Jul 09

A young woman on a flight from Ireland asked the priest beside her,

‘Father, may I ask a favour?’

‘Of course child. What can I do for you?’

‘Well, I bought an expensive woman’s electric hair dryer for my Mother’s birthday that 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?’

‘I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn

you: I will not lie.’

‘With your honest face, Father, no one will question you.’

When they got to Customs, she let the priest go ahead of her.

The official asked, ‘Father, do you have anything to declare?’

‘From the top of my head down to my waist, I have nothing to declare.’

The official thought this answer strange, so he asked, ‘And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?’

‘I have a marvellous instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused.’

Roaring with laughter, the official said, ‘Go ahead, Father.

Next!’

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May 11

`n Trok drywer is op die N1 toe hy skielik `n Klein geel mannetjie in die Middel van die pad sien. Die mannetjie huil hartverskeurend. Die drywer Stop en vra wat fout is.

`Ek is geel, kom van Venus af, is gay en baie honger.`

`Wel`, se die drywer,` ek kan vir jou`n toebroodjie aanbied, maar dit is al Wat ek kan doen.` Hy gee die toebroodjie aan die geel mannetjie en ry Aan.

`n Klein entjie verder, sien hy `n huilende rooi mannetjie in die middel Van die pad. Ietwat gefrustreerd, stop hy en vra wat fout is.

`Ek is rooi, kom van Mars af, is gay en baie dors.`

Die drywer sug en se: `Al wat ek vir jou het, is `n blikkie Coke.` en hy gee dit vir die rooi mannetjie.

Nog `n ent verder, is daar `n Klein blou mannetjie in die middel van die pad. Erg geirriteerd, stop hy, draai sy venster af en vra hoogs ongeskik:

`Ja, jou simpel Klein blou moffie, van waste ‘f*kk*n’ planeet is jy en wat wil jy hê?`

Die Klein mannetjie antwoord: `Jou bestuurslisensie asseblief, Meneer.

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Sep 22

Old Lady in Court

Sex, The Law Comments Off

Defence Attorney:
Will you please state your age?

Little Old Lady:
I am 86 years old.

Defence Attorney:
Will you tell us, in your own words, what happened the night of April 1st?

Little Old Lady:
There I was, sitting there in my swing on my front porch on a warm spring evening,
When a young man comes creeping up on the porch and sat down beside me.

Defence Attorney:
Did you know him?

Little Old Lady:
No, but he sure was friendly.

Defence Attorney:
What happened after he sat down?

Little Old Lady:
He started to rub my thigh.

Defence Attorney:
Did you stop him?

Little Old Lady:
No, I didn’t stop him.

Defence Attorney:
Why not?

Little Old Lady:
It felt good. Nobody had done that since my Albert died some 30 years ago.

Defence Attorney:
What happened next?

Little Old Lady:
He began to rub my breasts.

Defence Attorney:
Did you stop him then?

Little Old Lady:
No, I did not stop him.

Defence Attorney:
Why not?

Little Old Lady:
His rubbing made me feel all alive and excited. I haven’t felt that good in years!

Defence Attorney:
What happened next?

Little Old Lady:
Well, by then, I was feeling so ‘spicy’ that I just laid down and told him ‘Take me, young man. Take me now!’

Defence Attorney:
Did he take you?

Little Old Lady:
Hell, no! He just yelled, ‘April Fool!’

And that’s when I shot him, the little bastard.

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Jun 09

The Judge President of the Cape Bar went duck hunting in rural Limpopo Province . He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer’s field on the other side of a fence.

As the judge climbed over the fence, an elderly Afrikaans farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing…

The Judge responded, ‘I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I’m going to retrieve it..’

The old farmer replied, ‘This is my property, and you are not coming over here.’

The indignant judge said, ‘I am one of the most important judges in South Africa and , if you don’t let me get that duck, I’ll sue you and take everything you own.’

The old farmer smiled and said, ‘Apparently, you don’t know how we settle disputes in Limpopo Province. We settle small disagreements like this with the ‘Three Kick Rule.’

The Judge asked, ‘What is the ‘Three Kick Rule’?’

The Farmer replied, ‘Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, I get to go first. I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on back and forth until someone gives up.’

The Judge quickly thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger. He also liked the idea of kicking an Afrikaner so he agreed to abide by the local custom.

The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the Judge. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel toed work boot into the judge’s groin and dropped him to his knees!

His second kick to the midriff sent the judge’s last meal gushing from his mouth. The judge was on all fours when the farmer’s third kick to his rear end, sent him face-first into a fresh cow pat.

Summoning every bit of his will and remaining strength the judge very slowly managed to get to his feet. Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, ‘Okay, you old Afrikaans fart. Now it’s my turn.’

(I love this part)

The old farmer smiled and said, ‘Nah, I give up. You can have the duck.’

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Apr 12

A man owned a small farm in Indiana.
The Indiana State Wage Department claimed he was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to interview him. ’I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,’ demanded the agent.

‘Well,’ replied the farmer, ‘there’s my farm hand who’s been with me for 3 years. I pay him $200 a week plus free room and board. The cook has been here for 18 months, and I pay her $150 per week plus free room and board. Then there’s the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night. He also sleeps with my wife occasionally.’
‘That’s the guy I want to talk to — the half-wit,’ says the agent.
‘That would be me, replied the farmer.

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