Below are links to some funny short stories which made me smile. Have a read and see if they do the same for you. If they do, why don't you tell a friend to come and get a laugh as well. After all, laughing is good for you, doctors recommend it!
Ok, the stories start here....
Cat and the Sink!
How to extract your cat from the sink!
This is the story of the night my ten-year-old cat, Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I knew at the time that the experience
would be funny if the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front that he's fine. Getting him out wasn't easy, though, and the process
included numerous home remedies, a plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of panic,
and fifteen minutes of fame.
My husband Rich and I had just returned from a 5 day vacation in the Cayman Islands--where I had been sick as a dog the whole time. We
arrived home at 9 p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned because of airline problems. I still had illness-related vertigo, and because of
the flight delays, had not been able to prepare for the class I was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning. I sat down at my desk to think about
William Carlos Williams, and around ten o'clock I heard Rich hollering from the kitchen.
I raced over to see what was wrong and spied Rich frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink and Rudy--or, rather, Rudy's headless
body--scrambling around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the metal and his head stuck in the garbage disposal. Rich had just ground
up the skin of some smoked salmon in the disposal, and when he left the room; Rudy (who always was a pinhead) had gone in after it.
It is very disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly for ten years, who
burrows under the covers and purrs against my side, and who now looked like a fur-covered turkey carcass, defrosting in the sink while it's still alive and kicking. It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr. Calm-in-any-Emergency, at his wit's end, trying to simultaneously soothe Rudy and undo the garbage disposal, and failing at both, and basically freaking out.
Adding to the chaos was Rudy's twin brother Lowell, also upset, racing around in
circles, jumping onto the kitchen counter and alternately licking Rudy's butt for comfort and biting it out of fear. Clearly, I had to do
First we tried to ease Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and neck with Johnson's baby shampoo (kept on hand for my nieces'
visits) and butter-flavored Crisco. Both failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling. Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal, which
was a good idea, but he couldn't do it. Turns out, the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you peel off one layer and another one
appears, with Rudy's head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard plastic collar.
My job during this process was to sit on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling
(he's part Siamese), and Rich clattering around under the sink with his tools.
When all our efforts failed, we sought professional help. I called our regular plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at 11 o'clock
at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich through further layers of disposal dismantling, but still we couldn't reach Rudy. I called the 1-800 number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal service that advertises 24-hour service (no response), an all-night
emergency veterinary clinic (who had no experience in this matter), and finally, in desperation, 9-1-1. I could see that Rudy's normally pink
paw pads were turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a garbage disposal. The
dispatcher had other ideas and offered to send over two policemen. The cops arrived close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice. More importantly,
they were also able to think rationally, which we were not.
They were, of course, astonished by the situation. "I've never seen anything like this," Officer Mike kept saying. (The
unusual circumstances helped us get quickly on a first- name basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed immediate sympathy for our plight
("I've had cats all my life," he said), also had an idea. Evidently we needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw, that could cut
through the heavy plastic flange encircling Rudy's neck without hurting Rudy. Officer Tom happened to own one. "I live just five minutes from
here," he said. "I'll go get it."
He soon returned, and the three of them--Rich and the two policemen--got under the sink together to cut through the garbage disposal. I sat on
the counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird middle-of-the-night lighting, the room's
occasional spinning, Lowell's spooky sound effects, an apparently headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs poking out from under it. One good thing
came of this: the guys did manage to get the bottom off the disposal, so we could now see Rudy's face and knew he could breathe. But they
couldn't cut the flange without risking the cat. Stumped. Officer Tom had another idea. "You know," he said, "I think the reason we
can't get him out is the angle of his head and body. (you can see where this is going, can't you?) "If we could just get the sink out," he
continued, "and lay it on its side, I'll bet we could slip him out."
That sounded like a good idea--at this point, ANYTHING would have sounded like a good idea--and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a plumbing
business on weekends; he knew how to take out the sink! Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs sticking out from under the sink, surrounded
by an ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts.
They cut the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines, unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes, and about an hour later,
voila! The sink was lifted gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the garbage disposal which contained Rudy's head) up close to the sink
(which contained Rudy's body). We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more favorable angle, Rudy stayed stuck. Officer Tom's radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real police business. As he was leaving, though, he had another good idea. "You know,"
he said, "I don't think we can get him out while he's struggling so much. We need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could slide him out."
And off he went, regretfully, a cat lover still worried about Rudy. The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy sedated was a good idea,
but Rich and I were new to the area. We knew that the overnight emergency veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we didn't know exactly
how to get there. "I know where it is!" declared Officer Mike. "Follow me!"
So Mike got into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver's seat of our car, and I got into the back, carrying the kitchen sink, what was left
of the garbage disposal, and Rudy. It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into the
garbage disposal to pet Rudy's face, hoping I could comfort him. Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow chomped down on my finger really hard and
wouldn't let go. My scream reflex kicked into gear. Rich slammed on the brakes, hollering "What? What happened? Should I stop?" "No," I managed to get out between screams, "just keep driving. Rudy's biting me, but we've got to get to the vet. Just go!" Rich turned his attention back to the road, where Officer Mike took a turn we hadn't expected, and we followed. After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park, in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets that didn't look at all familiar.
"Where's he taking us?" I asked. "We should have been there ten minutes ago!" Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew to do was follow
the police car until, finally, he pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next to him. As Rich rolled down the window to ask Officer
Mike, where are we going, the cop, who was not Mike, rolled down his window and asked, "Why are you following me?"
Once Rich and I recovered from our shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us
quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by holding open the door, exclaiming "Where were you guys???"
It was lucky that Mike got to the vet's ahead of us, because we hadn't thought to call and warn them about what was coming. (Clearly, by this
time we weren't really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen sink containing Rudy, and the garbage disposal containing his head, and the
clinic staff was ready. They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees) and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and the vet
declared, "This cat is in serious shock. We've got to sedate him and get him out of there immediately." When I asked if it was OK to sedate a
cat in shock, the vet said grimly, "We don't have a choice."
With that, he injected the cat. Rudy went limp and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K-Y jelly onto the cat's neck and pulled him free. Then
the whole team jumped into "code blue" mode. (I know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy on a cart where one person hooked up IV fluids,
another put little socks on his paws ("You'd be amazed how much heat they lose through their footpads," she said), one covered him with hot water
bottles and a blanket, and another took a blow-dryer to warm up Rudy's now very gunky head.
The fur on his head dried in stiff little spikes, making him look pathetically punk as he lay there, limp and motionless. At this point
they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back to life. I told Mike he didn't have to stay, but he
just stood there, shaking his head. "I've never seen anything like this," he said again and again.
At about 3 a.m., the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis was good for a full recovery. They needed to keep Rudy overnight to re-hydrate
him and give him something for the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all went well, we could take him home the following night. Just in time
to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed in, finished with his real police work and concerned about Rudy.
Rich and I got back home about 3:30. We hadn't unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently dizzy, and I still hadn't prepared for my 8:40
class. "I need a vacation," I said, and while I called the office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich made us a pitcher of martinis.
I slept late the next day and then badgered the vet about Rudy's condition until he said that Rudy could come home later that day. I was working
on the suitcases when the phone rang. "Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown Times-Herald," a voice said. "Listen, I was just going
through the police blotter from last night. Um, do you have a cat?" So I told Steve the whole story, which interested him immensely. A couple hours
later he called back to say that his editor was interested, too; did I have a picture of Rudy?
The next day Rudy was front-page news, under
the ridiculous headline "Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water."
There were some noteworthy repercussions to the newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred that I called 9-1-1 because I thought Rich, my
husband, was going into shock, although how he concluded this from my comment that "his pads were turning blue," I don't quite understand. So
the first thing I had to do was call Rich at work--Rich, who had worked tirelessly to free Rudy--and swear that I had been misquoted.
When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire about Rudy's health. When I called our
regular vet (whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, "Is this the famous Rudy's mother?" When
I took my car in for routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my mechanic, said, "We read about your cat. Is he OK?" When I called a
tree surgeon about my dying red oak, he asked if I knew the person on that street whose cat had been in the garbage disposal. And when I went to
get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat that got stuck in the garbage disposal.
Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy, which a 9-year-old neighbor had always called "the Adventure Cat" because he used to climb
on the roof of her house and peer in the second-story window at her. I don't know what the moral of this story is, but I do know that this
"adventure" cost me $1,100 in emergency vet bills, follow- up vet care, new sink, new plumbing, new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal--one with a
cover. The vet can no longer say he's seen everything but the kitchen sink.
I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was told that they couldn't accept
gifts, that I would put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds and sent individual thank
you notes to Tom and Mike, complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what he looks like with his head on.
And Rudy, whom we originally got for free (or so we thought), still sleeps with me-under the covers on cold nights, and, unaccountably, still
sometimes prowls the sink, hoping for fish.
Back to the short stories listing
I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body.
The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door.
I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." bodies never have pockets where you need them. Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away.
Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way!
Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B. The black velvet caftan.
I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store; the scented shower gel; the body building, and highlighting shampoo conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads. Then the makeup: the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-dayface-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow...But first, the roll-on facial hair remover.
I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
OK - time to get ready...I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped,lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed,scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will looklike a baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing,ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled withhelium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied,hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook,caterpillar crawled, and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest,too. The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper butt?" Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees. But I was firm! Oh no, I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch.
From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the sales lady said to do.
I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn-straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups."
Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down...but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy.I bounced up, and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination. Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled. Yes, Houston, we have lift up! My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest.And I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my panty hose, and shoes.Oh... why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.
Back to the short stories listing
Gold, Common Sense & Fur?
My husband and I had been happily (most of the time)
married for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby.
I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that
if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with his word as my guide.
God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son.
The next year God blessed us with another son. The
following year, he blessed us with yet another son. The
year after that we were blessed with a daughter.
My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.
I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."
I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint him.
I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks.
I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs.
When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess.
In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.
While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother - I didn't even come close - I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God.
I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too.
Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."
My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man.
This was their moment to shine. My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he was
nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes."
My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes."
A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.
I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.
My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur."
The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.
"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," Father Brian laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and
"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin.
Back to the short stories listing
Heaven Or Hell?
One day, while walking down the street a highly successful HR Director
was tragically hit by a bus, and she died. Her soul arrived up in
heaven where she was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself.
"Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you get settled in
though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've
never once had a Human Resources Director make it this far, and we're
not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to," replied St. Peter, "but I have higher orders.
What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in
Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven",
said the woman.
"Sorry, we have rules..." And with that St. Peter put the executive
in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened,
and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a
beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club, and
standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that
she had worked with - and they were all dressed in evening gowns and
cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they
talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf, and
at night went to the country club, where she enjoyed an excellent
steak and lobster dinner. She met the Devil, who was actually a
really nice guy (kinda cute) and she had a great time telling jokes
and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it,
it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as
she got on the elevator.
The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates, and
she found St. Peter waiting for her. "Now it's time to spend a day in
heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on
clouds and playing the harp and singing. She had a great time, and
before she knew it, her 24 hours were up and St. Peter came and got
"So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now
you must choose your eternity," he said.
The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought
I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I
think I had a better time in Hell." So St. Peter escorted her to the
elevator and again she went down-down-down back to Hell.
When the doors of the elevator opened, she found herself standing in a
desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends
were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in
sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and
there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we
danced and had a great time. Now, all there is is a wasteland of
garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled. "Yesterday, we were recruiting you, today you're staff!"
Back to the short stories listing
Sword And The Dragon.
Merlin, Inc. technical support. How can I help you?"
"Yesterday I've bought your sword..."
"Congratulations, sir, you've made the right choice!"
"It doesn't work."
"What does it mean - doesn't work?"
"It doesn't cut the dragon's head."
"Have you read the manual, sir?"
"A noble knight have not to know how to read! But my armour-bearer has read it for me aloud twice."
"Well, sir. Have you taken the sword out of the sheath?"
"Is that really so? Check it again, please."
"I've done it, I say to you!" "
Okay, sir. Now check the edge sharpness."
"You shouldn't do it with your finger, sir."
"What thinger? I've done it with my phongue! I always check a sharp flavour of my dishes like that."
"You see, sir, a sword has a bit different construction than your dinner dishes. The term 'sharp' means here..."
"I'm not obliged to know you technical terms! I'm a user, not a hardware specialist. You'd better answer why doesn't it work!"
"Did it work before?"
"I don't know, I've bought it only yesterday!"
"Okay,sir. Have you done anything with it?"
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I only took it out of the sheath."
"Did you try to grind it yourself?"
"You know better, sir. Maybe you tried to install new spells on it?"
"No, I use the default ones, which are supplied with the sword!"
"Maybe it's the spoiling, sir? How long ago have you updated your holy water?"
"I've downloaded the fresh version only two days ago!"
"I see, sir. Then look if there are unscreened sources of black magic nearby. They may create hindrances for the sword."
"What sources?! I'm in the desert!"
"Don't be so nervous, sir."
"I'm not nervous!"
"Then why do you pant?"
"Because the dragon is chasing me!"
"Oh, so the dragon is near you?"
"Yes, genius, he is already QUITE near!"
"Excellent, sir! Give him the receiver."
"And what if he bites my arm off?"
"Sorry, sir, but medical issues are beyond our competence."
"Next time I'll buy a sword of Morgana, Ltd.!"
"Well... okay, sir. Describe at least how the dragon looks."
"Well, he is such... yellow... with a red moustache..."
"It's clear now. You should begin with it. It's anon-licensed dragon, a Chinese counterfeit."
"Read the license agreement, sir. Merlin, Inc.doesn't guarantee any compatibility with non-certified devices."
"And what shall I do?"
"Don't use cheap no-name dragons anymore, sir."
"Looks like HE is going to use me right now! Aaagh!No!
"Sir? Sir, are you okay?... Well, in any case,Merlin, Inc. thanks you for your business."
Back to the short stories listing
The Witch And The Knight.
Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him, but was moved by Arthur's youthful happiness. So he offered him freedom, as long as he could
answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if, after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.
The question was: What do women really want?
Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. Well, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.
He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everybody: the princess, the prostitutes, the priests, the wise men, the court jester. In all, he spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. What most people did tell him was to consult the old witch, as only she would know the answer. The price would be high, since the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.
The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no alternative but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer his question, but he'd have to accept her price
first: The old witch wanted to marry Gawain, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend! Young Arthur was horrified! She was hunchbacked and awfully hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage water, often made obscene noises...etc. He had never run across such a repugnant creature. He refused to force his friend to marry her and have to endure such a burden.
Gawain, upon learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He told him
that nothing was too big a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table. Hence, their wedding was proclaimed, and the witch answered Arthur's question: What a woman really wants is to be able to be in charge of her own life.
Everyone instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared. And so it went. The neighboring monarch spared Arthur's life and granted him total freedom. What a wedding Gawain and the witch had! Arthur was torn between relief and anguish. Gawain was proper as always, gentle and courteous. The old witch put her worst manners on display, and generally made everyone very uncomfortable.
The wedding night approached: Gawain, steeling himself for a horrific night, entered the bedroom. What a sight awaited! The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen lay before him! Gawain was astounded and asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she'd been a witch), half the time she would be her horrible, deformed self, and the other half, she would be her beautiful maiden self. which
would he want her to be during the day, and which during the night?
What a cruel question! Gawain began to think of his predicament: During the day a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his home, an old spooky witch? Or would he prefer having by day a hideous witch, but by night a beautiful woman to enjoy many intimate moments?
What would you do? What Gawain chose follows below, but don't read until you've made your own choice.
Noble Gawain replied that he would let her choose for herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time, because he had respected her and had let her be in charge of her own life.
What is the moral of this story?
The moral is that it doesn't matter if your woman is pretty or ugly, underneath it all, she's still a witch---and don't you forget it!
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This is war!
The Cajuns heard that Saddam Hussein was going to help Osama bin Laden and they decided This is WAR!!
Saddam Hussein was sitting in his bunker when his telephone rang.
"Hallo! Mr. Hussein," a heavily accented voice said."This is Boudreaux down at the Fred's lounge in Mamou,Looziannah. I'm callin' to told you we be officially declarin' war on you!"
"Well, Boudreaux, Saddam replied, "This is indeed important news! How big is your army?"
"Rat now," said Boudreaux, (hesitating) "there is me,my cousin Thibedeaux, my nex door neighbor Justain, and the whole bunch from the bar. That makes us eight!"
Saddam paused. "I must tell you, Boudreaux, that I have one million men in my army waiting to move on my command."
"Woo-eee!" said Boudreaux. "I gots to call you back later!"
Sure enough, the next day, Boudreaux called again.
"Mr. Hussein, the war is still on! We got us some war equipment!"
"And what equipment would that be, Boudreaux?" Saddam asked.
"Well, we got us two combines, a dozer, and a farmtractor."
Saddam sighed. "I must tell you, Boudreaux, that I have 16,000 tanks and 14,000 armoured personnel carriers. Also,I've increased my army to 1-1/2 million since we last spoke."
"E-yiee!" said Boudreaux. "I gots to get back to you later."
Sure enough, Boudreaux rang again the next day. "Mr.Hussein, da war still be on! We got ourselves some airborne!We've took Marcell's utra-light glider an we put us a shotgun in the cockpit, and Hebert gots out of jail today and he is gonnajoin our army too!"
Saddam was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. "I must tell you, Boudreaux, that I have 10,000 bombers and 20,000 fighter planes. My military complex is surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I've increased my army to TWO MILLION!"
"Ah-yie-yie!", screams Boudreaux, "I gots ta call youback later."
Sure enough, Boudreaux calls again the next day.
"Bon jour, Sad-damn! I so sorry I gots to toll you we is callin' off dis war."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Saddam. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
"Well," said Boudreaux, we all had a long talk at the bar and Sheriff Broussard he say no way he's gonna feed no two million prisoners."
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This Little Piggy!
A homeless man stops at a farmhouse to beg to spend the night. The farmer answers the door and says "Sure, we can put you up."
The vagrant washes up for dinner and meets the family downstairs. Sitting at the dinner table are the farmer,
his wife, their son, and a gigantic pig
who is sitting at the table like a human.
Throughout the meal the vagrant tries not to stare at the pig, who sports three medals around his neck, as well as a wooden leg.
Finally, he can contain his curiosity no longer. He asks "Would you mind telling me about the bronze medal around your pig's neck?"
The farmer says "Sure. It's really an incredible story. Little Timmy here was swimming in the lake
when he got a cramp and started to drown.
This pig heard his cries for help, busted out of his pen,
ran to the lake, and saved our son's life.
So, we gave him the medal."
The vagrant is amazed and says "Well, how about that silver medal?"
The farmer says "A few months ago our house caught fire in the middle
of the night while we were all sleeping. This pig saw the flames, busted out of his pen and ran into the house, waking us up in time. To show our gratitude we gave him that silver medal."
The homeless man says "While I'm at it, I might as well ask you about the gold medal."
The farmer says "My wife was attacked by a burglar several weeks ago. This pig heard her cries, busted out of his pen, and chased that man far away. To show my thanks I gave him that gold medal"
The homeless man sits in awe of the pig, who is blithely eating his meal with a knife and fork. He asks "What about the wooden leg?"
The farmer says, matter-of-factly,
"Well, you don't eat a pig like THAT all at once!"
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Voodoo! (Adult reading).
A businessman was getting ready to go on a long business trip. He knew his wife was a flirtatious sort with an extremely healthy sex drive, so he thought he'd buy her a little something to keep her occupied while he was gone.
He went to a store that sold sex toys and started to look around.
He thought about a life-sized sex doll, but that was too close to another man for him. He was browsing through the dildo's, looking for something special to please his wife, and started talking to the old man behind the counter. He explained his situation.
"Well, I don't really know of anything that will do the trick. We have vibrating dildos, special attachments, and so on, but I don't know of anything that will keep her occupied for weeks, except..." and he stopped.
"Except what?" the man asked.
"C'mon, tell me! I need something!"
"Well, sir, I don't usually mention this, but there is The Voodoo penis."
"So what's up with this Voodoo Penis?" he asked.
The old man reached under the counter, and pulled out a very old wooden box, carved with strange symbols and erotic images. He opened it, and there lay an ordinary-looking dildo.
The businessman laughed, and said "Big damn deal. It looks like every other dildo in this shop!"
The old man replied, "But you haven't seen what it'll do yet."
He pointed to a door and said "Voodoo Penis, the door." The Voodoo Penis miraculously rose out of its box, darted over to the door, and started pounding the keyhole. The whole door shook wildly with the vibrations, so much so that a crack began to form down the middle. Before the door split, the old man said "Voodoo Penis, return to box!" The Voodoo Penis stopped,levitated back to the box and lay there quiescent once more.
"I'll take it!" said the businessman.
The old man resisted, saying it wasn't for sale, but finally surrendered to $738 in cash and an imitation Rolex.
The guy took it home to his wife, told her it was a special dildo and that to use it, all she had to do was say "VoodooPenis, my crotch."
He left for his trip satisfied that things would be fine while he was gone. After he'd been gone a few days, his wife was unbearably horny. She thought of several people who would willingly satisfy her, but then she remembered theVoodoo Penis.
She undressed, opened the box and said, "VoodooPenis, my crotch!" The Voodoo Penis shot to her crotch an dstarted pumping.
It was absolutely incredible, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. After three mind-shattering orgasms, she became very exhausted and decided she'd had enough.
She tried to pull it out, but it was stuck in her,still thrusting. She tried and tried to get it out, but nothing worked. Her husband had forgotten to tell her how to shut it off.
Worried, she decided to go to the hospital to see if they could help. She put her clothes on, got in the car and started to drive, quivering with every thrust of the dildo. On the way, another incredible intense orgasm made her swerve all over the road.
A police officer saw this and immediately pulled her over. He asked for her license, and then asked how much she'd had to drink.
Gasping and twitching, she explained, "I haven't had anything to drink, officer. You see, I've got this Voodoo Penis thing stuck in my crotch and it won't stop screwing me!"
The officer looked at her for a second, shook his head and in an arrogant voice replied, "Yeah, right... Voodoo Penis,my ass!"
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A man reads in the paper of a white gorilla in a zoo far away.
He decides that he just must see it. The journey will be a long and arduous one but he simply cannot resist.
He sets out on his trip and travels by car to the docks, and catches a boat across a huge ocean. After weeks of sea travel he arrives at the other side and takes a train to the zoo.
When he sees the white gorilla he can't believe his eyes, it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He simply must get a closer look, so he goes to the zoo manager and begs to be allowed into the gorilla's cage.
After much arguing the man finally persuades the manager to let him in to the gorilla's cage, but before he does he tells the man that what ever he does he must not under any circumstances touch the white gorilla.
The man agrees and is led to the cage.
He tip-toes into the cage and is amazed, the gorilla is even more beautiful close up than it was from a distance.The white gorilla just sits quietly and looks at the man.After a while the man is getting used to being so close to the gorilla and it seems so peaceful and calm that he starts to think that there can't be any harm in touching the gorilla. He slowly moves closer and closer to it, all the time the whitegorilla just looks calmly at him. He reaches out his arm and gently touches the gorilla.
Just as his arm makes contact the gorilla jumps upand starts roaring. The man turns and runs to the exit, getting there just before the gorilla. He leaps through the door and the keepers slam the door just in time.
The gorilla, pulls at the door and to the mans horrorthe bars start to bend. The man runs out of the zoo and to the train station and jumps on the train, which as luck would have it is just leaving. He glances back and can see the gorilla chasing after the train, but not gaining on it.
The train arrives at the docks and the man quickly scampers aboard the boat. The boat leaves and the man thinks he's safe at last. He relaxes and starts to enjoy the leisurely cruise back across the ocean. The day they're due back in port he's walking on deck when he sees a small shape in the water trailing behind the boat. He can't make it out so he borrows a pair of binoculars from someone.
He focuses the binoculars on the small shape and is horrified to discover that it's the white gorilla, swimming behind the boat. It must have been there all along.
The boat then arrives in port and the man hurries through customs and rushes to his car. He drives off just in time to see the gorilla climbing out of the ocean from his rear view mirror. He drives as fast as he can to his house and runs in locking the door behind him. All the time being followed by the huge white gorilla.
The gorilla starts pounding on the door and having seen what it did to the cage at the zoo the man knows it won't take it very long to get in. He runs from room to room trying to think of a place he can hide.
He hears the door shatter and dives into a wardrobe and pulls the door closed behind him. Outside the gorilla is going mad trying to find the man, he's ripping things up and tearing out doors. Finally he comes to the wardrobe the man is hiding in and rips the door off. The gorilla sees the man and smiles, reaches out a massive hand and gently touches the man and says "Tag, you're it!!!"
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