The Monday Morning Mirth

Tag: problem

  • Anger Management

    When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don’t take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don’t know, but you know deserves it.

    I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I’d forgotten to make.

    I found the number and dialed it.

    A man answered, saying ‘Hello.’

    I politely said, ‘This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn?’

    Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear ‘Get the right fucking number!’ And the phone was slammed down on me.

    I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so rude.

    When I tracked down Robyn’s correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

    After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ‘wrong’ number again.

    When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled ‘You’re an asshole!’ And hung up.

    I wrote his number down with the word ‘asshole’ next to it, And put it in my desk drawer.

    Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I’d call him up and yell, ‘You’re an asshole!’

    It always cheered me up.

    When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic ‘asshole’ calling would have to stop.

    So, I called his number and said, ‘Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I’m calling to see if you’re familiar with our Caller ID Program?’

    He yelled ‘NO!’ And slammed down the phone.

    I quickly called him back and said, ‘That’s because you’re an asshole!’ And hung up.

    One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

    Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for.

    I hit the horn and yelled that I’d been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me.

    I noticed a ‘For Sale’ sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

    A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial) I thought that I’d better call the BMW asshole, too.

    I said, ‘Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?’

    He said, ‘Yes, it is.’

    I then asked, ‘Can you tell me where I can see it?’

    He said, ‘Yes, I live at  34 Oaktree Blvd., in Pittsburgh. It’s a yellow ranch style house And the car’s parked right out in front.’

    I asked, ‘What’s your name?’

    He said, ‘My name is Don O’Reilly.’

    I asked, ‘When’s a good time to catch you, Don?’

    He said, ‘I’m home every evening after five.’

    I said, ‘Listen, Don, can I tell you something?’

    He said, ‘Yes?’

    I said, ‘Don, you’re an asshole!’

    Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

    Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.

    Then I came up with an idea…

    I called asshole #1.

    He said, ‘Hello’

    I said, ‘You’re an asshole!’ (But I didn’t hang up.)

    He asked, ‘Are you still there?’

    I said, ‘Yeah!’

    He screamed, ‘Stop calling me’

    I said, ‘Make me.’

    He asked, ‘Who are you?’

    I said, ‘My name is Don O’Reilly.’

    He said, ‘Yeah? Where do you live?’

    I said, ‘Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd., in Pittsburgh, a yellow ranch style home and I have a black Beamer parked in front.’

    He said, ‘I’m coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.’

    I said, ‘Yeah, like I’m really scared, asshole,’ and hung up.

    Then I called Asshole #2.

    He said, ‘Hello?’

    I said, ‘Hello, asshole,’

    He yelled, ‘If I ever find out who you are…’

    I said, ‘You’ll what?’

    He exclaimed, ‘I’ll kick your ass’

    I answered, ‘Well, asshole, here’s your chance. I’m coming over right now.’

    Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I was on my way over to 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Pittsburgh, to kill my gay lover.

    Then I called Channel 7 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd in Pittsburgh.

    I quickly got into my car and headed over to Pittsburgh.

    I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.

    NOW I feel much better.

    Anger management really does work.

  • Spanish Computers

    A SPANISH Teacher was explaining to her class that in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.

    ‘House’ for instance, is feminine: ‘la casa.’

    ‘Pencil,’ however, is masculine: ‘el lapiz.’

    A student asked, ‘What gender is ‘computer’?’

    Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether computer’ should be a masculine or a feminine noun. Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendation.

    The men’s group decided that ‘computer’ should definitely be of the feminine gender (‘la computadora’), because:

    1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic;

    2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else;

    3. Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval; and

    4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.

    The women’s group, however, concluded that computers should be Masculine (‘el computador’), because:

    1. In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on;

    2. They have a lot of data but still can’t think for themselves;

    3. They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they ARE the problem; and

    4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.

    The women won.

  • A Knock on the Front Door

    This guy is sitting at home alone when he ears a knock on the front door.
    There are two sheriff’s deputies there; he asks if there is a problem.
    One of the deputies asks if he is married, and if so, can he see a picture of his wife.
    The guy says "sure " and shows him a picture of his wife. The sheriff says,
    "I’m sorry sir, but it looks like your wife’s been hit by a truck."
    The guy says, "I know, but she has a great personality and is an excellent cook."

  • Calling In Sick

    Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable.

    No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I’m lying.

    On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating.

    I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day.

    By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head.

    The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife’s wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

    Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

    Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

    "Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."

    "You know where the button is," I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"

    "But I’m scared!" she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C’mon, it’ll only take you a second." So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly. Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.

    It is the last action I remember performing.

    It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances.

    No, it wasn’t the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth.

    It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs.

    She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink.

    And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

    I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

    Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome.

    Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option.

    I know this from experience.

    I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold.

    When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.

    Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics.

    Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter……and not succeeding.

    Somehow I lived through it all.

    A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury.

    I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was. "What’s the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"

    If they only knew!

    Why is it that only the women laugh at this?

  • Joe and the Dishes

    Joe wanted to buy a motorbike. He doesn’t have much luck until one day, he comes across a Harley with a ‘for sale’ sign on it.
     
    The bike seems even better than a new one, although it is 10 years old. It is shiny and in absolute mint condition.
     
    He immediately buys it, and asks the seller how he kept it in such great condition for 10 years.
     
    ‘Well, it’s quite simple, really,’ says the seller, ‘whenever the bike is outside and it’s gonna rain, rub Vaseline on the chrome. It protects it from the rain.’
     
    And he hands Joe a jar of Vaseline.
     
    That night, his girlfriend, Sandra, invites him over to meet her parents. Naturally, they take the bike there.
     
    But just before they enter the house, Sandra stops him and says, ‘I have to tell you something about my family before we go in.’
     
    ‘When we eat dinner, we don’t talk. In fact, the first person to say anything at all during the meal has to do the dishes.’
     
    ‘No problem,’ he says. And in they go.
     
    Joe is shocked. Right smack in the middle of the living room is a huge stack of dirty dishes.
     
    In the kitchen is another huge stack of dishes. Piled up on the stairs, in the corridor, everywhere he looks, dirty dishes.
     
    They sit down to dinner and, sure enough, no one says a word.
     
    As dinner progresses, Joe decides to take advantage of the situation.
     
    So he leans over and kisses Sandra.
     
    No one says a word.
     
    So he reaches over and fondles her breasts.
     
    Still, nobody says a word. So he stands up, grabs her, rips her clothes off, throws her on the table, and screws her right there, in front of her parents.

    His girlfriend is a little flustered, her dad is obviously livid, and her mom horrified when he sits back down, but no one says a word.
     
    He looks at her mom..
     
    ‘She’s got a great body,’ he thinks.

    So he grabs the mom, bends her over the dinner table, pulls down her panties, and screws her every which way right there on the dinner table.. After she has a big orgasm, he sits down again.
     
    Now his girlfriend is furious and her dad is boiling, the Mom is pleasantly beaming.

    But still, Total silence.
     
    All of a sudden there is a loud clap of thunder, and it starts to pour rain.
     
    Joe remembers his bike, so he pulls the jar of Vaseline from his pocket…
     
    Suddenly the father shouted….

    ‘Okay, OKAY!!! I’ll do the fucking dishes!!!

  • The Professional Gambler at the Bar

    A man walked into a bar room one day. He walked up to the bartender and said, "Bartender, I’d like to buy the house a round of drinks". The bartender said, "No problem sir, but I’ll need to see some money first". The guy pulls out a huge wad of bills and sets them on the bar. Well, the bartender can’t believe what he’s seeing. "Where did you get all that money?", asked the bartender. "I’m a professional gambler", replied the man. The bartender said, "There’s no such thing! I mean, your odds are 50-50 at best, right?". "Well, I only bet on sure things" said the guy.

    "Like what?" asked the bartender. "Well, for example, I’ll bet you $50 that I can bite my right eye." The bartender thought about it. "OK". So, the guy pulls out his false right eye and bites it. "Aw, you screwed me", said the bartender, and paid the guy his $50. "I’ll give you another chance. I’ll bet you another $50 that I can bite my LEFT eye" said the stranger. The bartender thought again and said, "Well, I know you’re not blind, I mean I watched you walk in here. I’ll take that bet". So, the guy pulls out his false teeth and bites his left eye. "Aw, you screwed me again". "That’s how I win so much money, bartender. I’ll just take a bottle of your best scotch in leiu of the $100", said the man.

    With that, the guy went to the back room and spent the better part of the night playing cards with some of the locals. After many hours of drinking and card playing, he stumbled up to the bar. The guy, drunk as a skunk, said, "Bartender, I’ll give you one last chance. I’ll bet you $500 that I can stand on this bar here on one foot and piss into that whiskey bottle on that shelf behind you without spilling a drop".

    The bartender once again pondered the bet. The guy couldn’t even stand up straight on two feet, much less one. "OK, you’re on". The guy climbed up on the bar, stood on one leg, and began pissing all over the place. He hit the bar, the bartender, himself, but not a drop made it into the whiskey bottle.

    The bartender was ecstatic. Laughing, the bartender said, "Hey pal, you owe me $500!". The guy climbed down off the bar and said, "That’s OK. I just bet each of the guys in the poker room $1000 that I could piss all over you AND the bar AND still make you laugh!".

  • Toxic Fart

    I went to Home Depot recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented ‘you’re definitely going to shit yourself’ road-kill chili. Tasty stuff, although hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.

     Here’s the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No ‘Watson’s Movement. Despite the chillies swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I was unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my dear wife as ‘thunder and lightning’.

     Knowing that a time of reckoning HAD to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for Home Depot, my quest being paint and supplies to refinish the deck.  Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn’t until I was at the opposite end of the store from the toilets that the pain hit me.

     Oh, don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m referring to that ‘Uh, Oh, Shit, gotta go’ pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The chillies from the night before were staging a revolt.  In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the toilets which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The chillies fired a warning shot.

     There I stood, alone in the paint and stain section, suddenly enveloped in a toxic cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me.  Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as a red aproned clerk turned the corner and asked if I needed any help.

     I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what his reaction would be to the toxic non-visible fog that refused to dissipate.. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here’s what I mean, and I’m sure some of you at least will be able to relate.  I could’ve warned that poor clerk, but didn’t. I simply watched as he walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all he could do before gathering his senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving his arms about his head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. …….BIG mistake!!!!!

     Here’s the thing. When you laugh, it’s hard to keep things ‘clamped down’, if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.  Suddenly things were no longer funny. ‘It’ was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the toilet, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I’d make it before the grand explosion took place.

     Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable ‘Oh my God’, floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of ‘Shock and Awe’.. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, ‘Son-of-a-bitch!, did it smell that bad when you ate it?’, then quickly left.

     Once finished and I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, ‘Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.’

     My smirking of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, ‘IT’S YOU!’, then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

     Home again without my supplies, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Rona. I can’t say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they’re going to have to repaint the store.

  • The Blonde in Coach

    A beautiful young blonde woman boards a plane to LA with a ticket for the coach section. She looks at the seats in coach and then looks ahead to the first class seats. Seeing that the first class seats appear to be much larger and more comfortable, she moves forward to the last empty one. The flight attendant checks her ticket and tells the woman that her seat is in coach.

    The blonde replies, "I’m young, blonde and beautiful, and I’m going to sit here all the way to LA."

    Flustered, the flight attendant goes to the cockpit and informs the captain of the blonde problem. The captain goes back and tells the woman that her assigned seat is in coach.

    Again, the blonde replies, "I’m young, blonde and beautiful, and I’m going to sit here all the way to LA."

    The captain doesn’t want to cause a commotion, and so returns to the cockpit to discuss the blonde with the co-pilot. The co-pilot says that he has a blonde girlfriend, and that he can take care of the problem. He then goes back and briefly whispers something into the blonde’s ear.

    She immediately gets up, says, "Thank you so much," hugs the co-pilot, and rushes back to her seat in the coach section. The pilot and flight attendant, who were watching with rapt attention, together ask the co-pilot what he had said to the woman.

    He replies, "I just told her that the first class section isn’t going to LA."

  • A Jewish Wedding

    A modern Orthodox Jewish couple, preparing for a religious wedding meets with their rabbi for counselling.

    The rabbi asks if they have any last questions before they leave.

    The man asks, "Rabbi, we realize it’s tradition for men to dance with men, and women to dance with women at the reception. But, we’d like your permission to dance together, like the rest of the world."

    "Absolutely not," says the rabbi. "It’s immodest. Men and women always dance separately."

    "So after the ceremony I can’t even dance with my own wife?"

    "No," answered the rabbi. "It’s forbidden."

    "Well, okay," says the man, "What about sex? Can we finally have sex?"

    "Of course!" replies the rabbi. "Sex is a mitzvah a good thing within marriage, to have children!"

    "What about different positions?" asks the man

    "No problem," says the rabbi "It’s a mitzvah!"

    "Woman on top?" the man asks.

    "Sure," says the rabbi. "Go for it! It’s a mitzvah!"

    "Doggy style?"

    "Sure! Another mitzvah!"

    "On the kitchen table?"

    "Yes, yes! A mitzvah!"

    "Can we do it on rubber sheets with a bottle of hot oil, a couple of vibrators, a leather harness, a bucket of honey and a porno video?"

    "You may indeed. It’s all a mitzvah!"

    "Can we do it standing up?"

    "No." says the rabbi."

    "Why not?" asks the man.

    "Could lead to dancing!"

  • Ernesto, the Caretaker

    At dawn the telephone rings, ‘Hello, Senor Rod?  This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house.’
    ‘Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you?  Is there a problem?’
    ‘Um, I am just calling to advise you, Senor Rod, that your parrot, he is dead.’
    ‘My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International competition?’
    ‘Si, Senor, that’s the one.’
    ‘Damn! That’s a pity! I spent a small fortune on that bird. What did die from?’
    ‘From eating the rotten meat, Senor Rod.’
    ‘Rotten meat? Who the hell fed him rotten meat?’
    ‘Nobody, Senor. He ate the meat of the dead horse.’
    ‘Dead horse? What dead horse?’
    ‘The thoroughbred, Senor Rod.’
    ‘My prize thoroughbred is dead?’ 
    ‘Yes Senor Rod, he died from all that work pulling the water cart.’
    ‘Are you insane?? What water cart?’
    ‘The one we used to put out the fire, Senor.’
    ‘Good Lord!! What fire are you talking about, man??’
    ‘The one at your house, Senor! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.’
    ‘What the hell?? Are you saying that my mansion is destroyed because a candle ?? !!
    ‘Yes, Senor Rod.’ 
    ‘But there’s electricity at the house!!  What was the candle for?’
    ‘For the funeral, Senor Rod.’
    ‘WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL??!!’ 
    ‘Your wife’s, Senor Rod.  She showed up very late one night and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new TaylorMade SuperQuad 460 golf club.’
    SILENCE……….. LONG SILENCE……….
    ‘Ernesto, if you broke that driver, you’re in some deep shit here!’ .