This has gotten over a million hits on YouTube. Thought I would pass it along…
A family is at the dinner table. The son asks his father, “Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?”
The father, surprised, answers, “Well, son, there’s three kinds of breasts. In her twenties, a woman’s breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her thirties to forties, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After fifty, they are like onions.”
“Onions?” asks the boy.
“Yes,” said the father, “you see them and they make you cry.”
This infuriated his wife and daughter so the daughter said, “Mom, how many kinds of willies are there?”
The mother, surprised, smiles and answers, “Well dear, a man goes through three phases. In his twenties, his willie is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his thirties and forties, it is a birch, flexible but still reliable. After his fifties, it is like an old Christmas tree.”
“A Christmas tree?”
“Yes, dead from the root up and the balls are for decoration only.”
Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in his small chair at the table, he looks into his small bowl. It is empty.
“Who’s been eating my porridge?!!” he squeaks.
Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty.
“Who’s been eating my Porridge?!!” he roars.
Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, “For Christ’s sake, how many times do we have to go through this with you idiots?
It was Momma Bear who got up first;
It was Momma Bear who woke everyone in the house;
It was Momma Bear who made the coffee;
It was Momma Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away;
It was Momma Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper;
It was Momma Bear who set the damn table;
It was Momma Bear who put the friggin dogs out, cleaned up the trash they dragged out, and filled the water and food dish.
So, now that you’ve decided to drag your sorry bear-asses downstairs, and grace Momma Bear’s kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen good, cause I’m only going to say this one more time:
I HAVEN’T MADE THE F******PORRIDGE YET!!”
Well, you could call this love poetry if you are drunk and horny)
May you live as long as you want to;
May you want to as long as you live.
If I’m asleep when you want to, wake me;
If I’m awake and don’t want to, make me.
Here’s to you, I’m glad that I metcha,
And now that I met you, I’m glad that I letcha,
And now that I letcha,
I betcha I’d letcha again.
Here’s to the drink that creates desire.
Not the kind that burns down shanties,
But the kind that burns down panties.
Here’s to the qirl in the little red shoes,
She drinks my liquor, she drinks my booze.
She has no cherry but that’s no sin,
She has the box the cherry came in.
Here’s to the girl dressed in black,
She’s dressed so fine, there’s nothing to slack.
She feels so fine and kisses so sweet,
She makes things stand, that have no feet.
Here’s to an hour of sweet repose,
Turn to tummy and toes to toes,
Then after an hour of such delight,
It’s fanny to fanny for the rest of the night.
Now that I’m old and feeble,
And pilot light is out;
What used to be my sex appeal is now my waterspout.
I used to be embarrassed to make the thing behave,
For every single morning it would stand and watch me shave.
But now I’m getting old and it gives me the blues,
To have the thing hang down and watch me tie my shoes.
God made little boys, made them out of string,
He had a little left, made a little thing.
God made little girls, made them out of lace,
He ran a little short, and left a little space.
Thank You God.
My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.
My wife asked, “Do you know her?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “She’s my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago and I hear she hasn’t been sober since.”
“My God!” said my wife. “Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?”
So you see, there really are two ways to look at everything.
This nasty, sweaty woman, wearing a sleeveless sundress, walks into a bar. She raises her right arm, revealing a big hairy armpit as she points to all the people sitting at the bar and asks, “What man out there will buy a lady a drink?”
The whole bar goes dead silent, as the patrons try to ignore her.
At the end of the bar, a skinny little drunk slams his hand on the bar and says, “Bartender! I want to buy that ballerina a drink!”
The bartender pours the drink and the woman chugs it down. After she’s completed the drink, she turns again to the patrons and points around at all of them, again revealing her hairy armpit saying, “What man out there will buy a lady a drink?”
Once again, the little drunk slaps his hand down on the bar and says, “Bartender! I’d like to buy the ballerina another drink!”
After serving the lady her second drink, the bartender approaches the little drunk and states, “It’s your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you call her a ballerina?”
The drunk replies, “Sir! In my eyes, any woman who can lift her leg up that high has got to be a ballerina!”
First date: You get to kiss her goodnight.
Second date: You get to grope all over and make out a bit.
Third date: You get to have sex but only in the missionary position.
First Date: You both get blind drunk and have sex.
Second Date: You both get blind drunk and have sex.
20th Anniversary: You both get blind drunk and have sex.
First Date: You take her to a play and an expensive restaurant.
Second Date: You meet her parents and her Mom makes spaghetti and meatballs.
Third Date: You have sex, she wants to marry you & insists on a 3-carat ring.
5th Anniversary: You already have 5 kids together & hate the thought of having sex.
6th Anniversary: You find yourself a Mistress.
First Date: You get terrific head.
Second Date: You get even more great head.
Third Date: You tell her you’ll marry her and never get head again.
First date: You get to buy her an expensive dinner but nothing happens.
Second date: You buy her an even more expensive dinner. Nothing happens again.
Third date: You don’t even get to the third date and you’ve already realized nothing is ever going to happen.
First date: Meet her parents.
Second date: Set the date of the wedding.
Third date: Wedding night.
First Date: You get to buy her a real expensive dinner.
Second Date: You get to buy her and her girlfriends a real expensive dinner.
Third Date: You get to pay her rent.
Tenth Date: She’s pregnant by someone other than you.
First Date: You buy her an expensive dinner, get drunk on Tequila, and have sex in the back of her car.
Second Date: She’s pregnant.
Third Date: She moves in. One week later, her mother, father, his girlfriend, her two sisters, her brother, all of their kids, her grandma, her father’s girlfriend’s mother, her two cousins, her sister’s Boyfriend and his three kids move in and you live on rice and beans for the rest of your life in your home that used to be nice, but now looks like a home along the Tijuana strip.
First Date: Mother, Father, Brothers, Sisters, Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Friends and entire Arab community finds out.
Second Date: You are shot dead.
No third date.