A guy about to tee off was approached by a man who held out a card that read, "I am a deaf mute. May I please play through?"
The first man gave the card back, angrily shaking his head, and saying, "No, you CANNOT play through." He assumed the guy read lips so he mouthed, "I can't believe you would try to use your handicap to your own advantage like that! Shame on you!"
The deaf man walked away and the first man whacked the ball onto the green and then walked off to finish the hole.
Just as he was about to put the ball into the hole he was hit in the head with a golf ball that knocked him out cold.
When he came to a few minutes later, he looked around and saw the deaf mute sternly looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other hand holding up four fingers.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
If cars ran like Computers
I really liked #7...
At a recent computer expo (COMDEX), Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated, "If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving $25 cars that got 1,000 miles to the gallon."
In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release stating: If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:
1. For no reason whatsoever, your car would crash twice a day.
2. Every time they repainted the lines in the road, you would have to buy a new car.
3. Occasionally, your car would die on the freeway for no reason. You would have to pull over to the side of the road, close all of the windows, shut off the car, restart it, and reopen the windows before you could continue. For some reason you would simply accept this.
4. Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart, in which case you would have to reinstall the engine.
5. Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, was reliable, five times as fast and twice as easy to drive - but would run on only five percent of the roads.
6. The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would all be replaced by a single "This Car Has Performed An Illegal Operation" warning light.
7. The airbag system would ask, "Are you sure?" before deploying.
8. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.
9. Every time a new car was introduced, car buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.
10. You'd have to press the "Start" button to turn the engine off.
***** If cars ran like Computers *****
At a recent computer expo (COMDEX), Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated, "If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving $25 cars that got 1,000 miles to the gallon."
In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release stating: If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:
1. For no reason whatsoever, your car would crash twice a day.
2. Every time they repainted the lines in the road, you would have to buy a new car.
3. Occasionally, your car would die on the freeway for no reason. You would have to pull over to the side of the road, close all of the windows, shut off the car, restart it, and reopen the windows before you could continue. For some reason you would simply accept this.
4. Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart, in which case you would have to reinstall the engine.
5. Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, was reliable, five times as fast and twice as easy to drive - but would run on only five percent of the roads.
6. The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would all be replaced by a single "This Car Has Performed An Illegal Operation" warning light.
7. The airbag system would ask, "Are you sure?" before deploying.
8. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.
9. Every time a new car was introduced, car buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.
10. You'd have to press the "Start" button to turn the engine off.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Blind, Blond, & Ballsy
A blind man walks into a bar, taps the man next him, and says, "Hey, wanna hear a blond joke?"
The man says back to the blind man, "Look buddy, I'm blond. The man behind me is a 400-pound professional wrestler and he is blond. The bouncer is blond. The man sitting over to your left is also blond. Still wanna tell that blond joke?"
The blind man is silent for a moment and then says, "Nah, I wouldn't want to have to explain it five times."
The man says back to the blind man, "Look buddy, I'm blond. The man behind me is a 400-pound professional wrestler and he is blond. The bouncer is blond. The man sitting over to your left is also blond. Still wanna tell that blond joke?"
The blind man is silent for a moment and then says, "Nah, I wouldn't want to have to explain it five times."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The Drunk Irishman
An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulls him over.
"So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?"
"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.
"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."
"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.
"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"
"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."
"So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?"
"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.
"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."
"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.
"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"
"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Very Clever Advertising
I really like some of these shots, especially the smile on the first woman lol!
***** Very Clever Advertising! *****
I really like these next few. Very well done!
And I think the best can be saved for last. Perhaps this is one that should really be put to use...
Monday, February 23, 2009
Lizard Birth!
If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome, including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!
***** Lizard Birth! ****
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was 'something wrong' with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. 'He's just lying there looking sick,' he told me. 'I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?' I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
'Honey,' I called, 'come look at the lizard!'
'Oh, my gosh!' my wife exclaimed. 'She's having babies.'
'What?' my son demanded. 'But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!'
I was equally outraged. 'Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce,' I said accusingly to my wife.
'Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?' she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!)
'No, but you were supposed to get two boys!' I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
'Yeah, Bert and Ernie!' my son agreed.
'Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know,' she informed me (Again with the sarcasm!).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. 'Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,' I announced. 'We're about to witness the miracle of birth...'
'Oh, gross!' they shrieked
'Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?' my wife wanted to know.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
'We don't appear to be making much progress,' I noted.
'It's breech,' my wife whispered, horrified.
'Do something, Dad!' my son urged.
'Okay, okay.' Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
'Should I call 911?' my eldest daughter wanted to know. 'Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.' (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
'Let's get Ernie to the vet,' I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. 'Breathe, Ernie, breathe,' he urged.
'I don't think lizards do Lamaze,' his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb !
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
'What do you think, Doc, a C-section?' I suggested scientifically..
'Oh, very interesting,' he murmured. 'Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?'
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
'Is Ernie going to be okay?' my wife asked.
'Oh, perfectly,' the vet assured us. 'This lizard is not in labor.... In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um . . um . . masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back.' He blushed, glancing at my wife.
We were silent, absorbing this.
'So, Ernie's just . . . just . . excited,' my wife offered.
'Exactly,' the vet replied , relieved that we understood. More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
'What's so funny?' I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. 'It's just that . .I'm picturing you pulling on its . . its. . . teeny little . . '
She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
'That's enough,' I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car.. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
'I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad,' he told me.
'Oh, you have NO idea,' my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
Two lizards: $140.
One cage: $50.
Trip to the vet: $30.
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!
Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class. Lizards lay eggs!
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was 'something wrong' with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room. 'He's just lying there looking sick,' he told me. 'I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?' I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
'Honey,' I called, 'come look at the lizard!'
'Oh, my gosh!' my wife exclaimed. 'She's having babies.'
'What?' my son demanded. 'But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!'
I was equally outraged. 'Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce,' I said accusingly to my wife.
'Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?' she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!)
'No, but you were supposed to get two boys!' I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
'Yeah, Bert and Ernie!' my son agreed.
'Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know,' she informed me (Again with the sarcasm!).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. 'Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,' I announced. 'We're about to witness the miracle of birth...'
'Oh, gross!' they shrieked
'Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?' my wife wanted to know.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
'We don't appear to be making much progress,' I noted.
'It's breech,' my wife whispered, horrified.
'Do something, Dad!' my son urged.
'Okay, okay.' Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
'Should I call 911?' my eldest daughter wanted to know. 'Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.' (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
'Let's get Ernie to the vet,' I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. 'Breathe, Ernie, breathe,' he urged.
'I don't think lizards do Lamaze,' his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb !
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
'What do you think, Doc, a C-section?' I suggested scientifically..
'Oh, very interesting,' he murmured. 'Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?'
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
'Is Ernie going to be okay?' my wife asked.
'Oh, perfectly,' the vet assured us. 'This lizard is not in labor.... In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um . . um . . masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back.' He blushed, glancing at my wife.
We were silent, absorbing this.
'So, Ernie's just . . . just . . excited,' my wife offered.
'Exactly,' the vet replied , relieved that we understood. More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
'What's so funny?' I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. 'It's just that . .I'm picturing you pulling on its . . its. . . teeny little . . '
She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
'That's enough,' I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car.. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
'I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad,' he told me.
'Oh, you have NO idea,' my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
Two lizards: $140.
One cage: $50.
Trip to the vet: $30.
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!
Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class. Lizards lay eggs!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Waxing Fun!
One of my all time favourite funnies. If you are female (or male I guess) and do not laugh out loud, literally, at least once during this read, then you need to be checked by your GP immediately!
***** Waxing Fun! *****
The first thing you should know is that hair removal is not my friend. The particular talent of removing unwanted hair has eluded me. All methods have tricked me with their promises of easy, painless removal. The Epilady, the standard razor, the scissors, Nair, the EpilStop, and now.... The Wax.
My night began as any other normal weekday night. I came home from work, fixed dinner for myself and watched TV for a while. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next couple of hours: "maybe I should use that wax in my medicine cabinet."
So I headed to the site of my demise, um, I mean bathroom. It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the clear strips in your hand, peel them apart, press it on your leg (or wherever) and ignore the frantically rising crescendo of string instruments in the background. No muss, no fuss.
How hard can this be? I mean, I'm not the girly-est of girls but I'm mechanically inclined so maybe I can figure out how this works. At least you'd think so. So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other, stuck together.
I'm supposed to rub it in my hand to warm and soften the wax (I'm guessing). I go one better. I pull out the hair dryer and heat the SOB ; to ten thousand degrees.
Cold wax, my ass. (Oh, how that phrase will come back to haunt me.) I lay the strip across my thigh. I hold the skin around it and pull. OK, so it wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it wasn't bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am Sheera, fighter of all wayward body hair and smooth skin extraordinary!
With my next wax strip, I move north. I sneak into the bathroom for The Ultimate Hair Fighting Championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I then apply the wax strip across the right side on my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching up into the inside of the right ass cheek. (Yeah, it was a long strip.)
I inhale deeply. I brace myself. RRRIIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!
Blind from the pain!
Vision returning.
Oh crap. I've managed to pull off half an inch of the strip. Another deep breath. And RIIIP! Everything is swirly and tie-dyed? Do I hear crashing drums? OK, coming back to normal again.
I want to see my trophy - my wax covered pelt that caused me so much agony. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold the wax strip like an Olympic gold medallist.
But why is there no hair on it? Why is the wax mostly gone? Where could the wax go, if not on the strip? Slowly, I eased my head down, my foot still perched on the toilet. I see hair - the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I feel. I am touching wax. I look to the ceiling and silently shout "nooooooo!!" And realize I have just begun living my own personal version of The Tar Baby.
I peel my fingers off the softest, most sensitive part of my body that is now covered in cold wax and matted hair, and make the next big mistake - up until this point, you'll remember, I've had my foot on the toilet. I know I need to move, to do something. So I put my foot down on the floor. And then I hear the slamming of the cell door.
Vagina? .... Sealed shut.
Ass? ...... Sealed shut.
A little voice in my head says "I hope you don't have to crap anytime soon. Your head just might pop off."
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying desperately to figure out what I should do next. Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the hottest water I can stand and get in - the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it away, right?
Wrong.
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than is used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. And I sit.
Now the only thing worse than having your goodies glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of a tub. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, does not melt the cold wax.
So now I'm stuck to the tub.
I call my friend because she once dropped out of beauty school so surely she has some secret knowledge or trick to get wax off skin. It's never good to start a conversation with "So my ass and whohoo are stuck to the tub."
She doesn't have a trick. She does her best to suppress laughter. She wants to know exactly where the wax is on the ass "Are we talking cheek or hole, here?" she asks. She isn't even trying to hide the giggles now.
I give her the run-down of the entire night. She tells me to call the number on the side of the box, but to have a good cover story for where the wax actually is. You know that if we were working the help line at XXX Wax Co. and somebody called with their entire crack sealed shut we'd just put them on hold then record the conversation for everyone we know. You're going to end up on a radio show or the internet if you tell them the truth.
While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Boy, nothing feels better to the girly goodies than covering them in wax, sticking them to a tub in super hot water and THEN dry shaving the sticky wax off!
In the middle of the conversation (which has inexplicably turned to other subjects!) I find the little, beautiful saving grace that is the lotion provided with wax to remove the excess. I rub some in and start screaming "It's working! It's working!" I get hearty congratulations from my friend and we hang up. I successfully remove all the wax and notice, to my dismay, that the hair is still there. So I shaved the damned stuff off.
Hell, I was numb by that point anyway. And then I put the box of wax back in my medicine cabinet. Never know when a mustache might start to come in.
The first thing you should know is that hair removal is not my friend. The particular talent of removing unwanted hair has eluded me. All methods have tricked me with their promises of easy, painless removal. The Epilady, the standard razor, the scissors, Nair, the EpilStop, and now.... The Wax.
My night began as any other normal weekday night. I came home from work, fixed dinner for myself and watched TV for a while. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next couple of hours: "maybe I should use that wax in my medicine cabinet."
So I headed to the site of my demise, um, I mean bathroom. It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the clear strips in your hand, peel them apart, press it on your leg (or wherever) and ignore the frantically rising crescendo of string instruments in the background. No muss, no fuss.
How hard can this be? I mean, I'm not the girly-est of girls but I'm mechanically inclined so maybe I can figure out how this works. At least you'd think so. So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other, stuck together.
I'm supposed to rub it in my hand to warm and soften the wax (I'm guessing). I go one better. I pull out the hair dryer and heat the SOB ; to ten thousand degrees.
Cold wax, my ass. (Oh, how that phrase will come back to haunt me.) I lay the strip across my thigh. I hold the skin around it and pull. OK, so it wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it wasn't bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am Sheera, fighter of all wayward body hair and smooth skin extraordinary!
With my next wax strip, I move north. I sneak into the bathroom for The Ultimate Hair Fighting Championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I then apply the wax strip across the right side on my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching up into the inside of the right ass cheek. (Yeah, it was a long strip.)
I inhale deeply. I brace myself. RRRIIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!
Blind from the pain!
Vision returning.
Oh crap. I've managed to pull off half an inch of the strip. Another deep breath. And RIIIP! Everything is swirly and tie-dyed? Do I hear crashing drums? OK, coming back to normal again.
I want to see my trophy - my wax covered pelt that caused me so much agony. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold the wax strip like an Olympic gold medallist.
But why is there no hair on it? Why is the wax mostly gone? Where could the wax go, if not on the strip? Slowly, I eased my head down, my foot still perched on the toilet. I see hair - the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I feel. I am touching wax. I look to the ceiling and silently shout "nooooooo!!" And realize I have just begun living my own personal version of The Tar Baby.
I peel my fingers off the softest, most sensitive part of my body that is now covered in cold wax and matted hair, and make the next big mistake - up until this point, you'll remember, I've had my foot on the toilet. I know I need to move, to do something. So I put my foot down on the floor. And then I hear the slamming of the cell door.
Vagina? .... Sealed shut.
Ass? ...... Sealed shut.
A little voice in my head says "I hope you don't have to crap anytime soon. Your head just might pop off."
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying desperately to figure out what I should do next. Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the hottest water I can stand and get in - the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it away, right?
Wrong.
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than is used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. And I sit.
Now the only thing worse than having your goodies glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of a tub. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, does not melt the cold wax.
So now I'm stuck to the tub.
I call my friend because she once dropped out of beauty school so surely she has some secret knowledge or trick to get wax off skin. It's never good to start a conversation with "So my ass and whohoo are stuck to the tub."
She doesn't have a trick. She does her best to suppress laughter. She wants to know exactly where the wax is on the ass "Are we talking cheek or hole, here?" she asks. She isn't even trying to hide the giggles now.
I give her the run-down of the entire night. She tells me to call the number on the side of the box, but to have a good cover story for where the wax actually is. You know that if we were working the help line at XXX Wax Co. and somebody called with their entire crack sealed shut we'd just put them on hold then record the conversation for everyone we know. You're going to end up on a radio show or the internet if you tell them the truth.
While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Boy, nothing feels better to the girly goodies than covering them in wax, sticking them to a tub in super hot water and THEN dry shaving the sticky wax off!
In the middle of the conversation (which has inexplicably turned to other subjects!) I find the little, beautiful saving grace that is the lotion provided with wax to remove the excess. I rub some in and start screaming "It's working! It's working!" I get hearty congratulations from my friend and we hang up. I successfully remove all the wax and notice, to my dismay, that the hair is still there. So I shaved the damned stuff off.
Hell, I was numb by that point anyway. And then I put the box of wax back in my medicine cabinet. Never know when a mustache might start to come in.
Welcome!
Welcome to 'iFunnies' - yes, another one of those take offs of iPod. I need to clean up my emails, I have way too many. But what to do with all those 'funnies' that people constantly spam your inbox with? Some of them actually gave me a chuckle and one day, I might want to read them again. ok, probably not. But I can't just delete them.
So instead, I figured I'd put them all on a blog to not only read back through them as I do it, but also have them all together in case I ever need to provide some laughter to someone. And hey, the bonus is you get to read them too!
So, if you like a good giggle. Follow the blog and receive your daily dose of laughter (or eye rolls) from iFunnies!
So instead, I figured I'd put them all on a blog to not only read back through them as I do it, but also have them all together in case I ever need to provide some laughter to someone. And hey, the bonus is you get to read them too!
So, if you like a good giggle. Follow the blog and receive your daily dose of laughter (or eye rolls) from iFunnies!
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