointing to small circle) this is your asshole before prison..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7617572792104490487?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7617572792104490487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7617572792104490487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/10/smoking-dope.html' title='Smoking Dope'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1318337637670186589</id><published>2009-10-08T18:32:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T18:33:23.725+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Problems</title><content type='html'>Three old men were sitting around talking about who had the worst health problems.&lt;br /&gt;The seventy-year-old said, "Have I got a problem.&lt;br /&gt;Every morning I get up at 7:30 and have to urinate, but I have to stand at the toilet for an hour 'cause my pee barely trickles out."&lt;br /&gt;"Heck, that's nothing." said the eighty year old.&lt;br /&gt;"Every morning at 8:30 I have to take a dump, but I have to sit on the can for hours because of my constipation. It's terrible." &lt;br /&gt;The ninety-year-old said, "You guys think you have problems! Every morning at 7:30 I whiz like a racehorse, and at 8:30 I take a dump like a pig." &lt;br /&gt;The eighty-year-old looked at the seventy-year-old, then looked back at the ninety-year-old incredulously and asked, "So what's your problem?" &lt;br /&gt;"I don't wake up till eleven." he replied.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1318337637670186589?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1318337637670186589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1318337637670186589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/10/problems.html' title='Problems'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1862882178198463965</id><published>2009-06-02T05:20:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T05:21:17.350+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation</title><content type='html'>Two parents take their son on a vacation and go to a nude beach. The father goes for a walk on the beach and the son goes and plays in the water. &lt;br /&gt;The son comes running up to his mom and says..."Mommy, I saw ladies with boobies a lot bigger than yours!" The mom says..."the bigger they are, the dumber they are." So he goes back to play. &lt;br /&gt;Several minutes later he comes running back and says..."Mommy, I saw men with dingers a lot bigger than Daddy's!" The mom says..."the bigger they are, the dumber they are."&lt;br /&gt;So he goes back to play. Several minutes later he comes running back and says..."Mommy, I just saw Daddy talking to the dumbest lady I ever saw and the more and more he talked, the dumber and dumber he got!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1862882178198463965?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1862882178198463965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1862882178198463965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/06/vacation.html' title='Vacation'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3920587695493541384</id><published>2009-06-02T05:19:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T05:20:14.754+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning a Language</title><content type='html'>Years ago, there was a famous deli in New York. The owner had a big heart and frequently hired refugees from other countries. &lt;br /&gt;One day, a new patron came in and was waited on by a young man from Thailand, who conversed in perfect Yiddish. The customer was so impressed, he found the owner. &lt;br /&gt;"I'm very impressed with your waiter, but where'd he learn Yiddish?" he asked the owner. &lt;br /&gt;"Shhh" the owner replied. "He thinks I'm teaching him English!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3920587695493541384?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3920587695493541384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3920587695493541384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/06/learning-language.html' title='Learning a Language'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5999875444776376059</id><published>2009-06-02T05:17:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T05:18:11.865+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Easter Mass</title><content type='html'>Little Abe goes into Church, takes out his Tallis, takes out the yarmulke and dresses himself, and proceeds to pray. &lt;br /&gt;The Priest comes in and wants to start the Services. He stands up and says "Will all non Catholics please leave." &lt;br /&gt;Little Abe goes right on davening. &lt;br /&gt;Next request, again "Will all non Catholics please leave." Nothing. &lt;br /&gt;Finally, the Priest gets up and says "Will ALL JEWS please leave." &lt;br /&gt;At this Abe gets up folds his Tallis and packs it away, takes off the Yarmulke and puts it away. &lt;br /&gt;Then Abe goes to the altar and picks up a statue of the baby Jesus and says the immortal words "Cum bubbela they don't want us here anymore."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5999875444776376059?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5999875444776376059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5999875444776376059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/06/easter-mass.html' title='Easter Mass'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7935337882956795181</id><published>2009-05-22T19:42:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2012-01-22T19:48:16.805+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Job Interview</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);   line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"&gt;At a job interview Quang Hui was asked to make a sentence with the words 'blue', 'yellow', 'green', 'pink' and 'phone'. He came up with this "the blue phone goes green green I pink it up and I say Yellow" Now he works for Telstra customer service.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7935337882956795181?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7935337882956795181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7935337882956795181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/job-interview.html' title='Job Interview'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7447210259685505827</id><published>2009-05-18T16:57:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T16:58:46.933+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Jewish Salesman</title><content type='html'>In the late 1960's it was decided to get rid of the last Jewish member of the Polish politburo. &lt;br /&gt;So he was sent off to sell Polish cars to the Germans. &lt;br /&gt;Two weeks later, he returned with a signed contract. &lt;br /&gt;Surprised but still eager to oust the Jew, they sent him off to the United States to sell Polish computers. &lt;br /&gt;A month later he comes home, signed contracts overfilling his briefcase. &lt;br /&gt;Stunned, but now more determined than before, the politburo sends him off to the People's Republic of China to sell Polish rice. &lt;br /&gt;Months pass and the Poles are glad they haven't heard from him. &lt;br /&gt;Then one day, about six months after he left, he shows up for their regularly scheduled meeting, signed contract in hand. &lt;br /&gt;"But... how did you manage it?" they demand. &lt;br /&gt;"It was tough" he acknowledged. &lt;br /&gt;"It took me six months to find another Jew."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7447210259685505827?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7447210259685505827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7447210259685505827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/jewish-salesman.html' title='Jewish Salesman'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6777333162409859237</id><published>2009-05-18T16:54:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T16:55:15.925+10:00</updated><title type='text'>The DMV or RTA</title><content type='html'>After spending three hours enduring the long lines, unfriendly clerks and ridiculous regulations at the Department of Motor Vehicles, a guy stopped at a toy store to pick up a gift for his son. He brought the gift, a baseball bat, to the cash register. &lt;br /&gt;"Cash or charge?" the clerk asked. "Cash!" the guy snarled. After apologizing for his rudeness, he explained, "I'm sorry, I've just spent the afternoon at the Motor Vehicle Bureau." &lt;br /&gt;"Shall I gift wrap the bat?" the clerk asked sweetly. "Or, are you going back there?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6777333162409859237?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6777333162409859237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6777333162409859237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/dmv-or-rta.html' title='The DMV or RTA'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6162006079103932963</id><published>2009-05-18T16:54:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T16:54:42.300+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Dr. Ruth</title><content type='html'>Dear Dr Ruth, &lt;br /&gt;I'm writing to tell you my problem, It seems I have been married to a sex maniac for the past 22 years. He makes love to me regardless of what I am doing; Ironing, Washing dishes, Sweeping, even doing E-Mail on AOL, etc. I would like to know if there is anything that ucnn hlp m wth nd f unothel gothsl ehj fpslth fjsl;s;;o{O} .lp sld mpskdli dlks; a;ld &lt;br /&gt;;;' &lt;br /&gt;cinsely ous &lt;br /&gt;mdyl&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6162006079103932963?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6162006079103932963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6162006079103932963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/dear-dr-ruth.html' title='Dear Dr. Ruth'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6990384237394763198</id><published>2009-05-18T10:12:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T10:13:43.328+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Collected wit from Dashel Jamison</title><content type='html'>"I suppose you think I don't even know the meaning of the word "rhetorical".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Democracy is a device that insures we shall be governed no better than we deserve." (George Bernard Shaw)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I either want less corruption, or more chance to participate in it." (Ashleigh Brilliant) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The more I study religions the more I am convinced that man never worshipped anything but himself." (Sir Richard F. Burton) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Tis better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt." (Abraham Lincoln) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want any yes-men around me. I want everybody to tell me the truth even if it costs them their jobs." (Samuel Goldwyn)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act." (Truman Capote) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not 'Eureka!' (I found it!) but 'That's funny ...'" (Isaac Asimov) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"An intellectual snob is someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture and not think of The Lone Ranger." (Dan Rather) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Crime does not pay... as well as politics." (Alfred E. Newman) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why is it that our memory is good enough to retain the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not good enough to recollect how often we have told it to the same person?" (La Rochefoucauld) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain." (Mark Twain)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the word you first thought of." (Burt Bacharach)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate each other." (Eric Hoffer)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A bank is a place that will lend you money if you can prove that you don't need it." (Bob Hope)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others." (George Orwell) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Life may have no meaning. Or even worse, it may have a meaning of which I disapprove." (Ashleigh Brilliant) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same." (Oscar Wilde)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer sex raises some pretty good questions." (Woody Allen)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Based on what you know about him in history books, what do you think Abraham Lincoln would be doing if he were alive today? 1) Writing his memoirs of the Civil War. 2) Advising the President. 3) Desperately clawing at the inside of his coffin." (David Letterman) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true." (Irving Caesar)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure, everyone always said 'Socrates what is the meaning of life?' or 'Socrates how can I find happiness?', did anyone ever say 'Socrates hemlock is poison.'???????" (Socrates minutes before death) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't." (Erica Jong)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Freedom without discipline, is anarchy. Discipline without freedom is Tyranny." (Hightower)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6990384237394763198?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6990384237394763198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6990384237394763198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/collected-wit-from-dashel-jamison.html' title='Collected wit from Dashel Jamison'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7073643732396587180</id><published>2009-05-18T09:37:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T09:39:39.401+10:00</updated><title type='text'>UN Poetry Comp winner</title><content type='html'>A delightful little piece, supposedly nominated by the UN as the winning entry in a poetry competition for African children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suspect it was written by an American adult with a normal level of English syntax so as to appear to have been written by an African child. The humour is too complex for a child with English as a second language and the punch line sounds like an American urban black. - from Mark Kennedy of 2GB&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GN8IlKBZMi4/ShCf6Hb_vHI/AAAAAAAAABs/cp7K9VKP224/s1600-h/Black+and+white.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 295px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GN8IlKBZMi4/ShCf6Hb_vHI/AAAAAAAAABs/cp7K9VKP224/s320/Black+and+white.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336941379211738226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I born, I black.&lt;br /&gt;When I grow up, I black.&lt;br /&gt;When I go in sun, I black.&lt;br /&gt;When I cold, I black.&lt;br /&gt;When I scared, I black.&lt;br /&gt;When I sick, I black.&lt;br /&gt;And when I die, I still black.&lt;br /&gt;You white folks...&lt;br /&gt;When you born, you pink.&lt;br /&gt;When you grow up, you white.&lt;br /&gt;When you go in sun, you red.&lt;br /&gt;When you cold, you blue.&lt;br /&gt;When you scared, you yellow.&lt;br /&gt;When you sick, you green.&lt;br /&gt;When you bruised, you purple.&lt;br /&gt;And when you die, you gray.&lt;br /&gt;So who YOU callin' C O L O R E D ??&lt;br /&gt;===&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Obama writes poetry - ed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7073643732396587180?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7073643732396587180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7073643732396587180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/un-poetry-comp-winner.html' title='UN Poetry Comp winner'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GN8IlKBZMi4/ShCf6Hb_vHI/AAAAAAAAABs/cp7K9VKP224/s72-c/Black+and+white.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5862732031630835681</id><published>2009-05-12T22:08:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T22:08:57.106+10:00</updated><title type='text'>An Irishman</title><content type='html'>An Irishman finds a Genie lamp and rubs it. Out comes the Genie and asks "Master you have released me from the lamp and I grant you three wishes, what would you like" &lt;br /&gt;Irishman scratches his head, then answers "A bottle of Guiness that never gets empty. &lt;br /&gt;"Granted master" retorted the Genie and produced the bottle. &lt;br /&gt;The man was delighted and got drunk on this one magic Guiness bottle for weeks then he remembered that he had two other wishes. &lt;br /&gt;He rubbed the lamp again and the Genie appeared. "Yes master, you have two more wishes, what would you like?" "You know that magic, never ending Guiness bottle" he asks the Genies. &lt;br /&gt;"Well, for my final two wishes, I'd like another two of them"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5862732031630835681?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5862732031630835681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5862732031630835681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/irishman.html' title='An Irishman'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4151445838203045394</id><published>2009-05-12T22:07:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T22:08:08.606+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Widow Spiders</title><content type='html'>Why do black widow spiders kill their males after mating? &lt;br /&gt;To stop the snoring before it starts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4151445838203045394?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4151445838203045394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4151445838203045394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/widow-spiders.html' title='Widow Spiders'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-511131624498777560</id><published>2009-05-12T07:52:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T07:54:25.218+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoe Repair</title><content type='html'>Sy comes home after his mother's funeral to try to put the place in order. He goes up to the attic to look around and finds an old trunk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking in it, he discovers his father's WWll uniform. Sy tries it on and it's a little tight on him. Before taking it off, he puts his hand in the pocket and comes up with a ticket. Looking at it, he finds a shoe repair ticket for Herman's on West 53rd, dated January 14th, 1942. He can barely believe it. An unclaimed ticket 55 years old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weeks later, Sy happens to be in the area of West 53rd and wanders over to see where the shoe repair was. He can't believe his good luck, a shoe repair store is still there. He wanders in and tells the story of finding the ticket to the old man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man says his name is Herman and has owned the shop for 60 years. "Gimme the ticket" says Herman and wanders to the back of the shop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sy is amazed. What good fortune! What a coincidence! Only in America! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Herman comes back. "I've got your shoes. They'll be done tomorrow!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-511131624498777560?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/511131624498777560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/511131624498777560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/05/shoe-repair.html' title='Shoe Repair'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1328052095085194406</id><published>2009-04-14T08:48:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T08:50:25.271+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Barmitzvah Invitation</title><content type='html'>In keeping up with the Rosen's and the Abelson's, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is with great stress, emotional and physical fatigue and incredible financial sacrifice beyond comprehension, that we invite you to join us as our wonderful son, &lt;br /&gt;Jacob Adam &lt;br /&gt;is called to &lt;br /&gt;the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday, May 12th - (yes we realize its Mother's Day Weekend) &lt;br /&gt;Temple Israel &lt;br /&gt;14 Coleytown Road &lt;br /&gt;Westport, Connecticut 06880 &lt;br /&gt;at the ungodly hour of 9 am even though you don't really need to be there until 10:20am to catch the real action. If you make it through the 3 hour service, please skip the kiddush (its just cookies and cake) and join us instead for an overly large and ostentatious Kosher (my husband's idea) evening meal, which starts at 7 PM , (not 8 PM. or you will miss out on the 2000 canapes). &lt;br /&gt;Birchwood Country Club &lt;br /&gt;25 Kings Hwy S &lt;br /&gt;Westport , CT 06880 &lt;br /&gt;(which we had to join just for this event and you would not believe the initiation fees) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You will be in the presence of lots of boisterous and expensive entertainment &lt;br /&gt;and 60 to 70 unruly pre-teens wearing expensive dresses, funny hats, fake bling and brand new white ankle socks... &lt;br /&gt;as well as 80-100 middle aged+ adults, some balding, some with bad toupees, most will be professionally coiffed, designer attire galore, lots of REAL bling, and most "tootsed" to the nines. At least 1/3 will be hormonally challenged and some will act stupid while under the influence. Some will not even know where or who they are. Some will complain about the food. Blah Blah Blah. &lt;br /&gt;Please have the courtesy of showing up if you RSVP that you are attending, or you will be billed for $210.00 a plate if you are a no-show. Please RSVP as soon as you get this and not a day before the cut-off date. I can't take the stress. &lt;br /&gt;The gift of choice is either green, or contains a routing and account number. "Off the top of your head" gifts and Gift Cards are a waste of your time and ours. &lt;br /&gt;Hope you can make it! Lisa and David Miller &lt;br /&gt;Dress: Black Tie optional &lt;br /&gt;Theme: 007 James Bond &lt;br /&gt;BYO Kippot. I don't have the strength.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1328052095085194406?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1328052095085194406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1328052095085194406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/04/barmitzvah-invitation.html' title='Barmitzvah Invitation'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1379281301177701371</id><published>2009-04-14T07:15:00.002+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T07:16:07.176+10:00</updated><title type='text'>English As She Is Spelled</title><content type='html'>I have a spelling chequer &lt;br /&gt;It came with my pea sea &lt;br /&gt;It plainly marques four my revue &lt;br /&gt;Miss steaks eye cannot sea. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When eye strike a quay, right a word &lt;br /&gt;I weight four it two say &lt;br /&gt;Weather eye am wrong oar wright &lt;br /&gt;It shows me strait aweigh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as a mist ache is maid &lt;br /&gt;It nose bee fore two late &lt;br /&gt;And eye can put the error rite &lt;br /&gt;Its rarely, rarely grate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've run this poem threw it &lt;br /&gt;I'm shore your pleased two no &lt;br /&gt;Its letter perfect in it's weigh &lt;br /&gt;My chequer tolled me sew. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauce unknown&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1379281301177701371?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1379281301177701371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1379281301177701371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/04/english-as-she-is-spelled.html' title='English As She Is Spelled'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7418240370031111799</id><published>2009-04-14T07:15:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T07:15:36.992+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Presents</title><content type='html'>The little girl was SO proud of her Christmas presents, her first watch and her first perfume. She really made a pest of herself throughout the morning, going up to all the relatives and sticking that watch in their ear and insisting that they smell her perfume.&lt;br /&gt;The preacher was coming for lunch, but before his arrival, the girl's mother had said, "If you mention that watch or that perfume just once more, I'm going to send you to your room for the rest of the day." &lt;br /&gt;The meal went rather well, and the little girl held her tongue until just when the desert was being served. She wanted to make sure that the preacher, too, knew about her new watch and her perfume: "If you hear anything or smell anything ... it's me!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7418240370031111799?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7418240370031111799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7418240370031111799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/04/presents.html' title='Presents'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-5660752622589427042</id><published>2009-04-06T10:29:00.001+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T10:29:29.427+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Swindled</title><content type='html'>A newsboy was standing on the corner with a stack of papers, yelling, "Read all about it. Fifty people swindled! Fifty people swindled!" &lt;br /&gt;Curious, a man walked over, bought a paper, and checked the front page. Finding nothing, the man said, "There's nothing in here about fifty people being swindled." &lt;br /&gt;The newsboy ignored him and went on, calling out, "Read all about it. Fifty-one people swindled!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-5660752622589427042?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5660752622589427042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/5660752622589427042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/04/swindled.html' title='Swindled'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-66479271531115197</id><published>2009-04-06T10:28:00.000+10:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T10:29:05.079+10:00</updated><title type='text'>Prayers</title><content type='html'>My 10 yr old niece says her prayers every night and instead of "amen", she says "click, send."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-66479271531115197?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/66479271531115197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/66479271531115197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/04/prayers.html' title='Prayers'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7718736355498731473</id><published>2009-03-30T14:24:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T14:25:23.232+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Circumcision.</title><content type='html'>A Catholic priest, a Pentecostal preacher and a rabbi all served as chaplains to the students of Northern Michigan University in Marquette. &lt;br /&gt;They would get together two or three times a week for coffee and to talk shop. One day, someone made the comment that preaching to people isn't really all that hard. A real challenge would be to preach to a bear. One thing led to another and they decided to do an experiment. They'd all go out into the woods, find a bear, preach to it and attempt to convert it. Seven days later, they were all together again discussing their experiences.. Father Flannery, who had his arm in a sling, was on crutches and had various bandages, went first. "Well," he said, "I went into the woods to find me a bear. And when I found him I began to read to him from the catechism. Now that bear wanted nothing to do with me and began to slap me around. So I quickly grabbed my holy water, sprinkled him and, Holy Mary, Mother of God! he became as gentle a lamb. The bishop is coming out next week to give him first communion and confirmation." Reverend Billy Bob spoke next. He was in a wheelchair, with an arm and both legs in casts. In his best fire-and-brimstone style he told his story. &lt;br /&gt;"WELL, brothers, you KNOW that we don't sprinkle! I went out and I FOUND me a bear. And then I began to read to my bear from GOD'S HOLY WORD! But that bear wanted nothing to do with ME. So I took HOLD of him and we began to wrestle. We wrestled down one hill, UP another and DOWN another until we came to a creek. So I quick DUNKED him and BAPTIZED his hairy soul. And just like you said, Father, he became as gentle as a lamb. We spent the rest of the day praising Jesus." They both looked down at the rabbi, who was lying in a hospital bed. He was in a body cast and traction with IVs and monitors running in and out of him. He was in very bad shape. The rabbi looked up at them and said, "Looking back on it, circumcision may not have been the best way to start."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7718736355498731473?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7718736355498731473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7718736355498731473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/circumcision.html' title='Circumcision.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-6669595041178709748</id><published>2009-03-30T14:20:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T14:21:02.952+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Ten Commandments.</title><content type='html'>A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to "honour thy father and thy mother," she asked "Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?" &lt;br /&gt;Without missing a beat, one little boy answered, "Thou shall not kill."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-6669595041178709748?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6669595041178709748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/6669595041178709748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/ten-commandments.html' title='Ten Commandments.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2916489713132304616</id><published>2009-03-30T14:20:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T14:20:40.830+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandchild Wanted.</title><content type='html'>A wealthy old man looked around the table at his two sons and five daughters and their spouses gathered for a family reunion. &lt;br /&gt;"Not a single grandchild," he said with a sigh. "Why, I'll give a million dollars to the first kid who presents me with a little one to bounce on my knee. Now, let's say grace." He then proceeded to bow his head down to pray. &lt;br /&gt;When the old man lifted his eyes again, his wife was the only other person at the table.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2916489713132304616?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2916489713132304616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2916489713132304616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/grandchild-wanted.html' title='Grandchild Wanted.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3547328784449997632</id><published>2009-03-23T12:06:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T12:06:33.118+11:00</updated><title type='text'>My Apartment.</title><content type='html'>Customer: "Do you have any cockroaches?" &lt;br /&gt;Clerk: "Yes, we sell them to the fisherman." &lt;br /&gt;Customer: "I would like 20,000 of them." &lt;br /&gt;Clerk: "What would you want with 20,000 cockroaches?" &lt;br /&gt;Customer: "I'm moving tomorrow and my lease says I must leave my apartment in the condition in which I found it."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3547328784449997632?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3547328784449997632'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3547328784449997632'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-apartment.html' title='My Apartment.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4430478409011872230</id><published>2009-03-23T12:05:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T12:06:11.732+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Golf.</title><content type='html'>A reporter was interviewing Jack Nicklaus. He said, "Jack, you are spectacular, your name is synonymous with the game of golf. You really know your way around the course. What is your secret?" &lt;br /&gt;To which Jack replied, "The holes are numbered!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4430478409011872230?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4430478409011872230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4430478409011872230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/golf.html' title='Golf.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2675148257783764185</id><published>2009-03-23T12:05:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T12:05:37.919+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Maid in a Jewish Home.</title><content type='html'>A gentile woman came to work as cook-housemaid in a Jewish home. When she came home for leave, her relatives asked her what kind of people the Jews were. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Jews are rather nice. They are always most polite to me, give me presents, pay for medical help for me. Really, no complaints whatsoever. Only they have strange holidays. They have a holiday named Shabbat, when they eat in the dining room and smoke in the toilet. Then they have a holiday called Tisha B'Av which is a reminder of their great Temple which was destroyed in Biblical times. They smoke in the dining room but eat in the toilet, and they have a holiday named Yom Kippur, when they both eat and smoke in the toilet."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2675148257783764185?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2675148257783764185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2675148257783764185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/maid-in-jewish-home.html' title='The Maid in a Jewish Home.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4231461731721206804</id><published>2009-03-12T14:07:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T14:08:49.413+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Star Wars for the Lyrically Challenged</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Awd2-TzG5Iw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Awd2-TzG5Iw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Star wars theme with lyrics written specially for the music.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4231461731721206804?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4231461731721206804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4231461731721206804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/star-wars-for-lyrically-challenged.html' title='Star Wars for the Lyrically Challenged'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2498584861207135380</id><published>2009-03-08T11:17:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T11:19:27.910+11:00</updated><title type='text'>An ID ten T error</title><content type='html'>ID Ten T Error - by &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Doofus and Wendy Vuong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was having trouble with my computer. So I called Richard, the 11-year-old next door whose bedroom looks like Mission Control, and asked him to come over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard clicked a couple of buttons and solved the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he was walking away, I called after him, “So, what was wrong?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replied, “It was an ID ten T error.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t want to appear stupid, but nonetheless inquired, “An, ID ten T error? What’s that? In case I need to fix it again.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard grinned. “Haven’t you ever heard of an ID ten T error before?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No,” I replied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Write it down,” he said, “and I think you’ll figure it out.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I wrote it down: I D 1 0 T &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to like the little bugger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2586/151/12/1182411633/n1182411633_30358414_2417756.jpg" alt="Beautiful Sunset" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2498584861207135380?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2498584861207135380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2498584861207135380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/id-ten-t-error.html' title='An ID ten T error'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4957039335817150146</id><published>2009-03-08T08:53:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T08:54:50.139+11:00</updated><title type='text'>LAWS OF COMPUTER PROGRAMMING</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Things to make you go hmmm …. (laugh then think!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These laws aren’t hilarious, they will raise a smile or a small chuckle but after that they will definitely make you think. &lt;/span&gt; from &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Wendy Vuong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Any given program, once deployed, is already obsolete. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. It is easier to change the specification to fit the program than vice versa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. If a program is useful, it will have to be changed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. If a program is useless, it will have to be documented. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Only ten percent of the code in any given program will ever execute. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Software expands to consume all available resources. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Any non-trivial program contains at least one error. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8 The probability of a flawless demo is inversely proportional to the number of people watching, raised to the power of the amount of money involved. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Not until a program has been in production for at least six months will its most harmful error be discovered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Undetectable errors are infinite in variety, in contrast to detectable errors, which by definition are limited. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. The effort required to correct an error increases exponentially with time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Program complexity grows until it exceeds the capabilities of the programmer who must maintain it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Any code of your own that you haven’t looked at in months might as well have been written by someone else. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Inside every small program is a large program struggling to get out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15 The sooner you start coding a program, the longer it will take. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16 A carelessly planned project takes three times longer to complete than expected; a carefully planned project takes only twice as long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Adding programmers to a late project makes it later. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. A program is never less than 90% complete, and never more than 95% complete. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. If you automate a mess, you get an automated mess. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Build a program that even a fool can use, and only a fool will want to use it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21 Users truly don’t know what they want in a program until they use it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4957039335817150146?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4957039335817150146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4957039335817150146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/laws-of-computer-programming.html' title='LAWS OF COMPUTER PROGRAMMING'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-3227010829512016321</id><published>2009-03-01T11:37:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T11:38:30.611+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Touch My Body (Tuts My Barreh) / Karaoke Fail (English subtitles)</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/G7oGx2dImE8&amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/G7oGx2dImE8&amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-3227010829512016321?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3227010829512016321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/3227010829512016321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/03/touch-my-body-tuts-my-barreh-karaoke.html' title='Touch My Body (Tuts My Barreh) / Karaoke Fail (English subtitles)'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-7432107681771279526</id><published>2009-02-21T22:44:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T22:46:42.446+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Argument Clinic</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kQFKtI6gn9Y&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kQFKtI6gn9Y&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/MontyPython"&gt;MontyPython&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 14, 2008&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-7432107681771279526?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7432107681771279526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/7432107681771279526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/argument-clinic.html' title='Argument Clinic'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-2517068661644620326</id><published>2009-02-21T22:41:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T22:43:18.157+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Parrot Sketch</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/npjOSLCR2hE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/npjOSLCR2hE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/MontyPython"&gt;MontyPython&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 03, 2008&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Complete-Monty-Pythons-Flying-Circus/dp/B001E77XNA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&amp;s=dvd&amp;qid=1226597796&amp;sr=1-1"&gt;Monty Python's Flying Circus&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-2517068661644620326?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2517068661644620326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/2517068661644620326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/parrot-sketch.html' title='The Parrot Sketch'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4141893072092655790</id><published>2009-02-17T23:21:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T23:22:21.934+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Cat Steals Cat Food</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqvjKBjrPcA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RqvjKBjrPcA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Very smart cat ..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4141893072092655790?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4141893072092655790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4141893072092655790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/cat-steals-cat-food.html' title='Cat Steals Cat Food'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-8932021975327149700</id><published>2009-02-16T13:16:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T13:16:27.165+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Three Couples</title><content type='html'>Three couples were on their way to a party in a minivan one winter evening, and as they were rounding the turn the driver lost control of the vehicle, which ran off the road and down a hillside, bursting into flame and killing everyone inside. &lt;br /&gt;Very shortly thereafter, the three couples appeared before St. Peter. &lt;br /&gt;Peter pointed an accusing finger at one of the men and said, "YOU? All YOU ever thought about in life was drinking! You drank every morning, every evening, on the weekends, at lunch...you even married a girl named Sherry!" &lt;br /&gt;He pointed at the second man and said, "And YOU! You thought of nothing but money! Everything in your life had to do with greed, money, making money, keeping money, making more money...you even married a girl named Penny!" &lt;br /&gt;The third man took his wife's hand and began walking away. "Come on, Fanny, I don't want to wait around to hear what he has to say to us."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-8932021975327149700?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8932021975327149700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/8932021975327149700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/three-couples.html' title='Three Couples'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4426199889283343047</id><published>2009-02-10T22:48:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T22:48:32.890+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Hawaii.</title><content type='html'>Morris and his wife Sherry were planning a vacation. They ended up in an argument, "It's pronounced 'Hawaii', I'm telling you!" Sherry said. &lt;br /&gt;"I never KNEW someone so stubborn! 'Havaii' is how it's pronounced!" he replied. &lt;br /&gt;And so it went, all the way to the vacation... &lt;br /&gt;As they got off the airplane, they passed by a man. Morris abruptly stopped his wife and turned to the man to ask, "Now that we're on the island, you can settle an argument between my wife and me. Is this 'Hawaii' or 'Havaii?'" &lt;br /&gt;"This is Havaii," the man replied. &lt;br /&gt;"Ha!" the husband gloated to his wife. "See, didn't I tell you never to argue with me?" &lt;br /&gt;As they began to walk away, Morris turned back and gave the man a hearty "Thank you!" &lt;br /&gt;"You're Velcome!" he called back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4426199889283343047?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4426199889283343047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4426199889283343047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/hawaii.html' title='Hawaii.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-9098145502504953727</id><published>2009-02-10T22:46:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T22:47:01.533+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Skiing.</title><content type='html'>This is sent to remind skiers how to prepare for the ski season and to remind non-skiers why they do not ski. &lt;br /&gt;------------------------------------------------- &lt;br /&gt;10. Visit your local butcher and pay $30 to sit in the walk-in freezer for half an hour. Afterwards, burn two $50 dollar bills to warm up. &lt;br /&gt;9. Go to the nearest hockey rink and walk across the ice 20 times in your ski boots carrying two pairs of skis, accessory bag and poles. Pretend you are looking for your car. &lt;br /&gt;8. For ski boot simulation at home, put a pebble in your street shoes and tighten a C-clamp around your toes. &lt;br /&gt;7. Buy a pair of gloves and immediately throw one away. &lt;br /&gt;6. Go to McDonald's and insist on paying $6.50 for a hamburger. Be sure to wait in the longest line. &lt;br /&gt;5. Clip a lift ticket to the zipper of your jacket and ride amotorcycle fast enough to make the ticket lacerate your face. &lt;br /&gt;4. Drive slowly for five hours - anywhere - as long as it's in a snowstorm and you're following an 18 wheeler. &lt;br /&gt;3. Fill a blender with ice, hit the pulse button and let the spray blast your face. You'd almost believe you're skiing in front of a snowmaker! &lt;br /&gt;2. Dress up in as many clothes as you can and then proceed to take them off because you have to go to the bathroom. &lt;br /&gt;1. Repeat all of the above every Saturday and Sunday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-9098145502504953727?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/9098145502504953727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/9098145502504953727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/skiing.html' title='Skiing.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-68403035744859909</id><published>2009-02-10T22:46:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T22:46:28.756+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Woman.</title><content type='html'>An English Professor wrote the words, "woman without her man is a savage" on the blackboard and directed his students to punctuate it correctly. &lt;br /&gt;The men wrote: "Woman, without her man, is a savage." &lt;br /&gt;The women wrote: "Woman: Without her, man is a savage."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-68403035744859909?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/68403035744859909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/68403035744859909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/woman.html' title='Woman.'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-4285455903567700928</id><published>2009-02-10T17:55:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T17:56:45.844+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Paradox of our time, from Mark Kennedy</title><content type='html'>The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've learned how to make a living, but not a life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've added years to life not life to years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've been all the way to the moon and back,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We conquered outer space but not inner space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've done larger things, but not better things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've learned to rush, but not to wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we communicate less and less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overweight bodies and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A time when technology can bring this letter to you,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-4285455903567700928?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4285455903567700928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/4285455903567700928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/paradox-of-our-time-from-mark-kennedy.html' title='The Paradox of our time, from Mark Kennedy'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6962139.post-1866361728597959381</id><published>2009-02-07T18:46:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T18:47:00.976+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Cecilia 4 Obama</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3b-fPZyIBRE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3b-fPZyIBRE&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.icompositions.com/music/song.php?sid=105788"&gt;Renamed Obama&lt;/a&gt; because of my &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUndrj7iUkM"&gt;disappointment at his early activity&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;Action beyond the&lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/piersakerman/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/brack_obamas_actions_must_speak_louder_than_flowery_contrivances/"&gt; flowery contrivances&lt;/a&gt; of his &lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/piersakerman/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/time_for_reality_not_just_rhetoric_from_obama/"&gt;rhetoric&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/timblair/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/dems_withdrawn/"&gt;Withdrawing nominations&lt;/a&gt;. noted by &lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/heraldsun/andrewbolt/index.php/heraldsun/comments/change_means_tax_dodgers_and_lobbyists/"&gt;several commentator&lt;/a&gt;s.&lt;br /&gt;Some give &lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/timblair/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/hey_at_least_he_delivered_change/"&gt;credit that is due&lt;/a&gt;. But mostly we see someone who &lt;a href="http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/timblair/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/president_doesnt_care/"&gt;doesn't care&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;===&lt;br /&gt;"Cecilia" is a song written by Paul Simon and recorded by Simon and Garfunkel for their 1970 album Bridge Over Troubled Water. When released as a single, it reached #4 in the US charts. The single did not chart in the UK, despite being released as the follow-up to Simon and Garfunkel's number one hit "Bridge Over Troubled Water".&lt;br /&gt;The "Cecilia" of the title is generally interpreted as being a capricious lover, causing both anguish and jubilation to the singer. However, another interpretation is that Cecilia might refer to St. Cecilia, patron saint of music in the Catholic tradition, and thus the song might refer to the frustration of fleeting inspiration in songwriting. St. Cecilia is mentioned in another Paul Simon song, "The Coast" (from his 1990 album The Rhythm of the Saints): "A family of musicians took shelter for the night in the little harbor church of St. Cecilia."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6962139-1866361728597959381?l=unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1866361728597959381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6962139/posts/default/1866361728597959381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://unsourcedhumor.blogspot.com/2009/02/cecilia-4-obama.html' title='Cecilia 4 Obama'/><author><name>The Weasel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://i108.photobucket.com/albums/n12/ddball1/walking-man.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
