The Monday Morning Mirth

Tag: God

  • The Retrosexual Man

    Please allow me to vent. I have had it. I’ve taken all I can stand and I can’t stand no more. Every time my TV is on, all that can be seen is effeminate men prancing about, Redecorating houses and talking about foreign concepts like "style" and "feng shui." Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, transsexual, metrosexual, non-sexual; blue, green, and purple-sexual…

    Real men of the world, stand up, scratch your arse, burp, and yell "ENOUGH!" I hereby announce the start of a new offensive in the culture Wars, the Retrosexual movement. "

    The Code:

    A Retrosexual man, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.

    A Retrosexual DEALS with IT, be it a flat tyre, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you DEAL WITH IT.

    A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.

    A Retrosexual doesn’t worry about living to be 90. It’s not how long you live, but how well. If you’re 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you. If you are still having sex, you are a God.

    A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need deodorant and shaving gear – that’s it!!

    A Retrosexual does not dress like a homeboy with baggy pants that look like he’s shat himself, or with a gay chain from pocket to pocket. If wearing a hat, wear it correctly – not on the side like a faggot. Blokes and necklaces (unless you are an Australian fast bowler) are out!

    A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.

    A Retrosexual watches no TV show with "Queer" in the title.

    A Retrosexual does not let neighbours screw up rooms in his house on national TV.

    A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women. Some is inevitable, but major reinvention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a handbag carrying little puss, and in the long run, she ain’t worth it.

    A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak BBQ accident, favourite sports team being moved to a different city, favourite dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn’t pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.

    A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.

    A Retrosexual knows how to tie a Windsor knot when wearing a tie — and ONLY a Windsor knot.

    A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting. This does not include males who have had cosmetic surgery.

    A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can’t hammer a nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can — or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you are.

    A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it’s just plain fun to fire one off in the direction of those people or things that just need a little "wakin’ up".

    Crying. There are very few reasons that a Retrosexual may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials, movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a Retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet (fish do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part, or loss of major body part on your Holden ute.

    When a Retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, heck, any woman gets on, that retrosexual stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so-called men still in their seats with a disgusted "you rude pricks" look on his face.

    A Retrosexual will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness, in that they offset the acceptable manliness decline he suffers when married/engaged or in a serious healthy relationship – i.e., hunting, boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance and drinking piss with the boys.

    A Retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.

    A Retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he bloody well wanted it to land. Except on his ute–that would happen because of a "force of nature", and then the retrosexual man’s options are to Cry, or to DEAL with IT, or do both.

    A Retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person or person in military dress (except 2nd Lt’s) NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the Retrosexual man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.

    A Retrosexual man doesn’t need a contract — a handshake is good enough.

    A Retrosexual man doesn’t immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself. We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT!

  • The Preacher’s Expanding Family

    There was a preacher whose wife was expecting a baby. The preacher went to the congregation and asked for a raise. After much consideration and discussion, they passed a rule that whenever the preacher’s family expanded, so would his pay check.

    After 6 children, this started to get expensive and the congregation decided to hold another meeting to discuss the preacher’s pay. There was much yelling and bickering about how much the clergyman’s additional children were costing the church.

    Finally, the preacher got up and spoke to the crowd, "having children is an act of God!" Silence fell on the congregation.

    In the back of the room, a little old man stood up and in his frail voice said …. "snow and rain are also acts of God, but when we get too much, we wear rubbers."

  • Surrogate Fathering

    The Smiths were unable to conceive children, and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I’m off. The man should be here soon".
    Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning madam. I’ve come to ……"
    "Oh, no need to explain. I’ve been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in.
    "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good! I’ve made a specialty of babies."
    "That’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat. After a moment she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"
    "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun, too — you can really spread out!"
    "Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work for Harry and me."
    "Well, madam, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results."
    "My, that’s a lot of ……" gasped Mrs. Smith.
    "Madam, in my line of work, a man must take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but you’d be disappointed with that, I’m sure."
    "Don’t I know it," Mrs. Smith said quietly.
    The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. "This was done on the top of a bus."
    "Oh, my God!!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed, tugging at her handkerchief.
    "And these twins turned out exceptionally well — when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with."
    "She was difficult?" asked Mrs. Smith.
    "Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep, pushing to get a good look."
    "Four and five deep?" asked Mrs. Smith, eyes widened in amazement.
    "Yes", the photographer said. "And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling I could hardly concentrate. Then darkness approached and I began to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just packed it all in."
    Mrs. Smith leaned forward. "You mean they actually chewed on your um… equipment?"
    "That’s right. Well madam, if you’re ready, I’ll set up my tripod so that we can get to work."
    "Tripod??"
    "Oh yes, I have to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big for me to hold very long. Madam? Madam? — Good Lord, she’s fainted!"

  • Ode to Australians

    WE, the people of a free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional wanker. We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand) and although we live in the best country in the world, we reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like. We are One Nation but we’re divided into many States.

    First, there’s Victoria, named after a queen who didn’t believe in lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtlenecks, cafe latte, grand-final day and big horse races. Its capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that "it’s liveable". At least that’s what they think. The rest of us think it is too bloody cold and wet.

    Next, there’s NSW, the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing queens. Its capital Sydney has more queens than any other city in the world and is proud of it. Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks to keep the left and right sides of their brains separate.

    Down south we have Tasmania, a State based on the notion that the family that bonks together stays together. In Tassie, everyone gets an extra chromosome at conception. Maps of the State bring smiles to the sternest faces. It holds the world record for a single mass shooting, which the Yanks can’t seem to beat no matter how often they try.

    South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of foreigners and bizarre axe murders. SA is the state of innovation. Where else can you so effectively re-use country bank vaults and barrels as in Snowtown, just out of Adelaide (also named after a queen). They had the Grand Prix, but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the wheel.

    Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevant. It’s main claim to fame is that it doesn’t have daylight saving because if it did, all the men would get erections on the bus on the way to work. WA was the last state to stop importing convicts and many of them still work there in the government and business.

    The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep stations the size of Europe, Kangaroos, Jackaroos, Emus, Uluru and dusty kids with big smiles. It also has the highest beer consumption of anywhere on the planet and its creek beds have the highest aluminium content of anywhere too. Although the Territory is the centre piece of our national culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on our way to Bali.

    And there’s Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document defining a nation of half-arsed sceptics, it is worth noting that God probably made Queensland as it’s beautiful one day and perfect the next. Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.

    Oh yes and there’s Canberra. The least said the better.

    We, the citizens of Oz, are united by Highways, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than murderers. We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap in joy when a rag tag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us Sydney is better than Beijing. We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament. Not that we’re whingeing, we leave that to our Pommy immigrants. We want to make "no worries mate" our national phrase, "she’ll be right mate" our national attitude and "Waltzing Matilda" our national anthem (So what if it’s about a sheep-stealing crim who commits suicide).

    We love sport so much our news readers can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us who’s winning. And we’re the best in the world at all the sports that count, like cricket, netball, rugby, AFL, roo-shooting, two-up and horse racing. We also have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies, the blackest aborigines and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe.

    We shoot, we root, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime. Even though we might seem a racist, closed-minded, sports-obsessed little people, at least we feel better for it.

    You are, I am, we are, Australian.

  • Mate Match

    Chicago folks apparently did hear this on the WBBM FM morning show in Chicago. The DJs play a game where they award winners great prizes. The game is called "Mate Match". The DJs call someone at work and ask if they are married or seriously involved with someone. If the contestant answers "yes", he or she is then asked 3 random yet highly personal questions. The person is also asked to divulge the name of their partner (with phone number) for verification. If their partner answers those same three questions correctly, they both win the prize.

    One particular game, however, several months ago made the Windy City drop to its knees with laughter. Anyway, here’s how it all went down:

    DJ: Hey! This is Edgar on WBBM. Have you ever heard of Mate Match?

    Contestant: (laughing) Yes, I have.

    DJ: Great! Then you know we’re giving away a trip to Orlando, Florida if you win. What is your name? First name only please.

    Contestant: Brian.

    DJ: Brian, are you married or what?

    Brian: Yes.

    DJ: Yes? Does that mean you’re married or you’re what?

    Brian: (laughing nervously) Yes, I am married.

    DJ: Thank you. Now, what is your wife’s name? First only please.

    Brian: Sarah.

    DJ: Is Sarah at work, Brian?

    Brian: She is gonna kill me.

    DJ: Stay with me here, Brian! Is she at work?

    Brian: (laughing) Yes, she’s at work.

    DJ: Okay, first question – when was the last time you had sex?

    Brian: She is gonna kill me.

    DJ: Brian! Stay with me here!

    Brian: About 8 o’clock this morning.

    DJ: Atta boy, Brian.

    Brian: (laughing sheepishly) Well…

    DJ: Question #2 – How long did it last?

    Brian: About 10 minutes

    DJ: Wow! You really want that trip, huh? No one would ever have said that if a trip wasn’t at stake.

    Brian: Yeah, that trip sure would be nice.

    DJ: Okay. Final question. Where did you have sex at 8 o’clock this morning?

    Brian: (laughing hard) I, ummm, I, well…

    DJ: This sounds good, Brian. Where was it at?

    Brian: Not that it was all that great, but her mom is staying with us for a couple of weeks…

    DJ: Uh huh…

    Brian: …and the Mother-In-Law was in the shower at the time.

    DJ: Atta boy, Brian.

    Brian: On the kitchen table.

    DJ: Not that great?? That is more adventure than the previous hundred times I’ve done it. Okay folks, I will put Brian on hold, get this wife’s work number and call her up. You listen to this. 3 minutes of commercials follow)

    DJ: Okay audience, let’s call Sarah, shall we? (touch tones… ringing…) Clerk: Kinkos.

    DJ: Hey, is Sarah around there somewhere? Clerk: This is she.

    DJ: Sarah, this is Edgar with WBBM. We are live on the air right now and I’ve been talking with Brian for a couple of hours now.

    Sarah: (laughing) A couple of hours?

    DJ: Well, a while now. He is on the line with us. Brian knows not to give any answers away or you’ll lose. Sooooooo… do you know the rules of MateMatch?

    Sarah: No.

    DJ: Good!

    Brian: (laughing)

    Sarah: (laughing) Brian, what the hell are you up to? Brian (laughing) Just answer his questions honestly, okay? Be completely honest.

    DJ: Yeah yeah yeah. Sure.. Now, I will ask you 3 questions, Sarah. If your answers match Brian’s answers, then the both of you will be off to Orlando, Florida for 5 days on us. Disney World. Sea World. Tickets to the Magic’s game. The whole deal. Get it Sarah?

    Sarah: (laughing) Yes.

    DJ: Alright. When did you last have sex, Sarah?

    Sarah: Oh God, Brian….uh, this morning before Brian went to work.

    DJ: What time?

    Sarah: Around 8 this morning.

    DJ: Very good. Next question. How long did it last?

    Sarah: 12, 15 minutes maybe.

    DJ: Hmmmm. That’s close enough. I am sure she is trying to protect his manhood. We’ve got one last question, Sarah. You are one question away from a trip to Florida. Are you ready?

    Sarah: (laughing) Yes.

    DJ: Where did you have it?

    Sarah: OH MY GOD, BRIAN!! You didn’t tell them that, did you?

    Brian: Just tell him, honey.

    DJ: What is bothering you so much, Sarah?

    Sarah: Well, it’s just that my mom is vacationing with us and…

    DJ: Come on Sarah… where did you have it?

    Sarah: In the ass…

    (long pause)

    DJ: Folks, we need to take a station break.

  • Somebody Stole My Car

    A man walks out of a bar, stumbling back and forth with a key in his hand.

    A cop on the beat sees him and approaches, Can I help you, sir?

    Yesssh! Schomebody schtole my car! the man replies.

    The cop asks, "Where was your car the last time you saw it?"

    "It wasssch at the end of thisssh key!" the man replies, logically, if a bit too literally.

    About this time the cop looks down to see that the man’s member is being exhibited for all the world to see. He asks the man, "Sir, are you aware that you are exposing yourself?"

    The man looks down woefully and without missing a beat, moans "Ohhh GOD…they got my girlfriend too!"

  • The Actual Creation

    Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Heaven, God went missing for six days. Eventually, Michael the Archangel found him on the seventh day, having a rest. He inquired of God, "Where have you been?"

    God sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds, "Look Michael! Look what I have made."

    Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, "What is it?"

    "It’s a planet", replied God, "and I’ve put LIFE on it. I’m going to call it Earth and it’s going to be a great place of balance."

    "Balance?" inquired Michael, still confused.

    God explained, pointing to different parts of Earth. "For example, Northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while Southern Europe is going to be poor; the Middle East over there will be a hot spot. Over there I’ve placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people." God continued, pointing to different countries. "And over there, I call this place America. North America will be rich, powerful and cold, while South America will be poor, hot and friendly. And the little spot in the middle is Central America which is a hot spot. Can you see the balance?"

    "Yes" said the Archangel, impressed by Gods work, then he pointed to a large land mass and asked, "What’s that one?"

    "Ah" said God, "That’s Australia, the most glorious place on Earth! There are beautiful mountains, rainforests, rivers, streams and an exquisite coast line. The people are good looking, intelligent and humorous and they’re going to be found travelling the world. They’ll be extremely sociable, hard-working, and high- achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats and carriers of peace. I’m also going to give them super-human, undefeatable cricket and rugby players, who will be admired and feared by all who come across them."

    Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then declared, "But you said there will be BALANCE!?"

    God replied wisely, "Wait until you see the ugly, whining, sheep shagging, Kiwi’s I’m putting next to them."

  • Jock the Painter

    There was a tradesman, a painter called Jock, who was very interested in making a penny where he could, so he often would thin down paint to make it go a wee bit further.

    As it happened, he got away with this for some time, but eventually the Baptist Church decided to do a big restoration job on the painting of one of their biggest buildings. Jock put in a bid, and because his price was so low, he got the job.

    And so he set to erecting the trestles and setting up the planks, and buying the paint and, yes, I am sorry to say, thinning it down with turpentine.

    Well, Jock was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly completed when suddenly there was a horrendous clap of thunder, and the sky opened, the rain poured down, washing the thinned paint from all over the church and knocking Jock clear off the scaffold to land on the lawn among the gravestones, surrounded by telltale puddles of the thinned and useless paint.

    Jock was no fool. He knew this was a judgment from the Almighty, so he got on his knees and cried: "Oh, God! Forgive me! What should I do?" And from the thunder, a mighty voice spoke…

    "Repaint! Repaint! and thin no more!"

  • Three Salesmen

    Three salesmen are on the way home from a sales conference when their car suddenly packs in. They walk to the nearest roadside inn and decide there and then that they’ll all just stay there for the night.

    They walk up to the reception desk, and the first salesman says, "Three single rooms for the night, please."

    The receptionist replies, "I’m sorry sir, all that we have left is one king-size room with one king-size bed."

    "Okay," says the first salesman, "shall we all just share, in that case?"

    No-one else has any problem with that, so they all accept the room and go to bed, and, due to the tiring nature of that day’s conference, fall asleep straight away.

    The next morning they all wake up together.

    "Oh my God!" screams the first one. "I’m so fucking embarrassed…I dreamt i was being jerked off by this gorgeous woman, and I’ve actually come in the bed!"

    The third guy, over on the other side of the bed, pipes up too. "Me as well! I had that same dream, and I’ve gone all over the place too!" Turning to the guy in the middle, he looks at him and asks "What about you? Surely all 3 of us couldn’t have had the same dream?"

    "Oh no, " declares the guy in the middle. "I had a nice dream that I was skiing…"

  • I’m a Firm Believer in God

    A guy is sinking in his boat and the water is up to his knees.
    A guy in another boat pulls up to him and tells him to get into the boat.
    The man in the sinking boat only says, "I’m a firm believer in God, he will save me."
    The man shrugs and drives away.
    Now the water is up to his waist and another boat pulls up to him and the driver tells him to get in.
    Like before, all he says is, "I’m a firm believer in God, he will save me."
    So the second man drives away.
    Now with the water up to his chin, a rescue helicopter drops a rope ladder down and tells him to climb up.
    All the drowning man says is, "I’m a firm believer in God, he will save me."
    So the helicopter flies away.
    A few hours later, the boat is gone and the man had drowned.
    When he gets up to heaven, he says to God, "Hey, why didn’t you save me?!"
    God replies, "Well DUH, I sent you two boats and a helicopter!"