₦airaland Forum

they really don't! i can't tell you how many times i tell my man to stop and he never does, sometimes they are worse than kids!

don't talk to bird[i][/i][color=#006600][/color]
Wanda's dishwasher quit working so she called a repairman. Since she had to work the next day, she told the repairman, "I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you a cheque, Oh, by the way don't worry about my bulldog, Spike. He won't bother you. But, whatever you do, do NOT under ANY circumstances, talk to my parrot!" "I REPEAT, DO NOT TALK TO MY PARROT!!"

When the repairman arrived at Wanda's apartment the following day, he discovered the biggest, meanest-looking bulldog he has ever seen. But, just as she had said, the dog just lay there watching the repairman go about his work. The parrot, however, drove him nuts the whole time with it's incessant yelling, cursing, and name calling.

Finally the repairman coun't contain himself any longer and yelled, "SHUT UP, YOU STUPID UGLY BIRD!"

To which the parrot replied: "Get him Spike!"

What a surprise, since when do men listen

Where's my wife? [color=#000099][/color]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two guys, one old timer and one young, are pushing their trolleys around Bunnings when they collide.

The old timer says to the young guy, 'Sorry about that. I'm looking for my wife, and I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.

'The young guy says, 'That's OK. It's a coincidence. I'm looking for my wife, too. I can't find her and I'm getting a little desperate.'

The old guy says, 'Well, maybe we can help each other. What does your wife look like?'

The young guy says, 'Well, she is 24 yrs old, tall, with long hair, big blue eyes, long legs, big boobs, and she's wearing tight white shorts, a halter top and no bra. 'What does your wife look like?'

The old timer says, 'Doesn't matter --- let's look for yours.


huh, men will always be men no matter their age.

Hot and Cold sex[color=#990000][/color]


After his exam, the doctor said to the elderly man: 'You appear to be in good health. Do you have any medical concerns you would like to ask me about?'
'In fact, I do.' said the old man. 'After I have sex, I am usually cold and chilly; and then, after I have sex with her the second time, I am usually hot and sweaty.'

After examining his elderly wife, the doctor said: 'Everything appears to be fine Do you have any medical concerns that you would like to discuss with me?'

The lady replied that she had no questions or concerns. The doctor then said to her: 'Your husband had an unusual concern. He claims that he is usually cold and chilly after having sex with you the first time; and then hot and sweaty after the second time. Do you know why?'
'Oh, that crazy old fart!' she replied. 'That's because the first time is usually in August, and the second time is in January'

Talking Clock.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Young Mattie was proud as punch of his new flat, and brought home his new girlfriend after a night on the tiles. He gave her a tour of the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the laundry, and finally his bedroom. Hanging above his bed was a giant brass gong, which left the girl a little puzzled.
' Matt what's with the big gong on the wall?' she said.
' That's not just a gong,' Mattie replied, it's a talking clock!'
And with that he took a big sweep with a hammer and,
GOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGG!
The noise reverberated around the tiny flat, and then a furious rapping came from the neighbouring flat.
' For Christ's sake!' the muffled voice fumed, it's bloody two o'clock in the morning!'
__________________

Anyone a member of facebook.com? It is like a forum for text messaging and getting to know you , wonderful people.

if u are a member, let's discuss about the application you loved most on your page.

let's relateeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Where'd You Meet Your Man?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I met my man at a jambite's nite party! Unusual i know,

fallimg in love

How long does it take you to fall in love? I'm sure it varies according to who you're with, but roughly,  days, months, years?

SISTERS - How do you get on?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My sissy is the most beautiful woman on earth. I just wanted to acknowledge how much i value her and how i am so glad she is in my life.

She rings me every morning on the way to work, just to share the day, just to be close. We see each other on the most important occasions and she often pops over after work. When she has a day off work, we meet up, and meet somewhere, for lunch, or for a drink, and i love that.

We were parted at a young age, i was 12, she was 18, and we didn't reunite for another 14 years. Even then we lived at a distance. In the last 3 years, for the first time in our lives, we've lived close.

She's never been married, but has had one daughter, and is very much a career woman, but somehow we've always had tracks leading to the same playground. We have always shared our lives and our secrets, even at a distance, and i feel so lucky to now live near her and know she's 'there'.

One day i'd love it if she found a man who is perfect for her. She's happy. And she has her cats! I hope she can grow old with someone special becaause she is speacial in her own way. She deserves it, she's so gorgeous and hard working!

Anyway, just wanted to say how much i love my sister and wondered if anyone else had sister's they feel the same way about.

How do you get on with your sister?

yep, very crazy indeed

okay

This has happened to all of us women, read on.

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.

Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.

That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there.

So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck. (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!). You yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance" Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -
not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get,"

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.

At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"


This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest you've got to be kidding!!).


It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door.

This has happened to all of us women, read on.

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.

Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.

That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there.

So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck. (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!). You yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance" Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -
not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get,"

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.

At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"


This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest you've got to be kidding!!).


It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door.

This has happened to all of us women, read on.

My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms. When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat.

Then she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.

That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more "mature years, "The Stance" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there.

So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

The dispenser for the new fangled "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck. (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!). You yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance" Ahhhh, relief. But then your thighs begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -
not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get,"

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.

At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how too operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged at this point, no longer able to smile politely.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"


This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest you've got to be kidding!!).


It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Dear KEMMY,


I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact.

In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.

Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says: "There's no one like you, Connie." I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close.

Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before.

I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking,

"Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean?

Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a intimacy gadget."

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is.

LOVE,   TUNNDYYYYYYYYYYY

HUSBAND FOR SALE[color=#000099][/color]


A store that sells new husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband.
Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates.

You may visit the store ONLY ONCE! There are six floors
and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper
ascends the flights.

There is, however, a catch: you may choose any man from
a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband.

On the first floor the sign on the door reads Floor 1 - These men have jobs.

The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 - These men have jobs
and love kids.

The third floor sign reads: Floor 3 - These men have jobs,love kids, and are extremely good looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads Floor 4 -These
men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework.

"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!"

Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads: Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads: Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor.
There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store

ADAM AND EVE

A Briton, a Frenchman and a Russian are viewing a painting
of Adam and Eve frolicking in the Garden of Eden.
"Look at their reserve, their calm," muses the Brit.
"They must be British."
"Nonsense," the Frenchman disagrees. "They're naked, and so
beautiful. Clearly, they are French."
"No clothes, no shelter," the Russian points out,
"they have only an apple to eat, and they're being told this
is paradise. They are Russian."

I'm in the 2%

At the end of this message, you are asked a question.



Answer it immediately. Don't stop and think about it.



Just say the first thing that pops into your mind.



This is a fun "test",  AND kind of spooky at the same time! Give it a try,
then e-mail it around and you'll see how many people you know fall into the same percentage as you. Be sure to put in the subject line if you are among the 98% or the 2%. You'll understand what that means after you finish taking the "test".

Now,  just follow the instructions as quickly as possible.


Do not go to the next calculation before you have finished the previous
one,



You do not ever need to write or remember the answers, just do it using your
mind.



You'll be surprised.



Start:



How much is:



15 + 6































3 + 56























89 + 2































12 + 53



































75 + 26







































25 + 52



































63 + 32







































I know! Calculations are hard work, but it's! nearly over,





Come on, one more! ,



























123 + 5



























QUICK! THINK ABOUT A COLOR AND A TOOL!





































Scroll further to the bottom,















































A bit more,





















You just thought about a red hammer didn't you?

If this is not your answer, you are among 2% of people who have a different,
if not abnormal, mind.

98% of the folks would answer a red hammer while doing this exercise.


I (FunniGurl) said Red Drill, *lol* I guess I'm abnormal! course you already knew that!

Be sure to put in the subject line if you are among the 98% or the 2% and

WOMEN'S BEST FRIEND


Emily came home from school one day, and as her mother was preparing supper,Emily was asking questions about sex and how babys were made,mother explained that a mans penis enters the womans vagina and they make love,and 9 months later a baby is born, Emily looked a little puzzled and mom asks whats wrong, Emily says well umm a i saw you with daddys penis in your mouth what do you get then??
mom smiles and says diamonds hunny diamonds

b]MEN ARE LIKE------------------[/b][/color]


[color=#990000]1. Men are like , Laxatives , They irritate the crap out of you.

2. Men are like .Bananas , The older they get, the less firm they are.

3. Men are like , Weather , Nothing can be done to change them.


4. Men are like Blenders , You need One, but you're not quite sure why.

5. Men are like Chocolate Bars , Sweet, smooth, &they usually head right for your hips.

6. Men are like Commercials , You can't believe a word they say.

7. Men are like Department Stores , Their clothes are always 1/2 off.

8. Men are like , Government Bonds , They take soooooooo long to mature.

9. Men are like , Mascara They usually run at the first sign of emotion.

10. Men are like , Popcorn , They satisfy you, but only for a little while.

11. Men are like Snowstorms , You never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get or how long it will last.
12. Men are like , Lava Lamps , Fun to look at, but not very bright.

13. Men are like , Parking Spots , All the good ones are taken, the rest are handicapped.

MEN ARE LIKE------------------[color=#770077][/color]


1. Men are like , Laxatives , They irritate the crap out of you.
2. Men are like .Bananas , The older they get, the less firm they are.
3. Men are like , Weather , Nothing can be done to change them.
4. Men are like Blenders , You need One, but you're not quite sure why.
5. Men are like Chocolate Bars , Sweet, smooth, &they usually head right for your hips.
6. Men are like Commercials , You can't believe a word they say.
7. Men are like Department Stores , Their clothes are always 1/2 off.
8. Men are like , Government Bonds , They take soooooooo long to mature.
9. Men are like , Mascara They usually run at the first sign of emotion.
10. Men are like , Popcorn , They satisfy you, but only for a little while.
11. Men are like Snowstorms , You never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get or how long it will last.
12. Men are like , Lava Lamps , Fun to look at, but not very bright.
13. Men are like , Parking Spots , All the good ones are taken, the rest are handicapped.

HARRY MET SANDY[color=#006600][/color]


Harry met Sandy at a nightclub one evening, and she finally invited him back to her apartment to spend the night. Her roommate was out of town, so this was the perfect opportunity.

The couple went back to her house, and after a few minutes the pair proceeded into Sandy's bedroom. When Harry walked through the door he immediately noticed all of these stuffed animals.

There were hundreds of them - stuffed toys on top of the wardrobe, stuffed toys on the bookshelf and stuffed toys on the window sill. There were more on the floor, and of course, stuffed toys all over the bed.

They cleared off the bed, jumped in, and went at it. Later, after the sex, Harry turned to Sandy and asked, "Well , How was I?"

Sandy replied, "Well, you can pick anything from the bottom shelf."

WHAT IS AN IDIOT[color=#770077][/color]

Son: Dad, what is an idiot?
Dad: An idiot is a person who tries to explain his ideas in such a strange and long way that another person who is listening to him can't understand him. Do you understand me?
Son: No.

maybe they are teasing you@infobaba

thanks

e yahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

may his gentle soul rest in perfect peace

Cinderella - what really happened [color=#770077][/color]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cinderella wants to go to the ball, but her wicked stepmother won't let her. As Cinderella sits crying in the garden, her fairy godmother appears, and promises to provide Cinderella with everything she needs to go to the ball, but only on two conditions. "First, you must wear a diaphragm." Cinderella agrees.

"What's the second condition?" "You must be home by 2 a.m. Any later, and your diaphragm will turn into a pumpkin." Cinderella agrees to be home by 2 a.m.

The appointed hour comes and goes, and Cinderella doesn't show up. Finally, at 5 a.m., Cinderella shows up, looking love-struck and **very** satisfied.

"Where have you been?" demands the fairy godmother. "Your diaphragm was supposed to turn into a pumpkin three hours ago!!!"

"I met a prince, Fairy Godmother. He took care of everything."

"I know of no prince with that kind of power! Tell me his name!"

"I can't remember, exactly, Peter Peter,something or other, "

tRoOE:
[size=13pt]Second that comment

@topic
Like the saying goes " A friend is someone you called at any hour and talk without any thought of time in your mind. Similarly, whenever you need support, you will call a very good friend and ask him/her to help you out. he/she expect the same from you. We speak about everything in our mind without worrying about what our friends"

I only have one bestfriend apart from my husband
she's one in a million, it very rare having/finding a friend like that.
We might be million miles away from each other, but she's always in my heart
she's truly a friend indeed
[/size]

i agreed with u