I'll post one later sorry... too tired right now...

That's not very funny :hihi:

'Sort of' is such a harmless thing to say. Sort of. It's just a filler. Sort of - it doesn't really mean anything. But after certain things, sort of means everything. Like after "I love you" or "You're going to live."

Demetri Martin.

:tongue: well ok here's one I think this one is funny :hihi:
Why men die first

If you put a woman on a pedestal and try to protect her from the rat race . . . you're a male

chauvinist.

If you stay home and do the housework...you're a pansy.

If you work too hard . . . there's never any time for her.

If you don't work enough . . . you're a good-for-nothing bum.

If she has a boring repetitive job with low pay this is exploitation.

If you have a boring repetitive job with low pay . . . you should get off your lazy behind and find something better.

If you cry ... you're a wimp.

If you don't ... you're an insensitive bastard.

If you make a decision without consulting her . . . you're a chauvinist.

If she makes a decision without consulting you . . . she's a liberated woman.

If you ask her to do something she doesn't enjoy . . . that's domination.

If SHE asks you . . . it's a favor.

If you appreciate the female form and frilly underwear . . . you're a pervert.

If you don't . . . you're gay.

If you like a woman to shave her legs and keep in shape . . . you're sexist.

If you don't . . . you're unromantic.

If you try to keep yourself in shape . . . you're vain.

If you don't . . . you're a slob.

If you buy her flowers . . . you're after something.

If you don't . . . you're not thoughtful.

If you're proud of your achievements . . . you're full of yourself.

If you're not . . . you're not ambitious.

If she has a headache . . . she's tired.

If you have a headache . . . you don't love her anymore

If you want it too often . . . you're oversexed.

If you don't . . . there must be someone else.


MEN DIE FIRST..... BECAUSE THEY WANT TO!

Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining a candlelight vigil
by his side. She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face.
Her praying roused him from his slumber; He looked up and his pale
lips began to move slightly.

"Becky my darling" he whispered.

"Hush my love," she said. "Rest, don't talk."

He was insistent, "Becky," he said in his tired voice, "I have
something that I must confess."

"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Becky, "Everything's
all right, go to sleep."

"No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I ... I slept with your sister,
your best friend, her best friend, and your mother."

"I know, sweetheart;" whispered Becky, "relax, let the poison work."