Blonde Joke

A blonde woman was speeding down the road in her little red sports car and was pulled over by a woman police officer who was also a blonde.

The blonde cop asked to see the blonde driver’s license. She dug through her purse and was getting progressively more agitated.

“What does it look like?” she finally asked.

The policewoman replied, “It’s square – and it has your picture on it.”

The driver finally found a square mirror in her purse, looked at it and handed it to the policewoman.

“Here it is”, she said.

The blonde officer looked at the mirror, then handed it back saying, “Okay, you can go. I didn’t realize you were a cop.”

A blonde driving down the road sees another blonde in the middle of a field rowing a boat. The blonde driver pulls over and rolls down her window. She asks the girl in the boat what she is doing. The blonde in the boat replies, “I’m rowing my boat.” The driver says, “You’re such an idiot! Rowing a boat in the middle of a field?! It’s blondes like you that give us a bad name. If I could swim, I’d go out there and kick you ass right now!”

A blonde and a brunette jump of a cliff at exactly the same time. Which one is first to die?

The brunette. The blonde had to stop and ask for directions…

Also as a bonus:
Whats brown and sticky?

Burglar Jokes

A burglar broke into our house last night…

I didn’t fight back, I just put the red laser dot on his forehead

The three cats di the rest.

A burglar breaks into a home and holds the husband and wife in it hostage.

(Disclaimer: I believe this is OC because I heard it in Cantonese and I’ve translated it, so also, apologies for bad English)

A burglar breaks into a home and holds the husband and wife in it hostage. At gunpoint, he forces the two to sit on chairs facing the opposite way, back to each other, and ties them to the chairs. The burglar slowly and methodically begins stealing from the house.

When the burglar has taken everything of value, he gets ready to leave, the homeowners still bound to their chairs, when suddenly, the man yells at the burglar, 

“Please untie her, please, let her go!”

The thief responds with,

“No, I’m not untying either of you so that the authorities get notified as late as possible. Don’t worry, your neighbours will soon wonder why your lights are still on throughout the night and check in on you long before you succumb to dehydration”

The man yet again pleads,

“Please, just untie her, I’ll do anything!”

The burglar once again explains his reasoning,

“I need to get away with this crime, I’m sorry, I can’t leave anything up to chance.”

The man shuffles his chair towards the burglar, in a state of mania, exclaims,

“I’m begging you man, just let her go, she won’t call the cops, I promise!”

The burglar, still unwilling to budge, did find it quite touching how much his hostage cared about his wife.

“Wow,” he said “You must really love your wife to beg me to untie her so desperately”

“No,” The man replied, in a state of frenzy 

A masked burglar goes in to a bank

He goes to the teller, points a gun to her face and says “This is a robbery! If anybody moves or tries any funny business, they get shot!”
The teller then reaches over the counter and grabs the mask, revealing the face of the burglar.
The burglar says “you’ve seen my face!” and shoots her dead. He then says “has anyone else seen my face?!?”
A man with his head down yells out “I haven’t seen your face, but I think my wife, beside me here, may have gotten a glimpse”.

Three burglars are running from the police

They go into a dark alley and hide in three sacks. The police look around and one of them kicks the first sack and the burglar goes “meow”, “just cats” he thinks. He then kicks the second one and the the second burglar goes ” meow” so the police pass it off as more cats. He then kicks the last sack and the burglar says “potatoes”.

Bumps in the Road Part 13

Kathleen was dressed to the nines when Bill got in the next evening. “Let’s go out to supper!” I got paid! His mood was contagious. Kathleen made sure no one else wanted the bathroom, cleaned the tub, and drew him a bath. She laid out his washcloth and soap on the edge of the tub and put his towel and underwear on the toilet seat. Pleased with herself, she told Bill his bath was ready. He was delighted. “Nobody’s ever done for me this way before. You are quite a girl.” Kathleen was so happy to have been a “good wife.”

After he bathed and dressed they walked downstairs together to pay the rent. He turned on the charm for Mrs. Martin “I heard you got worried about the rent. You know I ain’t gonna forget about my best girl.” he teased.

“Oh now! You know better than that. I knew payday was today and you’d catch me up.” The rent went straight in her apron pocket! She cut a look at Kathleen.

Never one for a confrontation, though Kathleen was miffed, she let it go. Not twelve hours ago, the old bat was dunning her. Laughing, Bill hurried her out. An older black truck pulled up as they stepped off the porch. It was Bill’s friend, Bobo and his girlfriend, Lucy. Bobo was as friendly as a speckled pup. Lucy admired Kathleen’s yellow dress.”Ooh! I love your yellow dress! I got one exactly like it ‘cept it’s blue.” Bobo and Lucy were a comical looking couple like Jack Sprat and his wife.

“Bill, maybe you ought’a drive. I already had a couple of nips.” I don’t want to git in no trouble. Bill slid under the steering wheel, Kathleen next to him. Bony Bobo took his place on the passenger’s side. The portly Lucy hoisted herself on his lap, squashing him. A prolonged “oof!” escaped him. Kathleen who only weighed about a hundred pounds, felt sympathy for the poor guy.

“Do you want me to sit on your lap?” she questioned him, meaning trade places with chubby Lucy.

“Oh God no! “ he squeaked crushed under his girl. “Lucy here is already way too heavy all by herself!”

Laughing hysterically, their evening got off to a merry start.

I Was Just Trying to Hit John!

John was usually the one tattled upon but one fine day he cut a dido through the house, singsonging at the top of his lungs,”Kate threw a rock and broke a light on the car! Kate broke a light on the car! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah! Nah!

Kate was right behind him, wailing in panic. “I didn’t mean to! I was trying to hit John!” She didn’t get in a lot of trouble. She owed him a thousand times over for dirty tricks.”

Delicious Food

I’d have to claim a well-prepared steak is the most delicious food ever. I don’t want it that often, but when I’m ready, it’s great. I choose a steak with sufficient fat marbling and sprinkle it liberally on both sides with coarse Kosher salt. I let it sit for 1 to 24 hours. Next, I rinse and dry it with paper towels. It is probably salty enough, so I season it with coarsely ground black pepper and garlic powder. I grill it till medium rare, usually seven minutes on each side. It needs to sit five minutes before serving. It will be tender and moist. Best served with baked potato and salad. Try it!

Passing the Hat

Sometimes in the hospital we’d get a patient so mean, obnoxious, and demanding that it seemed their only virtue was serving as a bad example. We got an Katrina evacuee who was the worst I ever saw, He verbally and physically abused the staff as much as he was physically able. A rabid racist, mysogynist, and homophobe, it required finesse to assign caregivers who could tolerate him. Out of compassion, his caregivers rotated his care in four hour shifts. Several times, security was called. Unfortunately, it took a while to get him stable enough to demand an “Against Medical Advice” discharge.

That didn’t solve the problem that his return could be anticipated, since he was just barely able to get around. He would be obtaining illicit drugs the minute of discharge, he assured us. However disagreeable he was, he was competent. Of course, the staff was united in wanting to get him back to New Orleans, his home. He swore, if he ever got back, he’d never leave. That was enough for the delighted staff. We passed the hat, raising more than enough for a meal and one way ticket to New Orleans. A happy orderly wheeled him out to the curb where he was met by a cab. It was a great day!

Lady, Your Kid’s Stuck in the Ditch

A dispassionate young boy pounded on my front door. Looking at me dully, he announced. “Lady, your kid’s stuck in the ditch.” I wasn’t expecting that on a cold, rainy morning. The city had been installing a new sewer system. As soon as the ditches were deeply excavated the rain started. It rained and rained and rained. The ditches ran like a river. My five-year-old, John, hadn’t been out for days. Finally, the weather cleared.

John was desperate to get out. I made a bad decision, agreeing to let him play on the carport with a box of toy parts. I checked on him every few minutes, glad to see him deeply involved in his favorite pastime, disassembling his toys and building something else with the random parts. In combination with an erector set, this could occupy him for hours. His dog, as always, was at his side.

Then, I decided to vacuum, my second bad decision, hence the pounding on the door. The kid pointed to the overflowing ditches where John stood, thigh-high in the deep running water. His little dog was running up and down the ditch, barking desperately. Horrified, I flew out and grabbed his arms, trying to pull him out. He was stuck! What on earth? I waded in, braced myself, grabbing him under the arms and tugged. With a strange sucking noise he broke loose. We both rolled backwards in the muck. Instead of relief at being rescued, John wailed,”Daddy’s boots! Get Daddy’s boots!” There was no getting those boots stuck deep in that muddy ditch. It turns out, John had helped himself to his dad’s knee boots, sure he’d be able to ford the ditch. Retrieving them was his major concern.

All’s well that ends well. My kid survived being stuck in the “ditch.” About four days later, Bud took a shovel and dug his boots out of the mud.

Don’t Spin Your Greens, Granny (Part 2 of Multi-Function Appliances

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When you live in the South and visit old folks in the country, the first thing you have to do is admire their garden. You’re liable to come home with a “mess of greens.” For the unenlightened, greens include turnips, collards, or mustard greens. Boiled down low, with a bit of pork, and garnished with a splash of “pepper sauce,” greens make a delicious meal. A true connoisseur polishes off by sopping up the juice, or pot-liquor with cornbread. If you’re above the Mason-Dixon Line, try a roll.

That’s the happy ending. Now, we get down to the nitty gritty, literally. Greens have to be “looked and washed.” The first step is dispossessing the wildlife who habituate greens. Nobody wants to find half a worm or a cluster of bug eggs in their pot-liquor. You have to give both sides of each rumpled leaf a good look, wash, and then wash and rinse copiously.

I’d heard the glorious news that greens could be washed in the washing machine, cutting down tremendously on prep time. The next time Bud came in wagging a bag no of greens, I didn’t moan like normal, having recently heard the good news that greens could be washed in the washing machine. As usual, the basic information registered, not the total technique. I loaded the washer with dirty greens and detergent and hit the start button. Quite a while later, the alarm sounded, and I went to retrieve my sparkling greens. Alas, no greens remained, just a few tough stems and a few bits of leaves. A follow-up conversation with my friend revealed that I should have only washed them on gentle and not continue to spend.

Though I hoped he’d forget, Bud came in that night expecting greens. I feigned innocence. “What greens?”

It didn’t fly. “The greens I brought in yesterday.”

It’s hard to come up with an excuse how precious greens went missing. I gave up and told the truth, though I don’t like worrying Bud stuff with gets his blood pressure up. I’m considerate that way. “They went down the drain.”

“How in the Hell did they go down the drain?” I don’t know why he gets all up in my housekeeping and cooking business.

“They just did. Now don’t keep asking nosy questions!”

“Exactly what drain and how did that happen?”

“The washing machine drain.” I hoped if I answered matter-of-factly, he’d move on. I didn’t work.

“You put greens in the washing machine? What in the Hell were you thinking?” I hate it when he apes back what I’ve just said. I’ve told him it gets on my nerves.

“It takes forever to look and wash greens. Jenny told me she puts hers in the washer and it works great. I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to put them through spin.”

“Grouch, grouch, grouch @^%&( , #@$%! Don’t ever put )(^%&# greens in the washer, again.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t go on forever about it. I get tired of your nagging”

Since then I’ve been careful not to spin them. It works great.

Kathleen Carries On Part 7 or Kathleen and the Rapist

Kathleen, my eighty-year old mother was snatched from sleep at three in the morning by the sound of hysterical screaming and pounding on her front door.  Through the peep hole, she recognized her neighbor, a frail, single mother clutching her toddler and tiny infant, begging to come in.  Mother was horrified to hear of Melinda’s rape at gunpoint, the lives of her tiny children threatened.  Nonetheless, Melissa called the police and an investigation was begun.
The next morning, the neighborhood was in an uproar.  Residents stood in the streets discussing the details and studying the composite drawing.  Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their son Jeremy stood on the edge of the crowd listening intently.  Mother had been meaning to go meet them, so as a friendly neighbor, she pulled them into the conversation.
Of course, the rape was on everybody’s mind, so Mother launched into her rapist defense plan, boasting of the shotgun under her bed and her plan to shoot to kill, not mentioning the rusty shotgun hadn’t been fired in thirty years, and never by her. She didn’t even know if she had shells. She was ready.  Eventually, tiring of the drama, the crowd dispersed and went about business as usual.
About two hours later, Mother was surprised to answer her door to Mr. Smith and Jeremy.  She had liked them well enough, but hadn’t expected them to accept her invitation to coffee so soon. After chatting a bit, Mr. Smith brought up the rape. Mother launched into her plan for the rapist, getting more excited as she continued, embellishing the agony in store for him should he be so foolish as to cross her path.  She wasn’t one of those namby-pamby’s who feared killing an intruder.  She’d go straight for the heart.  Should there be anything left afterward, she’d empty her gun in him just for fun.  Jeremy, a sullen teenager, rolled his eyes as much as he dared in the company of his father.  He was a little smart aleck, but Mother still thought it was nice of him to come down with his dad to check on her.
Mr. Smith was still very concerned about Mother’s safety despite hearing of her excellent rapist deterrent plan. Inspecting her locks for security, he found scratches on her back door, showing the rapist had tried but failed to gain entry there.  He asked to see her shotgun, and upon inspection, found the safety rusted shut.  When he asked her if she had a pistol, it caught her by surprise, and she had to admit she didn’t.  Mr. Smith pulled an heirloom quality pistol from his jacket, showed Mother how to fire it, had her demonstrate, loaded it and left, Jeremy in tow.  Mother was touched at his concern and generosity, realizing the pistol would be a lot more good to her than the ancient shotgun with no shells, at least theoretically.
A few days rocked by. The Smiths moved.  Little Jenny Whitmore who lived opposite the Smiths recognized Jeremy from the composite photo.  He was arrested, confessed to the rape and sent back to Wisconsin to serve the rest of his suspended sentence on his previous conviction for sexual assault.  Now Mother understood Mr. Smith’s concern for her safety.  Melissa and her babies moved away.
Life settled back down.  Relieved to have this business settled, Mother’s little neighborhood once again felt safe, secure and friendly.  The only fly in the ointment was when Mr. Smith came calling a few weeks later to reclaim Mother’s/his lovely pearl-handled pistol, not so generous after all.