make someone laugh, pt 2

[Hannah]

So I go to the pharmacy to pick up my medications...this is a compounding MOM and POP pharmacy mind you, old dude asked me if I had been taking the generic 'flow max' regularity because 'usually young ladies don't take this medication' which is true,

but it works for my bladder issues...

Dude at the bottom who checks out people (and checks out people, females) got red as a turnip...

I laughed my rear off and walked out...

the older dude laughed as well...teenagers/young adults (I remember I used to care) I probably should care...

but I don't...

I just am the bus-ta capps hannah

[Parts]

Jesus and the apostles planing their marketing strategies

https://vimeo.com/118529138

[Graelwyn]

[Jack]

[skyblue1]

Exercise for the retired

 



Begin by standing  on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side.
With a 5-lb potato bag in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, and then relax. Each day you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.
After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb potato bags.
Then try 50-lb potato bags and then eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb potato bag in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute. ( I'm at this level. )
Once you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each bag.
 

[Graelwyn]

I found this story years ago, and it still has me in fits. Enjoy.

The Fart That Altered My Destiny

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?

That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized ...

My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.



The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it!  UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.

“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”

“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”

This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.

Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.

[renaeden]

I would probably die of embarrassment if that happened to me. Toilet time is private, no audience needed.

[Pyraxis]

[odeon]

Originally written in 1995.

This page contains a number of important programming truths that every budding programmer should know about. These truths are self-evident, and need no explanations.

If it compiles, it works.

If it compiles, it's correct.

If it runs, it doesn't have any bugs.

If it doesn't have any immediately obvious bugs, it's perfect.

If a bug doesn't show, it doesn't exist.

If it seems to work, it works.

Doing something right is easy. Avoiding errors only takes a bit of concentration.

The shorter the source code, the faster the program.

It's obvious how to optimize a program.

Prorammers don't make mistakes.

Run-time errors don't occur.

Users don't make mistakes.

I don't make mistakes.

Errors of any kind are rare.

Error handling can be done in version 2.

It's OK to crash on bad input.

It's OK to give incorrect output on bad input.

Portability isn't useful.

All the world's a VAX. Or, these days, an MS-DOS box

The length of the feature list is important.

Speed is good, features are better.

Slowness can be fixed in hardware.

The bigger a program is, the better it is.

Random changes to a program fix bugs.

Testing takes only a short while.

Finding bugs is easy. Fixing bugs is trivial.

Bug-fixes don't need to be tested.

Trivial changes of any kind don't need to be tested.

The first approach, idea, or version is always the best.

A 1% crash rate is actually pretty darn good.

Code is self-evident. Comments aren't needed.

Comments are meant for people other than the original author of the code.

Undocumented features are fun and useful.

It can always be fixed in the next version.

Surprised users are happy users.

Demonstrating for clients is the best debugging method.

[QuéOnda]

Anti-jokes:
In case you don't know, the basic idea of an anti-joke is that there is no joke.

What is black and white and red all over?
A pile of dead, mixed race babies.

How did the blonde die?
She got swallowed whole by a 1,000 foot scorpion.

What's the difference between a dead black person and a watermelon?
I don't have 50 watermelons buried in my backyard.

What's worse than 50 dead babies stapled to trees?
51 dead babies stapled to trees.

What's the difference between a Porsche and 1,000 dead babies?
When I see a Porsche on the street, I look at it and acknowledge that the person driving it is successful. When I see 1,000 dead babies on the street, I am horrified, retch, call the proper authorities to come remove the babies, try to stay away from the pile to avoid infection, and consider the horrible injustice of what just happened.

One day, Mister Bear was hungry. He went out to try and eat some berries, but they were prickly. "These berries are too ouchy," thought Mr. Bear. He then tried to get some honey, but the bees from the hive he was trying to eat from stung him. "This won't do either," thought Mr. Bear. Finally, he saw a cabin with an open door. "Maybe there's some food there," he thought; so he went in. What transpired next has been dubbed "The Alvarez Incident" in which an eight-foot grizzly bear attacked Mary Alvarez and her children. Mary screamed in horror as the bear bellowed with all his might and slashed her four-month old to death. Andrew, Mary's other son, screamed in terror as he watched his sister Emily get her face slashed up. Detectives on the scene retched in horror at the sight.

What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?
Being raped by a Triceratops.

What would Michael Jackson do on the Moon?
Suffocate and die.

What did the Catholic Priest do to the little boy?
He ate him. The Priest was actually Jefferey Dahmer.

How did Poor Miss Suzie get her little baby to stop crying?
She cut off its head, burned its body, and sacrificed its ashes to Satan in a bizarre Satanic ritual in which she had sex with a heifer. (Suzie was a Satanic Priestess.)

How many dead babies can you fit in a bathtub?
16 (Trust me, you can't squeeze the 17th in there.)

Roses are gray
violets are gray
I am colorblind
and suck at poetry.

Roses are red
Violets are red
Oh, shit, the garden is on fire!

[Pyraxis]

They may not be jokes, but some of them are funny.

[DirtDawg]

They may not be jokes, but some of them are funny.

Yep, but some are like:

"Cadet to base command, cadet to base command, OVER!"  CADET:  "We have found something. OVER!"    COMMAND:  "Come back, Cadet? Say again! You found something like what?  OVER!" 

Cadet:  EXACTLY LIKE THAT  OVER!! !! WHAT THE FUCK!!???!??!??!!!  OVER!"

[Gopher Gary]

Me and Sugarbutt say what the fuck, over, too. 

[QuéOnda]

They may not be jokes, but some of them are funny.

Yeah, that's the idea. The joke is there is no joke, but it's still funny.

[Gopher Gary]