Wednesday

HOW DOGS AND MEN ARE THE SAME:

1. Both take up too much space on the bed.
2. Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning.
3. Both mark their territory.
4. Neither tells you what's bothering them.
5. The smaller ones tend to be more nervous.
6. Both have an inordinate fascination with women's crotches.
7. Neither does any dishes.
8. Both fart shamelessly.
9. Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut.
10. Both like dominance games.
11. Both are suspicious of the postman.
12. Neither understands what you see in cats.

A man in a bar sees a friend at a table, drinking by himself. Approaching the friend, he comments, "You look terrible. What's the problem?"

"My mother died in June," he said, "and left me $10,000."

"Gee, that's tough," he replied.

"Then in July," the friend continued, "my father died, leaving me $50,000."

"Wow, two parents gone in two months. No wonder you're depressed."

"And last month my aunt died, and left me $15,000."

"Three close family members lost in three months??? How sad!!!"

"Then this month,..." continued the friend, "nothing! Not a single dime!"

"Nowadays, a balanced diet is when every McNugget weighs the same!"

You know that all potatoes have eyes. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Potato had eyes for each other, and finally they got married, and had a little sweet potato, whom they called 'Yam.'

Of course, they wanted the best for Yam. When it was time, they told her about the facts of life. They warned her about going out and getting half-baked, so she wouldn't get accidentally mashed and get a bad name for herself like 'Hot Potato,' and end up with a bunch of Tater Tots.

Yam said not to worry, no Spud would get her into the sack and make a rotten potato out of her! But on the other hand she wouldn't stay home and become a Couch Potato, either. She would get plenty of exercise so as not to be skinny like her Shoestring cousins.

When she went off to Europe, Mr. and Mrs. Potato told Yam to watch out for the Hard Boiled guys from Ireland. And the greasy guys from France called the French Fries. And when she went out west, to watch out for the Indians so she wouldn't get scalloped.

Yam said she would stay on the straight and narrow and wouldn't associate with those high class Yukon Golds, or the ones from the other side of the tracks who advertise their trade on all the trucks that say, 'Frito Lay.'

Mr. and Mrs. Potato sent Yam to Idaho P.U. (that's Potato University) so that when she graduated she'd really be in the Chips. But in spite of all they did for her, one day Yam came home and announced she was going to marry Tom Brokaw.

Tom Brokaw! Mr. and Mrs. Potato were very upset. They told Yam she couldn't possibly marry Tom Brokaw because he's just a...

Are you ready for this?

A Common Tater!

I cannot believe that my boyfriend e-mailed everyone and told them that I farted in his bed, but now that the cat is out of the bag (so to speak), what the heck:

I ADMIT IT! I FARTED IN HIS BED!

So what??? First of all.... He started it! And I can't think of a single reason why I shouldn't stand up to him. I knew damned well that he was deliberately trying to gross me out. I wasn't completely sure at first, but when he began flapping the sheets up my nose, I got the clue.

So it wasn't really my fault that he thrust this situation upon me, and I had to consider my options quickly.

I could've said nothing, but then he would've felt free to continue his abusive and repulsive behavior for the rest of my life.

I could've complained or maybe I could've started up some of that wonderful fake crying that we women are so good at. Normally, this is what I would've done. I can pretty much start crying whenever I feel like it, and my boyfriend falls for it every time. (Sucker!)

But,.... I still had one other option: Fight fire with fire!

It just so happens that I had some deviled eggs at a party a few hours earlier, and it was especially good timing for me if I chose to take him on at his own farting game.

Well, everybody already knows which option I chose, and I not ashamed (a bit embarrassed maybe, but not ashamed). And I think it might even be a fitting end to the 20th century: Women got the suffrage, and Men got the suffering!

All in all, I'd have to say that farting in my boyfriend's bed worked out pretty well. I got to relieve some pressure (which always feels pretty nice), I helped to maintain "honesty" in our relationship, and I earned the respect of the most important man in my life.

So ladies,... let me leave you with this final bit of advice. Don't make the same mistake that I did. Don't wait for "The Whiff Test" to happen to you. The best defense is a strong offense. Go home tonight and lay a preemptive fart for that special man in your life! He'll be glad you did!

You might be a redneck if…

Your wheelbarrow breaks and it takes four relatives to figure out how to fix it.

I was living in the mountains above Denver when my college buddy, Gary, arrived in his ancient Maserati sports car. He had just driven it from Ohio, and as he pulled into my driveway, the car broke down.

Calls to auto-supply houses and garages in search of replacement parts proved futile. The 1962 model was simply too rare. Responses ranged from "Mas-a-what?" to "You've got to be kidding." One guy just laughed.

I was at the end of the listings in the Yellow Pages when I dialed Victor's Garage. "Vic," I said, "you're my last hope. Do you carry any parts for a 1962 Maserati?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Victor cleared his throat. "Yes," he replied. "Oil."

Joe Smith started the day early, having set his alarm clock (made in Japan), for 600 A.M. While his coffee pot (made in Japan), is perking, he puts his blow dryer (made in Taiwan) to work and shaves with his electric razor (made in Hong Kong). He puts on a dress shirt (made in Taiwan), his designer jeans (made in Singapore), and a pair of tennis shoes (made in Korea).

After cooking up some breakfast in his new electric skillet (made in Philippines), he sits down to figure out on his calculator (made in Mexico), how much he can spend today. After setting his watch (made in Switzerland), to the radio (made in Hong Kong), he goes out, gets in his car (made in Germany), goes looking as he has been for months, for a good paying American job.

After the end of another discouraging and fruitless day, Joe decides to relax for a while. He puts on a pair of sandals (made in Brazil), pours himself a glass of wine (made in France), and turns on his TV (made in Japan), and ponders again why he can't find a good paying American job.