<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:29:06.410-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jokes To Make You Laugh For Days!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>65</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-160972292624057008</id><published>2008-04-24T11:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T11:37:54.393-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He's hidin' marijuana</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;"Hello, is this the Sheriff's Office?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yes. What can I do for you?" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I'm calling to report 'bout my neighbor Virgil Smith....He's hidin' marijuana inside his firewood!  Don't quite know how he gets it inside them logs, but he's hidin' it there." &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Thank you very much for the call, sir."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The next day, the Sheriff's Deputies descend on Virgil's house.  They searched the shed &lt;br/&gt;where the firewood is kept.  Using axes, they bust open every piece of wood, but find&lt;br/&gt;no marijuana. They sneer at Virgil and leave.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Shortly, the phone rings at Virgil's house. &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;"Hey, Virgil! This here's Floyd....Did the Sheriff come?" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yeah!" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Did they chop your firewood?" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yep!" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Happy Birthday, buddy!" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;     (Rednecks know how to git-R-dun).&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-160972292624057008?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/160972292624057008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=160972292624057008' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/160972292624057008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/160972292624057008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/he-hidin-marijuana.html' title='He&amp;#39;s hidin&amp;#39; marijuana'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7029681947045356976</id><published>2008-04-24T11:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T11:36:06.931-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WHY YOU NEVER QUESTION A DRUNK...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;WHY YOU NEVER QUESTION A DRUNK...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;    I was shopping at the local supermarket where I selected:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;    A half-gallon of 2% milk&lt;br/&gt;    A carton of eggs&lt;br/&gt;    A quart of orange juice&lt;br/&gt;    A head of romaine lettuce&lt;br/&gt;    A 2 lb. can of coffee&lt;br/&gt;    A 1 lb. package of bacon&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;    As I was unloading my items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind me watched as I placed the items in front of the cashier. &lt;br/&gt;     &lt;br/&gt;    While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, the drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."  I was a bit startled by this proclamation, but I was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since I was indeed single.  I looked at the six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about my selections that could have tipped off the drunk to my marital status. &lt;br/&gt;     &lt;br/&gt;    Curiosity getting the better of me, I said: "Well, you know what, you're absolutely right. But how on earth did you know that?"   The drunk replied, "Cause you're ugly."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7029681947045356976?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7029681947045356976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7029681947045356976' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7029681947045356976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7029681947045356976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/why-you-never-question-drunk.html' title='WHY YOU NEVER QUESTION A DRUNK...'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7390072456484587686</id><published>2008-04-24T11:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-24T11:35:02.827-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dinner Surprise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;One day I met a sweet gentleman and fell in love.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;When it became apparent that we would marry, I made the supreme sacrifice&lt;br/&gt;and gave up beans. &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Some months later, on my birthday, my car broke down on the way home from&lt;br/&gt;work.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Since I lived in the countryside I called my husband and told him that I&lt;br/&gt;would be late because I had to walk home.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;On my way, I passed by a small diner and the odor of baked beans was more&lt;br/&gt;than I could stand.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;With miles to walk, I figured that I would walk off any ill effects by the&lt;br/&gt;time I reached home, so I s topped at the diner and before I knew it, I had &lt;br/&gt;consumed t hree large orders of baked beans.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;All the way home, I made sure that I released all the gas.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Upon my arrival, my husband seemed excited to see me and exclaimed&lt;br/&gt;delightedly: "Darling I have a surprise for dinner tonight." &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He then blindfolded me and led me to my chair at the dinner table.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;I took a seat and just as he was about to remove my blindfold, the telephone&lt;br/&gt;rang.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He made me promise not to touch the blindfold until he returned and went to &lt;br/&gt;answer the call.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The baked beans I had consumed were still affecting me and the pressure was&lt;br/&gt;becoming most unbearable, so while my husband was out of the room I seized&lt;br/&gt;the opportunity, shifted my weight to one leg and let one go. &lt;br/&gt;It was not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a&lt;br/&gt;skunk in front of a pulpwood mill.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;I took my napkin from my lap and fanned the air around me vigorously.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then, shifting to the other cheek, I ripped off three more. The stink was &lt;br/&gt;worse than cooked cabbage.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Keeping my ears carefully tuned to the conversation in the other room, I&lt;br/&gt;went on like this for another few minutes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The pleasure was indescribable.&lt;br/&gt;When eventually the telephone farewells signaled the end of my freedom, I &lt;br/&gt;quickly fanned the air a few more times with my napkin, placed it on my lap&lt;br/&gt;and folded my hands back on it feeling very relieved and pleased with&lt;br/&gt;myself.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;My face must have been the picture of innocence when my husband returned, &lt;br/&gt;apologizing for taking so long. &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He asked me if I had peeked through the blindfold, and I assured him I had&lt;br/&gt;not.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;At this point, he removed the blindfold, and twelve dinner guests seated&lt;br/&gt;around the table chorused: "Happy Birthday!" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;I fainted!!!!! !!!!!!!!!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7390072456484587686?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7390072456484587686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7390072456484587686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7390072456484587686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7390072456484587686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/dinner-surprise.html' title='Dinner Surprise'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5675952805500074826</id><published>2008-04-10T17:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T17:05:26.825-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Would you re-marry?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Husband and wife are lying quietly in bed reading when the wife looks over at him and asks the question.&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'What would you do if I died? Would you get married again?' HUSBAND: 'Definitely not!' &lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Why not? Don't you like being married?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Of course I do.'&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Then why wouldn't you remarry?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Okay, okay, I'd get&lt;br/&gt;married again.'&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'You would?' (with a hurt look) &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: (makes audible groan) &lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you live in our house?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Sure. It's a great house.'&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you sleep with her in our bed?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Where else would we sleep?' &lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you let her drive my car?'&lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Probably. It is almost new.'&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you replace my pictures with hers?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'That would seem like the proper thing  to do.' &lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you give her my jewelry?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'No. I'm sure she'd want her own.'&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would you take her golfing with you?'&lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'Yes. Those are always good times.' &lt;br/&gt;WIFE: 'Would she use my clubs?' &lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: 'No. She's left-handed. '&lt;br/&gt;WIFE: - silence -&lt;br/&gt;HUSBAND: OH SHIT!!!!!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5675952805500074826?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5675952805500074826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5675952805500074826' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5675952805500074826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5675952805500074826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/would-you-re-marry.html' title='Would you re-marry?'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3539724140962234850</id><published>2008-04-10T17:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T17:01:12.205-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The hole in the floor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A man was in a doctors office and the doctor walked in and said, "Ok, what do you need today sir."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The man pulled down his pants and showed the doctor his beat up, bruised, and bleeding penis.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The doctor said, "Damn how did you do that?" &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The man said, "Doc, I live in a trailer, and every night I have noticed that the woman in the trailer next to mine at exactly 9:00 pm, she moves her rug where there is a hole in the floor, she sticks a sausage in the hole and masturbates with it.  So one day I got an idea that at 8:45 pm I would go under her trailer and when she put the sausage in the hole I would pull it out and stick my penis in the hole.  So that night I did, and it was going great until someone knocked on the door and she tried to kick it under the oven!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3539724140962234850?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3539724140962234850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3539724140962234850' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3539724140962234850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3539724140962234850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/hole-in-floor.html' title='The hole in the floor'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1284387512431178141</id><published>2008-04-10T16:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T16:58:56.308-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Athiest</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A young woman teacher with obvious liberal tendencies explains to her class of small children that she is an atheist. She asks her class if they are atheists too. Not really knowing what atheism is but wanting to be like their teacher, their hands explode into the air like fleshy fireworks.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;There is, however, one exception. A beautiful girl named Lucy has not gone along with the crowd. The teacher asks her why she has decided to be different.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Because I'm not an atheist."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then, asks the teacher, "What are you?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I'm a Christian."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The teacher is a little perturbed now, her face slightly red. She asks Lucy why she is a Christian.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Well, I was brought up knowing and loving Jesus. My mom is a Christian, and my dad is a Christian, so I am a Christian."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The teacher is now angry. "That's no reason," she says loudly.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"What if your mom was a moron, and your dad was a moron. What would you be then?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She paused, and smiled. "Then," says Lucy, "I'd be an atheist."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1284387512431178141?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1284387512431178141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1284387512431178141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1284387512431178141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1284387512431178141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/athiest.html' title='An Athiest'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4172506667255440548</id><published>2008-04-01T11:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T11:39:35.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Irish daughter</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;An Irish daughter had not been home for over 5 years.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Upon her return, her father cussed her. "Where have ye been all this time? Why did ye not write to us, not even a line? Why didn't ye call? Can ye not understand what ye put yer old mum thru?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The girl, crying, replied, "Sniff, sniff....dad. ...I became a prostitute."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Ye what!!? Out of here, ye shameless harlot! Sinner! You're a disgrace to this family."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"OK, dad-- as ye wish. I just came back to give mum this luxurious fur coat, title deed to a ten bedroom mansion plus a £5 million savings certificate. For me little brother, this gold Rolex and for ye daddy, the sparkling new Mercedes limited edition convertible that's parked outside, plus a membership to the country club....(takes a breath)....and an invitation for ye all to spend New Years Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera and...."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Now what was it ye said ye had become?" asks dad.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Girl, crying again, "Sniff, sniff....a prostitute dad! Sniff, sniff."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Oh! Be Jaysus! Ye scared me half to death, girl! I t'ought ye said a Protestant'. Come here and give yer old man a hug!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4172506667255440548?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4172506667255440548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4172506667255440548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4172506667255440548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4172506667255440548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/irish-daughter.html' title='An Irish daughter'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-2138242034104575899</id><published>2008-04-01T11:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T11:38:15.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Johnny learns about medicine</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt; The lady teacher asks the pupils what kind of medicines they know &lt;br/&gt;and what they are used for.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt; The first pupil said: Tylenol?&lt;br/&gt; Very good! And what is it used for?&lt;br/&gt; It is used for headache.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt; The second pupil said: Nytol&lt;br/&gt; Excellent. And what it is used for?&lt;br/&gt; To help you sleep&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt; Now it is Johnny's turn and he said:Viagra 'Johnny. What is it used for?'&lt;br/&gt; I think it can be used for diarrhea.&lt;br/&gt; Who told you this?&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;'Nobody, but every evening my mother tells my father 'take a Viagra, maybe that little shit will get harder'.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-2138242034104575899?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/2138242034104575899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=2138242034104575899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2138242034104575899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2138242034104575899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/little-johnny-learns-about-medicine.html' title='Little Johnny learns about medicine'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7287730258833307694</id><published>2008-04-01T11:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T11:37:13.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How to spend your tax rebate</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;This morning President Bush said each one of us would get $300.00, it was $800.00 but they dropped it to $300.00 tax rebate. If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, all the money will go to China , if we spend it on gasoline it will all go to the Arabs, and neither will help the American economy.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;The way I see it, we need to keep that money here in America, so the only way I can see to keep that money here at home is drink beer or spend it on prostitution, those are the only businesses still in the U.S.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7287730258833307694?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7287730258833307694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7287730258833307694' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7287730258833307694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7287730258833307694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/how-to-spend-your-tax-rebate.html' title='How to spend your tax rebate'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7044274455326531339</id><published>2008-04-01T11:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T11:36:25.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex Myths</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A man boarded an airplane and took his seat. As he settled in, he&lt;br/&gt;glanced up and saw the most beautiful woman boarding the plane.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He soon realized she was heading straight towards his seat. As fate&lt;br/&gt;would have it, she took the seat right beside his.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Eager to strike up a conversation he blurted out, "Business trip or&lt;br/&gt;pleasure?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She turned, smiled and said, "Business. I'm going to the Annual&lt;br/&gt;Nymphomaniacs of America Convention in Boston."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He swallowed hard. Here was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen&lt;br/&gt;sitting next to him, and she was going to a meeting of nymphomaniacs.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Struggling to maintain his composure, he calmly asked, "What's your&lt;br/&gt;business role at this convention?"&lt;br/&gt;"Lecturer," she responded. "I use information that I have learned&lt;br/&gt;from my personal experiences to debunk some of the popular myths&lt;br/&gt;about sexuality."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Really?" he said. "And what kind of myths are there?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Well," she explained, "one popular myth is that African-American&lt;br/&gt;men are the most well-endowed of all men, when in fact it is the&lt;br/&gt;Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Another popular myth is that Frenchmen are the best lovers when&lt;br/&gt;actually it is men of Jewish descent who are the best.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;I have also discovered that the lover with absolutely the best&lt;br/&gt;stamina is the Southern Redneck."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Suddenly the woman became a little uncomfortable and blushed. "I'm&lt;br/&gt;sorry," she said, "I shouldn't really be discussing all of this with&lt;br/&gt;you. I don't even know your name."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Tonto," the man said, "Tonto Goldstein, but my friends call me Bubba."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7044274455326531339?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7044274455326531339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7044274455326531339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7044274455326531339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7044274455326531339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/04/sex-myths.html' title='Sex Myths'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3260945804956862152</id><published>2008-03-25T17:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T17:25:20.801-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Blonde Cowboy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;The Sheriff in a small town walks out in the street and sees a blond cowboy coming down the walk with nothing on but his cowboy hat, gun, and his boots so he arrests him for indecent exposure.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;As he is locking him up, he asks "Why in the world are you dressed like this?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The Cowboy says, "Well it's like this Sheriff. I was in the bar down the road and this pretty little red head asks me to go to her home with her. So I did.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;We go inside and she pulls off her top and asks me to pull off my shirt.  so I did.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then she pulls off her skirt and asks me to pull off my pants. So I did.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;Then she pulls off her panties and asks me to pull off my shorts. so I did.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then she gets on the bed and looks at me kind of sexy and says, 'Now go to town cowboy'.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;So. here I am."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Son of a Gun, Blond Men do exist!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3260945804956862152?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3260945804956862152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3260945804956862152' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3260945804956862152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3260945804956862152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/blonde-cowboy.html' title='The Blonde Cowboy'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1751020006179731598</id><published>2008-03-25T17:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T17:23:02.358-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lord and the Harley Rider</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A man riding his Harley was riding along a California beach when&lt;br/&gt;suddenly the sky clouded above his head and, in a booming voice, the&lt;br/&gt;Lord said,"Because you have tried to be faithful to me in all ways, I&lt;br/&gt;will grant you one wish.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The biker pulled over and said, "Build a bridge to Hawaii so I can ride&lt;br/&gt;over anytime I want." The Lord said, "Your request is materialistic,&lt;br/&gt;think of the enormous challenges for that kind of undertaking; the&lt;br/&gt;supports required reaching the bottom of the Pacific and the&lt;br/&gt;concrete and steel it would take! It will nearly exhaust several&lt;br/&gt;natural resources. I can do it, but it is hard for me to justify your&lt;br/&gt;desire for worldly things. Take a little more time and think of&lt;br/&gt;something that could&lt;br/&gt;possibly help mankind."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The biker tho ught about it for a long time. Finally, he said,&lt;br/&gt;"Lord, I wish that I and all men could understand women; I want to&lt;br/&gt;know how she feels inside, what she' s thinking when she gives me the&lt;br/&gt;silent treatment,&lt;br/&gt;why she cries, what she means when she says nothing's wrong, and how I&lt;br/&gt;can make a Woman truly happy."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The Lord replied, "You want two lanes or four on that bridge?&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1751020006179731598?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1751020006179731598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1751020006179731598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1751020006179731598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1751020006179731598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/lord-and-harley-rider.html' title='The Lord and the Harley Rider'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-542808581132681772</id><published>2008-03-25T17:21:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T17:21:52.334-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy and Sad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A husband and wife were sharing a bottle of wine when the husband said,&lt;br/&gt;"I bet you can't tell me something which will make me happy and sad at&lt;br/&gt;the Same time".&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The wife thought for a few moments, then said, "Your pecker is bigger&lt;br/&gt;than your brother's".&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-542808581132681772?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/542808581132681772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=542808581132681772' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/542808581132681772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/542808581132681772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/happy-and-sad.html' title='Happy and Sad'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3747436283240926693</id><published>2008-03-25T17:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T17:21:13.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Man Of The House</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;The husband had just finished reading a new book entitled, "You Can Be&lt;br/&gt;THE Man Of Your House." He stormed out to his wife in the kitchen and&lt;br/&gt;announced, "From now on, you need to know that I am the man of this&lt;br/&gt;house and my word is Law. You will prepare me a gourmet meal tonight,&lt;br/&gt;and when I'm finished &amp;amp;gt;eating my meal, you will serve me a sumptuous&lt;br/&gt;dessert. After dinner, you are going to go upstairs with me and we&lt;br/&gt;will have the kind of sex that I want. Afterwards, you are going to&lt;br/&gt;draw me a bath so I can relax. You will wash my back and towel me dry&lt;br/&gt;and bring me my robe. Then, you will massage my feet and hands.&lt;br/&gt;Then tomorrow, guess who's going to dress me and comb my hair?&lt;br/&gt;The wife replied, "The fuckin' funeral director would be my first guess." &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3747436283240926693?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3747436283240926693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3747436283240926693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3747436283240926693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3747436283240926693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/man-of-house.html' title='The Man Of The House'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7707622197295951053</id><published>2008-03-15T10:50:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T10:50:59.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chinese Sick Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Hung Chow calls into work and says, "Hey, I no come work today, I&lt;br/&gt;sick, headache, stomach ache, legs hurt, I no come work."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The boss says, "You know something, Hung Chow, I really need you&lt;br/&gt;today. When I feel like this, I go to my wife and tell her to give me&lt;br/&gt;sex. That makes everything better and I go to work. You try that."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Two hours later Hung Chow calls again. "I do what you say, I feel&lt;br/&gt;great. I be work soon.....you got nice house".&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7707622197295951053?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7707622197295951053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7707622197295951053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7707622197295951053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7707622197295951053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/chinese-sick-day.html' title='Chinese Sick Day'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4169694784880712294</id><published>2008-03-15T10:50:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T10:50:37.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Get Screwed</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;It was a small town and the patrolman was making his evening rounds.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;As he was checking a used car lot, he came upon two little old ladies&lt;br/&gt;sitting in a used car.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He stopped and asked them why they were sitting there in the car. Were&lt;br/&gt;they trying to steal it?&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Heavens no, we bought it."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Then why don't you drive it away."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"We can't drive."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Then why did you buy it?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"We were told that if we bought a used car here we'd get screwed .&lt;br/&gt;so we're just waiting.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4169694784880712294?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4169694784880712294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4169694784880712294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4169694784880712294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4169694784880712294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/get-screwed.html' title='Get Screwed'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5205885892744001449</id><published>2008-03-15T10:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T10:50:17.717-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Politically Correct</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Due to the climate of political correctness now pervading America ,&lt;br/&gt;Kentuckians, Tennesseans and West Virginians will no longer be&lt;br/&gt;referred to as "HILLBILLIES.&lt;br/&gt;You must now refer to them as APPALACHIAN- AMERICANS. And furthermore. .&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT "WOMEN" AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;1. She is not a "BABE" or a "CHICK" - She is a "BREASTED AMERICAN."&lt;br/&gt;2. She is not a "SCREAMER" or a "MOANER" - She is "VOCALLY APPRECIATIVE. "&lt;br/&gt;3. She is not "EASY" - She is"HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE."&lt;br/&gt;4. She is not a "DUMB BLONDE" - She is a "LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE&lt;br/&gt;INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY. "&lt;br/&gt;5. She has not "BEEN AROUND" - She is a "PREVIOUSLY- ENJOYED COMPANION."&lt;br/&gt;6. She is not an "AIRHEAD" - She is "REALITY IMPAIRED."&lt;br/&gt;7. She does not get "DRUNK" or "TIPSY" - She gets "CHEMICALLY&lt;br/&gt;INCONVENIENCED. "&lt;br/&gt;8. She does not have "BREAST IMPLANTS" - She is "MEDICALLY ENHANCED."&lt;br/&gt;9. She does not "NAG" you - She becomes "VERBALLY REPETITIVE."&lt;br/&gt;10. She is not a "TRAMP" - She is "SEXUALLY EXTROVERTED. "&lt;br/&gt;11. She does not have "MAJOR LEAGUE HOOTERS" - She is "PECTORALLY&lt;br/&gt;SUPERIOR."&lt;br/&gt;12. She is not a "TWO-BIT HOOKER" - She is a "LOW COST PROVIDER."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT "MEN" AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:&lt;br/&gt;1. He does not have a "BEER GUT" - He has developed a "LIQUID GRAIN&lt;br/&gt;STORAGE FACILITY."&lt;br/&gt;2. He is not a "BAD DANCER" - He is "OVERLY CAUCASIAN."&lt;br/&gt;3. He does not "GET LOST ALL THE TIME" - He "INVESTIGATES&lt;br/&gt;ALTERNATIVEDESTINAT IONS."&lt;br/&gt;4. He is not "BALDING" - He is in "FOLLICLE REGRESSION."&lt;br/&gt;5. He is not a "CRADLE ROBBER" - He prefers "GENERATIONAL DIFFERENTIAL&lt;br/&gt;RELATIONSHIPS. "&lt;br/&gt;6. He does not get "FALLING-DOWN DRUNK" - He becomes "ACCIDENTALLY&lt;br/&gt;HORIZONTAL."&lt;br/&gt;7. He does not act like a "TOTAL ASS" - He develops a case of&lt;br/&gt;"RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION."&lt;br/&gt;8. He is not a "MALE CHAUVINIST PIG" - He has "SWINE EMPATHY."&lt;br/&gt;9. He is not afraid of "COMMITMENT" - He is "RELATIONSHIP CHALLENGED."&lt;br/&gt;10. He is not "HORNY" - He is "SEXUALLY FOCUSED."&lt;br/&gt;11. It's not his "CRACK" you see hanging out of his pants - It's "REAR&lt;br/&gt;CLEAVAGE"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5205885892744001449?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5205885892744001449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5205885892744001449' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5205885892744001449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5205885892744001449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/politically-correct.html' title='Politically Correct'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4198978674360093068</id><published>2008-03-15T10:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T10:49:50.872-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flat Tire</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A Blonde women's car gets a flat tire on the Interstate one day so she eases it over onto the shoulder of the road.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She carefully steps out of the car and opens the trunk. Takes out two cardboard men, unfolds them and stands them at the rear of the vehicle facing oncoming traffic.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The lifelike cardboard men are in trench coats exposing their nude bodies to approaching drivers...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Not surprisingly, the traffic became snarled and backed up. It wasn't very long before a police car arrives. The Officer, clearly enraged, approaches the blonde of the disabled vehicle yelling, "What is going on here?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"My car broke down, Officer" says the woman, calmly.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Well, what the hell are these obscene cardboard pictures doing here by the road?!" asks the Officer...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She replied "Helllllooooo, those are my emergency flashers&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4198978674360093068?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4198978674360093068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4198978674360093068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4198978674360093068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4198978674360093068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/flat-tire.html' title='Flat Tire'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8510602026041166057</id><published>2008-03-15T10:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T10:48:00.027-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irishman goes to the Dr.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;An Irishman was terribly overweight, so his doctor put him on a diet.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I want you to eat regularly for 2 days, then skip a day, and repeat this procedure for 2 weeks. The next time I see you, you should have lost at least 5 pounds.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;When the Irishman returned, he shocked the doctor by having lost nearly 60lbs!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Why, that's amazing!" the doctor said, "Did you follow my instructions? "&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The Irishman nodded..."I' ll tell you though, by jaesuz, I t'aut I were going to drop dead on dat 3rd day."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"From the hunger, you mean?" asked the doctor.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"No, from the f**kin' skippin"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8510602026041166057?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8510602026041166057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8510602026041166057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8510602026041166057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8510602026041166057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/irishman-goes-to-dr.html' title='Irishman goes to the Dr.'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4924905063393124780</id><published>2008-03-10T16:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T16:42:17.401-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Healing</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Grandma and grandpa are watching a healing program on TV. The evangelist&lt;br/&gt;called to all that wanted to be healed, to put one hand to the TV and&lt;br/&gt;the other on the body part they wanted healed. Grandma hobbled over to&lt;br/&gt;the TV and put one hand on the TV and the other on her artheritic hip.&lt;br/&gt;Grandpa made his way to the set, put one hand on the set and the other&lt;br/&gt;on his crotch. Grandma looked at him with disgust. "You don't understand&lt;br/&gt;Bill, The purpose of this program is to heal the sick, not raise the&lt;br/&gt;dead!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;New PTC just launched,  Great admin,  It is paypal verified,  It is International and it is FREE to join. &lt;a href='http://ucash.in/2a1d2d8'&gt;Click Here:&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4924905063393124780?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4924905063393124780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4924905063393124780' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4924905063393124780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4924905063393124780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/healing.html' title='Healing'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1672282755233378407</id><published>2008-03-10T16:40:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T16:40:31.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Doctors Never Laugh</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;..The Doctor replied "Of course I won't laugh, I'm a&lt;br/&gt;professional. In over twenty years I've never laughed at a patient."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Okay then," Bob said, and proceeded to drop his trousers,&lt;br/&gt;revealing the tiniest 'whoo-ha' the doctor had ever seen. It couldn't&lt;br/&gt;have been bigger than the size of a AAA battery.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Unable to control himself, the doctor started giggling, then&lt;br/&gt;fell laughing to the floor. Ten minutes later he was able to struggle to&lt;br/&gt;his feet and regain his composure.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I'm so sorry," said the doctor. "I really am. I don't know&lt;br/&gt;what came over me. On my honor as a doctor and a gentleman, I promise&lt;br/&gt;it won't happen again. Now, what seems to be the problem?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"It's swollen," Bob replied.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1672282755233378407?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1672282755233378407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1672282755233378407' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1672282755233378407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1672282755233378407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/doctors-never-laugh.html' title='Doctors Never Laugh'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7932907896320204813</id><published>2008-03-10T16:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T16:40:08.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Marriage Humor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Wife: "What are you doing?"&lt;br/&gt;Husband : Nothing.&lt;br/&gt;Wife : "Nothing? You've been reading our marriage certificate for an hour."&lt;br/&gt;Husband : "I was looking for the expiration date."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Wife : "Do you want dinner?"&lt;br/&gt;Husband : "Sure! What are my choices?"&lt;br/&gt;Wife : "Yes and no."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Wife: "You always carry my photo in your wallet.  Why?"&lt;br/&gt;Hubby: "When there is a problem, no matter how impossible, I look at your&lt;br/&gt;picture and the problem disappears."&lt;br/&gt;Wife: "You see how miraculous and powerful I am for you?"&lt;br/&gt;Hubby: "Yes! I see your picture and ask myself what other problem can there&lt;br/&gt;be greater than this one?"&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Stress Reliever Girl: "When we get married, I want to share all your&lt;br/&gt;worries, troubles and lighten your burden."&lt;br/&gt;Boy: "It's very kind of you, darling, but I don't have any worries or&lt;br/&gt;troubles."&lt;br/&gt;Girl: "Well that's because we aren't married yet."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Son: "Mom, when I was on the bus with Dad this morning, he told me to give&lt;br/&gt;up my seat to a lady."&lt;br/&gt;Mom: "Well, you have done the right thing."&lt;br/&gt;Son: "But mom, I was sitting on daddy's lap."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;A newly married man asked his wife, "Would you have married me if my father&lt;br/&gt;hadn't left me a fortune?"&lt;br/&gt;"Honey," the woman replied sweetly, "I'd have married you, no matter WHO&lt;br/&gt;left you a fortune."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Father to son after exam: "Let me see your report card."&lt;br/&gt;Son: "My friend just borrowed it.  He wants to scare his parents."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Girl to her boyfriend: One kiss and I'll be yours forever.&lt;br/&gt;The guy replies: "Thanks for the early warning."&lt;br/&gt;------------ --------- --------- --------- ---&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;A wife asked her husband: "What do you like most in me, my pretty face or my&lt;br/&gt;sexy body?"  He looked at her from head to toe and replied, "I like your&lt;br/&gt;sense of humor."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7932907896320204813?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7932907896320204813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7932907896320204813' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7932907896320204813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7932907896320204813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/marriage-humor.html' title='Marriage Humor'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6030539375359563533</id><published>2008-03-10T16:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T16:39:22.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irishman's trip to the doctor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;An Irishman was terribly overweight, so his doctor put him on a diet.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I want you to eat regularly for 2 days, then skip a day, and repeat this procedure for 2 weeks. The next time I see you, you should have lost at least 5 pounds.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;When the Irishman returned, he shocked the doctor by having lost nearly 60lbs!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Why, that's amazing!" the doctor said, "Did you follow my instructions? "&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The Irishman nodded..."I' ll tell you though, by jaesuz, I t'aut I were going to drop dead on dat 3rd day."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"From the hunger, you mean?" asked the doctor.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"No, from the f**kin' skippin"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6030539375359563533?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6030539375359563533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6030539375359563533' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6030539375359563533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6030539375359563533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/irishman-trip-to-doctor.html' title='Irishman&amp;#39;s trip to the doctor'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6989331652216357552</id><published>2008-03-07T07:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T07:35:15.949-08:00</updated><title type='text'>6 Truths Of Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;6 Truths of Life&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;1. You cannot touch all your teeth with your tongue.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;2. All idiots, after reading the first truth, will try it.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;3. The first truth is a lie.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;4. You're smiling now because you're an idiot.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;5. You soon will forward this to another idiot.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;6. There's still a stupid smile on your face.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;Sorry about this, I was An Idiot too,And Neeeded Company...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6989331652216357552?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6989331652216357552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6989331652216357552' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6989331652216357552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6989331652216357552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/6-truths-of-life.html' title='6 Truths Of Life'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3269781619869141690</id><published>2008-03-07T07:34:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T07:34:38.801-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Password Protected</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A woman was helping her husband set up his computer, and at the appropriate point in the process, she told him that he would now need to enter a password, something he could remember easily and will use each time he has to log on. The husband was in a rather amorous mood and figured he would try for the shock effect to bring this to his wife's attention. So, when the computer asked him to enter his password, he made it plainly obvious to his wife that he was keying in...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;P...E...N... I...S&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;His wife fell off her chair laughing when the computer replied:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;**PASSWORD REJECTED. NOT LONG ENOUGH***&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3269781619869141690?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3269781619869141690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3269781619869141690' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3269781619869141690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3269781619869141690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/password-protected.html' title='Password Protected'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-114581465142945621</id><published>2008-03-07T07:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T07:34:03.525-08:00</updated><title type='text'>HOW TO INSTALL A " TEXAS " HOME SECURITY SYSTEM ...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;1. Go to a second-hand store and buy a pair of men's used size 14-16&lt;br/&gt;work boots.&lt;br/&gt;2. Place them on your front porch, along with a copy of Guns &amp;amp; Ammo&lt;br/&gt;Magazine.&lt;br/&gt;3. Put a few giant dog dishes next to the boots and magazines.&lt;br/&gt;4. Leave a note on your door that reads:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Hey Bubba,&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Big Jim, Duke, Slim, and I went for more ammunition. Back in an hour.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Don't mess with the pit bulls-they attacked the mailman this morning&lt;br/&gt;and messed him up real bad. I don't think Killer took part in it but&lt;br/&gt;it was hard to tell from all the blood.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Anyway, I locked all four of 'em in the house. Better wait outside.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.buddypond.com/?r=flint005"&amp;amp;gt;&lt;br/&gt;&amp;amp;lt;img src="http://www.buddypond.com/banners/bpbnr468x60.gif" alt="BuddyPond.com" border="0"&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-114581465142945621?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/114581465142945621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=114581465142945621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/114581465142945621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/114581465142945621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-to-install-texas-home-security.html' title='HOW TO INSTALL A &amp;quot; TEXAS &amp;quot; HOME SECURITY SYSTEM ...'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-597766765440890613</id><published>2008-03-04T09:05:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T09:05:39.603-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the first day, God created</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;On the first day, God created the dog and said:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;'Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The dog said: 'That's a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I'll give you back the other ten?'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;So God agreed.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;On the second day, God created the monkey and said:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;'Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give you a twenty-year life span.'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The monkey said: 'Monkey tricks for twenty years? Tha t's a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;And God agreed.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;On the third day, God created the cow and said:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;'You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty ye ars.'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The cow said: 'That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;And God agreed again.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;On the fourth day, God created man and said:&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;'Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you twenty years.'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;But man said: 'Only twenty yea rs? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten&lt;br/&gt;the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;'Okay,' said God, 'You asked for it.'&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Life has now been explained to you.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I'm doing it as a public service. &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-597766765440890613?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/597766765440890613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=597766765440890613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/597766765440890613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/597766765440890613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/on-first-day-god-created.html' title='On the first day, God created'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3005476761280230991</id><published>2008-03-04T09:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T09:04:09.815-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Clyde's Accident</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A farmer named Clyde had a car accident. In court, the trucking&lt;br/&gt;company's fancy lawyer was questioning Clyde. "Didn't you say, at the&lt;br/&gt;scene of the accident, 'I'm fine,'?" asked the lawyer.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Clyde responded, "Well, I'll tell you what happened. I had just&lt;br/&gt;loaded my favorite mule,&lt;br/&gt;Bessie, into the...&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I didn't ask for any details", the lawyer interrupted. "Just answer&lt;br/&gt;the question. Did you not say, at the scene of the accident,'I' m&lt;br/&gt;fine!'?" Clyde said, "Well, I had just got Bessie into the&lt;br/&gt;trailer and I was driving down the road...." The lawyer interrupted&lt;br/&gt;again and said, "Judge, I am trying to establish the fact that, at&lt;br/&gt;the scene of the accident, this man told the Highway Patrolman on the&lt;br/&gt;scene that he was just fine. Now several weeks after the accident he&lt;br/&gt;is trying to sue my client. I believe he is a fraud. Please tell him&lt;br/&gt;to simply answer the&lt;br/&gt;question."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;By this time, the Judge was fairly interested in Clyde's answer and&lt;br/&gt;said to the lawyer, "I'd like to hear what he has to say about his&lt;br/&gt;favorite mule, Bessie." Clyde thanked the Judge and&lt;br/&gt;proceeded. "Well, as I was saying, I had just loaded Bessie, my&lt;br/&gt;favorite mule, into the trailer&lt;br/&gt;and was driving her down the highway when this huge semi-truck and&lt;br/&gt;trailer ran the stop sign and smacked my truck right in the side. I&lt;br/&gt;was thrown into one ditch and Bessie was thrown into the other. I was&lt;br/&gt;hurting, real bad and didn't want to move. However, I could hear ole&lt;br/&gt;Bessie moaning and groaning. I knew she was in terrible shape just&lt;br/&gt;by her groans. Shortly after the accident a Highway Patrolman came&lt;br/&gt;on the scene. He could hear Bessie moaning and groaning so he went&lt;br/&gt;over to her. After he looked at her, and saw her fatal condition, he&lt;br/&gt;took out his gun and shot her between the eyes. Then the Patrolman&lt;br/&gt;came across the road, gun still in hand, looked at me,and said, "How&lt;br/&gt;are you feeling?" "Now what the H**L would you say?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3005476761280230991?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3005476761280230991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3005476761280230991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3005476761280230991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3005476761280230991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/clyde-accident.html' title='Clyde&amp;#39;s Accident'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6178511086049627895</id><published>2008-03-04T09:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T09:03:40.662-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Used to sharing:</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A little old couple walked slowly into a McDonald's one cold winter evening.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;They looked out of place amid the young families and young couples eating there that night.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Some of the customers looked admiringly at them. You could tell what the admirers were thinking: "Look, there is a couple who has been through a lot together, probably for 60 years or more!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The little old man walked up to the cash register, placed his order with no hesitation and then paid for their meal.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The couple took a table near the back wall and started taking food off of the tray.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;There was one hamburger, one order of French fries and one drink.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The little old man unwrapped the plain hamburger and carefully cut it in half.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He placed one half in front of his wife.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then he carefully counted out the French fries, divided them in two piles and neatly placed one pile in front of his wife.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He took a sip of the drink, and then his wife took a sip as the man began to eat his few bites.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Again, you could tell what people around the old couple were saying. - "They were used to sharing everything ."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Then the crowd noticed that the little old lady still hadn't eaten a thing.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She just sat there watching her husband eat and occasionally sipped some of the drink.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;A young man came over and begged them to let him buy them another meal.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The lady explained that no, they were used to sharing.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;As the little old man finished eating and was wiping his face neatly with a napkin, the young man could stand it no longer and asked again.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;After being politely refused again, he finally asked the little old lady, "Ma'am, why aren't you eating. You said that you share everything. What is it that you are waiting for?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;She answered "THE TEETH"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6178511086049627895?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6178511086049627895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6178511086049627895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6178511086049627895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6178511086049627895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/used-to-sharing.html' title='Used to sharing:'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-9056410968971799887</id><published>2008-03-01T05:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T05:37:21.505-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In and out of puddles</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;"Three ducks go into a&lt;br/&gt;bar."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Say, what's your name?" the bartender asked the first duck.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Huey," was the reply.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"How's your day been, Huey?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day.&lt;br/&gt;What else could a duck want?" said Huey.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Oh. That's nice," said the bartender. He turned to the second&lt;br/&gt;duck, "Hi, and what's your name?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Dewey," came the answer from duck number two.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"So how's your day been, Dewey! ?" he asked.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Great. Lovely day. I've had a ball too. Been in and out of puddles&lt;br/&gt;all day myself. What else could a duck want?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The bartender turned to the third duck and said,&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"So, you must be Louie?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"No," she said, batting her eyelashes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"My name is Puddles."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-9056410968971799887?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/9056410968971799887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=9056410968971799887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/9056410968971799887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/9056410968971799887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/in-and-out-of-puddles.html' title='In and out of puddles'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7226243341403844815</id><published>2008-03-01T05:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T05:36:31.597-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Babies Come From</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A teenage girl comes home from school and asks her mother. "Is it true what Rita just told me? Babies come out of the same place where boys put their penises?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yes, dear," replies her mother, pleased that the subject had finally come up and she wouldn't have to explain it to her daughter.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"But then when I have a baby," the teenager pondered, "won't it knock all my teeth out?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7226243341403844815?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7226243341403844815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7226243341403844815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7226243341403844815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7226243341403844815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/where-babies-come-from.html' title='Where Babies Come From'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-2257589624888671499</id><published>2008-03-01T05:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-01T05:35:50.001-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Horse, A Chicken &amp; A Harley</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;On the farm lived a chicken and a horse, both of whom loved to play&lt;br/&gt;together.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;One day the two were playing, when the horse fell into a bog and&lt;br/&gt;began to sink.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Scared for his life, the horse whinnied for the chicken to go get the&lt;br/&gt;farmer for help!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Off the chicken ran, back to the farm. Arriving at the farm, he&lt;br/&gt;searched and searched for the farmer, but to no avail, for he had&lt;br/&gt;gone to town with the only tractor.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Running around, the chicken spied the farmer's new Harley.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Finding the keys in the ignition, the chicken sped off with a length&lt;br/&gt;of rope hoping he still had time to save his friend's life.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Back at the bog, the horse was surprised, but happy, to see the&lt;br/&gt;chicken arrive on the shiny Harley, and he managed to get a hold of&lt;br/&gt;the loop of rope the chicken tossed to him.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;After tying the other end to the rear bumper of the farmer's bike,&lt;br/&gt;the chicken then drove slowly forward and, with the aid of the&lt;br/&gt;powerful bike, rescued the horse!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Happy and proud, the chicken rode the Harley back to the farmhouse,&lt;br/&gt;and the farmer was none the wiser when he returned.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The friendship between the two animals was cemented: Best Buddies,&lt;br/&gt;Best Pals.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;A few weeks later, the chicken fell into a mud pit, and soon, he too,&lt;br/&gt;began to sink and cried out to the horse to save his life!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The horse thought a moment, walked over, and straddled the large&lt;br/&gt;puddle.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Looking underneath, he told the chicken to grab his hangy-down thing&lt;br/&gt;and he would then lift him out of the pit.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The chicken got a good grip, and the horse pulled him up and out,&lt;br/&gt;saving his life.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The moral of the story? (yep, you betcha, there IS a moral!)&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"When You're Hung Like A Horse, You Don't Need A Harley To Pick Up&lt;br/&gt;Chicks"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-2257589624888671499?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/2257589624888671499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=2257589624888671499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2257589624888671499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2257589624888671499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/03/horse-chicken-harley.html' title='A Horse, A Chicken &amp;amp; A Harley'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8008546123079892110</id><published>2008-02-27T06:26:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T06:26:58.544-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Red Tomatoes</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A beautiful woman loved growing tomatoes, but couldn't seem to get her tomatoes to turn red.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;One day, while taking a stroll, she came upon a gentleman neighbor who had the most beautiful garden full of huge red tomatoes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The woman asked the gentlemen, "What do you do to get your tomatoes so red?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The gentlemen responded, "Well, twice a day I stand in front of my tomato garden naked in my trench coat and flash them. My tomatoes turn red from blushing so much."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Well, the woman was so impressed, she decided to try doing the same thing to her tomato garden to see if it would work. So twice a day for two weeks she flashed her garden hoping for the best.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;One day the gentleman was passing by and asked the woman, "By the way, how did you make out? Did your tomatoes turn red?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;No", she replied, "but my cucumbers are enormous."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8008546123079892110?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8008546123079892110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8008546123079892110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8008546123079892110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8008546123079892110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/red-tomatoes.html' title='Red Tomatoes'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-286406363185437736</id><published>2008-02-27T06:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T06:26:17.231-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Girls Night Out</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Two women friends had gone for a girl's night out. Both were very faithful and loving wives. However, they had gotten over-enthusiastic on the Bacardi Silvers. Incredibly drunk, and walking home, they desparetly needed to "use the bathroom". It was late, with no proper facility in site, they had no choice but to stop in the nearest private place available... ......the cemetery.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;One of them had nothing to "clean up" with, so she thought she would take off her panties and use them.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Her friend however was wearing a rather expensive pair of panties and did not want to ruin them. She was lucky enough to squat down next to a grave that had a wreath with a ribbon on it, so she proceeded to "clean up" with that. After the girls did their business, they proceeded to go home.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The next day one of the women's husbands was concerned that his normally sweet and innocent wife was still in bed -- hung over, so he phoned the other husband and said, "These girl nights have got to stop! I'm starting to suspect the worst....... ...My wife came home with no panties!!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;That's nothing" said the other husband, "Mine came back with a card stuck to her ass that said....."From all of us at the Fire Station. We'll never forget you."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-286406363185437736?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/286406363185437736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=286406363185437736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/286406363185437736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/286406363185437736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/girls-night-out.html' title='Girls Night Out'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1994948224959158987</id><published>2008-02-27T06:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T06:25:10.132-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Opposites</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;The aspiring psychiatrists were attending their first class on emotional&lt;br/&gt;extremes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Just to establish some parameters," said the professor to the student&lt;br/&gt;from Arkansas, "What is the opposite of joy?"&lt;br/&gt;"Sadness," said the student.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;And the opposite of depression?" he asked of the young lady from&lt;br/&gt;Oklahoma.&lt;br/&gt;"Elation," said she.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"And you sir," he said to the young man from Texas, "how about the&lt;br/&gt;opposite of woe?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The Texan replied, "Sir, I believe that would be giddy-up."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1994948224959158987?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1994948224959158987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1994948224959158987' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1994948224959158987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1994948224959158987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/opposites.html' title='Opposites'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6212478930583842199</id><published>2008-02-25T12:40:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T12:40:36.141-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Having Fun</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Hey, civilizations come and go, but the one constant throughout the ages has been and always will be the orgasm. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief--I don't care what your social strata is. When that climax lightning bolt comes roaring down your loins, there's only one thing on your mind: why in the hell is everybody else on this bus starin' at me?&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6212478930583842199?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6212478930583842199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6212478930583842199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6212478930583842199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6212478930583842199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/having-fun.html' title='Having Fun'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6227014015880036626</id><published>2008-02-25T12:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T12:40:07.311-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hair Dryer</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A distinguished young woman on a flight from Switzerland asked the Priest beside her, "Father, may I ask a favor?" "Of course. What may I do for you?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Well, I bought an expensive woman's electronic hair dryer for my mother's birthday. The dryer is unopened and well over the Customs limits; and I'm afraid they'll confiscate it. Is there any way you could carry it through Customs for me? Under your robes perhaps?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn you: I will not lie."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"With your honest face, Father, no one will question you."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;When they reached the Customs area, she let the priest go ahead of her.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The official asked: "Father, do you have anything to declare?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"From the top of my head down to my waist, I have nothing to declare."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The official thought this answer strange, so asked, "And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"I have a marvelous instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;div align='left'&gt;Roaring with laughter, the official said, "Go ahead, Father."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6227014015880036626?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6227014015880036626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6227014015880036626' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6227014015880036626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6227014015880036626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/hair-dryer.html' title='The Hair Dryer'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5803319254920941521</id><published>2008-02-25T12:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T12:39:45.801-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Never Underestimate A Blonde</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those&lt;br/&gt; expensive Double-pane energy-efficient kind. Yesterday, I got&lt;br/&gt; a call from the contractor who installed them. He was&lt;br/&gt; complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year&lt;br/&gt; ago and I hadn't paid for them yet.&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;Hellloooo? Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am&lt;br/&gt; automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his&lt;br/&gt; fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year... namely, that in&lt;br/&gt; just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves!&lt;br/&gt; "Helllooooo? " (I told him). "It's been a year"!&lt;br/&gt; &lt;br/&gt;There was only silence at the other end of the line, so finally&lt;br/&gt; I just hung up. He hasn't called back, probably too&lt;br/&gt; embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made me. Bet he&lt;br/&gt; won't underestimate a blonde anymore!!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5803319254920941521?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5803319254920941521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5803319254920941521' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5803319254920941521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5803319254920941521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/never-underestimate-blonde.html' title='Never Underestimate A Blonde'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-2608877185141680858</id><published>2008-02-22T05:43:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T05:43:33.906-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crusty Old Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A crusty old man walks into the local First Baptist Church office and&lt;br/&gt;say to the secretary, "I would like to join this damn church."&lt;br/&gt;The astonished woman replies, "I beg your pardon, sir. I must have&lt;br/&gt;misunderstood you What did you say?"&lt;br/&gt;"Listen up, dammit. I said I want to join this damn church!"&lt;br/&gt;"I'm very sorry, sir, but that kind of language is not tolerated in this&lt;br/&gt;church."&lt;br/&gt;The secretary leaves her desk and goes into the pastor's study to inform&lt;br/&gt;him of her situation. The pastor agrees that the secretary does not have&lt;br/&gt;to listen to that foul language.&lt;br/&gt;They both return to her office and the pastor asks the old man, "Sir,&lt;br/&gt;what seems to be the problem here?"&lt;br/&gt;"There is no damn problem," the man says. "I just won 200 million bucks&lt;br/&gt;in the damn lottery and I want to join this damn church to get rid of&lt;br/&gt;some of this damn money."&lt;br/&gt;"I see," said the pastor. "And is this bitch giving you a hard time?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-2608877185141680858?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/2608877185141680858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=2608877185141680858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2608877185141680858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2608877185141680858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/crusty-old-man.html' title='Crusty Old Man'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7621455031651153174</id><published>2008-02-22T05:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T05:43:13.299-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Riddle Me This</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Q. What is the difference between a drug dealer and a hooker?&lt;br/&gt;A. A hooker can wash her crack and sell it again&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What's a mixed feeling?&lt;br/&gt;A. When you see your mother-in-law backing off a cliff in your new car.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What's the height of conceit?&lt;br/&gt;A. Having an orgasm and calling out your own name.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What's the definition of macho?&lt;br/&gt;A. Jogging home from your vasectomy.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What's the difference between a G-Spot and a golf ball?&lt;br/&gt;A. A guy will actually search for a golf ball&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. Why is divorce so expensive?&lt;br/&gt;A. Because it's worth it!&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What do Tupperware and a walrus have in common?&lt;br/&gt;A. They both like a tight seal.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What do a Christmas tree and priest have in common?!&lt;br/&gt;A. Their balls are just for decoration.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. What is the difference between "ooooooh"and "aaaaaaah"?&lt;br/&gt;A. About three inches.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: What's the difference between purple and pink?&lt;br/&gt;A. The grip.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. How do you find a blind man in a nudist colony?&lt;br/&gt;A. It's not hard.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: What's the difference between a girlfriend and a wife?&lt;br/&gt;A: 45 pounds.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: What's the difference between a boyfriend and a husband?&lt;br/&gt;A: 45 minutes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: Why do men find it difficult to make eye contact?&lt;br/&gt;A: Breasts don't have eyes.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: If the dove is the bird of peace, what is the bird of true love?&lt;br/&gt;A. The swallow.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q: What is the difference between medium and rare?&lt;br/&gt;A: Six inches is medium, eight inches is rare.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Q. Why do women rub their eyes when they get up in the morning?&lt;br/&gt;A. They don't have balls to scratch&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7621455031651153174?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7621455031651153174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7621455031651153174' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7621455031651153174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7621455031651153174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/riddle-me-this.html' title='Riddle Me This'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-2312125145276197193</id><published>2008-02-22T05:42:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T05:42:45.420-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Need A Push!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A man and his wife are awakened at 3 o'clock in the morning by a loud pounding on the door.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Not a chance," says the husband, "It is three o'clock in the morning."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He slams the door and returns to bed.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Who was that?" asked his wife.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Just some drunk guy asking for a push," he answers.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Did you help him?" she asks.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"No. I did not. Its three o'clock in the morning and it is pouring rain outside!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;His wife said, "Can't you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The man does as he is told (of course!), gets dressed and goes out into the pouring rain.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;He calls out into the dark, "Hello! Are you still there?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yes," comes back the answer.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Do you still need a push?" calls out the husband.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Yes! Please!" comes the reply from the darkness.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Where are you?" asks the husband.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Over here on the swing!!" replies the drunk.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-2312125145276197193?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/2312125145276197193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=2312125145276197193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2312125145276197193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2312125145276197193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-need-push.html' title='I Need A Push!'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1049689673005450074</id><published>2008-02-21T09:15:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T09:15:04.614-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Toilet Paper</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;A little boy asked his teacher if he could go to the&lt;br/&gt;bathroom.&lt;br/&gt;She said yes.&lt;br/&gt;When he went to wipe his fanny there was no toilet&lt;br/&gt;paper so, he used his hand.&lt;br/&gt;When he got back to class, his teacher asked, "What do&lt;br/&gt;you have in your hand?"&lt;br/&gt;The boy said, "A little leprechaun and if I open my&lt;br/&gt;hand he'll get scared away."&lt;br/&gt;He was then sent to the principal's office and the&lt;br/&gt;principal asked him, "What do you have in your hand?"&lt;br/&gt;The little boy said, "A little leprechaun and if I&lt;br/&gt;open my hands he'll get scared away."&lt;br/&gt;The principal got mad and yelled, "Open your hands&lt;br/&gt;NOW!"&lt;br/&gt;He did and the little boy said, "Oh great , now look&lt;br/&gt;what you did, you scared the shit out of him!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;a href='http://www.stanfleming.com/recommends/bg'&gt;&lt;img src='http://www.bgadtrader.com/banner.gif'/&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1049689673005450074?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1049689673005450074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1049689673005450074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1049689673005450074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1049689673005450074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/no-toilet-paper.html' title='No Toilet Paper'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8540838521973422486</id><published>2008-02-21T09:12:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T09:12:20.895-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Circle Flies</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Ole Bubba the Redneck got pulled over by a State Trooper for speeding. The trooper started to lecture Bubba about his speeding, and in general began to throw his weight around to try to make Bubba feel uncomfortable.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Finally, the trooper got around to writing out the ticket. As he was doing that, he kept swatting at some flies that were buzzing around his head.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Bubba said, "Having some problem with them Circle flies there, are Ya?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The trooper stopped writing the ticket and said, "Well yeah, if that's what they are. I never heard of Circle flies."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;So Bubba says, "Well, circle flies are common on ranches. See, they're called circle flies because they're almost always found circling around the back end of a horse."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The trooper says, "Oh," and goes back to writing the ticket. Then after a minute, he stops and says, "Are you trying to call me a horse's ass?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Bubba says, "Oh no, Trooper. I have too much respect for law enforcement to even think about calling you a horse's ass."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;The trooper says, "Well that's a good thing," and goes back to writing the ticket.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;After a long pause, Bubba says, "Hard to fool them flies though." &lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8540838521973422486?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8540838521973422486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8540838521973422486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8540838521973422486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8540838521973422486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/circle-flies.html' title='Circle Flies'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-9124351623209733704</id><published>2008-02-20T08:02:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T08:02:32.605-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kinder, Gentler Ways To Say Someone Is Stupid</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;1. A few clowns short of a circus&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;2. A few fries short of a Happy Meal&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;3. An experiment in artificial stupidity&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;4. A few beers short of a six-pack&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;5. Dumber than a box of hair&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;6. A few peas short of a casserole&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;7. Doesn't have all his cornflakes in one box&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;8. The wheel's spinning but the hamster's dead&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;9. One Froot Loop shy of a full bowl&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;10. One taco short of a combo plate&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;11. A few feathers short of a whole duck&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;12. All foam, no beer&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;13. The cheese slid off the cracker&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;14. Body by Fisher - Brains by Mattel&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;15. Has an IQ of 2 and it takes 3 to grunt&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;16. Warning: Objects in mirror are dumber than they appear&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;17. Couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;18. He fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;19. An intellect rivaled only by garden tools&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;20. As smart as bait&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;21. Chimney's clogged&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;22. Doesn't have all his dogs on one leash&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;23. Doesn't know much but leads the league in nostril hair&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;24. Elevator doesn't go all the way to the top floor&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;25. Forgot to pay his brain bill&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;26. Her sewing machine's out of thread&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;27. His antenna doesn't pick up all the channels&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;28. His belt doesn't go through all the loops&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;29. If he had another brain it would be lonely&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;30. Missing a few buttons on his remote control&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;31. No grain in the silo&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;32. Proof that evolution CAN go in reverse&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;33. Receiver is off the hook&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;34. Several nuts short of a full pouch&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;35. Skylight leaks a little&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;36. Too much yardage between the goal posts&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;37. Surfing in Nebraska&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;38. Slinky's kinked&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-9124351623209733704?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/9124351623209733704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=9124351623209733704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/9124351623209733704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/9124351623209733704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/kinder-gentler-ways-to-say-someone-is.html' title='Kinder, Gentler Ways To Say Someone Is Stupid'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3624099186929119317</id><published>2008-02-20T08:01:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T08:01:55.798-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Rednecks</title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Two rednecks, Bubba and Earl, were driving down the road, drinking&lt;br/&gt;bottles of beer. The passenger, Bubba, said, "Lookey thar up ahead, Earl. It's a&lt;br/&gt;police roadblock!!  We're gonna get busted fer drinkin' these here beers!"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Don't worry, Bubba," Earl said. "We'll just pull over and finish&lt;br/&gt;drinkin' these beers and then peel off the label and stick it on our foreheads&lt;br/&gt;and throw the bottles under the seat."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"What fer?" asked Bubba.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"Just let me do the talkin', okay?" said Earl.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;Well, they finished their beers, threw the empties out of sight, and&lt;br/&gt;put the labels on each of their foreheads.&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;When they reached the roadblock, the sheriff said, "Howdy boys. Ya'll&lt;br/&gt;been drinkin'?"&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;"No sir," said Earl while pointing at the labels. "Me and Bubba's on&lt;br/&gt;the Patch."&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;br/&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;Powered by &lt;a href='http://scribefire.com/'&gt;ScribeFire&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3624099186929119317?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3624099186929119317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3624099186929119317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3624099186929119317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3624099186929119317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/two-rednecks.html' title='Two Rednecks'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4070483140806802924</id><published>2008-02-19T13:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T13:33:39.110-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You cant catch that.</title><content type='html'>An old man was sitting on his front porch down in Louisiana watching the sunrise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sees the neighbor's kid walk by carrying something big under his arm. He yells out, "Hey boy, whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy yells back, "Roll of chicken wire."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O ld man says, "What you gonna do with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says, "Gonna catch some chickens."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells, "You damn fool, you can't catch Chickens with chicken wire!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy just laughs and keeps walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening at sunset, the boy comes walking by and to the old man's surprise he is dragging behind him the chicken wire with about 30 chickens caught in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same time next morning the old man is out watching the sunrise and he sees the boy walk by carrying carrying something kind of round in his hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells out "Hey boy, ! whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy yells back "Roll of duct tape."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says "What you gonna do with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says back "Gonna catch me some ducks".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man yells back, "You damn fool, you can't catch ducks with duct tape!" Boy just laughs and keeps walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night around sunset ! the boy walks by coming home, and to the old man's amazement he is trailing behind him the unrolled roll of duck tape with about 35 ducks caught in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same time next morning the old man sees the boy walking by carrying what looks like a long reed with something fuzzy on the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Old man says "Hey boy, whatcha got there?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy says "It's a pussy willow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old man says "Wait up, I'll get my hat."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4070483140806802924?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4070483140806802924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4070483140806802924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4070483140806802924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4070483140806802924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/you-cant-catch-that.html' title='You cant catch that.'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-1573526600004821884</id><published>2008-02-19T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T13:31:26.754-08:00</updated><title type='text'>That's what got me in prison.</title><content type='html'>Several years ago, Andy was sentenced to prison.&lt;br /&gt;During his stay, he got along well with the guards and all&lt;br /&gt;his fellow inmates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The warden knew that, deep down, Andy was a good person. So,&lt;br /&gt;the warden made arrangements for the inmate to learn a trade while doing&lt;br /&gt;his time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some three years later, Andy was recognized as one of the&lt;br /&gt;best carpenters in the local area.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Often, he would be given a weekend pass to do odd jobs for citizens of the community. And he always reported back to prison by early Sunday evening. Andy was a model inmate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, the warden considered remodeling his kitchen,&lt;br /&gt;though he lacked the skills to build a set of kitchen cupboards and a&lt;br /&gt;large countertop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he called Andy into his office and asked him to do the&lt;br /&gt;job for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the warden's surprise, Andy simply refused to help.&lt;br /&gt;"But you're an expert, Andy, and I really need your help,"&lt;br /&gt;said the warden.&lt;br /&gt;"Gosh, warden, I'd really like to help you, but counter&lt;br /&gt;fitting is what got me into prison in the first place."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-1573526600004821884?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/1573526600004821884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=1573526600004821884' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1573526600004821884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/1573526600004821884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/thats-what-got-me-in-prison.html' title='That&apos;s what got me in prison.'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-4765546233142529666</id><published>2008-02-19T13:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T13:30:28.763-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Watch what you ask.</title><content type='html'>Ever notice how a 4 year old's voice is louder than 200 adult voices?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several years ago, I returned home from a trip just when a storm hit&lt;br /&gt;with crashing thunder and severe lightning. As I came into my bedroom&lt;br /&gt;about 2 a.m., I found my two children in bed with my wife. They had&lt;br /&gt;apparently been scared by the loud storm. I resigned myself to sleep&lt;br /&gt;in the guest bedroom that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, I talked to the children, and explained that it was OK&lt;br /&gt;to sleep with Mom when the storm was bad, but when I was expected&lt;br /&gt;home, please don't sleep with Mom that night. They said OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my next trip several weeks later my wife and the children&lt;br /&gt;picked me up in the terminal at the appointed time. Since the plane&lt;br /&gt;was late, everyone had come into the terminal to wait for my plane's&lt;br /&gt;arrival, along with hundreds of other folks waiting for their&lt;br /&gt;arriving passengers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I entered the waiting area, my son saw me, and came running shouting,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi, Dad! I've got some good news!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As waved back, I said loudly, "What's the good news?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nobody slept with Mommy while you were away this time!" Alex shouted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The airport became very quiet, as everyone in the waiting area looked&lt;br /&gt;at Alex, then turned to me, and then searched the rest of the area to&lt;br /&gt;see if they could figure out exactly who his Mom was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-4765546233142529666?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/4765546233142529666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=4765546233142529666' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4765546233142529666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/4765546233142529666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/watch-what-you-ask.html' title='Watch what you ask.'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-400707988207221705</id><published>2008-02-18T06:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T06:33:33.882-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Discharge</title><content type='html'>Mrs. Jones went to see her doctor. When he inquired about her&lt;br /&gt;complaint she replied that she suffered from a discharge. He&lt;br /&gt;instructed her to get undressed and lie down on the examining table.&lt;br /&gt;She did so. The doctor put on rubber gloves and began to massage her&lt;br /&gt;pussy. After a couple of minutes he asked, "How does that feel?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wonderful," she replied, "but the discharge is from my ear."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-400707988207221705?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/400707988207221705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=400707988207221705' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/400707988207221705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/400707988207221705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/discharge.html' title='The Discharge'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5181321293324650172</id><published>2008-02-18T06:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T06:30:37.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Win</title><content type='html'>My husband and I were in a heated argument that lasted over two&lt;br /&gt;hours, neither of us willing to give in. Finally, I looked at him&lt;br /&gt;and said "I only have one thing left to say, Lorena Bobbett only&lt;br /&gt;got six months!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stared at me, thinking for a few seconds, then replied "Yeah?&lt;br /&gt;Well O.J. got off scott free!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5181321293324650172?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5181321293324650172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5181321293324650172' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5181321293324650172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5181321293324650172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-win.html' title='I Win'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-6985706621198835434</id><published>2008-02-18T06:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T06:28:20.096-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How'd You Do That</title><content type='html'>During a recent vacation in Las Vegas, a man went to see a&lt;br /&gt;popular magic show. After one especially amazing feat, a man&lt;br /&gt;from the back of the theater yelled, "How'd you do that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I could tell you, sir", the magician answered, "But then&lt;br /&gt;I'd have to kill you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a short pause, the man yelled back, "Ok, then... just&lt;br /&gt;tell my wife!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-6985706621198835434?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/6985706621198835434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=6985706621198835434' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6985706621198835434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/6985706621198835434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/howd-you-do-that.html' title='How&apos;d You Do That'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3759080889480388299</id><published>2008-02-17T16:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T16:54:34.704-08:00</updated><title type='text'>College Football Guide</title><content type='html'>(1) What does the average Michigan player get on his SATs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.........Drool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(2) What do you get when you put 32 West Virginia cheerleaders in one room?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........A full set of teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(3) How do you get a Nebraska cheerleader into your dorm room?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.......Grease her hips and push.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(4) How do you get a Florida State graduate off your porch?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........Pay him for the pizza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(5) How do you know if an Alabama football player has a girlfriend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.........There is tobacco spit on both sides of his pickup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(6) Why is the Kentucky football team like a possum?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.....Because they play dead at home and get killed on the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(7) What are the longest three years of a Miami ( Florida ) football player's&lt;br /&gt;life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........His freshman year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(8) How many Oklahoma freshmen does it take to change a light bulb?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..........None. That's a sophomore course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(9) Where was O. J. headed in the white Bronco?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;......... Durham , North Carolina . He knew that the police would never look&lt;br /&gt;at Duke for a Heisman Trophy winner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND FINALLY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(10) Why did Tennessee choose orange as their team color?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.........You can wear it to the game on Saturday, hunting on Sunday, and&lt;br /&gt;picking up trash along the highways the rest of the week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3759080889480388299?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3759080889480388299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3759080889480388299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3759080889480388299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3759080889480388299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/college-football-guide.html' title='College Football Guide'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5918863676872021258</id><published>2008-02-17T16:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T16:52:10.624-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Horrible Dream</title><content type='html'>"Doc," said the young man lying down on the couch, "you've got to help me!" Every night I have the same horrible dream. I'm lying in bed when all of the sudden five women rush in and start tearing off my clothes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The psychiatrist nodded, "And what do you do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I push them away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I see. What do you want me to do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The patient implored. "Break my arms."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5918863676872021258?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5918863676872021258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5918863676872021258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5918863676872021258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5918863676872021258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/horrible-dream.html' title='Horrible Dream'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-119881510708988670</id><published>2008-02-17T16:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T16:50:55.553-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cigar Addiction</title><content type='html'>A man went to his doctor seeking help for his terrible addiction to cigars. The doctor was quite familiar with his very compulsive patient, so recommended an unusual and quite drastic form of aversion therapy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When you go to bed tonight, take one of your cigars, unwrap it, and stick it completely up your ass. Then remove it, rewrap it, and place it back with all the others in such a fashion as you can't tell which one it is. The aversion is obvious: you won't dare smoke any of them, not knowing which is the treated cigar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks doc, I'll try it." And he did. But three weeks later he came back and saw the doctor again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What? My recommendation didn't work? It was supposed to be effective even in the most addictive of cases, such as yours!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, it kind of worked, doc. At least I was able to transfer my addiction," said the patient.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is that supposed to mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I don't smoke cigars anymore, but now I can't go to sleep at night unless I have a cigar shoved up my ass."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-119881510708988670?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/119881510708988670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=119881510708988670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/119881510708988670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/119881510708988670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/cigar-addiction.html' title='Cigar Addiction'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8142144531492244491</id><published>2008-02-16T14:33:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:33:48.538-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Guy Dictionary</title><content type='html'>"CAN I HELP WITH DINNER?"&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "Why isn't it already on the table?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"UH HUH," "SURE, HONEY," OR "YES, DEAR"&lt;br /&gt;Translated: Absolutely nothing. It's a&lt;br /&gt;conditioned response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"IT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG TO EXPLAIN"&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "I have no idea how it works."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I WAS LISTENING TO YOU. IT'S JUST&lt;br /&gt;THAT I HAVE THINGS ON MY MIND."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "That girl standing on the&lt;br /&gt;corner is a real babe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"TAKE A BREAK HONEY, YOU'RE WORKING TOO HARD."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "I can't hear the game over the&lt;br /&gt;vacuum cleaner."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT YOU,&lt;br /&gt;AND GOT YOU THESE ROSES."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "The girl selling them on the&lt;br /&gt;corner was a real babe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OH, DON'T FUSS - I JUST CUT MYSELF,&lt;br /&gt;IT'S NO BIG DEAL."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "I have actually severed a limb,&lt;br /&gt;but will bleed to death before I admit that I'm hurt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I CAN'T FIND IT."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "It didn't fall into my outstretched&lt;br /&gt;hands, so I'm completely clueless."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"WHAT DID I DO THIS TIME?"&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "What did you catch me at?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I HEARD YOU."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "I haven't the foggiest clue what&lt;br /&gt;you just said, and am hoping desperately that I can&lt;br /&gt;fake it well enough so that you don't spend the next&lt;br /&gt;three days yelling at me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"YOU KNOW I COULD NEVER LOVE ANYONE ELSE."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "I am used to the way you yell at me,&lt;br /&gt;and realize it could be worse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"YOU LOOK TERRIFIC."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "Oh, God, please don't try on one&lt;br /&gt;more outfit, I'm starving."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'M NOT LOST. I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE WE ARE."&lt;br /&gt;Translated: "No one will ever see us alive again."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8142144531492244491?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8142144531492244491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8142144531492244491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8142144531492244491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8142144531492244491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/guy-dictionary.html' title='The Guy Dictionary'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-215913802547372855</id><published>2008-02-16T14:32:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:33:02.908-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Emergency Brake</title><content type='html'>An Amish woman was driving her buggy to town when a highway patrol&lt;br /&gt;officer stopped her. "I'm not going to cite you," said the officer. "I&lt;br /&gt;just wanted to warn you that the reflector on the back of your buggy is&lt;br /&gt;broken and it could be dangerous."&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;"I thank thee," replied the Amish lady. "I shall have my husband repair&lt;br /&gt;it as soon as I return home."&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;"Also," said the officer, "I noticed one of your reins to your horse is&lt;br /&gt;wrapped around his testicles. Some people might consider this cruelty to&lt;br /&gt;animals so you should have your husband check that too." -&lt;br /&gt;"Again I thank thee. I shall have my husband check both when I get&lt;br /&gt;home."&lt;br /&gt;True to her word when the Amish lady got home she told her husband about&lt;br /&gt;the broken reflector, and he said he would put a new one on immediately.&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;"Also," said the Amish woman, "the policeman said there was something&lt;br /&gt;wrong with the emergency brake."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-215913802547372855?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/215913802547372855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=215913802547372855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/215913802547372855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/215913802547372855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/emergency-brake.html' title='Emergency Brake'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8892194073439999842</id><published>2008-02-16T14:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:32:32.734-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eve's Side Of The Story</title><content type='html'>Eve's side of the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After three weeks in the Garden of Eden, God came to visit Eve.&lt;br /&gt;"So, how is everything going?" inquired God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is all so beautiful, God," she replied.&lt;br /&gt;"The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, the smells, the&lt;br /&gt;sights, everything is wonderful, but I have just one problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's these breasts you have given me. The middle one pushes the other&lt;br /&gt;two out and I am constantly knocking them with my arms, catching  them&lt;br /&gt;on branches and snagging them on bushes. They're a real pain,"&lt;br /&gt;reported Eve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Eve went on to tell God that since many other parts of her body&lt;br /&gt;came in pairs, such as her limbs, eyes, ears, etc......... .she felt&lt;br /&gt;that having only two breasts might leave her body&lt;br /&gt;more "symmetrically balanced".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's a fair point," replied God, "But it was my first shot at&lt;br /&gt;this, you know. I gave the animals six breasts, so I figured that you&lt;br /&gt;needed only half of those, but I see that you are right. I will fix&lt;br /&gt;it up right away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And God reached down, removed the middle breast and tossed it into&lt;br /&gt;the bushes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three weeks passed and God once again visited Eve in the Garden of&lt;br /&gt;Eden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, Eve, how is my favorite creation?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just fantastic," she replied, "But for one oversight. You see, all&lt;br /&gt;the animals are paired off. The ewe has a ram and the cow has her&lt;br /&gt;bull. All the animals have a mate except me. I feel so alone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God thought for a moment and said, "You know, Eve, you are right. How could I have overlooked this? You do need a mate and I will&lt;br /&gt;immediately create a man from a part of you. Lets see......... .where did I put the useless boob?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now doesn't THAT make more sense than that crap about the rib?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8892194073439999842?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8892194073439999842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8892194073439999842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8892194073439999842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8892194073439999842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/eves-side-of-story.html' title='Eve&apos;s Side Of The Story'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-8763654499340714378</id><published>2008-02-16T14:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:32:00.765-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Private Part Died</title><content type='html'>An old man, Mr. Goldstein, was living the last of his life in a nursing home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed. Nurse Tracy asked if there was anything wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Nurse Tracy ," said Mr.Goldstein, "My Private Part died today, and I am very sad"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing her patients were forgetful and sometimes a little crazy, she replied, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Goldstein, please accept my condolences. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day, Mr. Goldstein was walking down the hall with his Private Part hanging out his pajamas when he met Nurse Tracy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mr.Goldstein, " she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall&lt;br /&gt;like that. Please put your Private Part back inside your pajamas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, Nurse Tracy,"replied Mr. Goldstein, "I told you yesterday that my&lt;br /&gt;Private Part died..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your pajamas?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(You gottalove this!!!!!!!! !!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, " he replied, "Today's the viewing!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-8763654499340714378?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/8763654499340714378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=8763654499340714378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8763654499340714378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/8763654499340714378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-private-part-died.html' title='My Private Part Died'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3579535380679947484</id><published>2008-02-16T14:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:31:24.767-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dad Is A Father</title><content type='html'>A little boy got on the bus, sat next to a man reading a book, and noticed he had his collar on backwards. The little boy asked why he wore his collar that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man, who was a priest, said, "I am a Father."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little boy replied, "My Daddy doesn't wear his collar like that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest looked up from his book and answered "I am the Father of many."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy said, "My Dad has 4 boys, 4 girls and two grandchildren and he&lt;br /&gt;doesn't wear his collar that way."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest, getting impatient, said, "I am the Father of hundreds" and went back to reading his book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little boy sat quietly thinking for a while, then leaned over and said, "Maybe you should wear your pants backwards instead of your collar.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3579535380679947484?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3579535380679947484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3579535380679947484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3579535380679947484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3579535380679947484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-dad-is-father.html' title='My Dad Is A Father'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-3593746212112128104</id><published>2008-02-16T14:13:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:13:55.419-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Watch What You Pray For</title><content type='html'>A man was sick and tired of going to work every day while his wife&lt;br /&gt;stayed home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wanted her to see what he went through so he prayed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear Lord: I go to work every day and put in 8 hours while my&lt;br /&gt;wife merely stays at home. I want her to know what I go through, so&lt;br /&gt;please allow her body to switch with mine for a day. Amen."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, in his infinite wisdom, granted the man's wish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, sure enough, the man awoke as a woman. -&lt;br /&gt;He arose, cooked breakfast for his mate, awakened the kids,&lt;br /&gt;set out their school clothes, fed them breakfast,&lt;br /&gt;packed their lunches, drove them to school,&lt;br /&gt;came home and picked up the dry cleaning,&lt;br /&gt;took it to the cleaners and&lt;br /&gt;stopped at the bank to make a deposit,&lt;br /&gt;went grocery shopping, then drove home to put away the&lt;br /&gt;groceries, paid the bills and balanced the check book.&lt;br /&gt;He cleaned the cat's litter box and bathed the dog.&lt;br /&gt;Then it was already 1P.M. and he hurried to make the beds,&lt;br /&gt;do the laundry, vacuum, dust, and sweep and&lt;br /&gt;Mop the kitchen floor.&lt;br /&gt;Ran to the school to pick up the kids and&lt;br /&gt;got into an argument with them on the way home.&lt;br /&gt;Set out milk and cookies and&lt;br /&gt;got the kids organized to do their homework,&lt;br /&gt;then set up the ironing board and&lt;br /&gt;watched TV while he did the ironing.&lt;br /&gt;At 4:30 he began peeling potatoes and&lt;br /&gt;washing vegetables for salad,&lt;br /&gt;breaded the pork chops and&lt;br /&gt;snapped fresh beans for supper.&lt;br /&gt;After supper, he cleaned the kitchen,&lt;br /&gt;ran the dishwasher, folded laundry,&lt;br /&gt;bathed the kids, and put them to bed.&lt;br /&gt;At 9 P.M. he was exhausted and, though his daily chores weren't&lt;br /&gt;finished, he went to bed where he was expected to make love, which he&lt;br /&gt;managed to get through without complaint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, he awoke and immediately knelt by the bed and&lt;br /&gt;said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-"Lord, I don't know what I was thinking. I was so wrong to envy&lt;br /&gt;my wife's being able to stay home all day. Please, oh! oh! please,&lt;br /&gt;let us trade back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lord, in his infinite wisdom, replied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My son, I feel you have learned your lesson and I will be&lt;br /&gt;happy to change things back to the way they were. You'll just have to&lt;br /&gt;wait nine months though. You got pregnant last night."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-3593746212112128104?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/3593746212112128104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=3593746212112128104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3593746212112128104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/3593746212112128104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/watch-what-you-pray-for.html' title='Watch What You Pray For'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5316465773727841496</id><published>2008-02-16T14:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:13:24.359-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Contact</title><content type='html'>The teenager lost a contact lens while playing basketball in his driveway. After a fruitless search, he told his mother the lens was no where to be found.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Undaunted, she went outside and in a few minutes returned with the lens in her hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How did you manage to find it, Mom"? the teenager asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We weren't looking for the same thing," she replied. "You were looking for a small piece of plastic. I was looking for $150."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5316465773727841496?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5316465773727841496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5316465773727841496' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5316465773727841496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5316465773727841496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/lost-contact.html' title='Lost Contact'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-2633240044780320990</id><published>2008-02-16T14:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:12:51.758-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sleepover</title><content type='html'>John went to his friend's house unannounced, and he wanted to spend the night. His friend was sorry that he could not offer him a whole room, so he said, "You can sleep on the floor in the living room, or you can sleep in the room with Baby."&lt;br /&gt;John said that he would prefer the floor.&lt;br /&gt;The next morning he went to the bathroom, and there he met a gorgeous young blonde. "Hi," he said, "who are you?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm Baby, and who are you?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm stupid," he said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-2633240044780320990?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/2633240044780320990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=2633240044780320990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2633240044780320990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/2633240044780320990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/sleepover.html' title='The Sleepover'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7976552407748996217</id><published>2008-02-16T14:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:11:31.578-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sperm Donor</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a sperm bank and declares, "I'm of royal blood and an I.Q. of 165, I'd like to make a donation". The nurse gives him a sealed cup and directs him to a provate room. 20 minutes later the man hasn't come out, the nurse knocks on the door. "Is there a problem?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm so embarrassed, I used my right hand. I used my left hand. I poured cold water on it and hot water on it. Could you help me?" &lt;br /&gt;The nurse replied, "I don't usually do this but you are kinda cute..."&lt;br /&gt;She gets on her knees and begins to blow him.&lt;br /&gt;"I really appreciate this, but I need help getting the cap off the jar!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7976552407748996217?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7976552407748996217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7976552407748996217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7976552407748996217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7976552407748996217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/sperm-donor.html' title='Sperm Donor'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-5255781516406368703</id><published>2008-02-16T14:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:10:04.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Did You Jump?</title><content type='html'>A young man joined the Army and signed up with the paratroopers. He went though the standard training, completed the practice jumps from higher and higher structures, and finally went to take his first jump from an airplane. The next day, he called home to his father to tell him the news. "So, did you jump?" the father asked.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, let me tell you what happened. We got up in the plane, and the sergeant opened up the door and asked for volunteers. About a dozen men got up and just walked out of the plane!"&lt;br /&gt;"Is that when you jumped?" asked the father.&lt;br /&gt;"Um, not yet. Then the sergeant started to grab the other men one at a time and throw them out the door."&lt;br /&gt;"Did you jump then?" asked the father.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm getting to that. Every one else had jumped, and I was the last man left on the plane. I told the sergeant that I was too scared to jump. He told me to get off the plane or he'd kick my ass."&lt;br /&gt;"So, did you jump?"&lt;br /&gt;"Not then. He tried to push me out of the plane, but I grabbed onto the door and refused to go. Finally he called over to the Jump Master. The Jump Master is this great big guy, about six-foot five, and 250 pounds. He said to me, "Boy, are you gonna jump or not?'' I said, "No, sir. I'm too scared. So the Jump Master pulled down &lt;br /&gt;his zipper and took his penis out. I swear, it was about ten inches long and as big around as a baseball bat! He said, 'Boy, either you jump out that door, or I'm sticking this little baby up your ass.'"&lt;br /&gt;"So, did you jump?" asked the father.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, a little, at first."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-5255781516406368703?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/5255781516406368703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=5255781516406368703' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5255781516406368703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/5255781516406368703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/did-you-jump.html' title='Did You Jump?'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3079081673684150923.post-7178526063959910868</id><published>2008-02-16T14:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-16T14:08:18.044-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking For My Wife</title><content type='html'>Two old guys are pushing their carts around Wal-Mart when they collide. The first old guy says to the Second guy, "Sorry about that I'm looking for my Wife, and I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I Was going."&lt;br /&gt;The second old guy says, "That's OK, It's a Coincidence.  I'm looking for my wife, too.&lt;br /&gt;I can't find her and I'm getting a little desperate."&lt;br /&gt;The first old guy says, "Well, maybe I can help you Find her.&lt;br /&gt;What does she look like?"&lt;br /&gt;The second old guy says: "Well, she is 27 yrs old, tall, with red &lt;br /&gt;hair, blue eyes, long legs, big bust, And is wearing short shorts.&lt;br /&gt;What does your wife look like?"&lt;br /&gt;To which the first old guy says, "Doesn't matter, --- let's look for &lt;br /&gt;yours."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3079081673684150923-7178526063959910868?l=tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/feeds/7178526063959910868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3079081673684150923&amp;postID=7178526063959910868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7178526063959910868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3079081673684150923/posts/default/7178526063959910868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tickleurfunnybone.blogspot.com/2008/02/looking-for-my-wife.html' title='Looking For My Wife'/><author><name>Stan Fleming, Jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03892316564405077228</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_ELH4P1leMSE/R2oFa77fEgI/AAAAAAAAAAg/9-Nc4hUrZ6w/S220/mepic1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
