A man has been trapped on a desert island for 8 years. One day, he sees a boat on the horizon and lights a fire to let it know he is there.
The boat comes towards the shore. On board there is a beautiful woman in a body hugging wetsuit.
"Thank God", he says, "I've been trapped on this island for eight years. Thank god someone has come at last."
"Eight years?" she says, "So it's eight yerars since you last smoked a cuban cigar?"
She unzips a pocket on her wetsuit and pulls out a cigar. She passes it to him, pulls out a zippo, and lights it for him. He enjoys the first cigar he has had in eight years.
"So is it also eight years since you had a drink?"
She unzips a pocket on her wetsuit and pulls out a hip flask, tossing it to him. He takes a swig, and it's 25 year old single malt whisky. It's smooth and mellow and utterly delicious.
"So," she says, beginning to unzip the long zipper on the front of her costume, "Is it eight years since you played around?"
"Oh no," he says, "This is all a dream, isn't it? A beautiful woman with whiskey and cigars wanting to have sex with me? I must be dreaming."
Suddenly he is woken up by a flash of lightning. It's the middle of the night, and he is all alone in his primitive shelter on his desert island. So alone, so terribly alone.
A man's sitting alone in a bar, just him and the bartender. He's drinking his troubles away, trying to get over his crushing depression, but the alcohol is just making it worse since alcohol is a depressant. He's staring at the wall, a half-empty gin and tonic in front of him, when he hears a voice.
"Pssst," it whispers. "Nice shirt."
The man looks around and doesn't see anyone. He sees the bartender at the end of the bar, cleaning glasses. "Hey bartender!" the man shouts. "Did you say something?"
"No," the bartender says, and goes back to cleaning glasses. The man shrugs and goes back to staring at the wall. After a few minutes, he hears the voice again.
"Psssssssssst," it whispers. "Nice tie, too!"
"BARTENDER!" the man shouts. The bartender comes over immediately. "Bartender," the man says, "did you SAY anything?"
"No, the bartender says. "Why?"
"Because I heard a voice talking to me! It said I had a nice shirt, then it said I had a nice tie, and you're the only one here so it..."
The man pauses as the bartender lifted a shotgun from behind the bar.
"What are you doing?" gasps the horrified man.
"You get the fuck out of my bar before those goddamned voices tell you to kill me, or so help me God, I'll kill you first. GET OUT."
The man leaves.
A bear walks into a bar and asks the bartender for a beer. The bartender says, ''Sorry, we don't give beer to bears in bars.''
The bear replies, ''I guess I will have a soda instead.''
So the bear and the bartender talk over nonalcoholic drinks all night about the reality of interspecies communication.
An Illinois man left the snowballed streets of Chicago for a vacation in Florida. His wife was on a business trip and was planning to meet him there the next day. When he reached his hotel, he decided to send his wife a quick e-mail.
Unable to find the scrap of paper on which he had written her e-mail address, he did his best to type it in from memory. Unfortunately, he missed one letter, and his note was directed instead to an elderly preacher's wife whose husband had passed away only the day before. When the grieving widow checked her e-mail, she took one look at the monitor, did not recognize the sender's name, and rightly deduced that she was not the intended recipient. She replied, pointing out the man's mistake, who then resent the e-mail to the proper address.
How do hedghogs have sex?
Like all other mammals, the make inserts his penis into the female's vagina and moves vigorously in and out until the friction causes him to ejaculate.
What's the difference between a duck?
I'm sorry, I was typing too quickly and missed off the end of my sentence. I meant to say "What's the difference between a duck and a goose?" and the answer is that they are entirely different species of waterfowl.
This isn't about harassment. It's about ethics in cat journalism.
Can you please give Golgura a trophy? How about Tallest Monster? I speak not for Golgura now. He is stepping on us villagers out of anger. In his wisdom he has flattened my son.
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