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    • Mike

      PhotoBucket are no longer permitting 3rd party hosting   01/07/17

      As most of you are now painfully aware, Photobucket (PB) are stopping/have stopped allowing their members to link their accumulated years of photos into forums and the like, which they call 3rd party linking.  You can give them a non-refundable $399 a year to allow links, but I doubt that many will be rushing to take them up on that offer.  If you've previously paid them for the Pro account, it looks like you've got until your renewal to find another place to host your files, but you too will be subject to this ban unless you fork over a lot of cash.   PB seem to be making a concerted move to another type of customer, having been the butt of much displeasure over the years of a constantly worsening user interface, sloth and advertising pop-ups, with the result that they clearly don't give a hoot about the free members anymore.  If you don't have web space included in your internet package, you need to start looking for another photo host, but choose carefully, as some may follow suit and ditch their "free" members at some point.  The lesson there is keep local backups on your hard drive of everything you upload, so you can walk away if the same thing happens.   There's a thread on the subject here, so please use that to curse them, look for solutions or generall grouse about their mental capacity.   Not a nice situation for the forum users that hosted all their photos there, and there will now be a host of useless threads that relied heavily on photos from PB, but as there's not much we can do other than petition for a more equitable solution, I suggest we make the best of what we have and move on.  One thing is for certain.  It won't win them any friends, but they may not care at this point.    Mike.
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Long (ish) Jokes.

131 posts in this topic

A man died and went to Heaven. St Peter says to him “Before you meet with God, I should tell you ,we’ve looked over your life, and to be honest you really didn’t do anything particularly good or bad. We’re not really sure what to do with you. Can you tell us anything you did that can help us make a decision?” The newly arrived soul thought for a moment and replied, “Yeah, once I was driving along and came upon a little old lady who was being harassed by a group of thugs. So I pulled over and went up to the leader of the thugs. He was a big, muscular guy with a ring pierced through his lip. Well, I tore the ring out of his lip, and told him he and his gang had better stop bothering this lady or they would have to deal with me!” “Wow that’s impressive, “When did this happen?” “About three minutes ago,” came the reply.

(Sorry can't seem to fix highlighting and spacing)

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Two rednecks are out hunting, and as they're walking along they come upon a huge hole in the ground. They approach it and are amazed by the size of it.

The first hunter says, "Wow, that's some hole. I can't even see the bottom. I wonder how deep it is?"

The second hunter says," I don't know, let's throw something down and listen and see how long it takes to hit bottom."

The first hunter says, "There's an old gearbox over there, give me a hand and we'll throw it in and see".

So they pick it up and carry it over, and count one, and two and three, and throw it in the hole.

They are standing there listening and looking over the edge and they hear a rustling in the brush behind them. As they turn around they see a goat come crashing through the brush, run up to the hole with no hesitation, and jump in headfirst.

While they are standing there looking at each other, then gazing into the hole, and trying to figure out what that was all about, an old farmer walks up.

"Say there", says the farmer, "You fellers didn't happen to see my goat around here anywhere, did you?"

The first hunter says "Funny you should ask, but we were just standing here a minute ago and a goat came running out of the bushes doin' about a hunert miles an hour and jumped headfirst into this hole here!"

And the old farmer said... "Why that's impossible, I had him chained to an old gearbox!"

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A number of years ago, the Seattle Symphony was doing Beethoven's Ninth under the baton of Milton Katims.

At this point, you must understand two things:

  1. There's a long segment in this symphony where the bass violins don't have a thing to do. Not a single note for page after page.
  2. There used to be a tavern called Dez's 400, right across the street from the Seattle Opera House, rather favored by local musicians.

It had been decided that during this performance, after the bass players had played their parts in the opening of the Ninth, they were to quietly lay down their instruments and leave the stage rather than sit on their stools looking and feeling dumb for twenty minutes.

Once they got backstage, someone suggested that they trot across the street and quaff a few brews. After they had downed the first couple rounds, one said, "Shouldn't we be getting back? It'd be awfully embarrassing if we were late."

Another, presumably the one who suggested this excursion in the first place, replied, "Oh, I anticipated we could use a little more time, so I tied a string around the last pages of the conductor's score. When he gets down to there, Milton's going to have to slow the tempo way down while he waves the baton with one hand and fumbles with the string with the other."

So they had another round and finally returned to the Opera House, a little tipsy by now. However, as they came back on stage, one look at their conductor's face told them they were in serious trouble. Katims was furious! And why not? After all...

It was the bottom of the Ninth, the score was tied, and the basses were loaded.

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A guy spent five years traveling all around the world making a documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film -- or so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he popped into a pub for a well earned beer.

He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.

"Butcher Dance?" he said, confused. "What's that?"

"What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?"

"No, I've never heard of it."

"Mate, you're crazy," the Aborigine replied. "How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?"

"Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?"

"No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree."

"Oh," the man said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?"

"Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you many days of travel to go see it."

"Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."

"Ok, mate," the Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You drive north along the highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you'll see a dirt track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till you see big huge dead gum tree -- the biggest tree you've ever seen. Here you gotta leave car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a creek. You follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half day until you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock -- twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock, walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be able to see the Butcher Dance there."

So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for the night.

He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.

The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear and continued their long trek.

When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two days later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher Dance.

"Oh mate," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance."

"Well, when do you hold the next dance?"

"Not till next year."

"Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?"

"No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."

Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.

The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to ensure he was present to witness it.

But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that raged for several days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.

Then, before they had traveled a mile out from the mountains, one of the crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had been traveling, they staggered into the village right at noon.

"The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late to see it!"

The chief recognized him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time."

Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle and began to chant.

"What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief.

"Hush," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."

The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself. This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.

The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, started to sing: "You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all about...."

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:handbag::coat:

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Nice one Jessica, in the very finest tradition of a shaggy dog story. :)

Steve.

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Brilliant Jessica, just wondering how I can tell this one in Dutch..........................................

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A repeat joke but worth it!

Two drunken Irishmen in a graveyard.

Paddy starts reading the gravestones.

"Mick" he says;

Would you look at this, a feller here who was 90 when he died!"

"Who's that?" says Mick.

"Somebody called O'Toole from Kerry," he replies.

Mick says, "Never mind him, there's a feller here called Murphy, was 99 when he died! From Castletown of all places!

"Well thats nothing!" says Paddy.

"What about what written on this feller's stone, here right beside the gate!"

"The stone says 147!"

"147? thats amazing!" says Mick.

"Who was he?"

"Well according to the stone, its somebody called Miles from Dublin................................!"

Selwyn

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I went to a job interview this week. The interviewer said to me that I had put on my CV that I was very quick at mental arithmetic.

"What's nineteen multiplied by seventeen?" he asked.

Quick as a flash I replied, "Thirty-four."

"That's wrong," he said.

"But it was very quick," I pointed out.

********

He also asked me what did I like best about my last job.

"Well," I said. "When someone had a birthday there was usually free cake."

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Thought I'd resurrect this oldie but goodie:

MESSAGE LEFT ON THE BRITISH ARMY ANSWERPHONE:

Thank you for calling the British Army. I'm sorry, but all our units are out at the moment, or are otherwise engaged. Please leave a message with your country, name of organisation, the region, the specific crisis and a number at which we can call you. As soon as we have sorted out Kosovo, Bosnia, Macedonia, Serbia, Iraq, Northern Ireland, Sierra Leone, The Congo, marching up and down bits of tarmac in London and compulsory health and safety at work training, we will return your call.

Please speak after the tone or, if you require more options, listen to the following numbers:

A. If your crisis is small and close to the sea, press 1 for the Royal Marines.

B If your concern is distant, with a tropical climate, good hotels and can be solved by one or two low-risk bombing runs, please press 2 for the Royal Air Force. (Please note that this service is not available after 1630 or weekends.)

C. If your enquiry concerns a situation which can be resolved by a warship, some bunting, flags, a damn good cocktail party and a first class marching band, please write, well in advance, to the First Sea Lord, The Royal Navy, Whitehall, London SW1.

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The Pope, the Dalai Lama and the Archbishop of Canterbury decide to go fishing, so they hire a boat and row out to the middle of the lake. However it's a very hot day and within an hour or two all the beer is gone.

"Let's row back to the shore and get a carry-out from the local pub," says the Pope.

"No need for that," says the Dalai Lama, and he steps over the side of the boat and walks across the surface of the water to the shore, then goes to the pub. Ten minutes later he's back with more beer. He walks across the water to the boat and steps inside.

Half an hour later they've run out of beer again. This time the Pope says, "My turn!" He looks over the side of the boat and a big smile appears on his face. Then he steps over and walks across the water to the shore. Ten minutes later he's back with yet more beer. Again, he walks across the water to the boat.

Half an hour later and the beer is finished once more. The Archbishop steps over the side of the boat and instantly sinks below the surface, The other two drag him back aboard. As he lies coughing and spluttering in the bottom of the boat, the Pope says, "D'you think we should have told him about the stepping stones?"

...

...

...

...

...

And the Dalai Lama, confused, asks, "What stepping stones?"

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Frank and Fiona were making passionate love in Frank's van when suddenly Fiona, who was a bit on the kinky side, and had just read "50 shades of grey", yells out,

"Oh fat boy, whip me, whip me!"

Frank, not wanting to pass up this unique opportunity, obviously did not have any whips to hand, but in a flash of inspiration, opened the window, snaps the antenna off his van and proceeds to whip Fiona until they both collapse in sado-masochistic ecstasy.

A bout a week later Fiona notices that the marks left by the whipping session are not healing and starting to fester a bit so she goes to the
doctor.

The doctor takes one look at the wounds and asks: "Did you get these marks having sex?"

Fiona a little too embarrassed that she had even had sex with Frank, let alone allowed him to indulge in her own kinky desires, eventually admits,
"Yes I did."

Nodding his head knowingly the doctor exclaims:

"I thought so because in
all my years as a doctor you've got the worst case of van aerial disease that I've ever seen."

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I think enough time has passed that I can post this one again...



Mr Ponsonby-Smythe got a phone call from his wife, who was in a state of panic.



"George!" she sobbed. "There's a gorilla in the apple tree in the front garden!"



"A gorilla?" Mr Ponsonby-Smythe echoed. "Nonsense, woman. Have you been at the gin again?"



"No, George," she replied. "It's a real gorilla - it must have escaped from the zoo or a circus or something. It's sitting in the apple tree growling at everyone who walks past. It's just thrown an apple at Mrs Bell from No. 23!"



"Did it hit her?" Mr Ponsonby-Smythe asked, then said, "No, never mind that. I'll come home straight away."



He drove home and, sure enough, as he pulled into the driveway he saw a huge, fierce gorilla in the apple tree. It spotted him and growled, then threw an apple at him - he only just ducked in time.



He went into the house, where his wife was nervously looking out the window from behind the net curtain. "George, what are we going to do?" she asked.



Mr Ponsonby-Smythe picked up the Yellow Pages. "It's simple, Miriam - there are bound to be professional people who can deal with this sort of thing."



He looked up 'Gorilla Catchers' but there was only one firm listed. He dialled the number and after a few rings the phone was answered. "Bloggs and Wilson, Gorilla Catchers. Bloggs speaking!"



"Good afternoon - my name is Ponsonby-Smythe. There is a gorilla in the apple tree in my garden, and I need you to come and catch it!"



"I'm very sorry, sir," replied Bloggs. "I'm afraid Wilson is off sick at the moment, so we're unable to take on any jobs."



"But this is urgent!" said Mr Ponsonby-Smythe. "It's in the tree, causing a scene - I'm sure the property values are reducing even as we speak! There must be something you can do!"



"Well..." said Bloggs. "Catching a gorilla is a two-man job, but if you're willing to fill Wilson's role then we should be able to pull it off."



"I'll do whatever it takes, " promised Mr Ponsonby-Smythe, and gave Bloggs his address.



Twenty minutes later a battered Transit van bearing the sign "BLOGGS AND WILSON - GORILLA CATCHERS" pulled up outside. The driver got out and went round to the back of the van, opened the doors, and brought out a large rifle, a set of manacles, and a vicious-looking Rottweiler dog which barked and snarled. The man came up to the front door and rang the bell.



"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Bloggs," said the man when Mr Ponsonby-Smythe answered. "I can see the gorilla in your tree - he's a big 'un, isn't he? We'd best get started right away."



"That's fine," said Mr Ponsonby-Smythe. "What do I have to do?"



"Well," replied Bloggs. "You stand there with the manacles while I climb the tree. I will wrestle with the gorilla and push him out of the tree. The instant he hits the ground, the dog is trained to leap forward and bite the gorilla's testicles. This will distract him long enough for you to put the manacles on him. Then I can load him into the back of the van and take him away."



"I understand," said Mr Ponsonby-Smythe. "But what is the rifle for?"



"That is actually the most important part of the whole operation," replied Bloggs. "If by any chance the gorilla should happen to push me out of the tree, you must instantly shoot the dog!"


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Another repost...

An Englishman, a Scotsman, an Irishman, a Welshman, a Latvian, a Turk, a German, an Indian, several Americans (including a southerner, a New Englander, and a Californian) an Argentinean, a Dane, an Australian, a Slovakian, an Egyptian, a Japanese, a Moroccan, a Frenchman, a New Zealander, a Spaniard, a Russian, a Guatemalan, a Colombian, a Pakistani, a Malaysian, a Croatian, a Uzbek, a Cypriot, a Pole, a Lithuanian, a Chinese, a Sri Lankan, a Lebanese, a Cayman Islander, a Ugandan, a Vietnamese, a Korean, a Uruguayan, a Czech, an Icelander, a Mexican, a Finn, a Honduran, a Panamanian, an Andorran, an Israeli, a Venezuelan, a Fijian, a Peruvian, an Estonian, a Brazilian, a Portuguese, a Liechtensteiner, a Mongolian, a Hungarian, a Canadian, a Moldovan, a Haitian, a Norfolk Islander, a Macedonian, a Bolivian, a Cook Islander, a Tajikistani, a Samoan, an Armenian, an Aruban, an Albanian, a Greenlander, a Micronesian, a Virgin Islander, a Georgian, a Bahaman, a Belarusian, a Cuban, a Tongan, a Cambodian, a Qatari, an Azerbaijani, a Romanian, a Chilean, a Kyrgyzstani, a Jamaican, a Filipino, a Ukrainian, a Dutchman, a Ecuadorian, a Costa Rican, a Swede, a Bulgarian, a Serb, a Swiss, a Greek, a Belgian, a Singaporean, an Italian, a Norwegian and 47 Africans walk up to a nightclub.

The doorman scrutinizes the group one by one and stops their entrance saying,

"Sorry, you can't come in here without a Thai. "

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Ricardo the local gigolo was scanning the pool of his hotel and sees this drop dead gorgeous blond. After a while he goes over to her and invites her back to his room. They make passionate love and at the end he asks in broken Italian....are you finish ?........she replies noooo.

So they make love again ....this time even more passionate ...at the end he asks .... are you finish ?.......nooo she replies.

Knowing when he's on to a good thing he makes love to her again summoning up all his strength. They climax and he says....are you finish ?..... nooo she replies...............................................................

>
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>
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>
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I'm Norwegian

:coat:

Edited by jenko
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Army squad on exercise in jungle, Sgt Major briefs the boys on things to look out for...........

Lads, the women are so loveable you will fall for them. You must avoid them at all cost as they are diseased.

Next, the water, it has the dreaded Ju-Ju worm in it , drink it and you will suffer . Be warned.

Finally there is a snake so deadly you must REALLY avoid it. It has black and yellow stripes, easy to recognise, If you can't grab its tail and run your hand up to the head and whack it.

On yer way lads!

Two weeks later three hospital cases the Sarge visits.

What happened soldier? Gorgeous local girl seduced me and now I have this Pox. Told you so Lad.

Next, what about you . Water, Sarge, so thirsty I needed a drink and this worm is eating my bottom.

Finally the last one was head to foot in bandages. So, what's this? Soldier then moaned, Black and yellow snake! Sure I caught it, ran my hand up it like you said and there I am with two fingers up the bottom of the biggest Bengal Tiger you ever did see!

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Four businessmen held a reunion after not seeing each other since university. All had become successful and rich in the intervening forty years, and were having dinner in a very expensive restaurant when one of them received a call on his mobile. He excused himself to answer it, and in the meantime the other three started discussing their sons' respective careers.


"My son is an engineer," said the first. "He works for one of the big motoring corporations, and has worked on a number of well known sports car designs. In fact, he has earned so much that he bought his girlfriend one of only fifty limited edition supercars and gave it to her as a Christmas present."


"Really? Well, my son is an architect," said the second businessman. "He's designed many large and distinctive buildings, and has become quite rich as a result. In fact he's so rich he designed and built a mansion just for his girlfriend. She only moved in last month."


"That's nothing!" said the third. "My son designs yachts and owns a yacht construction company. They are very, very expensive and counts celebrities, Middle Eastern royalty and Russian oligarchs among his customers. He is so rich he gave his girlfriend one of these yachts last summer."


They were all congratulating each other on their sons' successes when the fourth friend came back from dealing with his phone call. "And what about your son?" he was asked. "We were all comparing notes on how well ours have done. Has yours been successful?"


"Well," he said. "It depends how you define successful. He had gender reassignment surgery at 21 and has been a beautiful young woman for the last six years."


That stunned the others into silence, tinged with distaste and not a little disgust as their prejudices rose to the surface.


"But," continued the fourth man. "She's done quite well really. Why, in the last year alone she's been presented with a supercar, a yacht and a mansion."

Edited by T7 Models
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A bit late but here goes, it's relevant to Xmas for those who celebrate.

Man gets stopped for speeding on Christmas eve, officer says that he was 5 mph over the limit. Man pleads that it is Christmas please show a bit of compassion.

Right then, officer said, if you can show me anything in the vehicle that is related to Christmas I will let you off with a caution.

Poor man then frantically struggles to search car, boot glovebox, everywhere. He is the resigned to a huge penalty and is pretty sad.

He glances at the back seat and sees a pair of old ladies underpants, with enthusiasm he holds them up in front of the officer and exclaims, THERE YOU ARE! What on earth has that to do with Christmas? There Carols he replied!

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A couple turned up at a fancy dress party, the man giving the girl a piggyback. The man's face was painted green and he had a red mask over his eyes.

"So what have you come as?" asked the host.

"I'm one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," said the man.

"And what about her?" asked the host, indicating the girl.

"That's Michelle!"

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A man and his wife were at a family wedding. The man came back from the bar with two glasses of whisky and set one down in front of her.

"What's this?" she asked, surprised. "I asked you for a sweet sherry!"

"Never mind that," said the man. "Drink it!"

She picked up the glass and sniffed it warily. Then she took a tiny sip and instantly screwed up her face. "That's disgusting!" she exclaimed.

"Exactly!" said the man. "And you think that when I'm out with my mates every night, drinking that, I'm enjoying myself!"

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A couple turned up at a fancy dress party, the man giving the girl a piggyback. The man's face was painted green and he had a red mask over his eyes.

"So what have you come as?" asked the host.

"I'm one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," said the man.

"And what about her?" asked the host, indicating the girl.

"That's Michelle!"

Groan !!!!!!!!

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Sometimes I tell this one to my daughter at bedtime.

Once upon a time there was a young prince who didn't seem in a hurry to elope. His father the King complained: "You're making me age before my time! I'd like a little kid to bring the dynasty forward, no, scratch that, I'd just like you to act your age! You only think of horses and hunting parties!"

The prince said, "Sure, Dad, but... how do I choose? I mean, I have to spend the rest of my life with her! What if she's boring? What if she's not a good mother? What if she's stubborn?"

The old king, who was very wise, raised a hand to silence the prince. "I got it. And I think we can solve that problem."

Some days later, in all the kingdom royal messengers announced that there would be a ball in honour of the young prince. The most beautiful girls in the realm nearly hurt themselves in the rush to reply; they had dresses custom made, they took dancing lessons, walked on a tightrope with piles of books on their heads to improve stance.

On the evening of the ball, three thousand girls showed up at the royal gala and the prince, under the King's strict surveillance, had to dance with each one: he danced so much, by the time the ball was over it was like his feet had caught fire.

The following day, as he rested with his feet in a basin, the king asked whether any girl had caught his attention.

"Yes, the prince said, "a few."

"A few, eh? And who?"

"How could I remember the names of a thousand girls?"

"A thousand? Are you crazy?" the king said. "Something must be done."

Some days later, the lucky thousand girl received an invitation to an art contest in honour of the prince. The girls didn't need to hear that twice: they stampeded in art supply shops to buy palettes, chisels and spatulas; they made pictures, sculptures, happenings and graffiti.

On the evening of the contest the prince, under the King's strict surveillance, had to judge every single piece; he watched so much art that when the contest was over he felt like his eyeballs were about to burst.

The following day, as he rested with teabags on his eyelids, the king asked whether any girl had caught his attention.

"Yes, the prince said, "a few."

"A few, eh? And who?"

"How could I remember the names of a hundred girls?"

"A hundred? You will be the death of me!" the king said. "Something must be done."

Some days later, the lucky hundred girls received an invitation to a fox hunt in honour of the prince. The girls stormed every manege in the kingdom: they took riding lessons, rented Arab thoroughbreds and polished saddles.

On the day of the hunt the prince, under the King's strict surveillance, had to ride beside every one of them; he rode so much that when the hunt was over he felt like he had been kicked in the butt by an ogre.

The following day, as the prince rested with an ice bag on his rump, the king asked whether any girl had caught his attention.

"Yes, the prince said, "a few."

"How many?" asked the King, who knew the gist by now.

"Well, a dozen."

"Good. Now we're talking sense."

Some days later, the lucky twelve girls received an invitation to a contest of choirs in honour of the prince. The singing teachers never made so much money again: the girls took lessons, had their teeth streamlined and their tonsils attuned.

On the day of the concert the prince, under the King's strict surveillance, had to listen every solo on the list; he listened so much that when the evening was over he felt like he had been listening to a concert of power hammers.

The following day, as the prince rested with cotton buds in his ears, the king asked - nay, he ordered the prince to narrow his preferences down.

After much uhmming and ehmming, the prince managed to name three names. "But I cannot choose, Father, I swear! I am so undecided."

"Let me take care of this," said the King. He called the three girls separately; the prince walked with each one in the royal gardens, talked about childhood reminiscences and plans for the future, thanked them profusely for the pleasurable time they had had together and gave them a chest full of coins and jewels.

The first girl went to a beauty salon, got her hair done, bought several new dresses and gowns. She told the prince that she had done this to be more attractive for him because she loved him so much and wanted to be a perfect queen for him.

The second girl went shopping as well, but not for herself. She hired a team of architects to beautify the royal castle. They trimmed the hedges, oiled the drawbridge, squared the battlements, The girl told the prince that she had spent all the money on the castle because she wanted the prince's home to be perfect because she loved him so much.
The third girl went to buy the best sword, shield and warhorse of the realm, and sent them as a goodwill gift to the most powerful neighbouring kingdom. She told the prince that she had done this because she wanted the prince to have fruitful alliances, because she loved him so much.
Then the King, who had followed all the proceedings, summoned the prince and said: "Surely now you know what to do, don't you?"
The prince said, "Without a doubt!", and proposed to the one with the bigger breasts.
(Do you think it's inappropriate for kids? Well, probably it would... if my daughter stayed awake till the punchline!...)
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Now that's comedy!

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