An elderly couple is enjoying an anniversary dinner together in a small tavern. The husband leans over and asks his wife “Do you remember the first time we had sex together, over fifty years ago? We went behind this tavern. You leaned against the fence and I made love to you from behind.” “Yes,” she says, “I remember it well.” “OK,” he says, “How about taking a stroll round there again and we can do it for old times sake?” “Ooh Henry, you devil, that sounds like a good idea,” she answers. There’s a man sitting at the next table listening to all this, having a chuckle to himself. He thinks, ‘I’ve got to see this, two old timers having sex against a fence.’ So he follows them. They walk haltingly along, leaning on each other for support, aided by walking sticks. Finally they get to the back of the tavern and make their way to the fence. The old lady lifts her skirt, takes her nickers down and the old man drops his trousers. She turns around and as she hangs on to the fence, the old man moves in. Suddenly they erupt into the most furious sex the watching man has ever seen. They are bucking and jumping like eighteen-year-olds. This goes on for about forty minutes. She’s yelling “Ohhh God!” He’s hanging onto her hips for dear life. This is the most athletic sex imaginable. Finally, they both collapse panting on the ground. The guy watching is amazed. He thinks he has learned something about life that he didn’t know. He starts to think about his own aged parents and wonders whether they still have sex like this. After about half an hour of lying on the ground recovering, the old couple struggle to their feet and put their clothes back on. The guy, still watching thinks, ‘That was truly amazing, he was going like a train. I’ve got to ask him what his secret is.’ As the couple passes, the guy says to them, “That was something else, you must have been shagging for about forty minutes. How do you manage it? Is there some sort of secret?” “No, there’s no secret,” the old man says, “except fifty years ago that darn fence wasn’t Electric.”
http://www.gilchrist.cwc.net/starwars/swjokes/other.html#pants "We've got to get a reading on those pants, whether up or down!" Please click the link to see the rest.
Since no one was posting any more bad jokes, I decided to add another one about the most recent American election WHAT OUR POETS WOULD HAVE MADE OF ALL OF THIS > For starters, history buff Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Listen, my children, don't dare ignore, The midnight actions of Bush and Gore In early November, the year ought-ought, Hard to believe the mess they wrought. Two billion bucks of campaign bounty All came down to Palm Beach County. What result cold have been horrider Than the situation we found in Florider? Edgar Allen Poe is his usual gloomy self: Once upon a campaign dreary, one which left us weak and weary O'er many a quaint and curious promise of political lore While we nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping, As of some votes overlapping, energy_zapping to the core "Tis a mess here," we all muttered, as the network anchors stuttered, Stuttered over Bush and Gore. Could there be another election with such a case of misdirection, yet fraught with tension to the core? Quoth the ravers, "Nevermore." Britain's Edward Lear's limerick is lighter: There once was a U. S. election That called for some expert detection: How thousands of pollers Could become two holers Like outhouses of recollection Ditto Ogden Nash: I regret to admit that all my knowledge is What I learned at Electoral Colleges, So tell me please, though I hate to troubya, Will the winner be Al, or will it be Dubya? Joyce Kilmer's a media analyst: I thought that I would never see The networks all so up a tree. Walt Whitman is lyrical, as always: O' Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip's not done The ship has weather'd every rack, but nobody knows who's won. Alfred Noyes rhythmically rumbles: And still of an autumn night they say, with the White House on the line, When the campaign's a ghostly galleon and both candidates cry, "'Tis mine!" When the road is a ribbon of ballots, all within easy reach, A highwayman comes riding, Riding, Riding, A highwayman comes riding and punches two holes in each. Dr. Seuss takes a look at election officials: I cannot count them in a box I cannot count them with a fox I cannot count them by computer I will not with a Roto-Rooter I cannot count them card-by-card I will not 'cause it's way too hard I cannot count them on my fingers, I will not while suspicion lingers. I'll leave the country in a jam-- I can't count ballots, Sam-I-Am. Clement Moore adopts a holiday theme: 'Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the courts, all the plaintiffs made stirring bad ballot reports. Which leaves the problem: Perhaps the best way to stop complaints that are raucous is Start over again, with the Iowa caucuses.
And these three men were snetenced to death byt guillotine. The executioner calls up the first guy. "You want face down or face up?" "Oh, I no want look up. The blade nasty. I face down" The executioner pulls the rope, the blade drops...and jams. So the guy goes free, equipment failure. Then the second guy comes up. "You gonna face down or you gonna face up?" "Hmm. I no like look up. That blade no good! I face down" The executioner pulls the rope, the blade drops again but gets stuck again. So the guy is let free, equipment failure. The third guy comes up now. "You wanna face down or up?" "Ah, I ain't scared of the blade, I face up". So the executioner puts his hand on the rope, when the guy calls out: "WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! I SEE THE PROBLEM!" -Frank De Lima
Pssh, I'm not even going to ask, ArchAngel. Anyhow, I get many of these jokes in emails daily from various http://twistedhumor.com lists, some of you may like them.
Why did the chicken cross the road? He was going to the home of a mafia boss to avenge the rape and murder of his family, then end his own suffering.
