Let me introduce you to my blog,it will be funny,have funny photos, jokes,gifs, True Stories. It will entertain you,it will make you smile.It will have serious stuff.things we should care about.Things that make you cry,.Things of the past,and things to come.But mostly to make you Smile.Hope you enjoy Lynn
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
20 YEARS
7 KINDS OF SEX
KENTUCKY STATE TROOPER
OLD MAN AND THE DOG
The Old Man and the Dog Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car! My father yelled at me. Cant you do anything right? Those words hurt worse than blo
ws. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasnt prepared for another battle. I saw the car, Dad. Please dont yell at me when Im driving.My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain.The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon .He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions,and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldnt lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldnt do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctors orders.Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults.The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dads troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article. I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs; all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons; too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog worlds aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog.Can you tell me about him? The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. Hes a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow. He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. You mean youre going to kill him?Maam, he said gently, thats our policy. We dont have room for every unclaimed dog. I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. I'll take him, I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad! I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I dont want it Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.Youd better get used to him, Dad. Hes staying! Dad ignored me. Did you hear me, Dad? I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dads lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community.They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dads bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyennes cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my fathers room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dads bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dads peace of mind. The morning of Dads funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks li
ke the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.Ive often thanked God for sending that angel, he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...Cheyennes unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . .and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama petty things, so laugh hard,love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive.Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time. Lost time can never be found.
ws. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasnt prepared for another battle. I saw the car, Dad. Please dont yell at me when Im driving.My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain.The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon .He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions,and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldnt lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldnt do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctors orders.Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults.The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dads troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article. I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs; all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons; too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog worlds aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog.Can you tell me about him? The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. Hes a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow. He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. You mean youre going to kill him?Maam, he said gently, thats our policy. We dont have room for every unclaimed dog. I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. I'll take him, I said.I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me.When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad! I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I dont want it Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.Youd better get used to him, Dad. Hes staying! Dad ignored me. Did you hear me, Dad? I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.Dads lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community.They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dads bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyennes cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my fathers room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dads bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dads peace of mind. The morning of Dads funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks li
IRS AUDIT
you explain by saying that you win money gambling. Im not sure the IRS finds that believable.Im a great gambler, and I can prove it,says Ralph`How about me giving you ademonstration? The auditor thinks for a moment and said, Okay. Go ahead. Ralph says, I'll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye.The auditor thinks a moment and says, Its a bet.Ralph removes his glass eye and bites it. The auditors jaw drops. Ralph says, Now, I'll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye. Now the auditor can see that Ralph isnt blind, so he takes the bet. Ralph removes his dentures and bites his good eye. The stunned auditor now realizes he has wagered and lost three thousand dollars, with Ralphs attorney as a witness. He starts to get nervous. Want to go double or nothing? Ralph asks I'll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop anywhere in between.The auditor, twice burned, is cautious now, but he looks carefully and decides theres no way this guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agrees again. Ralph stands beside the desk and unzips his pants, but although he strains mightily, he cant make the stream reach the wastebasket on the other side, so he pretty much urinates all over the auditors desk. The auditor leaps with joy, realizing that he has just turned a major loss into a huge win. But Ralphs attorney moans and puts his head in his hands.Are you okay? the auditor asks. Not really,says the attorney. This morning, when Ralph told me hed been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and urinate all over your desk and that you'd be happy about it.
Hillbillies
Choke in a restaurant in the South Two hillbillies walk into a bar. While having a shot of whisky, they talk about their moonshine operation. Suddenly, a woman at a nearby table, who is eating a sandwich, begins to cough. And, after a minute or so, it becomes apparent that she is in real distress. One of the hillbillies looks at her and says, Kin ya swallar? The woman shakes her head no. Then he asks, Kin ya breathe? The woman begins to turn blue and shakes her head no. The hillbilly walks over to the woman, lifts up her dress, yanks down her drawers and quickly gives her right butt cheek a lick with his tongue. The woman is so shocked that she has a violent spasm and the obstruction flies out of her mouth. As she begins to breathe again, the Hillbilly walks slowly back to the bar. His partner says,Ya know, Id heerd of that there Hind Lick Maneuver but I aint niver seed nobody do it!
I HAVE A QUESTION
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