A little disturbing but i guess little Jonny has always been like that,
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An old classic
Joe comes across a Harley with a 'for sale' sign on it. The bike seems even better than a new one, although it is 10 years old. It is shiny and in absolute mint condition.
He immediately buys it, and asks the seller how he kept it in such great condition for 10 years.'Well, it's quite simple, really,' says the seller, 'whenever the bike is outside and it's gonna rain, rub Vaseline on the chrome. It protects it from the rain.' and he hands Joe a jar of Vaseline.
That night, his girlfriend, Sandra, invites him over to meet her parents. Naturally, they take the bike there.But just before they enter the house, Sandra stops him and says, 'I have to tell you something about my family before we go in. ''When we eat dinner, we don't talk. In fact, the first person who says anything during dinner has to do the dishes. ''No problem,' he says. And in they go.
Joe is shocked. Right smack in the middle of the living room is a huge stack of dirty dishes.In the kitchen is another huge stack of dishes. Piled up on the stairs, in the corridor, everywhere he looks, dirty dishes.They sit down to dinner and, sure enough, no one says a word.
As dinner progresses, Joe decides to take advantage of the situation. So he leans over and kisses Sandra. No one says a word. So he reaches over and fondles her. Still, nobody says a word. So he stands up, grabs her, rips her clothes off, throws her on the table, and makes love to her right there, in front of her parents. His girlfriend is flustered, her dad is obviously livid, and her mom horrified when he sits back down, but no one says a word. So he grabs the mom, bends her over the dinner table, and has his way with her. Now his girlfriend is furious and her dad is boiling, but still, total silence. All of a sudden there is a loud clap of thunder, and it starts to rain. Joe remembers his bike, so he pulls the jar of Vaseline from his pocket...Suddenly the father shouts...'Ok, ok... I'll wash the damn dishes" =))
An Irishman was terribly overweight, so his doctor put him on a diet.
"I want you to eat regularly for 2 days, then skip a day, and repeat this procedure for 2 weeks. The next time I see you, you should have lost at least 5 pounds.
When the Irishman returned, he shocked the doctor by having lost nearly 60 lbs!
"Why, that's amazing!" the doctor said, "Did you follow my instructions?"
The Irishman nodded.. "I'll tell y’ d’ough, I t'aut I were going t’ drop dead on dat tird day."
"From the hunger, you mean?" asked the doctor.
"No, from da fookin' skippin".
Nice old one... ads in paper.
FREE YORKSHIRE TERRIER.
8 years old. Hateful little bastard. Bites!
FREE PUPPIES
1/2 Cocker Spaniel, 1/2 sneaky neighbour's dog.
FREE PUPPIES.
Mother, a Kennel Club registered German Shepherd. Father, Super Dog... able
to leap tall fences in a single bound.
COWS, CALVES: NEVER BRED.
Also 1 gay bull for sale.
JOINING NUDIST COLONY!
Must sell washer and dryer £100.
WEDDING DRESS FOR SALE.
Worn once by mistake. Call Stephanie.
FOR SALE BY OWNER.
Complete set of Encyclopaedia Britannica, 45 volumes. Excellent
condition....£200 or best offer. No longer needed; got married last month.
Wife knows f#%#%#g everything!
Excellent Taxi Story
This morning, yours truly, decided to sneak in a pinch of top-secret and
highly professional canoe training at Emmerentia dam, before the first
farts of sparrows could escape their imprisoning sphincters, and even
before the glories-of-mornings of most non-gay South African men could rise
to view the possible prospects of 'before work' swims.
Yep, I was up and onto that little patch of water before sunrise, tearing
around it at record-breaking pace, sneaking in a wee bit of pre-Duzi
training, in order to wrestle the crown away from the well slow and soft
Martin Dreyer (present Duzi champion, for those of you not in the
intellectual canoe mix) next time around. Anyway, the details of my
incredible canoe talent are not up for discussion here, but rather what
happened on my drive home after the session, in rush hour traffic, and in
particular, on Jan Smuts Avenue near to the Old Parktonian sports club
around 8am.
I was happily chilling in my car, cruising along at about 60kph, in pretty
much bumper-to-bumper traffic, with nobody going anywhere any faster, it
was simply not an option. Well, not an option for anyone with a brain, with
an ounce of logic within their crania, with a drop of sense inside the
membranes of their cerebral hemispheres. You'd think that a creature
without a brain would equate to a fly or less, a category that includes
mosquitoes, stones, anvils and ....... taxi drivers. Yep, enter Sipho "I'm
a dickhead without a brain cell" Nshlovo, driver of a Toyota Hiace * 4
wheels, 1 brake pad, no lights, half a steering wheel, about 30 people
inside and 3 masking-taped windows, yep, standard issue for a South African
taxi driver. He had more than likely participated in the demonstration
march last month with hundreds of other taxi driver idiots protesting about
having had their 'vehicles' impounded for not being roadworthy, the
rocket-scientists couldn't understand what wasn't roadworthy about a taxi
with a bobejaan spanner for a steering wheel, or one without brakes (they
reckon a handbrake is just as good as the foot brake pedal). Anyway, my
mate Sipho decided things weren't flowing fast enough for him, so started
weaving in and out of the traffic, arm hanging out of his window like a
baboon's tail hanging from its ringpiece (I'm certain his armpit smelt like
a baboon's ringpiece as well, he was sweating like Bruce Fordyce's crack
after 90km's on the up run of the Comrades).
I heard this aeronautical engineer-like taxi driver coming from about 5
cars back, because everyone was hooting and slamming on brakes to avoid the
accident that he was trying his damndest to cause. After he narrowly missed
the back of my canoe as he swerved in behind me, I made a stubborn little
vow that he DEFINITELY wouldn't be cutting in front of me like that, and so
began the fun and games. The bum-wart first tried the standard tactic of
intimidation, just gradually cutting me off, in the typical "you'd better
slow down and let me in, or I'll crash into you" method. Well, I used the
typical "Fack you faeces-brain" tactic, with one hand on the hooter, the
other pointing straight at him, with my foot firmly on the accelerator,
until he backed down like Mike Catt had done in 1995 when Jonah Lomu ran
straight over him.
This had a snowball effect, which had me chuckling the whole way back to my
humble abode. Syphilis-face then decided to put all his well acquired
driving skill to the test, and adopted the smartest technique of them all,
the "Eish, I weel ovah-take on the wrong side" method, one that sadly has
caused numerous accidents in the past, including the untimely death of one
of our awesome mates, Mike Short, a year ago. This made old Maccatini
madder than a spitting cobra, with a red hot cactus lodged up its rectum.
No skin off the facking taxi drivers nose, he just accelerated more, and
tried to cut in front of the double-cab in front of me, this after he had
hooted at me and showed me a middle finger accompanied with a few
swearwords, something that made me want to beat him harder than Campbell
hit the gay boy who stabbed him repeatedly with a pen all those years ago!
Well, the fella in front of me had obviously also been observing the
proceedings, and likewise refused to let Sipho Dickdribble Nshlovo in, so
the acceleration by the monkey continued, while he tried his hardest to
outstare the double-cab driver. Sadly for the nuclear physicist, the
emergency lane was shortly going to end, with a solid stone pavement to
mark its ending. More sadly for him was the fact that he, and his 30-odd
passengers were all trying their damndest to "intimidate by staring" myself
and the double-cab man, instead of watching the road ahead (something that
most brain-owners do when driving).
I saw it coming, and was smiling my full-tusk smile even before they hit!!
Anal-bum-wart hit that pavement at about 70kph, 31 passengers bumped their
heads on the roof of the hi-ace in poetic unison, adding an extra 31 dents
to the already-facked minibus, and the two front wheels were ripped off the
chassis as the bus slid to a delightful halt. Thankfully no passengers were
hurt, which made it the most fantastic thing to witness, sadly though,
Sipho, arm still hanging out of the window, was also unscathed. However,
his car was more facked than that prostitute at PE harbour named Deloris,
and his mood was somewhat down-trodden.
I hooted and made sure he got the full-frontal of my biggest-ever super
smile, as did the driver of the double-cab, and then to my absolute joy,
looked in my mirror to see every driver behind me doing exactly the same!
The brain-cell-lacker had received his well-earned treatment! I was happier
than Hudders when he passed his board, or at least as happy!! So folks,
what a peachy morning it has been so far. The sun is shining, it's Friday,
I've done my training, Long Tom Roodt is back in the country, there will be
a lot of thirst quenched this weekend, and Sipho Faeces-face Nshlovo is one
mini-bus short of a taxi!
And 30 people walked to work to find themselves late and had to go back home to their hungry children and tell them they had lost their jobs because some idiot with too much time on his hands thought it would be fun to make the taxi driver crash...