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“Dear Ricky, I can no longer continue our relationship. The distance between us is just too great. I must admit that I have cheated on you twice, since you’ve been gone, and it’s not fair to either of us. I’m sorry. Please return the picture of me I sent to you.
The Marine, with hurt feelings, asked his fellow Marines for any snapshots they could spare of their girlfriends, sisters, ex-girlfriends, aunts, cousins etc. In addition to the picture of Becky, Ricky included all the other pictures of the pretty gals he had collected from his buddies. There were 57 photos in that envelope … along with this note:
“Dear Becky, I’m so sorry, but I can’t quite remember who the f*ck you are. Please take your picture from the pile, and send the rest back to me.
Take Care, Ricky”
This was done in MASH and has been written a heap of times… But it is still funny!
I was young when he died. If he were living today and sharing his pearls of wisdom, I’d be a better man. Those gems were well and true, but the one I remember best, the jewel in the crown of grandfatherly advice, came from him when I was only 12.
We were sitting in a park, watching children with their mothers enjoyingÂ a beautiful spring day. He told me that one day, I’d find a woman andÂ start my own family. Then he said, “And be sure you marry a woman with small hands.”
“Why should I do that, Grandpa?” I asked.
“It makes your pecker look bigger,” he explained.
Kinda brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?
I’m glad we’ve bought a turkey and a proper Christmas tree.
On the second day of Christmas much laughter could be heard
As we tucked into our turkey – a most delicious bird.
On the third day of Christmas we’d friends in from next door
The turkey tasted just as good as on the day before.
On the fourth day of Christmas Gran came, she’s rather old.
We finished up the Christmas pud and ate the turkey cold.
On the fifth day of Christmas outside the snowflakes flurried
But we were nice and warm inside – we ate the turkey – curried.
On the sixth day of Christmas the turkey spirit died.
The children fought and bickered and we ate the turkey – fried.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave a wince
When he sat down to dinner and was given turkey mince.
On the eighth day of Christmas the dog ran off for shelter
I served up turkey pancakes and a glass of Alka Seltzer.
On the ninth day of Christmas poor Dad began to cry
He said he couldn’t stand the strain of eating turkey pie.
On the tenth day of Christmas the air was rather blue
And everybody grumbled at eating turkey stew.
On the eleventh day of Christmas the Christmas tree was moulting
Mince pies as hard as rock and the turkey quite revolting.
On the twelfth day of Christmas at last Dad smacked his lips
The guests had gone, the turkey too – we dined on fish and chips!
The scene is set – a dark night, cold wind blowing, campfire flickering, stars twinkling in the dark sky.
Three hang-glider pilots are sitting by the campfire, one from Australia, one from Seth Efrika and one from New Zulland.
Each embroiled in the bravado for which they are famous.
The night of tales begins…
Kiven the Kiwi says, ‘I must be the meanest, toughest, heng glider there es. Why, jist the other day I linded in a field and scared a crocodeale, who came out of the swamp and ate sux min who were standen close by. I grebbed the crocodeale and wristled him to du ground and killed em with my beer hends’.
Hansie from Seth Efrika who typically can’t stand to be bettered said, ‘Well you guys, I lended orfter a 200 mile flight in my heng glider on a tiny trail, and a Namibian snike slid out from under a rock and made a move on me. I grebbed de borsted with me bare hinds and beet it’s head off ind then sucked the poison from it’s body down in one gulp. End I’m still here today’
Colin the Australian remained silent, slowly poking the fire with his penis
The Pope leans toward Ms. Gillard, saying, “Do you know that with one little wave of my hand I can make every person in this crowd go wild with joy? This joy will not be a momentary display, but will go deep into their hearts and they will forever speak of this day and rejoice!”
“I seriously doubt that,” replied Gillard. “With one little wave of your hand? Show me!”
So the Pope backhanded her.
“How much of sex is work and how much is pleasure?”
The X.O. said 75% work, 25% pleasure.
A captain said 50-50.
A lieutenant responded 25% work, 75% pleasure, depending on how drunk he was at the time.
With no consensus, the colonel turned to the PFC in charge of making coffee.
“What’s your opinion, son?”
Without hesitation, the young man responded,
“100% pleasure, sir!”
The colonel was surprised. “Why?”
“Because, sir, if there was any work involved, the officers would have me do it for them!”
He awakened from the surgery to find himself in the care of nuns at a Catholic Hospital.
As he was recovering, a nun asked him questions regarding
how he was going to pay for his treatment.
She asked, ‘Do you have healthÂ insurance?’
He replied in a raspy voice, ‘No health insurance.’
The nunÂ asked, ‘Do you have money in the bank?’
He replied, ‘No money in the bank.’
The nun asked,Â ‘Do you have a relative who could help you?’
He said,Â ‘I only have a spinster sister, who is a nun.’
The nun became agitated and announced loudly, ‘Nuns are not spinsters! Nuns areÂ married to God.’
The patient replied, ‘Send the bill to my brother-in-law.’