Times When the F-word Was Appropriate
People get really upset when you use the "F" word. So much so, that I can't
even write the full word out, but have to refer to it as the "F" word.
However, despite what many educators and pious people believe, there are
times when the "F" word just makes sense. And that is why we are bringing
you ... TIMES WHEN THE "F" WORD WAS APPROPRIATE
"What the F was that?" -- Mayor of Hiroshima
"Where did all these F'ing Indians come from?" -- General Custer"
Any F'ing idiot could understand that." -- Albert Einstein
"It does so F'ing looks like her!" -- Pablo Picasso
"How the F did you work that out?" -- Pythagoras
"You want WHAT on the F'ing ceiling?" -- Michaelangelo
"I don't suppose it's gonna F'ing rain?" -- Joan of Arc
"Scattered F'ing showers my ass." -- Noah
"I need this parade like I need a F'ing hole in my head." -- John F. Kennedy
"Who the F is going to know?" -- Bill Clinton
Arkansas Toothbrush
How do you know that the toothbrush was invented by a redneck?
If it was invented by anyone else they would have called it a "teethbrush".
Historical Origin of The "Finger"
This is not meant to be crude. It is strictly for your edification and
enjoyment.
Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory
over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured
English soldiers. Without the middle finger, it would be impossible to draw
the renowned English longbow and therefore be incapable of fighting in the
future.
This famous weapon was made of the native English Yew tree, and the act of
drawing the longbow was known as "plucking the yew." Much to the
bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking
the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French,saying,
"See, we can still pluck yew! PLUCK YEW!"
Over the years, some 'folk etymologies' have grown up around this symbolic
gesture. Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say (like "pleasant
mother pheasant plucker", which is who you had to go to for the feathers
used on the arrows for the longbow), the difficult consonant cluster at the
beginning has gradually changed to a labiodental fricative 'F', and thus the
words often used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute are mistakenly
thought to have something to do with an intimate encounter.
It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows that the symbolic
gesture is known as "giving the bird."
Professor of Logic
A guy sees his new neighbor out in his backyard, so he decides to get
acquainted. After introductions, he asks the new neighbor what he does for a
living.
The new neighbor says, "I'm a professor." The first neigbhbor then asks, "Oh
yeah, what do you teach?"
"Logic," the professor reponds.
"What is that?" the neighbor inquires.
"Well, let me see if I can give you an example...you have a dog, right?"
"Yeah, that's right," neighbor #1 responds.
"And you have children too, right?" says the professor.
"Wow, right again!" exclaims the neighbor.
"So, then you must be married and that would make you a heterosexual,
right?'' proclaims the professor.
"Unbelievable, you're absolutely correct. How do you know all this about
me?"
"Well," the professor says, "I observed there was a dog house in your
backyard, so you must have a dog. I also saw bicycles next to your garage,
so you must have children. And if you have children, you are probably
married and if your married, you are most likely heterosexual... it was all
logical!"
The next afternoon, the neighbor runs into his old friend. His friend asks
if he has met the new neighbor. The man says that he met him yesterday.
"What's he like?"
"Well," the man says, "he's nice and he is a professor of logic."
"Oh," says the friend, "what's logic?"
"Maybe I can give you an example. Do you have a dog house?"
"Why, no, I do not," responds the friend.
"Well, then," proclaims the man, "you must be gay!"
Stranded on a Desert Island...
A rather inhibited engineer finally splurged on a luxury cruise to the
Caribbean. It was the "craziest" thing he had ever done in his life. Just as
he was beginning to enjoy himself, a hurricane roared upon the huge ship,
capsizing it like a child's toy. Somehow the engineer, desperately hanging
on to a life preserver, managed to wash ashore on a secluded island.
Outside of beautiful scenery, a spring-fed pool, bananas and coconuts, there
was little else. He lost all hope and for hours on end and sat under the
same palm tree. One day, after several months had passed, a gorgeous woman
in a small rowboat appeared.
"I'm from the other side of the island," she said. "Were you on the cruise
ship, too?"
"Yes, I was," he answered. "But where did you get that rowboat?"
"Well, I whittled the oars from gum tree branches, wove the reinforced
gunnel from palm branches, and made the keel and stern from a Eucalyptus
tree."
"But, what did you use for tools?" asked the man, amazed.
"There was a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed on the south side
of the island. I discovered that if I fired it to a certain temperature in
my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. Anyhow, that's how I got the
tools. But, enough of that," she said. "Where have you been living all this
time? I don't see any shelter."
"To be honest, I've just been sleeping on the beach," he said.
"Would you like to come to my place?" the woman asked. The engineer nodded
dumbly. She expertly rowed them around to her side of the island, and tied
up the boat with a handsome strand of hand-woven hemp topped with a neat
back splice. They walked up a winding stone walk she had laid and around a
Palm tree. There stood an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
"It's not much, but I call it home." Inside, she said, "Sit down please;
would you like to have a drink?"
"No, thanks," said the man. "One more coconut juice and I'll throw up!"
"It won't be coconut juice," the woman replied. "I have a crude still out
back, so we can have authentic Pina Coladas."
Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted the drink, and they sat down
on her couch to talk. After they had exchanged stories, the woman asked,
"Tell me, have you always had a beard?"
"No," the man replied, "I was clean shaven all of my life until I ended up
on this island."
"Well if you'd like to shave, there's a razor upstairs in the bathroom
cabinet."
The man, no longer questioning anything, went upstairs to the bathroom and
shaved with an intricate bone-and-shell device honed razor sharp. Next he
showered -- not even attempting to fathom a guess as to how she managed to
get warm water into the bathroom -- and went back downstairs. He couldn't
help but admire the masterfully carved banister as he walked.
"You look great," said the woman. "I think I'll go up and slip into
something more comfortable."
As she did, the man continued to sip his Pina Colada. After a short time,
the woman, smelling faintly of gardenias, returned wearing a revealing gown
fashioned out of pounded palm fronds.
"Tell me," she asked, "We've both been out here for a very long time with no
companionship. You know what I mean. Haven't you been lonely, too... isn't
there something that you really, really miss? Something that all men and
woman need? Something that would be really nice to have right now...?"
"Yes there is," the man replied, shucking off his shyness. "There is
something I've wanted to do for so long. But on this island all alone, it
was just... well, it was impossible."
"Well, it's not impossible, anymore," the woman said.
The man, practically panting in excitement, said breathlessly: "You mean...
you actually figured out some way we can CHECK OUR EMAIL HERE?!"
Atlanta Man in New York.
A man from Atlanta moved to New York.
As he wandered the streets he stopped at an antique shop and decided to go
in. On looking around he noticed a very strange looking bronze cat which had
a tag on it saying, "Bronze Cat $30.00, Story $150.00".
The man was very curious and asked the salesman to explain.
"Well" said the man, "its just like it says, $30 for the cat and $150 for
its story".
"I'll just take the cat," said the man.
"Very well, but you will be back," said the salesman.
The man left the shop with the cat in his pocket.
As he walked down the street he heard a strange mewing sound. On turning
around he noticed there were a couple of cats following him.
The further he walked the more cats seemed to follow him. As he got to the
Brooklyn Bridge he turned to see thousands of cats behind him.
"Screw this!" he said to himself and threw the bronze cat into the river.
All the cats jumped into the river too and were drowned.
The man returned to the shop where he bought the cat.
"I knew you would be back. $150.00 for the story," said the salesman.
"Forget the story," said the man. "Have you got a bronze Yankee's fan?"
Rating Your Christmas Party.
If you throw a party, the worst thing you can do is to throw the kind of
party where your guests wake up the next day and call you up to say they had
a nice time. Now you'll be expected to throw another party next year. What
you should do is throw the kind of party where your guests wake up several
days from now and call their lawyers to find out if they've been indicted
for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a recurrence of
your party that they immediately start planning parties of their own, a year
in advance, just to prevent you from having another one. So make sure your
party reaches the correct "Festivity Level"
Festivity Level One: Your guests are chatting amiably with each other,
admiring your Christmas tree ornaments, singing carols around the upright
piano, sipping at their drinks and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Two: Your guests are talking loudly - sometimes to each
other and sometimes to nobody at all, rearranging your Christmas tree
ornaments, singing "I Gotta Be Me" around the upright piano, gulping their
drinks and wolfing down hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Three: Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate
objects, singing "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," gulping other people's
drinks, wolfing down Christmas tree ornaments and sticking hors d'oeuvres in
the upright piano to see what happens when the little hammers strike.
Festivity Level Four: Your guests have hors d'oeuvres smeared all over their
naked, liquor-soaked bodies and are performing a ritual dance around the
burning Christmas tree. The piano is missing.
You want to keep your party somewhere around level three, unless you rent
your home and own firearms, in which case, feel free to go to level four.
The best way to get to level three is eggnog. Eggnog is a traditional
holiday drink invented by the English. Many people wonder where the word
"eggnog" comes from. The first syllable comes from the English word "egg,"
meaning, egg. I don't know where the "nog" comes from. To make eggnog,
you'll need rum, whiskey, wine, gin, heavy cream and eggs. Combine all
ingredients in a large festive bowl. Then induce your guests to drink this
mixture by telling them it's fat-free.
If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door, unless your
party is very successful, in which case they will lob tear gas through your
living room window. As host, your job is to make sure they don't arrest
anybody. Or if they're dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make
sure it isn't you. The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for
their uniforms and assure them that you're not doing anything illegal.
Here's how to handle it:
Police: Good evening. Are you the host?
You: No
Police: We've been getting complaints about this party.
You: About the drugs?
Police: No.
You: About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?
Police: No, the noise.
You: Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense because there are no guns or
drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or
fireworks. Who's complaining about the noise? The neighbors?
Police: No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent
complaints have come from Pittsburgh. Do you think you could ask the host to
quiet things down?
You: No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug, with primitive religious
symbols drawn on the doors, emerges from the living room and roars down the
hall, past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes
into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things
are already starting to wind down. \
Not much to write about, so I thought I would bombard you all with jokes. Spring break is next week
People get really upset when you use the "F" word. So much so, that I can't
even write the full word out, but have to refer to it as the "F" word.
However, despite what many educators and pious people believe, there are
times when the "F" word just makes sense. And that is why we are bringing
you ... TIMES WHEN THE "F" WORD WAS APPROPRIATE
"What the F was that?" -- Mayor of Hiroshima
"Where did all these F'ing Indians come from?" -- General Custer"
Any F'ing idiot could understand that." -- Albert Einstein
"It does so F'ing looks like her!" -- Pablo Picasso
"How the F did you work that out?" -- Pythagoras
"You want WHAT on the F'ing ceiling?" -- Michaelangelo
"I don't suppose it's gonna F'ing rain?" -- Joan of Arc
"Scattered F'ing showers my ass." -- Noah
"I need this parade like I need a F'ing hole in my head." -- John F. Kennedy
"Who the F is going to know?" -- Bill Clinton
Arkansas Toothbrush
How do you know that the toothbrush was invented by a redneck?
If it was invented by anyone else they would have called it a "teethbrush".
Historical Origin of The "Finger"
This is not meant to be crude. It is strictly for your edification and
enjoyment.
Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory
over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured
English soldiers. Without the middle finger, it would be impossible to draw
the renowned English longbow and therefore be incapable of fighting in the
future.
This famous weapon was made of the native English Yew tree, and the act of
drawing the longbow was known as "plucking the yew." Much to the
bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking
the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French,saying,
"See, we can still pluck yew! PLUCK YEW!"
Over the years, some 'folk etymologies' have grown up around this symbolic
gesture. Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say (like "pleasant
mother pheasant plucker", which is who you had to go to for the feathers
used on the arrows for the longbow), the difficult consonant cluster at the
beginning has gradually changed to a labiodental fricative 'F', and thus the
words often used in conjunction with the one-finger-salute are mistakenly
thought to have something to do with an intimate encounter.
It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows that the symbolic
gesture is known as "giving the bird."
Professor of Logic
A guy sees his new neighbor out in his backyard, so he decides to get
acquainted. After introductions, he asks the new neighbor what he does for a
living.
The new neighbor says, "I'm a professor." The first neigbhbor then asks, "Oh
yeah, what do you teach?"
"Logic," the professor reponds.
"What is that?" the neighbor inquires.
"Well, let me see if I can give you an example...you have a dog, right?"
"Yeah, that's right," neighbor #1 responds.
"And you have children too, right?" says the professor.
"Wow, right again!" exclaims the neighbor.
"So, then you must be married and that would make you a heterosexual,
right?'' proclaims the professor.
"Unbelievable, you're absolutely correct. How do you know all this about
me?"
"Well," the professor says, "I observed there was a dog house in your
backyard, so you must have a dog. I also saw bicycles next to your garage,
so you must have children. And if you have children, you are probably
married and if your married, you are most likely heterosexual... it was all
logical!"
The next afternoon, the neighbor runs into his old friend. His friend asks
if he has met the new neighbor. The man says that he met him yesterday.
"What's he like?"
"Well," the man says, "he's nice and he is a professor of logic."
"Oh," says the friend, "what's logic?"
"Maybe I can give you an example. Do you have a dog house?"
"Why, no, I do not," responds the friend.
"Well, then," proclaims the man, "you must be gay!"
Stranded on a Desert Island...
A rather inhibited engineer finally splurged on a luxury cruise to the
Caribbean. It was the "craziest" thing he had ever done in his life. Just as
he was beginning to enjoy himself, a hurricane roared upon the huge ship,
capsizing it like a child's toy. Somehow the engineer, desperately hanging
on to a life preserver, managed to wash ashore on a secluded island.
Outside of beautiful scenery, a spring-fed pool, bananas and coconuts, there
was little else. He lost all hope and for hours on end and sat under the
same palm tree. One day, after several months had passed, a gorgeous woman
in a small rowboat appeared.
"I'm from the other side of the island," she said. "Were you on the cruise
ship, too?"
"Yes, I was," he answered. "But where did you get that rowboat?"
"Well, I whittled the oars from gum tree branches, wove the reinforced
gunnel from palm branches, and made the keel and stern from a Eucalyptus
tree."
"But, what did you use for tools?" asked the man, amazed.
"There was a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed on the south side
of the island. I discovered that if I fired it to a certain temperature in
my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. Anyhow, that's how I got the
tools. But, enough of that," she said. "Where have you been living all this
time? I don't see any shelter."
"To be honest, I've just been sleeping on the beach," he said.
"Would you like to come to my place?" the woman asked. The engineer nodded
dumbly. She expertly rowed them around to her side of the island, and tied
up the boat with a handsome strand of hand-woven hemp topped with a neat
back splice. They walked up a winding stone walk she had laid and around a
Palm tree. There stood an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
"It's not much, but I call it home." Inside, she said, "Sit down please;
would you like to have a drink?"
"No, thanks," said the man. "One more coconut juice and I'll throw up!"
"It won't be coconut juice," the woman replied. "I have a crude still out
back, so we can have authentic Pina Coladas."
Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted the drink, and they sat down
on her couch to talk. After they had exchanged stories, the woman asked,
"Tell me, have you always had a beard?"
"No," the man replied, "I was clean shaven all of my life until I ended up
on this island."
"Well if you'd like to shave, there's a razor upstairs in the bathroom
cabinet."
The man, no longer questioning anything, went upstairs to the bathroom and
shaved with an intricate bone-and-shell device honed razor sharp. Next he
showered -- not even attempting to fathom a guess as to how she managed to
get warm water into the bathroom -- and went back downstairs. He couldn't
help but admire the masterfully carved banister as he walked.
"You look great," said the woman. "I think I'll go up and slip into
something more comfortable."
As she did, the man continued to sip his Pina Colada. After a short time,
the woman, smelling faintly of gardenias, returned wearing a revealing gown
fashioned out of pounded palm fronds.
"Tell me," she asked, "We've both been out here for a very long time with no
companionship. You know what I mean. Haven't you been lonely, too... isn't
there something that you really, really miss? Something that all men and
woman need? Something that would be really nice to have right now...?"
"Yes there is," the man replied, shucking off his shyness. "There is
something I've wanted to do for so long. But on this island all alone, it
was just... well, it was impossible."
"Well, it's not impossible, anymore," the woman said.
The man, practically panting in excitement, said breathlessly: "You mean...
you actually figured out some way we can CHECK OUR EMAIL HERE?!"
Atlanta Man in New York.
A man from Atlanta moved to New York.
As he wandered the streets he stopped at an antique shop and decided to go
in. On looking around he noticed a very strange looking bronze cat which had
a tag on it saying, "Bronze Cat $30.00, Story $150.00".
The man was very curious and asked the salesman to explain.
"Well" said the man, "its just like it says, $30 for the cat and $150 for
its story".
"I'll just take the cat," said the man.
"Very well, but you will be back," said the salesman.
The man left the shop with the cat in his pocket.
As he walked down the street he heard a strange mewing sound. On turning
around he noticed there were a couple of cats following him.
The further he walked the more cats seemed to follow him. As he got to the
Brooklyn Bridge he turned to see thousands of cats behind him.
"Screw this!" he said to himself and threw the bronze cat into the river.
All the cats jumped into the river too and were drowned.
The man returned to the shop where he bought the cat.
"I knew you would be back. $150.00 for the story," said the salesman.
"Forget the story," said the man. "Have you got a bronze Yankee's fan?"
Rating Your Christmas Party.
If you throw a party, the worst thing you can do is to throw the kind of
party where your guests wake up the next day and call you up to say they had
a nice time. Now you'll be expected to throw another party next year. What
you should do is throw the kind of party where your guests wake up several
days from now and call their lawyers to find out if they've been indicted
for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a recurrence of
your party that they immediately start planning parties of their own, a year
in advance, just to prevent you from having another one. So make sure your
party reaches the correct "Festivity Level"
Festivity Level One: Your guests are chatting amiably with each other,
admiring your Christmas tree ornaments, singing carols around the upright
piano, sipping at their drinks and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Two: Your guests are talking loudly - sometimes to each
other and sometimes to nobody at all, rearranging your Christmas tree
ornaments, singing "I Gotta Be Me" around the upright piano, gulping their
drinks and wolfing down hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Three: Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate
objects, singing "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," gulping other people's
drinks, wolfing down Christmas tree ornaments and sticking hors d'oeuvres in
the upright piano to see what happens when the little hammers strike.
Festivity Level Four: Your guests have hors d'oeuvres smeared all over their
naked, liquor-soaked bodies and are performing a ritual dance around the
burning Christmas tree. The piano is missing.
You want to keep your party somewhere around level three, unless you rent
your home and own firearms, in which case, feel free to go to level four.
The best way to get to level three is eggnog. Eggnog is a traditional
holiday drink invented by the English. Many people wonder where the word
"eggnog" comes from. The first syllable comes from the English word "egg,"
meaning, egg. I don't know where the "nog" comes from. To make eggnog,
you'll need rum, whiskey, wine, gin, heavy cream and eggs. Combine all
ingredients in a large festive bowl. Then induce your guests to drink this
mixture by telling them it's fat-free.
If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door, unless your
party is very successful, in which case they will lob tear gas through your
living room window. As host, your job is to make sure they don't arrest
anybody. Or if they're dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make
sure it isn't you. The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for
their uniforms and assure them that you're not doing anything illegal.
Here's how to handle it:
Police: Good evening. Are you the host?
You: No
Police: We've been getting complaints about this party.
You: About the drugs?
Police: No.
You: About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?
Police: No, the noise.
You: Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense because there are no guns or
drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or
fireworks. Who's complaining about the noise? The neighbors?
Police: No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent
complaints have come from Pittsburgh. Do you think you could ask the host to
quiet things down?
You: No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug, with primitive religious
symbols drawn on the doors, emerges from the living room and roars down the
hall, past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes
into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things
are already starting to wind down. \
Not much to write about, so I thought I would bombard you all with jokes. Spring break is next week
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
sydni:
sydni:
I would never kick you off. You were one of my first friends. 