<?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-16020666</id><updated>2011-07-07T16:12:55.814-07:00</updated><category term='silly'/><category term='drunk jokes funny bottle whiskey alcohol cork'/><category term='jokes'/><category term='blonde'/><category term='beer'/><category term='occupation'/><category term='boss'/><category term='boating'/><category term='funny'/><category term='teen'/><category term='coals'/><category term='comedy'/><category term='lawyers'/><category term='drunk'/><category term='music'/><category term='Bride'/><category term='laugh'/><category term='tyson'/><category term='virgin'/><category term='period'/><category term='boats'/><category term='irish'/><category term='sex'/><category term='Software developers'/><category term='porn'/><category term='job'/><category term='animal'/><category term='dancing'/><category term='drug dealers'/><category term='dando'/><category term='funny story'/><category term='drink'/><category term='married'/><category term='duck'/><category term='laughing'/><category term='sick'/><category term='naked'/><category term='piano'/><category term='bar jokes'/><category term='love'/><category term='work'/><category term='gross'/><category term='pregnancy'/><category term='joker'/><category term='nasty'/><category term='kids'/><category term='money'/><category term='humor'/><title type='text'>Stories and Jokes to make you laugh!</title><subtitle type='html'>Funny Stories and Jokes to make you smile!  I will try and post everyday.  If you have a great story or joke send it to me so that I may post it for all to see.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>124</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-275405974053661226</id><published>2008-10-18T10:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T10:59:09.355-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boating'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blonde'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Boating Blonde</title><content type='html'>During late spring one year, a blonde was trying out her new boat. She was unable to have her boat perform, travel through water, or do any maneuvers whatsoever no matter how hard she tried. After trying for over three days to make it work properly, she decided to seek help. She putted the boat over to the local marina in hopes that someone there could identify her problem. Workers determined that everything from the engine to the outdrive was working perfectly on the topside of the boat. So, a puzzled marina employee jumped into the water to check underneath the boat for problems. Because he was laughing so hard, he came up choking on water and gasping for air. Under the boat, still strapped in place securely, was the trailer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-275405974053661226?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/275405974053661226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=275405974053661226&amp;isPopup=true' title='43 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/275405974053661226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/275405974053661226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/10/boating-blonde.html' title='Boating Blonde'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>43</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-6518214459237146034</id><published>2008-08-10T09:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T09:33:48.643-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='duck'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dancing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='silly'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='coals'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drink'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='irish'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drunk'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drunk jokes funny bottle whiskey alcohol cork'/><title type='text'>The Duck in the Bar</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a bar with a metal box under one arm and a duck under the other. The man walks up to the bar and asks the bar tender "if you give me a free bottle of beer I'll show you my dancing duck". The barman is surprised, but gives the guy a bud and asks the bloke to show him the duck dancing. So the guy puts the metal box on the bar, and stands the duck on top of it. A few seconds later the duck starts to jump around, as if he's doing an Irish jig. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone in the bar is now watching this duck dancing, and the barman offers the guy $50 for the duck and the box. The bloke accepts, and the pub is filled day and night for 3 days with people watching the amazing dancing duck. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So 3 days after he sold the barman the duck, the guy walks back in to the pub and sees his duck dancing on the box on top of the bar. &lt;br /&gt;The barman sees the guy and offers him a bottle of bud on the house. As he gives the guy the bud, the barman asks, "Could you tell me how you stop the duck from dancing on top of the box?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man replies, "Oh that's easy, you just take the hot coals out."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-6518214459237146034?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/6518214459237146034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=6518214459237146034&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6518214459237146034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6518214459237146034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/08/duck-in-bar.html' title='The Duck in the Bar'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-6492710895144781006</id><published>2008-07-20T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-20T18:16:34.514-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drunk jokes funny bottle whiskey alcohol cork'/><title type='text'>The 18 Bottles</title><content type='html'>I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my&lt;br /&gt;wife to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or&lt;br /&gt;else...  I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.  I&lt;br /&gt;withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the&lt;br /&gt;sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.  I then withdrew the&lt;br /&gt;cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception&lt;br /&gt;of one glass, which I drank.  I then withdrew the cork from the third&lt;br /&gt;bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.  I pulled the&lt;br /&gt;cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the&lt;br /&gt;glass, which I drank.  I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and&lt;br /&gt;drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.  I pulled the&lt;br /&gt;sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle.  Then I&lt;br /&gt;corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.&lt;br /&gt;When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted&lt;br /&gt;the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were&lt;br /&gt;twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I&lt;br /&gt;had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.  I'm not under the&lt;br /&gt;affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am.  I'm not half as thunk as&lt;br /&gt;you might drink.  I fool so feelish I don't know who is me, and the&lt;br /&gt;drunker I stand here, the longer I get.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-6492710895144781006?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/6492710895144781006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=6492710895144781006&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6492710895144781006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6492710895144781006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/07/18-bottles.html' title='The 18 Bottles'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-2327191077632387561</id><published>2008-05-06T07:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T07:49:59.301-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='period'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teen'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pregnancy'/><title type='text'>The Small White Dot.</title><content type='html'>A kindergarten class had a homework assignment to find out something&lt;br /&gt;Exciting and relate it to the class the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the time came to present what they'd found, the first little boy&lt;br /&gt;they called on walked up to the front of the class, and with a&lt;br /&gt;piece of chalk, made a small white dot on the blackboard and sat back&lt;br /&gt;down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Puzzled, the teacher asked him what it was. 'It's a period,' he replied.&lt;br /&gt;'I can see that,' said the teacher, 'but what is so exciting about a&lt;br /&gt;Period?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Darned if I know,' he said, 'but this morning my sister was missing one,&lt;br /&gt; Mom fainted, my Dad had a heart attack, and the boy next door joined&lt;br /&gt;the Navy.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-2327191077632387561?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/2327191077632387561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=2327191077632387561&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/2327191077632387561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/2327191077632387561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/05/small-white-dot.html' title='The Small White Dot.'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-5022589959233316438</id><published>2008-04-21T07:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-21T07:26:33.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Social Worker</title><content type='html'>A woman walks into the downtown welfare office, trailed by 15 kids...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'WOW,' the social worker exclaims,'are they ALL YOURS???'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Yep they are all mine,' the flustered momma sighs, having heard that question a thousand times before. She says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Sit down Leroy.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the children rush to find seats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Well,' says the social worker, 'then you must be here to sign up. I'll need all your children's names.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'This one's my oldest - he is Leroy.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'OK, and who's next?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Well, this one he is Leroy, also.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The social worker raises an eyebrow but continues. One by one, through the oldest four, all boys, all named Leroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she is introduced to the eldest girl, named Leighroy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'All right,' says the caseworker. 'I'm seeing a pattern here. Are they ALL named Leroy?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their Momma replied, 'Well, yes it makes it easier. When it is time to get them out of bed and ready for school,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I yell, 'Leroy!' An' when it's time for dinner, I just yell 'Leroy!' an' they all comes arunnin.'  An' if I need to stop the kid who's running into the street, I just yell 'Leroy' and all of them stop. It's the smartest idea I ever had, namin' them all Leroy.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The social worker thinks this over for a bit, then wrinkles her forehead and says tentatively, 'But what if you just want ONE kid to come, and not the whole bunch?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'I call them by their last names.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-5022589959233316438?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/5022589959233316438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=5022589959233316438&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/5022589959233316438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/5022589959233316438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/04/social-worker.html' title='Social Worker'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-1204245505963152417</id><published>2008-04-18T14:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T14:58:47.742-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='silly'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='money'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joker'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>I didnt get any money this time</title><content type='html'>A man in a bar sees a friend at a table, drinking by himself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Approaching the friend he comments, "You look terrible. What's the problem?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My mother died in August," he said, "and left me $25,000." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Gee, that's tough," he replied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then in September," the friend continued, "My father died, leaving me $90,000." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow. Two parents gone in two months. No wonder you're depressed." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And last month my aunt died, and left me $15,000." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Three close family members lost in three months? How sad." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then this month," continued, the friend, "absolutely nothing!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-1204245505963152417?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/1204245505963152417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=1204245505963152417&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1204245505963152417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1204245505963152417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-didnt-get-any-money-this-time.html' title='I didnt get any money this time'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-7115994569781277512</id><published>2008-04-04T19:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T19:40:49.362-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drunk'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Beer and music</title><content type='html'>A drunk walked into a tavern, sat down at the bar. He placed a small cardboard box on the bar, and ordered a beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the beer came, he opened the box, pulled out a tiny piano and bench and set them on the bar, then ordered another beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the beer came, he reached into the box, pulled out a frog, sat him on the piano bench and said, "PLAY".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog immediately began to play the piano. It played all the favorites, and some classical and then launched into contemporary jazz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man ordered another beer, and when it came he reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a little white mouse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He set this mouse on top of the piano and said "SING".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The frog began to play the piano and the mouse began to sing, first some 'oldies but goodies', then all of the current favorites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man at the bar who was watching all of this approached the drunk man and offered to buy this little outfit that he had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a bit of negotiating, the drunk man agreed to sell it to the man for $500. The man gathered everything into the little cardboard box and ran out the door before the drunk could change his mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bartender had been watching all of this goings on and said to the drunk "You damned old fool! You just sold that little outfit you had for $500 and you could have made millions off of it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The drunk laughed heartily and replied "I am not the fool, the guy who bought it is. Do you really think I would have sold that if that mouse could really sing?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bartender responded "What do you mean, I stood right here and listened to that mouse sing!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The joke is on you and the guy who bought that outfit my friend", chuckled the drunk. "That mouse can't sing. The frog is a ventriloquist!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-7115994569781277512?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/7115994569781277512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=7115994569781277512&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/7115994569781277512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/7115994569781277512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/04/beer-and-music.html' title='Beer and music'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-1232371150591942615</id><published>2008-03-22T23:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-22T23:19:42.903-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laughing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bar jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='comedy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny story'/><title type='text'>A Really Bad Day</title><content type='html'>There was this guy at a bar, just looking at his drink. He stays like that for half of an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, this big trouble-making truck driver steps next to him, takes the drink from the guy, and just drinks it all down. The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand to see a man cry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I go late to my office. My boss, outrageous, fires me. When I leave the building, to my car, I found out it was stolen. The police said that they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home, and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I go home, and when I get there, I find my wife in bed with the gardener. I leave home, and come to this bar. And just when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-1232371150591942615?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/1232371150591942615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=1232371150591942615&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1232371150591942615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1232371150591942615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2008/03/really-bad-day.html' title='A Really Bad Day'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-9094351429704795961</id><published>2007-10-07T17:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-07T17:42:48.597-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='music'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='porn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='piano'/><title type='text'>The Pianist</title><content type='html'>A pianist was hired to play background music for a movie. When it was completed he asked when and where he could see the picture. The producer sheepishly confessed that it was actually a porno film and it was due out in a month. &lt;br /&gt;A month later, the musician went to a porno theatre to see it. With his collar up and dark glasses on, he took a seat in the back row, next to a couple who also seemed to be in disguise. &lt;br /&gt;The movie was even raunchier than he had feared, featuring group sex, S/M and even a dog. &lt;br /&gt;After a while, the embarrassed pianist turned to the couple and said, "I'm only here to listen to the music." &lt;br /&gt;"Yeah?" replied the man. "We're only here to see our dog."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-9094351429704795961?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/9094351429704795961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=9094351429704795961&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/9094351429704795961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/9094351429704795961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/10/pianist.html' title='The Pianist'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-5336137647971410482</id><published>2007-10-03T23:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T23:18:54.262-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bride'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dando'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drug dealers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Married Life - Going to a Bar</title><content type='html'>A couple had only been married for two weeks. The husband, although very much in love, couldn’t wait to go out on the town and party with his old buddies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, he said to his new wife, “Honey, I’ll be right back.” Where are you going, Coochy Coo?” asked the wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I’m going to the bar, Pretty Face. I’m going to have a beer.” The wife said, “You want a beer, my love?” She opened the door to the refrigerator and showed him 25 different kinds of beer, brands from 12 different countries: Germany, Holland, Japan, India, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband didn’t know what to do, and the only thing that he could think of saying was, “Yes, Lollipop…but at the bar…you know…they have frozen glasses… ”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn’t get to finish the sentence, because the wife interrupted him by saying, “You want a frozen glass, Puppy Face?” She took a huge beer mug out of the freezer, so frozen that she was getting chills just holding it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband, looking a bit pale, said, “Yes, Tootsie Roll, but at the bar they have those hors d’oeuvres that are really delicious…I won’t be long. I’ll be right back. I promise. OK?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You want hors d’oeuvres, Poochie h?” She opened the oven and took out 5 dishes of different hors d’oeuvres: chicken wings, pigs in blankets, mushroom caps, and pork strips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“But my sweet honey…at the bar….you know there’s swearing, dirty words and all that…”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“You want dirty words, Cutie Pie?…”LISTEN UP D*CKHEAD! SIT DOWN, SHUT THE F*CK UP, DRINK YOUR DAMN BEER IN YOUR DAMN FROZEN MUG, AND EAT YOUR F*CKIN’ HORS D’OEUVRES. BECAUSE YOUR MARRIED ASS ISN’T GOING TO A F*CKIN’ BAR! THAT SH*IT IS OVER… GOT IT, AS*HOLE?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;…and they lived happily ever after.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-5336137647971410482?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/5336137647971410482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=5336137647971410482&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/5336137647971410482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/5336137647971410482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/10/married-life-going-to-bar.html' title='Married Life - Going to a Bar'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-4324083773248811977</id><published>2007-10-03T15:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T23:15:47.662-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Software developers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drug dealers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Drug dealers and software developers - a comparison</title><content type='html'>&lt;table cellSpacing="0" cellPadding="0" width="750" align="center" border="0" id="table1"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;td vAlign="top" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;table cellSpacing="0" cellPadding="0" width="90%" align="center" border="0" id="table2"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;td vAlign="top" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Drug Dealers &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;-----------------------------------&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Refer to their clients as &amp;quot;users&amp;quot;. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;&amp;quot;The first one's free!&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Have important Asian connections. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Strange jargon: &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Stick&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Rock&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Wrap&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;E&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Stash&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Drive-by&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Hit (LSD)&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Source&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;The Pigs&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Realize that there's tons of cash in the 14- to &lt;br /&gt;     25-year-old market. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Clients really like your stuff when it works.When it &lt;br /&gt;     doesn't work they want to kill you. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Job is assisted by the industry's producing newer, more &lt;br /&gt;     potent product. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Often seen in the company of pimps, hustlers and low-lifes &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;When things go wrong, a &amp;quot;fix&amp;quot; is just a phone call away, &lt;br /&gt;     but may be expensive &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;A lot of people are getting rich while still teenagers. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Product causes unhealthy addictions. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Do your job well and you can sleep with sexy movie stars &lt;br /&gt;     who depend on you. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;td vAlign="top" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Software Developers &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;b&gt;-----------------------------------&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Refer to their clients as &amp;quot;users&amp;quot;. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;&amp;quot;Download a free trial version...&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Have important Asian connections. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Strange jargon: &amp;quot;SCSI&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;RTFM&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Packet&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;C&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Cache&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;CTRL ALT DEL&amp;quot;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Hit (WWW)&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Source-code&amp;quot; &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &amp;quot;Microsoft&amp;quot; &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Realize that there's tons of cash in the 14- to &lt;br /&gt;     25-year-old market. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Clients really like your stuff when it works.When it &lt;br /&gt;     doesn't work they want to kill you. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Job is assisted by the industry's producing newer, more &lt;br /&gt;     potent products. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Often seen in the company of marketing people, venture &lt;br /&gt;     capitalists and fund managers. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;When things go wrong, a &amp;quot;fix&amp;quot; is just a phone call away, &lt;br /&gt;     but may be expensive &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;A lot of people are getting rich while still teenagers. &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;DOOM, Quake, SimCity, Duke Nukem 3D... &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;li&gt;Damn! DAMN!!! &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;/td&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-4324083773248811977?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/4324083773248811977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=4324083773248811977&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/4324083773248811977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/4324083773248811977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/10/drug-dealers-and-software-developers.html' title='Drug dealers and software developers - a comparison'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-1453879438997387725</id><published>2007-04-22T15:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T23:52:29.707-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bride'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='married'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='virgin'/><title type='text'>New Bride</title><content type='html'>Concerned about her relationship, a woman approaches her doctor and says, "Doc, I'm getting married this weekend and my fiance thinks I'm a virgin &amp; I'm not! Is there anything you can do to help me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor says, "Medically, no, but here's something you can try. On the wedding night, when you're getting ready for bed, take an elastic band and slide it to your upper thigh. When your husband puts it in, snap the elastic band and tell him it's your virginity snapping." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman loves this idea and knows her hubby will fall for this. They have a beautiful wedding and retire to the honeymoon suite. The wife gets ready for bed in the bathroom, slips the elastic band up her leg, finishes preparing and climbs into bed with her man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things begin to progress - her hubby "slips it in" and just then she snaps the elastic band. The hubby asks, "What the heck was that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wife explains, "Oh nothing honey, that was just my virginity snapping." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband cries out, "Well snap it again, it's got my balls!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-1453879438997387725?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/1453879438997387725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=1453879438997387725&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1453879438997387725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/1453879438997387725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/new-bride.html' title='New Bride'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-7916390201013558912</id><published>2007-04-22T15:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-16T07:34:03.467-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naked'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nasty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sick'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gross'/><title type='text'>Help! I'm Stuck!</title><content type='html'>A man is driving along the motorway with his wife in the passenger seat. During the drive, the wife gets an idea. She starts taking off her clothing piece by piece and tossing them out the window. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy is shocked but aroused. She gets her shoes, socks, etc. and chucks them out. Finally, she whips her underwear off and throws it all out onto the motorway. The guy is laughing and leering at her. He looses control of the car in the process and crashes into a barrier at the side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, the air-bag doesn't go off on his side, and he finds himself wedged in under the steering wheel. "Help, go get help......aggghhhh, I'm stuck", he shouts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I have no clothes on. What'll I do ?", she screams. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here", he says wiggling his foot, "Take my shoe and put it over your crotch. It'll have to do, love. Quick, hurry!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She takes the shoe off his foot and places it over her crotch and gets out of the car, limping and shouting for help. After a few hundred yards of yelling and running a trucker notices this naked hysterical woman holding a shoe over her crotch, and pulls over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's seems to be the trouble?", he asks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Help me", she screams, "My husband is stuck". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If he's stuck up that far I'm afraid I can't help you."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-7916390201013558912?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/7916390201013558912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=7916390201013558912&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/7916390201013558912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/7916390201013558912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/help-im-stuck.html' title='Help! I&apos;m Stuck!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-8464049089647532640</id><published>2007-04-22T15:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-01T07:10:40.781-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tyson'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dando'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Q&amp;A's</title><content type='html'>Q: Why does Mike Tyson cry during sex? &lt;br /&gt;A: Mace will do that to you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: Why can't Jill Dando go drinking?&lt;br /&gt;A: One shot goes straight to her head !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q: What's the similarity between Jill Dando and George Best? &lt;br /&gt;A: They both finished their careers at Fulham&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-8464049089647532640?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/8464049089647532640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=8464049089647532640&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/8464049089647532640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/8464049089647532640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/q.html' title='Q&amp;A&apos;s'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-6974002597676092375</id><published>2007-04-22T15:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T10:26:16.332-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Corporate Lesson number two</title><content type='html'>A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The turkey pecked at a lump of dung and found that it actually gave him enough strength to reach the first branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fortnight, there he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon he was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bullshit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-6974002597676092375?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/6974002597676092375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=6974002597676092375&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6974002597676092375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6974002597676092375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/corporate-lesson-number-two.html' title='Corporate Lesson number two'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-8886018585010035829</id><published>2007-04-22T15:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T15:02:47.350-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boss'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='occupation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='job'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laugh'/><title type='text'>Corporate lesson number one</title><content type='html'>A crow was sitting on a tree, doing nothing all day. A small rabbit saw the crow, and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing all day long?" The crow answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the crow, and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story is: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-8886018585010035829?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/8886018585010035829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=8886018585010035829&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/8886018585010035829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/8886018585010035829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/corporate-lesson-number-one.html' title='Corporate lesson number one'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-6840343414485171481</id><published>2007-04-22T02:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T02:34:59.239-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lawyers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jokes'/><title type='text'>Generous Lawyer</title><content type='html'>A local United Way office realized that the organization had never received a donation from the town's most successful lawyer. The person in charge of contributions called him to persuade him to contribute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Our research shows that out of a yearly income of at least $500,000, you give not a penny to charity. Wouldn't you like to give back to the community in some way?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lawyer mulled this over for a moment and replied, "First, did your research also show that my mother is dying after a long illness, and has medical bills that are several times her annual income?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Embarrassed, the United Way rep mumbled, "Um ... no."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lawyer interrupts, "or that my brother, a disabled veteran, is blind and confined to a wheelchair?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stricken United Way rep began to stammer out an apology, but was interrupted again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"or that my sister's husband died in a traffic accident," the lawyer's voice rising in indignation, "leaving her penniless with three children?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The humiliated United Way rep, completely beaten, said simply, "I had no idea..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a roll, the lawyer cut him off once again, "So if I don't give any money to them, why should I give any to you?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-6840343414485171481?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/6840343414485171481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=6840343414485171481&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6840343414485171481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/6840343414485171481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2007/04/generous-lawyer.html' title='Generous Lawyer'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116655127673468990</id><published>2006-12-19T10:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-19T10:01:16.746-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Italian</title><content type='html'>An Italian is drinking in a New York bar when he gets a call on his cell phone.  He hangs up, grinning from ear to ear, and orders a round &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;of drinks for everybody in the bar announcing his wife had produced a typical Italian baby boy weighing 25 pounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody can believe that any new baby can weigh in at 25 pounds, but the Italian guy just shrugs, "That's about average back home, folks...like I said, my boy's a typical Italian bambino."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Congratulations showered him from all around, and many exclamations of "WOW"...one woman actually fainted due to sympathy pains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks later, he returns to the bar.  The bartender says, "Say you're the father of that typical Italian baby that weighed 25 pounds at birth.  Everybody's been ! makin g bets about how big he'd be in two weeks. So how much does he weigh now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The proud father answers, "Seventeen pounds."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bartender is puzzled, concerned, and a little suspicious.  "What happened?  He already weighed 25 pounds the day he was born!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Italian father takes a long swig of Sambuca, wipes his lips on his shirtsleeve , leans into the bartender and proudly says,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We had him circumcised."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116655127673468990?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116655127673468990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116655127673468990&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116655127673468990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116655127673468990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/12/italian.html' title='The Italian'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116646398582007717</id><published>2006-12-18T09:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T09:46:25.846-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Husband Wanted!</title><content type='html'>A lonely widow, aged 70, decided that is was time to&lt;br /&gt;get married again.  She put an ad in the local newspaper that &lt;br /&gt;read:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HUSBAND WANTED:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MUST BE IN MY AGE GROUP (70's),&lt;br /&gt;MUST NOT BEAT ME,&lt;br /&gt;MUST NOT RUN AROUND ON ME,&lt;br /&gt;AND MUST STILL BE GOOD IN BED!&lt;br /&gt;ALL APPLICANTS PLEASE APPLY IN PERSON.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second day she heard the doorbell. Much to&lt;br /&gt;her dismay, she opened the door to see a gray-haired gentleman&lt;br /&gt;sitting in a wheel chair. He had no arms or legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're not really asking me to consider you, are&lt;br /&gt;you?" the widow said. "Just look at you... You have no legs!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old gentleman smiled, "Therefore, I cannot run&lt;br /&gt;around on you!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "You don't have any arms either!" she snorted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the old man smiled, "Therefore, I can never beat you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She raised an eyebrow and asked intently, "Are you still good in &lt;br /&gt;bed??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man leaned back, beamed a big smile and said, "I rang&lt;br /&gt;the door bell, didn't I?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wedding is scheduled for Saturday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116646398582007717?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116646398582007717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116646398582007717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116646398582007717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116646398582007717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/12/husband-wanted.html' title='Husband Wanted!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116593862988938808</id><published>2006-12-12T07:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T07:50:29.913-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Football Finally Makes Sense!</title><content type='html'>A guy took his blond girlfriend to her first football game. They had&lt;br /&gt;great seats right behind their team's bench. After the game, he asked her&lt;br /&gt;how she liked the experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Oh, I really liked it," she replied, "especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but I just couldn't understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Dumbfounded, her date asked, "What do you mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Well, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, all they kept screaming was: 'Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!' "I'm like...Helloooooo? It's only 25 cents!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116593862988938808?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116593862988938808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116593862988938808&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116593862988938808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116593862988938808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/12/football-finally-makes-sense.html' title='Football Finally Makes Sense!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116481660377048838</id><published>2006-11-29T08:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-29T08:10:03.820-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Three Inch Man...</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a bar and asks for 2 shots for him and his buddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bartender says, "Do you want them both now, or do you want me to wait til your buddy gets here first?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy says, "Oh I want them both now, I've got my best buddy in my pocket right here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then pulls out a three inch man and puts him on the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bartender was astonished. "Do you mean to say he can drink a whole drink?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure, he can drink it all. Pour it on."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, the bartender watches in amazement as the little guy drinks down two full shots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's amazing. Can he walk?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy flicks a coin and says, "Hey, Trevor, go get the coin, ok?" The three inch man runs off after it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Unreal. Can he do anything else? Can he talk?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course, he can," the man replied turning to his three inch friend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Trevor! tell The bartender about the time you called that witch doctor a good-for-nothing-scam-artist-idiot!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116481660377048838?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116481660377048838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116481660377048838&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116481660377048838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116481660377048838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/three-inch-man.html' title='The Three Inch Man...'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116473099911414425</id><published>2006-11-28T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-28T08:23:19.130-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You Know You're a Mom When...</title><content type='html'>1) Your feet stick to the kitchen floor...and you don't care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) When the kids are fighting, you threaten to lock them in a room together and not let them out until someone's bleeding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) You can't find your cordless phone, so you ask a friend to call you, and you run around the house madly, following the sound until you locate the phone downstairs in the laundry basket. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) You spend an entire week wearing sweats. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Your idea of a good day is making it through without a child leaking bodily fluids on you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) Popsicles become a food staple. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Your favorite television show is a cartoon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) Peanut butter and jelly is eaten at least in one meal a day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) You're willing to kiss your child's boo-boo, regardless of where it is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) You're so desperate for adult conversation that you spill your guts to the telemarketer that calls and HE hangs up on YOU! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) You buy cereal with marshmallows in it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12)The closest you get to gourmet cooking is making rice crispy bars.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116473099911414425?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116473099911414425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116473099911414425&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116473099911414425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116473099911414425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/you-know-youre-mom-when.html' title='You Know You&apos;re a Mom When...'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116466035024563233</id><published>2006-11-27T12:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T12:45:50.286-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Genie in a bottle</title><content type='html'>Best Genie Story Ever &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A husband took his wife to play her first game of golf.  Of course, the wife promptly hacked her first shot right through the window of the biggest house adjacent to the course. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The husband cringed, "I warned you to be careful!  Now we'll have to go up there, find the owner, apologize, and see how much your lousy drive is going to cost us." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;So the couple walked up to the house and knocked on the door.  A warm voice said, "Come on in." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;When they opened the door they saw the damage that was done:   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Glass was all over the place, and a broken antique bottle was lying on its side near the pieces of window glass. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;A man reclining on the couch asked, "Are you the people that broke my window?" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Uh ... yes sir. We're sure sorry about that," the husband replied. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no apology is necessary.  Actually I want to thank you. You see, I'm a genie, and I've been trapped in that bottle for a thousand years.  Now that you've released me, I'm allowed to grant three wishes.  I'll give you each one wish, but if you don't mind, I'll keep the last one for myself." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Wow, that's great!" the husband said.  He pondered a moment and blurted out,  "I'd like a million dollars a year for the rest of my life." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"No problem," said the genie.  "You've got it, it's the least I can do. And, I'll guarantee you a long &amp; healthy life!" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"And now you, young lady, what do you want?" the genie asked. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"I'd like to own a gorgeous home complete with servants in every country in the world," she said. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Consider it done," the genie said.  "And your homes will always be safe from fire, burglary and natural disasters!" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"And now," the couple asked in unison, "what's your wish, genie?" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Well, since I've been trapped in that bottle, and haven't been with a woman in more than a thousand years, my wish is to have sex with your wife." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The husband looked at his wife and said, "Gee, honey, you know we both now have a fortune, and all those houses.  What do you think?" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;She mulled it over for a few moments and said, "You know, you're right. Considering our good fortune, I guess I wouldn't mind, but what about you, honey?" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"You know I love you sweetheart," said the husband.  "I'd do the same for you!" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;So the genie and the woman went upstairs where they spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other.  The genie was insatiable.  After about three hours of non-stop sex, the genie rolled over and looked directly into her eyes and asked, "How old are you and your husband?" &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Why, we're both 35," she responded breathlessly. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"No kidding," he said. "Thirty-five years old.....and both of you still believe in genies?!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116466035024563233?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116466035024563233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116466035024563233&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116466035024563233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116466035024563233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/genie-in-bottle.html' title='Genie in a bottle'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116406225200450148</id><published>2006-11-20T14:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-20T14:37:32.083-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good News and Bad News!</title><content type='html'>A man is taken into hospital and has some tests taken and is awaiting the doctor with the results. The doctor duly arrives and says to the man:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have some good news and some bad news..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can take it Doc give me the bad news!" the man replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm terribly sorry but we have to amputate both your legs," says the Doc as professionally as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man responds, "Well, Doc, this is terrible. At least I have the good news to come, go on Doc give it to me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doc replies, "Do you see the man in the opposite bed?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, what about him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He said he would buy your slippers."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116406225200450148?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116406225200450148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116406225200450148&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116406225200450148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116406225200450148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/good-news-and-bad-news.html' title='Good News and Bad News!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116379478436239520</id><published>2006-11-17T12:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T12:19:44.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lawyers and farmers</title><content type='html'>A big-city lawyer was representing the railroad in a lawsuit filed by an old rancher. The rancher's prize bull was missing from the section through which the railroad passed. The rancher only wanted to be paid the fair value of the bull. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The case was scheduled to be tried before the justice of the peace in the back room of the general store. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attorney for the railroad immediately cornered the rancher and tried to get him to settle out of court. The lawyer did his best selling job, and finally the rancher agreed to take half of what he was asking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the rancher had signed the release and took the check, the young lawyer couldn't resist gloating a little over his success, telling the rancher, "You know, I hate to tell you this, old man, but I put one over on you in there. I couldn't have won the case. The engineer was asleep and the fireman was in the caboose when the train went through your ranch that morning. I didn't have one witness to put on the stand. I bluffed you!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old rancher replied, "Well, I'll tell you, young feller, I was a little worried about winning that case myself, because that durned bull came home this morning."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116379478436239520?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116379478436239520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116379478436239520&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116379478436239520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116379478436239520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/lawyers-and-farmers.html' title='Lawyers and farmers'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116369410387608656</id><published>2006-11-16T08:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T08:21:43.916-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Preachers Vs. Taxicab Drivers</title><content type='html'>A minister dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is a guy who's dressed in sunglasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket, and jeans. Saint Peter addresses this guy, "Who are you, so that I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy replies, "I'm Joe Cohen, taxi-driver, of Noo Yawk City."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the taxi-driver, "Take this silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom." The taxi-driver goes into Heaven with his robe and staff. Next it's the minister's turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stands erect and booms out, "I am Joseph Snow, pastor of Saint Mary's for the last 43 years."&lt;br /&gt;Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the minister, "Take this cotton robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just a minute," says the minister. "That man was a taxi-driver and he gets a silken robe and golden staff. How can this be?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Up here, we work by results," says Saint Peter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"While you preached, people slept; while he drove, people prayed."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116369410387608656?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116369410387608656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116369410387608656&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116369410387608656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116369410387608656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/preachers-vs-taxicab-drivers.html' title='Preachers Vs. Taxicab Drivers'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116360388514324081</id><published>2006-11-15T07:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T07:18:05.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just one wish</title><content type='html'>A guy is walking along the beach in Malibu, finds a bottle, and picks it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immediately, a genie pops out and replies, "Thanks for letting me out! For your kindness, I will grant you one wish."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy says, "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii, but I can't because I'm too afraid to fly and ships make me deathly sick from claustrophobia. So...I guess my wish is for you to build a road from here to Hawaii."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry," the genie says, "But I don't think I can do that. Just think of all the work involved...think of the huge pilings we'd need to hold up the highway, and how deep they would have to be to reach the bottom of the ocean. And think of all the cement that would be needed. Plus, since it's such a long span, there would have to be gas stations and rest stops along the way. No, that is just too much to ask."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, there is one other thing I've always wanted," the guy replies. "I'd like to be able to understand women. What makes them laugh and cry, why they're so temperamental, why are they so difficult to get along with them...you know, what makes them tick?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The genie thinks a second, and then answers, "Would that road be two lanes or four?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116360388514324081?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116360388514324081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116360388514324081&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116360388514324081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116360388514324081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/just-one-wish.html' title='Just one wish'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116351740722726948</id><published>2006-11-14T07:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-14T07:16:47.246-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Husband Store!</title><content type='html'>A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates. You may visit the store ONLY ONCE ! There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch .. you may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building! &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;On the first floor the sign on the door reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 1 - These men have jobs and love the Lord. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The second floor sign reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 2 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The third floor sign reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, and are extremely good looking. &lt;br /&gt;“Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework. &lt;br /&gt;"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!" &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads: &lt;br /&gt;Floor 6 - You are visitor 4,363,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. &lt;br /&gt;Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day! &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Please send this to all men for a good laugh and to all the women who &lt;br /&gt;can handle the truth&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116351740722726948?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116351740722726948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116351740722726948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116351740722726948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116351740722726948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/husband-store.html' title='The Husband Store!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116331495582039434</id><published>2006-11-11T23:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-11T23:02:35.833-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kin</title><content type='html'>Two hillbillies were sitting around talking one afternoon. After a while the first fellow says to the second, "If'n I was to sneak over to your place Saturday and make love to your wife while you was off huntin', and she got pregnant and had a baby, would that make us kin?" The second fellow crooked his head sideways for a minute, scratched his head, and squinted his eyes like he was thinking real hard about the question. Finally, he said, "Well, I don't know about kin, but it would make us even.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116331495582039434?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116331495582039434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116331495582039434&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116331495582039434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116331495582039434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/kin.html' title='Kin'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116258305362399305</id><published>2006-11-03T11:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T07:37:20.470-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead Wife</title><content type='html'>A man and his ever-nagging wife went on vacation to Jerusalem.&lt;br /&gt;While they were there, the wife passed away. The undertaker told the husband, "You can have her shipped home for $5,000, or you can bury her here, in the Holy Land, for $150." The man thought about it and told him he would just have her shipped home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The undertaker asked, "Why would you spend $5,000 to ship your wife home, when it would be wonderful to be buried here and you would spend only $150?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man replied, "Long ago a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can't take that chance."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116258305362399305?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116258305362399305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116258305362399305&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116258305362399305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116258305362399305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/dead-wife.html' title='Dead Wife'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116258297572098972</id><published>2006-11-03T11:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T11:42:55.740-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dumbest Kid In The World</title><content type='html'>A young boy enters a barber shop and the barber whispers to his &lt;br /&gt;customer, "This is the dumbest kid in the world. Watch while I prove it &lt;br /&gt;to you." The barber puts a dollar bill in one hand and two quarters in &lt;br /&gt;the other, then calls the boy over and asks, "Which do you want, son?" &lt;br /&gt;The boy takes the quarters and leaves. "What did I tell you?" said the &lt;br /&gt;barber. "That kid never learns!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, when the customer leaves, he sees the same young boy coming out &lt;br /&gt;of the ice cream store. "Hey, son! May I ask you a question? Why did you &lt;br /&gt;take the quarters instead of the dollar bill?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy licked his cone and replied, "Because the day I take the dollar, &lt;br /&gt;the game's over.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116258297572098972?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116258297572098972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116258297572098972&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116258297572098972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116258297572098972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/dumbest-kid-in-world.html' title='Dumbest Kid In The World'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116248773763008813</id><published>2006-11-02T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T09:15:37.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Man with Shingles</title><content type='html'>A fellow walked into a doctor's office and the receptionist asked him what he had. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Shingles." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she took down his name, address, medical insurance number and told him to have a seat. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later a nurse's aid came out and asked him what he had. He said, "Shingles." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she took down his height, weight, a complete medical history and told him to wait in the examining room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ten minutes later a nurse came in and asked him what he had. He said, "Shingles." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she gave him a blood test, a blood pressure test, an electrocardiogram, told him to take off all his clothes and wait for the doctor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fifteen minutes later the doctor came in and asked him what he had. He said, "Shingles." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor said, "Where?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Outside in the truck. Where do you want them?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116248773763008813?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116248773763008813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116248773763008813&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116248773763008813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116248773763008813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/man-with-shingles.html' title='Man with Shingles'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116242191463184780</id><published>2006-11-01T14:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T14:58:34.666-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Raffle</title><content type='html'>A city boy, Kenny, moved to the country and bought a donkey from an old farmer for $100.00. The farmer agreed to deliver the donkey the next day. &lt;br /&gt;The next day the farmer drove up and said, "Sorry son, but I have some bad news, the donkey died." &lt;br /&gt;Kenny replied, "Well then, just give me my money back." &lt;br /&gt;The farmer said, "Can't do that. I went and spent it already." &lt;br /&gt;Kenny said, "OK then, just unload the donkey." &lt;br /&gt;The farmer asked, "What ya gonna do with him?" &lt;br /&gt;Kenny, "I'm going to raffle him off." &lt;br /&gt;Farmer, "You can't raffle off a dead donkey!" &lt;br /&gt;Kenny, "Sure I can. Watch me. I just won't tell anybody he is dead." &lt;br /&gt;A month later the farmer met up with Kenny and asked, "What happened with that dead donkey?" &lt;br /&gt;Kenny, "I raffled him off. I sold 500 tickets at two dollars a piece and made a profit of $898.00." &lt;br /&gt;Farmer, "Didn't anyone complain?" &lt;br /&gt;Kenny, " Just the guy who won. So I gave him his two dollars back." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kenny grew up and eventually became the chairman of Enron...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116242191463184780?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116242191463184780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116242191463184780&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116242191463184780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116242191463184780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/11/raffle.html' title='The Raffle'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116224040109785836</id><published>2006-10-30T12:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-10-30T12:39:25.703-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Generation</title><content type='html'>Little Johnny and Jenny are only 10 years old, but they just know that they are in love.  One day they decide that they want to get married, so Johnny goes to Jenny's father to ask him for her hand. Johnny bravely walks up to him and says "Mr. Smith, Jenny and I are in love and I want to ask you for her hand in marriage." &lt;br /&gt;Thinking that this was the cutest thing, Mr. Smith replies, "Well&lt;br /&gt;Johnny, you are only 10. Where will you two live?" &lt;br /&gt;Without even taking a moment to think about it, Johnny replies "In&lt;br /&gt;Jenny's room. It's bigger than mine and we can both fit there nicely." &lt;br /&gt;Still thinking this is just adorable, Mr. Smith says with a huge grin,&lt;br /&gt;"Okay then how will you live? You're not old enough to get a job. You'll&lt;br /&gt;need to support Jenny." &lt;br /&gt;Again, Johnny instantly replies, "Our allowance. Jenny makes 5 bucks a week and I make 10 bucks a week. That's about 60 bucks a month, and that should do us just fine." &lt;br /&gt;By this time Mr. Smith is a little shocked that Johnny has put so much&lt;br /&gt;thought into this. So, he thinks for a moment trying to come up with&lt;br /&gt;something that Johnny won't have an answer to.  After a second, Mr.&lt;br /&gt;Smith says, "Well Johnny, it seems like you have got everything all&lt;br /&gt;figured out. I just have one more question for you. What will you do if the two of you should have little ones of your own?" &lt;br /&gt;Johnny just shrugs his shoulders and says &lt;br /&gt;"Well, we've been lucky so far." &lt;br /&gt;Mr. Smith faints &amp; HAS BEEN IN A COMA SINCE.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116224040109785836?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116224040109785836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116224040109785836&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116224040109785836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116224040109785836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/new-generation.html' title='New Generation'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116196428524178489</id><published>2006-10-27T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-27T08:51:25.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Next Witness...My Grandmother!</title><content type='html'>In a trial, a Southern small town prosecuting attorney called his first witness to the stand. The witness was a grandmotherly, elderly woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She responded, "Why, yes I do know you, Mr. Williams. I've know you since you were a young boy, and frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you're a big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you never will amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lawyer was stunned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Jones. do you know the defense attorney?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She again replied, "Why yes, I do. I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. He's lazy, bigoted and he has a drinking problem. He can't build a normal relationship with anyone and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women, one of them was your wife. Yes, I know him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The defense attorney almost died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The judge asked both counselors to approach the bench, and in a very quiet voice, said, "If either of you asks her if she knows me, I'll throw you in jail for contempt."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116196428524178489?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116196428524178489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116196428524178489&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116196428524178489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116196428524178489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/next-witnessmy-grandmother.html' title='Next Witness...My Grandmother!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116187328849673816</id><published>2006-10-26T07:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-26T07:34:48.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Poems</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;These are entries to a competition asking for a rhyme with the most&lt;br /&gt;romantic first line but least romantic second line.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss&lt;br /&gt;but I only slept with you, because I was pissed. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I thought that I could love no other&lt;br /&gt;Until, that is, I met your brother. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.&lt;br /&gt;But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl's empty&lt;br /&gt;and so is your head. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Of loving beauty you float with grace&lt;br /&gt;If only you could hide your face. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Kind, intelligent, loving and hot&lt;br /&gt;This describes everything you are not. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I want to feel your sweet embrace&lt;br /&gt;But don't take that paper bag off of your face. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I love your smile, your face, and your eyes&lt;br /&gt;Damn, I'm good at telling lies! &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:&lt;br /&gt;Marrying you screwed up my life. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I see your face when I am dreaming&lt;br /&gt;That's why I always wake up screaming. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My love you take my breath away&lt;br /&gt;What have you stepped in to smell this way? &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My feelings for you no words can tell&lt;br /&gt;Except for maybe "go to hell." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;What inspired this amorous rhyme?&lt;br /&gt;Two parts vodka, one part lime&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116187328849673816?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116187328849673816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116187328849673816&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116187328849673816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116187328849673816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/funny-poems.html' title='Funny Poems'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116169874005320062</id><published>2006-10-24T07:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T07:05:40.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Wife</title><content type='html'>A concerned husband went to the doctor to talk about his wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said to the doctor, "I think my wife is deaf because she never hears me the first time and always asks me to repeat things."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," the doctor replied, "go home tonight, stand about 15 feet from her, and say something. If she doesn't reply, move 5 feet closer and say it again. Keep doing this until we get an idea about the severity of her deafness."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband went home and did exactly as the doctor had instructed. He started off 15 feet from his wife in the kitchen as she was chopping some vegetables.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Honey, what's for dinner?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He heard no response. He moved 5 feet closer and asked again. No reply. He moved 5 feet closer. Still no reply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finally got fed up and moved right behind her, about an inch away, and asked again, "Honey, what's for dinner?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "For the fourth time, vegetable stew!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116169874005320062?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116169874005320062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116169874005320062&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116169874005320062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116169874005320062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/my-wife.html' title='My Wife'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116161921566341781</id><published>2006-10-23T08:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-23T09:00:22.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Surgeons</title><content type='html'>Five Surgeons are discussing the types of people they like to operate on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first surgeon says:&lt;br /&gt;"I like to see accountants on my operating table, because when you open them up, everything inside is numbered."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second responds:&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, but you should try electricians! Everything inside them is color coded."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third surgeon says:&lt;br /&gt;"No, I really think librarians are the best; everything inside them is in alphabetical order."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fourth surgeon chimes in:&lt;br /&gt;"You know, I like construction workers...those guys always understand when you have a few parts left over."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the fifth surgeon shut them all up when he observed:&lt;br /&gt;"You're all wrong. Politicians are the easiest to operate on. There's no guts, no heart, no balls, no brains and no spine. Plus, the head and the ass are interchangeable."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116161921566341781?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116161921566341781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116161921566341781&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116161921566341781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116161921566341781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/surgeons.html' title='Surgeons'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116136235753789474</id><published>2006-10-20T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T09:39:17.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Captain Bravado</title><content type='html'>Long ago, there lived an officer of the Royal Navy named Captain Bravado. He was a manly man's man, who showed no fear when facing his enemies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, while sailing the Seven Seas, his lookout spotted a pirate ship approaching, and the crew became frantic. Captain Bravado bellowed, "Bring me my red shirt!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first mate quickly retrieved the captain's red shirt, and while wearing the brightly colored frock, the Captain led his crew into battle and defeated the pirates. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening, all the men sat around on the deck recounting the day's triumph. One of them asked the Captain, "Sir, why did you call for your red shirt before battle?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The captain replied, "If I were to be wounded in the attack, the shirt would not show my blood. Thus, you men would continue to fight, unafraid." All of the men sat and marveled at the courage of such a manly man's man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As dawn came the next morning, the lookout spotted not one, not two, but TEN pirate ships approaching. The crew stared in worshipful silence at the captain and waited for his usual orders. Captain Bravado gazed with steely eyes upon the vast armada arrayed against his ship, and without fear, turned and calmly shouted, "Get me my brown pants!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116136235753789474?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116136235753789474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116136235753789474&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116136235753789474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116136235753789474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/captain-bravado.html' title='Captain Bravado'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116128690379695794</id><published>2006-10-19T12:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T12:41:43.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Funeral</title><content type='html'>A cardiologist died and was given an elaborate&lt;br /&gt;funeral.  A huge heart covered in flowers stood&lt;br /&gt;behind the casket during the service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Following the eulogy, the heart opened, and the&lt;br /&gt;casket rolled inside.  The heart then closed,&lt;br /&gt;sealing the doctor in the beautiful heart forever.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;At that point, one of the mourners burst into laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When confronted, he said: "I'm sorry, I was just&lt;br /&gt;thinking of my own funeral -- I'm a gynecologist."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;At that point, the proctologist fainted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116128690379695794?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116128690379695794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116128690379695794&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116128690379695794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116128690379695794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/funeral.html' title='The Funeral'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116109865681083930</id><published>2006-10-17T08:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-17T08:24:16.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One Special Pig</title><content type='html'>A man goes to visit an old friend who lives in the country. Upon arriving he sees a pig walking around with only three legs. This odd sight peaked his curiosity, of course, so after catching up on old times he asks his friend about the pig:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I noticed a pig earlier that only had three legs, but what happened to the poor animal," he asks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let me tell you a story," starts his friend. "Last fall when I was plowing the South Field I accidentally got the plow caught up in some brush, couldn't break it loose so I crawled under it to cut away the vines. Just then the damn thing fell on me, pinned me to the ground. I'd still be there if it weren't fer that pig, he come running out there and started digging and rootin' till he could pull me outta there, saved my life I tell ya."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well that is an amazing story but I must've missed something because I still don't understand how he lost his leg," the man replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His farmer friend went on: "Why just this past spring I went out to feed the chickens one night and slipped on something and fell right on my butt. My lantern went flying and set the whole damn place on fire. I was chokin' and lost in the smoke and just knew I was gonna die when I heard that pig squealin' and rammin' till he knocked the door down and dragged me out, saved my life I tell ya!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His friend thought for a moment and said, "Well that's an interesting story but it still doesn't explain what happened to his leg."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The farmer continued. "Well, just this last week, all the sheep over there got into a frenzy due to some noise or something and started running towards the house at breakneck speed. They trampled over the fences, over the bushes and were just about to run over the children when all of a sudden, this here pig was able to intercept the entire herd and get the sheep to turn around...just like in that movie! Saved my children's lives, I tell ya!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His friend, impatient and confused at this point, exclaims, "That still doesn't explain what happened to the pig's leg!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The farmer stares at him dumbfounded and explains:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look. When you got a pig like that, you just can't eat him all at once!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116109865681083930?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116109865681083930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116109865681083930&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116109865681083930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116109865681083930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/one-special-pig.html' title='One Special Pig'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116068926609295650</id><published>2006-10-12T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T14:41:06.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Lawyer's Ethical Dilemma...</title><content type='html'>After completing law school and passing the bar, a man decides to open up a private practice with one of his law school buddies as partner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On their first day, they set up shop, and around lunchtime, the man's buddy goes out to get them some sandwiches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two minutes later, a woman walks in -- their first client! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asks him to draw up some papers and review a couple of very simple contracts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That'll be $100," the man replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She complies, and having just gone to the bank, hands over a brand new, crisp $100 bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman decides to leave for the next hour, leaving the man to resume his work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man, relishing in his first payment as a lawyer, sits back in his brand new, leather chair and holds the brand new, crisp $100 bill up to the light with admiration and pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sniffs the bill and starts to rub it a bit when suddenly, he discovers that he was mistakenly given TWO $100 bills!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And thus, he was confronted with his first ethical dilemma as a lawyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should he tell his partner?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116068926609295650?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116068926609295650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116068926609295650&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116068926609295650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116068926609295650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/lawyers-ethical-dilemma.html' title='A Lawyer&apos;s Ethical Dilemma...'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116050345293235486</id><published>2006-10-10T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-10T11:04:12.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brotherly Love...</title><content type='html'>Two little boys go into the grocery store. One is nine, one is four. The nine-year-old grabs a box of tampons from the shelf and carries it to the register for check-out. The cashier asks "Oh, these must be for your mom, huh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nine-year-old replies, "Nope, not for my mom."  Without thinking, the cashier responded, "Well, they must be for your sister then?" The nine-year-old responded, "Nope, not for my sister either."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cashier had now become curious. "Oh. Not for your mom and not for your sister -- then who are they for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nine-year old says, "They're for my four-year-old little brother." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cashier is surprised: "Your four year-old-brother?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nine-year-old explains: "Well yeah, they say on TV if you wear one of these, you can swim or ride a bike -- and my little brother can't do either of those things."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116050345293235486?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116050345293235486/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116050345293235486&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116050345293235486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116050345293235486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/brotherly-love.html' title='Brotherly Love...'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116040639059692201</id><published>2006-10-09T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-09T08:06:30.613-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Man and The Ostrich</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a restaurant with a full-grown ostrich behind him. The waitress asks for their orders. The man says, "A hamburger, fries and a coke," and turns to the ostrich, "What's yours?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll have the same," says the ostrich. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A short time later the waitress returns with the order. "That will be $9.40 please," and the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact change for payment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, the man and the ostrich come again and the man says, "A hamburger, fries, and a coke." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ostrich says, "I'll have the same." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again the man reaches into his pocket and pays with exact change. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This becomes routine until, the two enter again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The usual?" asks the waitress. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, this is Friday night, so I will have a steak, baked potato, and salad," says the man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Same," says the ostrich. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shortly the waitress brings the order and says, "That will be $32.62." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again he man pulls the exact change out of his pocket and places it on the table. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The waitress can't hold back her curiosity any longer. "Excuse me, sir. How do you manage to always come up with the exact change out of your pocket every time?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," says the man, "several years ago I was cleaning the attic and found an old lamp. When I rubbed it a Genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's fantastic!" says the waitress. "Most people would wish for a million dollars or something, but you'll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's right. Whether it's a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there," says the man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The waitress asks, "But, sir, what's with the ostrich?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man sighs, pauses, and answers, "My second wish was for a tall chick with long legs who agrees with everything I say."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116040639059692201?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116040639059692201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116040639059692201&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116040639059692201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116040639059692201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/man-and-ostrich.html' title='The Man and The Ostrich'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116016687723556623</id><published>2006-10-06T13:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-06T13:34:37.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Father knows best!</title><content type='html'>A young boy had just gotten his driver's license and inquired of his father, if they could discuss his use of the car. His father said he'd make a deal with his son. "You bring your grades up from a C to a B average, study your Bible a little, get your hair cut and we'll talk about the car."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy thought about that for a moment, decided he'd settle for the offer and they agreed on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After about six weeks his father said, "Son, I've been real proud. You  brought your grades up and I've observed that you have been studying your Bible, but I'm real disappointed you haven't gotten your hair cut."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man paused a moment then said, "You know, Dad, I've been thinking about that, and I've noticed in my studies of the Bible that Samson had long hair, John the Baptist had long hair, Moses had long hair and there's even a strong argument that Jesus had long hair."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this his father replied, "Did you also notice they all walked  everywhere they went?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116016687723556623?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116016687723556623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116016687723556623&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116016687723556623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116016687723556623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/father-knows-best.html' title='Father knows best!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-116005934550869533</id><published>2006-10-05T07:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-05T07:42:25.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Retired Irishmen</title><content type='html'>Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares: "Your husband just lost $500 and is afraid to come home." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-116005934550869533?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/116005934550869533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=116005934550869533&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116005934550869533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/116005934550869533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/retired-irishmen.html' title='The Retired Irishmen'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115997935046908090</id><published>2006-10-04T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-04T09:29:10.473-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why did the Chicken Cross the Road?</title><content type='html'>John Locke: Because he was exercising his natural right to liberty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Machiavelli: The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The ends of crossing the road justify whatever motive there was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Timothy Leary: Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bible: And God came down from the heavens, and He said unto the chicken, "Thou shalt cross the road." And the Chicken crossed the road, and there was much rejoicing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darwin #1: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically predisposed to cross roads &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darwin #2: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jerry Seinfeld: Why does anyone cross a road? I mean, why doesn't anyone ever think to ask, "What the heck was this chicken doing walking around all over the place anyway?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Martin Luther King, Jr.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grandpa: In my day, we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken had crossed the road, and that was good enough for us. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bill Gates: I have just released the new Chicken 2000, which will both cross roads AND balance your checkbook, though when it divides 3 by 2 it gets 1.4999999999. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colonel Sanders: I missed one? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plato: For the greater good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aristotle: To actualize its potential. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn't cross the road; it transcended it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joseph Stalin: I don't care. Catch it. I need its eggs to make my omelet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Seuss: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes the chicken crossed the road, but why he crossed, I've not been told! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OJ Simpson: It didn't. I was playing golf with it at the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115997935046908090?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115997935046908090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115997935046908090&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115997935046908090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115997935046908090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/why-did-chicken-cross-road.html' title='Why did the Chicken Cross the Road?'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115997916247746803</id><published>2006-10-04T09:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-04T09:26:02.506-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cutting in Line</title><content type='html'>It was the day of the big sale. Rumors of the sale and some advertising in the local paper were the main reason for the long line that formed by 8:30, the store's opening time, in front of the store. &lt;br /&gt;A small man pushed his way to the front of the line, only to be pushed back, amid loud and colorful curses.&lt;br /&gt;On the man's second attempt, he was punched square in the jaw, and knocked around a bit, and then thrown to the end of the line again. &lt;br /&gt;As he got up the second time, he said to the person at the end of the line: &lt;br /&gt; "That does it! If they hit me one more time, I don't open the store!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115997916247746803?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115997916247746803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115997916247746803&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115997916247746803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115997916247746803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/cutting-in-line.html' title='Cutting in Line'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115989085744003250</id><published>2006-10-03T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-10-03T08:54:17.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Smartest Man in the World</title><content type='html'>A doctor, a lawyer, a little boy and a priest were out for a Sunday afternoon flight on a small private plane. Suddenly, the plane developed engine trouble. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In spite of the best efforts of the pilot, the plane started to go down. Finally, the pilot grabbed a parachute, yelled to the passengers that they had better jump, and bailed out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, there were only three parachutes remaining. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor grabbed one and said "I'm a doctor, I save lives, so I must live," and jumped out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lawyer then said, "I'm a lawyer and lawyers are the smartest people in the world. I deserve to live." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He also grabbed a parachute and jumped. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest looked at the little boy and said, "My son, I've lived a long and full life. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. Take the last parachute and live in peace." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little boy handed the parachute back to the priest and said, "Not to worry, Father. The 'smartest man in the world' just took off with my back pack."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115989085744003250?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115989085744003250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115989085744003250&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115989085744003250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115989085744003250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/10/smartest-man-in-world.html' title='Smartest Man in the World'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115931299906654702</id><published>2006-09-26T16:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-26T16:23:19.080-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ex-Husband</title><content type='html'>This married couple was sitting in a fine restaurant when the wife looks over at a nearby table and sees a man in a drunken stupor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband asks "I notice you've been watching that man for some time now. Do you know him?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes" she replies, "He's my ex-husband, and has been drinking like that since I left him seven years ago." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's remarkable" the husband replies, "I wouldn't think anybody could celebrate that long."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115931299906654702?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115931299906654702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115931299906654702&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931299906654702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931299906654702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/ex-husband.html' title='Ex-Husband'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115931285079445381</id><published>2006-09-26T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-26T16:22:43.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad</title><content type='html'>Three boys are in the school yard bragging about their fathers. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The first boy says, "My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a poem, they give him $50." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The second boy says, "That's nothing. My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a song, they give him $100." &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The third boy says, "I got you both beat. My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a lecture...and it takes eight people to collect all the money."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115931285079445381?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115931285079445381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115931285079445381&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931285079445381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931285079445381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-dad-is-better-than-your-dad.html' title='My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115931261703576757</id><published>2006-09-26T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-26T16:16:57.056-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Blonde and the Jigsaw Puzzle</title><content type='html'>A blonde called her boyfriend and said, "Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can't figure it out or how to get it started." &lt;br /&gt;Her boyfriend asked, "What is it supposed to be when it's finished?" &lt;br /&gt;The blonde said, "According to the picture on the box, it's a tiger." &lt;br /&gt;Her boyfriend decided to go over and help with the puzzle. &lt;br /&gt;She let him in and showed him where she had the puzzle spread all over the table. &lt;br /&gt;He studied the pieces for a moment, then looked at the box. &lt;br /&gt;He turned to her and said, "First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a tiger. &lt;br /&gt;He took her hand and said, "Second, I want you to relax. Let's have a nice cup of hot chocolate and then............", he sighed, "Let's put all these frosted flakes back in the box."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115931261703576757?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115931261703576757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115931261703576757&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931261703576757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115931261703576757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/blonde-and-jigsaw-puzzle.html' title='A Blonde and the Jigsaw Puzzle'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115859231366692585</id><published>2006-09-18T08:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T08:11:53.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Few Blonde Jokes</title><content type='html'>Why do blondes have more fun?&lt;br /&gt; (They're easier to amuse.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why won't they hire blondes as pharmacists?&lt;br /&gt; (They keep breaking the prescription bottles in the typewriters.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hear about the blonde that got an AM radio?&lt;br /&gt; (It took her a month to realize she could play it in the afternoon.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115859231366692585?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115859231366692585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115859231366692585&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115859231366692585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115859231366692585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/few-blonde-jokes.html' title='A Few Blonde Jokes'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115810235921789470</id><published>2006-09-12T16:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-12T16:05:59.233-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Banking in New York</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a New York City bank and says he wants to borrow $2,000 for three weeks. The loan officer asks him what kind of collateral he has. The man says "I've got a Rolls Royce, keep it until the loan is paid off, here's the keys." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The loan officer promptly has the car driven into the bank's underground parking for safe keeping, and gives the man $2,000. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three weeks later the man comes into the bank, pays back the $2,000 loan, plus $10 interest, and regains possession of the Rolls Royce. The loan officer asks him, "Sir, if I may ask, why would a man who drives a Rolls Royce need to borrow two thousand dollars?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man answers, "I had to go to Europe for three weeks, and where else could I store a Rolls Royce for that long for ten dollars?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115810235921789470?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115810235921789470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115810235921789470&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115810235921789470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115810235921789470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/banking-in-new-york.html' title='Banking in New York'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115766299443662907</id><published>2006-09-07T13:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T14:05:22.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fridays in Hell</title><content type='html'>One day a guy died and found himself in hell. As he was wallowing in &lt;br /&gt; despair, he had his first meeting with a demon.&lt;br /&gt; The demon asked, "Why so glum?" &lt;br /&gt; The guy responded, "What do you think? I'm in hell!"&lt;br /&gt; "Hell's not so bad," the demon said. "We actually have a lot of fun &lt;br /&gt; down here. You a drinking man?" &lt;br /&gt; "Sure," the man said, "I love to drink."&lt;br /&gt; "Well, you're gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays all we do is drink. &lt;br /&gt;Whiskey, tequila, Guinness, wine coolers, diet Tab and Fresca. We drink &lt;br /&gt; till we throw up and then we drink some more!"&lt;br /&gt; The guy is astounded. "Damn, that sounds great."&lt;br /&gt; "You a smoker?" the demon asked.&lt;br /&gt; "You better believe it!" &lt;br /&gt; "You're gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the &lt;br /&gt; world and smoke our lungs out! . If you g et cancer, no biggie You're &lt;br /&gt; already dead, remember?"&lt;br /&gt; "Wow, the guy said, "that's awesome !"&lt;br /&gt; The demon continued. "I bet you like to gamble."&lt;br /&gt; "Why yes, as a matter of fact I do."&lt;br /&gt; "Wednesdays you can gamble all you want. Craps, blackjack, roulette, &lt;br /&gt; poker, slots, whatever. If you go bankrupt, well, you're dead anyhow. &lt;br /&gt; You into drugs?"&lt;br /&gt; The guy said, "Are you kidding? I love drugs! You don't mean . . ."&lt;br /&gt; "That's right! Thursday is drug day. Help yourself to a great big bowl &lt;br /&gt; of crack, or smack. Smoke a doobie the size of a submarine. You can do &lt;br /&gt; all the drugs you want, you're dead, who cares!"&lt;br /&gt; "Wow," the guy said, starting to feel better about his situation, "I &lt;br /&gt; never realized Hell was such a cool place!"&lt;br /&gt; The demon said, "You gay?"&lt;br /&gt; "No."&lt;br /&gt; "Ooooh, you're gonna hate Fridays!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115766299443662907?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115766299443662907/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115766299443662907&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115766299443662907'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115766299443662907'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/fridays-in-hell.html' title='Fridays in Hell'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115755901096007974</id><published>2006-09-06T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T09:10:10.960-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How smart is your Right Foot?</title><content type='html'>This is so funny that it will boggle your mind. And you will keep trying it at least 50 more times to see if you can outsmart your foot.  But you can't!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. While sitting at your desk, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Now, while doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told you so... And there is nothing you can do about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make sure you pass this on to your friends...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They won't be able to either...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115755901096007974?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115755901096007974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115755901096007974&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115755901096007974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115755901096007974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/how-smart-is-your-right-foot.html' title='How smart is your Right Foot?'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115755889339121135</id><published>2006-09-06T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-06T09:08:13.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Doctor's Poker Game...</title><content type='html'>A well respected surgeon was relaxing on his sofa one evening just after arriving home from work. As he was tuning into the evening news, the phone rang. The doctor calmly answered it and heard the familiar voice of a colleague on the other end of the line. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We need a fourth for poker," said the friend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll be right over," whispered the doctor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he was putting on his coat, his wife asked, "Is it serious?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yes, quite serious," said the doctor gravely. "In fact, three doctors are there already!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115755889339121135?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115755889339121135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115755889339121135&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115755889339121135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115755889339121135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/doctors-poker-game.html' title='Doctor&apos;s Poker Game...'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115748637336532625</id><published>2006-09-05T12:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T12:59:33.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Golfer</title><content type='html'>Two guys are golfing on a course that is right next to a cemetery. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After they tee off, one of the golfers notices that there is a funeral procession passing by. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So he takes off his hat, and places it over his heart. When the funeral is over, the other golfer looks at the guy and asks, "Why did you do that?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man replies, "Well we were married for almost 40 years - It's the least I could do.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115748637336532625?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115748637336532625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115748637336532625&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115748637336532625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115748637336532625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/golfer.html' title='The Golfer'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115748603442669521</id><published>2006-09-05T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T12:53:54.443-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Dog!</title><content type='html'>I bought a dog the other day... I named him Stay. It's fun to call him... "Come here, Stay! Come here, Stay!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115748603442669521?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115748603442669521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115748603442669521&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115748603442669521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115748603442669521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-new-dog.html' title='My New Dog!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115636383630315433</id><published>2006-08-23T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-23T13:10:36.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lawyer vs. Hooker</title><content type='html'>Q: What is the difference between a lawyer and a hooker? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: A hooker will stop trying to screw you once you''re dead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115636383630315433?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115636383630315433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115636383630315433&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636383630315433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636383630315433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/lawyer-vs-hooker.html' title='Lawyer vs. Hooker'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115636368505229451</id><published>2006-08-23T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-23T13:08:05.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Daughters Prayer</title><content type='html'>A family was having some people to dinner. At the table, the mother turned to her six-year-old daughter and said, "Dear, would you like to say the blessing?" &lt;br /&gt;"I wouldn't know what to say," replied the little girl, shyly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just say what you hear Mommy say, sweetie," the woman said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her daughter took a deep breath, bowed her head, and solemnly said, "Dear Lord, why the hell did I invite all these people to dinner!?!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115636368505229451?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115636368505229451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115636368505229451&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636368505229451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636368505229451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/daughters-prayer.html' title='Daughters Prayer'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115636357871096199</id><published>2006-08-23T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-23T13:06:18.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Death Row in Women's Prison</title><content type='html'>Three women are about to be executed. One's a brunette, one's a redhead, and one's a blonde. The guard brings the brunette forward and the executioner asks if she has any last requests. She says no, and the executioner shouts, "Ready! Aim…" &lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the brunette yells, "EARTHQUAKE!!!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone is startled and throws themselves on the ground while she escapes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guard brings the redhead forward and the executioner asks if she has any last requests. She say no, and the executioner shouts, "Ready! Aim…" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the redhead yells, "TORNADO!!!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone is startled and looks around for cover while she escapes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By now the blonde has it all figured out. The guard brings her forward and the executioner asks if she has any last requests. She says no, and the executioner shouts, "Ready! Aim…" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the blonde yells, "FIRE!!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115636357871096199?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115636357871096199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115636357871096199&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636357871096199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115636357871096199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/death-row-in-womens-prison.html' title='Death Row in Women&apos;s Prison'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115565576531058190</id><published>2006-08-15T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-15T08:29:25.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What do you do?</title><content type='html'>You are driving in a car at a constant speed. On your left side is a steep drop-off and on your right side is a fire engine travelling at the same speed as you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In front of you is a galloping pig, which is the same size as your car, and you cannot overtake it. Behind you is a helicopter flying at ground level. Both the giant pig and the helicopter are also travelling at the same speed as you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What must you do to safely get out of this situation?&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;Answer:  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Get your dumb ass off the children's Carousel, you're drunk again .....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115565576531058190?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115565576531058190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115565576531058190&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565576531058190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565576531058190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/what-do-you-do.html' title='What do you do?'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115565515450211023</id><published>2006-08-15T08:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-15T08:19:14.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Blonde Friends</title><content type='html'>Two blonde friends were going on a trip to Florida. A neighbor told them&lt;br /&gt;that they'd be fine as long as they paid attention to the road signs along&lt;br /&gt;the way. But they'd driven just 30 miles when they saw one that read&lt;br /&gt;"Clean Restrooms Ahead."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Two months later they arrived in Florida exhausted, having used up 86&lt;br /&gt;bottles of Windex, 267 rolls of paper towels, and three cases of&lt;br /&gt;toilet-bowl cleaner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Total restrooms cleaned: 450.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115565515450211023?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115565515450211023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115565515450211023&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565515450211023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565515450211023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/two-blonde-friends.html' title='Two Blonde Friends'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115565501739629523</id><published>2006-08-15T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-15T08:31:52.326-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Im going on vacation</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;font color="#FF0000"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #FFFF00"&gt;Well Im getting &lt;br /&gt;married on the 19th and heading on our honeymoon. So today I figured I would &lt;br /&gt;just add a bunch of jokes to keep you occupied while I am away in Hawaii and &lt;br /&gt;Vegas. Hope you all enjoy these. &lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks and have fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115565501739629523?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115565501739629523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115565501739629523&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565501739629523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115565501739629523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/im-going-on-vacation.html' title='Im going on vacation'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115556854307886303</id><published>2006-08-14T08:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T08:15:43.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sheriff's Office</title><content type='html'>Hello, is this here 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 my neighbor, Virgil Smith. He's drillin' holes in his firewood and hiding marijuana inside! &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 &amp; his deputies descend on Virgil's house.&lt;br /&gt;They search the shed where the firewood is kept. Using axes, they split  every piece of wood, but find no marijuana. They sneer at Virgil and leave. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The phone rings at Virgil's house. "Hey, Virgil! This here is Floyd. Did the Sheriff come?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did they split yer farwood?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yep!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Happy Birthday, buddy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Who says rednecks aren't real bright?!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115556854307886303?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115556854307886303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115556854307886303&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115556854307886303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115556854307886303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/sheriffs-office.html' title='Sheriff&apos;s Office'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115532905953760359</id><published>2006-08-11T13:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-11T13:44:19.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>100%</title><content type='html'>viewpoint it goes like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What Makes 100%? What does it mean to give MORE than 100%? Ever wonder about those people who say they are giving more than 100%? We have all been to those meetings where someone wants you to give over 100%. How about achieving 103%? What makes up 100% in life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a little mathematical formula that might help you answer these questions:&lt;br /&gt;If:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z is represented as:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.&lt;br /&gt;Then:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;H-A-R-D-W-O-R-K&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98% &lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 = 103%&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND, look how far ass kissing will take you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A-S-S-K-I-S-S-I-N-G&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 = 118%&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, one can conclude with mathematical certainty that While Hard work and Knowledge will get you close, and Attitude will get you there, it's the Bullshit and Ass kissing that will put you over the top.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115532905953760359?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115532905953760359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115532905953760359&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115532905953760359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115532905953760359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/100.html' title='100%'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115525063246084570</id><published>2006-08-10T15:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T15:57:12.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Black and White</title><content type='html'>Attending a wedding for the first time, a little girl whispered to her mother, "Why is the bride dressed in white?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because white is the color of happiness, and today is the happiest day of her life." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The child thought about this for a moment, then said, "So why is the groom wearing black?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115525063246084570?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115525063246084570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115525063246084570&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525063246084570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525063246084570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/black-and-white.html' title='Black and White'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115525022455002352</id><published>2006-08-10T15:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T15:50:24.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost Perfect Life</title><content type='html'>An old man is sitting on a park bench crying his eyes out. A young jogger comes by and asks him what is the matter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man says, "I'm a multimillionare, I have a great big house, the fastest car in the world and I just married a beautiful blonde who satisfies my every need from sunrise till sunset! (sob)." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young jogger says, "Man, you have everything I have ever dreamed for in my life. What could be so wrong in your life that you are sitting here in the park crying?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man says, "I can't remember where I live."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115525022455002352?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115525022455002352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115525022455002352&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525022455002352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525022455002352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/almost-perfect-life.html' title='Almost Perfect Life'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115525009768852966</id><published>2006-08-10T15:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T15:48:17.686-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will be updated Daily again</title><content type='html'>Sorry for not posting in a while, just been very busy.  But I am back and will post a couple jokes a day so check back often.  Put it in your favorites.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115525009768852966?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115525009768852966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115525009768852966&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525009768852966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115525009768852966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/will-be-updated-daily-again.html' title='Will be updated Daily again'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-115524909519586218</id><published>2006-08-10T15:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T15:31:35.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Avid Golfer</title><content type='html'>Bill, the avid golfer, contacts a "Medium" and asks if there is a Golf Course in Heaven. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Medium says that his request is a big order, but he will try and find out and get back to him in a few days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several days go by, Bill finally gets a call from the Medium. "Well," said Bill, "what did you find out?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've got good news and bad news for you," said the Medium. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK," "what's the good news" Bill exclaimed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," there is a beautiful 36 hole golf course in Heaven, and you'll have 24 hour access with your own personal caddy," blurted out the Medium!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And the bad news?" asked Bill. "You're due to tee-off this Sunday at around 10:30 in the morning," the Medium said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-115524909519586218?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/115524909519586218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=115524909519586218&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115524909519586218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/115524909519586218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2006/08/avid-golfer.html' title='The Avid Golfer'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113336777351999488</id><published>2005-11-30T08:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-30T08:22:55.060-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gorilla Catcher</title><content type='html'>A man wakes up one morning to find a gorilla on his roof. So he looks in&lt;br /&gt;the yellow pages and sure enough, there's an ad for "Gorilla&lt;br /&gt;Removers." He calls the number, and the gorilla remover says he'll&lt;br /&gt;be over in 30 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gorilla remover arrives, and gets out of his van. He's got a ladder,&lt;br /&gt;a baseball bat, a shotgun and a mean old pit bull.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are you going to do", the homeowner asks? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm going to put this ladder up against the roof, then I'm going to&lt;br /&gt;go up there and knock the gorilla off the roof with this baseball&lt;br /&gt;bat. When the gorilla falls off, the pit bull is trained to grab his&lt;br /&gt;testicles and not let go. The gorilla will then be subdued enough&lt;br /&gt;for me to put him in the cage in the back of the van."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hands the shotgun to the homeowner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's the shotgun for?" asks the homeowner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If the gorilla knocks ME off the roof, SHOOT THE FUCKING DOG!!!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113336777351999488?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113336777351999488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113336777351999488&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113336777351999488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113336777351999488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/gorilla-catcher.html' title='Gorilla Catcher'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113163855902363664</id><published>2005-11-10T07:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T08:02:39.036-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Louisiana</title><content type='html'>A Louisiana man was having coffee and croissants with butter and&lt;br /&gt;jam in a diner when a Texas man, chewing gum, sat down next to&lt;br /&gt;him. The Louisiana man politely ignored the Texan, who, nevertheless,&lt;br /&gt;started up a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Texan snapped his gum and said, "You Louisiana folk eat the&lt;br /&gt;whole bread?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Louisiana man frowned, annoyed with being bothered during his&lt;br /&gt;breakfast, and replied, "Of course."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Texan blew a huge bubble. "We don't. In Texas we only eat&lt;br /&gt;what's inside. The crusts we collect in a container, recycle them,&lt;br /&gt;transform them into croissants and sell them to Louisiana." The&lt;br /&gt;Texan had a smirk on his face. The Louisiana man listened in silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Texan persisted. "D'ya eat jelly with the bread?" Sighing, the&lt;br /&gt;Louisiana man replied, "Of course." Cracking his gum between his&lt;br /&gt;teeth, the Texan said, "We don't. In Texas, we eat fresh fruit for&lt;br /&gt;breakfast, then we put all the peels, seeds, and leftovers in&lt;br /&gt;containers, recycle them, transform them into jam and sell it to Louisiana."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Louisiana man then asked, "Do you have sex in Texas?" The&lt;br /&gt;Texan smiled and said, "Why of course we do." The Louisiana man&lt;br /&gt;leaned closer to him and asked, "And what do you do with the condoms&lt;br /&gt;once you've used them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We throw them away, of course," said the Texan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it was the Louisiana man's turn to smile. "We don't. In Louisiana,&lt;br /&gt;we put them in a container, recycle them, melt them down into chewing&lt;br /&gt;gum and sell them to the Texans."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113163855902363664?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113163855902363664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113163855902363664&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113163855902363664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113163855902363664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/louisiana.html' title='Louisiana'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113146808152069604</id><published>2005-11-08T08:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-08T08:41:21.543-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Having a Bad Day!</title><content type='html'>The next time you're having a bad day, imagine this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a Siamese twin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your brother, attached at your shoulder, is gay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He has a date coming over today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you only have one ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feel better?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113146808152069604?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113146808152069604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113146808152069604&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113146808152069604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113146808152069604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/having-bad-day.html' title='Having a Bad Day!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113138588185717014</id><published>2005-11-07T09:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-07T09:51:21.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Quick Thinking</title><content type='html'>A man walked into the produce section of his  local supermarket and asked&lt;br /&gt;to buy half a head of lettuce.   The boy working in that department told&lt;br /&gt;him that they only sold whole heads of lettuce.   The  man was insistent&lt;br /&gt;that the boy ask his manager about the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Walking into the back room, the boy said to his manager,  "Some asshole&lt;br /&gt;wants to buy a half a head of lettuce."   As he finished his sentence, he&lt;br /&gt;turned to find the man standing right behind him,  so he added, "and this gentleman kindly offered to buy the other half."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The manager approved the deal and the man went on his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later the manager found the boy and said  "I was impressed with the way&lt;br /&gt;that you got yourself out of that situation earlier.   We like people who&lt;br /&gt;think on their feet here.   Where are you from,  son?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Canada, sir," the boy replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well,  why did you leave Canada,"  the manager asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy said,  "Sir, there's nothing but Whores and Hockey players up there."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really!"  said the manager.   "My wife is from Canada!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy replied,  "No shit???   Who did she play for?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113138588185717014?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113138588185717014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113138588185717014&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113138588185717014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113138588185717014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/quick-thinking.html' title='Quick Thinking'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113138130894255214</id><published>2005-11-07T08:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-07T08:35:08.960-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning!! Take Heed!!</title><content type='html'>Police are warning all men who frequent clubs, partygoers and unsuspecting&lt;br /&gt; pub regulars to be alert and stay cautious when&lt;br /&gt; offered a drink from any woman.  A date rape drug on the market called&lt;br /&gt; "Beer" is used by many females to target unsuspecting men.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; The drug is generally found in liquid form and is now available almost&lt;br /&gt; anywhere.  It comes in bottles, cans, from taps and in&lt;br /&gt; large "kegs." Beer is used by female sexual predators at parties and bars&lt;br /&gt; to persuade their male victims to go home and have&lt;br /&gt; sex with them.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Typically, a woman needs only to persuade a guy to consume a few units of&lt;br /&gt; Beer and then simply ask him home for no strings&lt;br /&gt; attached sex.  Men are rendered helpless against this approach.  After&lt;br /&gt; several Beers, men will often succumb to desires to&lt;br /&gt; perform sexual acts on horrific looking women to whom they would never&lt;br /&gt; normally be attracted.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; After drinking Beer men often awaken with only hazy memories of exactly&lt;br /&gt; what happened to them the night before, often with just a vague feeling&lt;br /&gt; that "something bad" occurred.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; At other times these unfortunate men are swindled out of their life's&lt;br /&gt; savings in a familiar scam known as "a relationship."  It has been&lt;br /&gt; reported that in extreme cases, the female may even be shrewd enough to&lt;br /&gt; entrap the unsuspecting male into a longer term form of servitude and&lt;br /&gt; punishment referred to as "marriage."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Apparently, men are much more susceptible to this scam after Beer is&lt;br /&gt; administered and sex is offered by the predatory females.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Please!  Forward this warning to every male you know.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; If you fall victim to this insidious Beer and the predatory women&lt;br /&gt; administering it, there are male support groups with venues in&lt;br /&gt; every town where you can discuss the details of your shocking encounter in&lt;br /&gt; an open and frank manner with similarly affected, like-minded guys.  For&lt;br /&gt; the support group nearest you, just look up "Golf&lt;br /&gt; Courses" in the yellow pages.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113138130894255214?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113138130894255214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113138130894255214&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113138130894255214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113138130894255214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/warning-take-heed.html' title='Warning!! Take Heed!!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113112233220540780</id><published>2005-11-04T08:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T08:38:52.230-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Camel &amp; Elephant</title><content type='html'>A camel and an elephant meet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The elephant  asked the camel:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you have your breasts on your  back?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The camel, clearly irritated, replies:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What a silly question from someone who has a dick on his  face."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113112233220540780?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113112233220540780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113112233220540780&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113112233220540780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113112233220540780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/camel-elephant.html' title='Camel &amp; Elephant'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113103290637603419</id><published>2005-11-03T07:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-03T07:48:26.396-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween (sorry its a lil late)</title><content type='html'>A cabbie picks up a nun.  She gets into the cab, and the cab driver won't stop staring at her.  She asks him why is he staring and he replies, "I have a question to ask you but I don't want to offend you." She answers, "My dear son, you cannot offend me.  When you're as old as  I am and have been a nun as long as I have, you get a chance to see and hear just about everything.&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure that there's nothing you could say or ask that I would find offensive." "Well, I've always had a fantasy to have a nun kiss me." She responds, "Well, let's see what we can do about that:  Firstly, you have to be single and secondly you must be Catholic."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cab driver is very excited and says, "Yes, I am single and I'm Catholic too!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK" the nun says "Pull into the next alley"   He does and the nun fulfills&lt;br /&gt;his fantasy with a kiss that would make a hooker blush. But when they get back on the road, the cab driver starts crying. "My dear child, said the nun, why are you crying?" Forgive me sister, but I have sinned. I lied, I must confess, I'm married and I'm Jewish." The nun says, "That's OK, my name is Kevin and I'm on my way to a Halloween party."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113103290637603419?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113103290637603419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113103290637603419&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113103290637603419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113103290637603419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/happy-halloween-sorry-its-lil-late.html' title='Happy Halloween (sorry its a lil late)'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113095000514134383</id><published>2005-11-02T08:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T08:46:45.160-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Condom and S E X jokes</title><content type='html'>What do you get when you put 50 lesbians and 50 politicians in a room together?&lt;br /&gt;&gt; 100 people who don't do dick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do a coffin and a condom have in common?&lt;br /&gt;&gt; They're both filled with stiffs, only one's coming and one's going!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is a woman like a condom?&lt;br /&gt;&gt; Both spend more time in your wallet than on your pecker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is air a lot like sex?&lt;br /&gt;&gt; Because it's no big deal unless you're not getting any.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What does parsley and pubic hair have in common?&lt;br /&gt;&gt; You push it aside and keep on eating!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113095000514134383?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113095000514134383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113095000514134383&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113095000514134383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113095000514134383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/condom-and-s-e-x-jokes.html' title='Condom and S E X jokes'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113085933214439796</id><published>2005-11-01T07:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-01T07:35:32.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Did I say that out loud?</title><content type='html'>This is a great example of "did I say that out loud???" This happened at Harvard University in October last year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a biology class, the professor was discussing the high glucose levels found in semen which gives the sperm all the energy for their journey. A female freshman raised her hand and asked, "If I understand you correctly, you're saying there is a lot of glucose, as in sugar, in semen?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's correct," responded the professor, going on to add statistical info.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Raising her hand again, she asked, "Then why doesn't it taste sweet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a stunned silence, the whole class burst out laughing. The poor girl's face turned bright red, and as she realized exactly what she had inadvertently said (or rather implied), she picked up her books without a word and walked out of class, never to return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, as she was going out the door, the professor's reply was classic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally straight-faced he answered her question. "It doesn't taste sweet because the taste buds for sweetness are on the tip of your tongue and not the back of your throat. Have a good day."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113085933214439796?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113085933214439796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113085933214439796&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113085933214439796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113085933214439796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/11/did-i-say-that-out-loud.html' title='Did I say that out loud?'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113077906212323569</id><published>2005-10-31T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T09:17:42.136-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny</title><content type='html'>One morning while making breakfast, a man walked up&lt;br /&gt;to his wife and pinched her on the butt and said, "If you firmed&lt;br /&gt;this up, we could get rid of your control top pantyhose." While this&lt;br /&gt;was on the edge of intolerable, she kept silent.&lt;br /&gt; The next morning, the man woke his wife with a pinch&lt;br /&gt;on each of her breasts and said, "You know, if you firmed these up,&lt;br /&gt;we could get rid of your bra."&lt;br /&gt; This was beyond a silent response, so she rolled&lt;br /&gt;over and grabbed him by his penis. With a death grip in place, she&lt;br /&gt;said, "You know, if you firmed this up, we could get rid of the&lt;br /&gt;gardener, the postman, the pool man, and your brother."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113077906212323569?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113077906212323569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113077906212323569&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113077906212323569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113077906212323569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/funny.html' title='Funny'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113050967772916994</id><published>2005-10-28T07:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-28T07:27:57.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bottle of Wine</title><content type='html'>An Italian man enters his favorite ritzy restaurant&lt;br /&gt;and while sitting at his regular table, he notices a gorgeous woman&lt;br /&gt;sitting at a table nearby....all alone.&gt;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He calls the waiter over and asks for their most expensive bottle of &lt;br /&gt;Merlot to be sent over to her - knowing that if she accepts it, she is his.&lt;br /&gt;The waiter gets the bottle and quickly sends it over to the girl,&lt;br /&gt;saying it is from the gentleman. She looks at the wine and decides to send a&lt;br /&gt;note over to the man. &lt;br /&gt;The note read:   "For me to accept this bottle, you need to have a&lt;br /&gt;Mercedes in your garage, a million dollars in the bank, and 7 inches in your&lt;br /&gt;pants."&lt;br /&gt;The man, after reading the note, sends one of his own back to her and&lt;br /&gt;it read: "Just so you know, I happen to have a Ferrari Testarosa, a BMW 850iL,&lt;br /&gt;and a Mercedes 560SEL in my garage.  I have over twenty-million&lt;br /&gt;dollars in the bank. But, not even for a woman as beautiful as you, would I cut off&lt;br /&gt;three inches.   Just send the bottle back...."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113050967772916994?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113050967772916994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113050967772916994&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113050967772916994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113050967772916994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/bottle-of-wine.html' title='Bottle of Wine'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113042554817038417</id><published>2005-10-27T07:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-27T08:05:48.203-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tickets</title><content type='html'>I went to the store the other day, I was only in there for about 5 minutes and when I came out there was a damn motorcycle cop writing a parking ticket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went up to him and said, 'Come on buddy, how about giving a guy a break?'&lt;br /&gt;He ignored me and continued writing the ticket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I called him a pencil necked nazi. He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having bald tires!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I called him a horse shit. He finished the second ticket and put it on the car with the first. Then he started writing a third ticket!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This went on for about 20 minutes, the more I abused him, the more tickets he wrote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't give a damn, my car was parked around the corner...:-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a good day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113042554817038417?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113042554817038417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113042554817038417&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113042554817038417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113042554817038417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/tickets.html' title='Tickets'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113025061158819527</id><published>2005-10-25T07:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-25T07:30:11.613-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mexican Wife</title><content type='html'>The Mexican Wife&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The viejo Pancho was laying on his death bed. He had only hours to &lt;br /&gt; live when he suddenly smelled tamales. He loved tamales more than anything &lt;br /&gt; else in the world, especially his wife Chepa's tamales which were known through &lt;br /&gt; out the barrio as "Lo mejor de lo mejor." (The best of the best)  &lt;br /&gt; With his last bit of energy, Pancho pulled himself out of bed, &lt;br /&gt; across the floor, down the stairs and into the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt; Here, his wife was spreading the masa for a new batch of tamales. As &lt;br /&gt; he reached for one of the freshly steamed tamales, he got SMACKED &lt;br /&gt; across the back of his hand by the wooden spoon his wife was holding.&lt;br /&gt; "Leave them alone, pendejo! she said, "They're for the funeral!".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113025061158819527?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113025061158819527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113025061158819527&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113025061158819527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113025061158819527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/mexican-wife.html' title='The Mexican Wife'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-113016830251430792</id><published>2005-10-24T08:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T08:38:22.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'>SVEN</title><content type='html'>Vun day, Sven vas valking down da street ven who did he see driving a &lt;br /&gt;brand new Chevrolet? It vas Ole. Ole pulled up to him vit a vide smile. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ole, vere did you get dat car?" Sven asked  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Lena gave it to me" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She gave it to you? I knew she vas sveet on you, but dis?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Vell, let me tell you vat happened. Ve vere driving out on county road  in &lt;br /&gt;da middle of novere. Lena pulled off da road into da woods. She parked, got &lt;br /&gt;out of da car, trew off all of her clothes and said "Ole  take  vatever you &lt;br /&gt;vant."..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.So I took da car" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ole, your a smart man, dem clothes never voulda fit ya."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-113016830251430792?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/113016830251430792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=113016830251430792&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113016830251430792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/113016830251430792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/sven.html' title='SVEN'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112990580178643470</id><published>2005-10-21T07:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-21T07:43:21.793-07:00</updated><title type='text'>3 Roses</title><content type='html'>Virginia goes to her doctor and says she wants an operation because&lt;br /&gt; her vagina lips are much too large. She asks the doctor to keep the&lt;br /&gt; operation a secret as she's embarrassed and doesn't want anyone to find&lt;br /&gt; out. The doctor agrees. She wakes up from her operation and finds three &lt;br /&gt; roses carefully placed beside her bed. Outraged she immediately calls in the&lt;br /&gt; doctor and says," I thought I asked you not to tell anyone about my&lt;br /&gt; operation!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Don't worry," he says, "I didn't tell anybody. The first rose is&lt;br /&gt; from me. I felt bad because you went through this all by yourself. The &lt;br /&gt; second one is from my nurse. She assisted me with the operation, and she had the&lt;br /&gt; operation done herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is the third rose from?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh," says the doctor, "that rose is from a guy upstairs in the burn unit. &lt;br /&gt; He wanted to thank you for his new ears."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112990580178643470?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112990580178643470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112990580178643470&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112990580178643470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112990580178643470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/3-roses.html' title='3 Roses'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112982399733722081</id><published>2005-10-20T08:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-20T08:59:57.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bar Joke</title><content type='html'>A blind man enters a Ladies Bar by mistake. He finds his way to a bar &lt;br /&gt; stool and orders a drink. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the &lt;br /&gt; bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?"    The bar immediately falls &lt;br /&gt; absolutely quiet. In a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him says, &lt;br /&gt; "Before you tell that joke, sir, you should know five things .....    1 - The &lt;br /&gt; bartender is a blonde girl.    2 - The bouncer is a blonde gal.    3 - I'm a &lt;br /&gt; 6 feet tall, 200 pound blonde woman with a black belt in karate.    4 - The &lt;br /&gt; woman sitting next to me is blonde and is a professional weight-lifter.    5 &lt;br /&gt; - The lady to your right is a blonde and is a professional wrestler.    Now &lt;br /&gt; think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that joke?"    The &lt;br /&gt; blind man thinks for a second, shakes his head, and declares, "Nah...Not if &lt;br /&gt; I'm gonna have to explain it five times."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112982399733722081?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112982399733722081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112982399733722081&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112982399733722081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112982399733722081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/bar-joke.html' title='Bar Joke'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112921867322150371</id><published>2005-10-13T08:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-13T08:51:13.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Geography of a Man/Woman</title><content type='html'>THE GEOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 18 - 21 a woman is like Africa or Australia. &lt;br /&gt;She is half discovered, half wild and naturally beautiful with &lt;br /&gt;bush land around the fertile deltas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Between the ages of 21 - 30 a woman is like America or Japan. &lt;br /&gt;Completely discovered, very well developed and open to trade &lt;br /&gt;especially with countries with cash or cars. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 30 -35, she is like India or Spain. &lt;br /&gt;Very hot, relaxed and convinced of its own beauty. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 35 - 40 a woman is like France or Argentina. &lt;br /&gt;She may have been half destroyed during the war but can still be &lt;br /&gt;a warm and desirable place to visit. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 40 - 50 she is like Yugoslavia or Iraq. &lt;br /&gt;She lost the war and is haunted by past mistakes. Massive &lt;br /&gt;reconstruction is now necessary. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 50 - 60 she is like Russia or Canada. &lt;br /&gt;Very wide, quiet and the borders are practically unpatrolled but &lt;br /&gt;the frigid climate keeps people away. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 60 - 70 a woman is like England or Mongolia. &lt;br /&gt;With a glorious and all conquering past but alas no future. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After 70, they become Albania or Afghanistan. Everyone knows &lt;br /&gt;where it is, but no one wants to go there. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;THE GEOGRAPHY OF A MAN &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the ages of 15 - 70 a man is like Iraq - ruled by a &lt;br /&gt;Dick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112921867322150371?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112921867322150371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112921867322150371&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112921867322150371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112921867322150371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/geography-of-manwoman.html' title='The Geography of a Man/Woman'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112904479711126515</id><published>2005-10-11T08:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-11T08:33:17.116-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irishman at the BallPark</title><content type='html'>An Irishman moves to the USA &amp; finally attends his first baseball  game.&lt;br /&gt;The first batter approaches the batters' box, takes a few swings, and then hits a double.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone is on his feet screaming, "Run, Run!"&lt;br /&gt;The next batter hits a single, and the Irishman listens as the  crowd again cheers, "RUN, RUN!"&lt;br /&gt;The Irishman enjoys the game and begins screaming with the fans.&lt;br /&gt;The fifth batter comes up and four balls go by.&lt;br /&gt;The umpire  calls, "Walk"and the batter starts his slow trot to first base.&lt;br /&gt;The Irishman  stands up and screams, "R-R-Run ye bastard, run!"&lt;br /&gt;The people around him begin laughing.  Embarrassed, the Irishman  sits back down.&lt;br /&gt;A friendly fan notes the man's embarrassment, leans over, and  explains, "He can't run -- he's got four balls."&lt;br /&gt;The Irishman stands up and screams, "Walk with pride,  lad,........walk with pride!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112904479711126515?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112904479711126515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112904479711126515&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112904479711126515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112904479711126515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/irishman-at-ballpark.html' title='Irishman at the BallPark'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112870076658403826</id><published>2005-10-07T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T08:59:26.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell me why???</title><content type='html'>Why does your gynecologist leave the room when you get undressed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If a person owns a piece of land do they own it all the way down to the &lt;br /&gt;core of the earth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can't women put on mascara with their mouth closed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it called Alcoholics Anonymous when the first thing you do is &lt;br /&gt;stand up and say, 'Hi, my name is Bob, and I am an alcoholic?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you mated a bulldog and a shitsu, would it be called a bullshit?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are they called stairs inside but steps outside?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How come you can see the stars from the Earth, but you can't&lt;br /&gt;see them when you're in space?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If croutons are stale bread, why do they come in airtight packages?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does mineral water that has trickled through mountains for &lt;br /&gt;centuries have a use by date?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a &lt;br /&gt;horrible crisp no-one would eat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is French kissing in France just called kissing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll &lt;br /&gt;squeeze these dangly things here and drink whatever comes out"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do people in China call their good plates?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you sentence a homeless man to house arrest?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If the professor on Gilligan's Island can make a radio out of a &lt;br /&gt;coconut, why can't he fix a hole in a boat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but not to &lt;br /&gt;their crotch when they ask where the toilet is?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112870076658403826?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112870076658403826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112870076658403826&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112870076658403826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112870076658403826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/tell-me-why.html' title='Tell me why???'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112861598646681996</id><published>2005-10-06T09:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T09:26:26.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You think you had software problems!</title><content type='html'>Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to Husband 1.0 and  noticed a  &lt;br /&gt; slow down in the performance of the flower and jewellery applications &lt;br /&gt; that had operated flawlessly under the Boyfriend 5.0 system.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; In addition, Husband 1.0 un-installed many other valuable programs, &lt;br /&gt; such as Romance 9.9, but installed undesirable programs such as NFL &lt;br /&gt; 7.4,  NBA 3.2 and NHL 4.1.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Conversation 8.0 also no longer runs and Housecleaning 2.6 simply &lt;br /&gt; crashes the system.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; I've tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these problems, but to no avail. &lt;br /&gt; What can I do?&lt;br /&gt; Signed, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Desperate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; ***************************&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Dear Desperate,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; First, keep in mind that Boyfriend 5.0 was an entertainment package, &lt;br /&gt; while Husband 1.0 is an operating system.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Try to enter the command C:/I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME and install Tears &lt;br /&gt; 6.2.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Husband 1.0 should  then automatically run the&lt;br /&gt; applications: Guilt 3.3 and&lt;br /&gt; Flowers 7.5. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; But remember, overuse can cause Husband 1.0 to default to such &lt;br /&gt; background applications  as Grumpy Silence 2.5, Happy Hour 7.0, or &lt;br /&gt; Beer 6.1.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; Please remember that  Beer 6.1 is a very bad program that will create &lt;br /&gt; SnoringLoudly.WAV files.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; DO NOT install Mother-In-Law 1.0 or reinstall another Boyfriend &lt;br /&gt; program.&lt;br /&gt; These are not supported applications and will crash Husband 1.0. It &lt;br /&gt; could also potentially cause Husband 1.0 to default to the&lt;br /&gt; program: Girlfriend&lt;br /&gt; 9.2, which runs in the background and&lt;br /&gt; has  been known to introduce potentially serious viruses into the &lt;br /&gt; Operating System.&lt;br /&gt; In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program, but it does have a limited &lt;br /&gt; memory and can't learn new applications quickly.&lt;br /&gt; You might consider buying additional software to enhance his system  performance. &lt;br /&gt; I personally recommend Hot Food 3.0 and Single Malt &lt;br /&gt; Scotch 4.5 combined with such applications as Boob Job  3.6D and that &lt;br /&gt; old stand-by...Lingerie 6.9 (which have both been credited with &lt;br /&gt; improved performance of this hardware).&lt;br /&gt; Good Luck,&lt;br /&gt; Tech Support&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112861598646681996?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112861598646681996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112861598646681996&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112861598646681996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112861598646681996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/you-think-you-had-software-problems.html' title='You think you had software problems!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112861558105938809</id><published>2005-10-06T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T09:19:41.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Juggler</title><content type='html'>An Alexander County Deputy pulled a car over on I-57 about 2 miles&lt;br /&gt; north of the Missouri state line. When the Deputy asked the driver&lt;br /&gt; why he was speeding, the driver answered that he was a magician and a&lt;br /&gt; juggler and he was on his way to Branson to do a show that night and&lt;br /&gt; didn't want to be late.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The deputy told the driver he was fascinated by juggling, and if&lt;br /&gt; the driver would do a little juggling for him that he wouldn't give&lt;br /&gt; him a ticket.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The driver told the deputy that he had sent all of his equipment&lt;br /&gt; on ahead and didn't have anything to juggle.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The deputy told him that he had some flares in the trunk of his squad&lt;br /&gt; car and asked if he could juggle them. The juggler stated that he could,&lt;br /&gt; so the deputy got three flares, lit them and handed them to the juggler.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;While the man was doing his juggling act, a car pulled in behind the&lt;br /&gt; squad car, a drunk got out and watched the performance briefly, he&lt;br /&gt; then went over to the squad car, opened the rear door and got in.&lt;br /&gt; The deputy observed him doing this and went over to his squad car,&lt;br /&gt; opened the door and asked the drunk what he thought he was doing.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The drunk replied, "Might as well take my butt on to jail,&lt;br /&gt; theres no way in hell I can pass that test."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112861558105938809?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112861558105938809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112861558105938809&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112861558105938809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112861558105938809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/juggler.html' title='Juggler'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112852509762276068</id><published>2005-10-05T08:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-05T08:11:37.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Boys</title><content type='html'>Two guys were picked up by the cops for smoking dope and&lt;br /&gt;appeared in court before the judge. The judge said, "You seem like &lt;br /&gt;nice young men, and I'd like to give you a second chance rather than &lt;br /&gt;jail time. I want you to go out this weekend and try to show others &lt;br /&gt;the evils of drug use and get them to give up drugs forever. I'll see &lt;br /&gt;you back in court Monday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday, the two guys were in court and the judge said to the first &lt;br /&gt;one, "How did you do over the weekend?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, your honor, I persuaded 17 people to give up drugs forever."&lt;br /&gt;"17 people? That's wonderful. What did you tell them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I used a diagram, your honor. I drew two circles, one big and one &lt;br /&gt;small, and told them the big circle is your brain before drugs and &lt;br /&gt;the small circle is your brain after drugs."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's admirable," said the judge. "And you, how did you do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, your honor, I persuaded 156 people to give up drugs forever."&lt;br /&gt;"156 people! That's amazing! How did you manage to do that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I used the same two circles. I pointed to the small circle and &lt;br /&gt;told them, "this is your asshole before prison......"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112852509762276068?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112852509762276068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112852509762276068&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112852509762276068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112852509762276068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/bad-boys.html' title='Bad Boys'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112843825541984252</id><published>2005-10-04T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T08:04:15.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Work Policy!!</title><content type='html'>Dear Employee  Please read the new policy for work. All employees must abide by these  or  suffer dire consequences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; SICK DAYS:  We will no longer accept a doctor statement as proof of sickness. If   you  are able to go to the doctor, you are able to come to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; SURGERY:  Operations are now banned. As long as you are an employee here, you need  all your organs. You should not consider removing anything. We hired  you  intact. To have something removed constitutes a breach of employment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; PERSONAL DAYS:  Each employee will receive 104 personal days a year. They are called  Saturday &amp; Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; LEAVE DAYS:  All employees will take their leave at the same time every year. The  Leave  days are as follows: Jan. 1, Jan 26, April 25 &amp; December 25-26.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; BEREAVEMENT LEAVE:  This is no excuse for missing work. There is nothing you can do for dead  friends, relatives or coworkers. Every effort should be made to have  non-employees attend to the arrangements. In rare cases where employee  involvement is necessary, the funeral should be scheduled in the late  afternoon. We will be glad to allow you to work through your lunch hour  and  subsequently leave one hour early, provided your share of the work is  done  enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; OUT FROM YOUR OWN DEATH:  This will be accepted as an excuse. However, we require at least two  weeks  notice, as it is your duty to train your own replacement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; TOILET USE:  Entirely too much time is being spent in the toilet. In the future, we  will  follow the practice of going in alphabetical order.For instance:  All employees whose names begin with 'A' will go from 8:00 to 8:20,  employees whose names begin with 'B' will go from 8:20 to 8:40 and so  on.  If you're unable to go at your allotted time, it will be necessary to  wait  until the next day when your turn comes again.  In extreme emergencies employees may swap their time with a coworker.  Both  employees' supervisors in writing must approve this exchange. In addition,  there is now a strict 3-minute time limit in the stalls. At the end of  three  minutes, an alarm will sound, the toilet paper roll will retract, and  the  stall door will open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; LUNCH BREAK:  Skinny people get an hour for lunch as they need to eat more so that  they  can look healthy, normal size people get 30 minutes for lunch to get  a  balanced meal to maintain the average figure. Fat people get 5 minutes  for  lunch because that's all the time needed to drink a Slim Fast &amp; take  a diet  pill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; DRESS CODE:  It is advised that you come to work dressed according to your salary,  if we  see you wearing $350 Prada sneakers &amp; carrying a $600 Gucci bag we assume  you are doing well financially and therefore you do not need a pay  increase.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112843825541984252?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112843825541984252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112843825541984252&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112843825541984252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112843825541984252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/10/new-work-policy.html' title='New Work Policy!!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112809568594352166</id><published>2005-09-30T08:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-30T08:55:21.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Midget Buying a Horse</title><content type='html'>A guy calls his buddy, the horse rancher and says he's&lt;br /&gt;sending a friend over to look at a horse. "How will I&lt;br /&gt;recognize him?" "That's easy, he's a midget&lt;br /&gt;with a speech impediment" So, the midget shows up, and&lt;br /&gt;the guy asks him if he's looking for a male or female&lt;br /&gt;horse. "A female horth." So he shows him a&lt;br /&gt;prized filly. "Nith lookin horth. Can I thee her&lt;br /&gt;eyeth"? So the guy picks up the midget and he gives&lt;br /&gt;the horse's eyes the once over. "Nith eyeth, can I&lt;br /&gt;thee her earzth"? So he picks the little fella up&lt;br /&gt;again, and shows him the horse's ears. "Nith earzth,&lt;br /&gt;can I see her mouf"? The rancher is getting pretty&lt;br /&gt;pissed off by this point, but he picks him up again&lt;br /&gt;and shows him the horse's mouth. "Nice mouf, can I see&lt;br /&gt;her twat"? Totally pissed at this point, the rancher&lt;br /&gt;grabs him under his arm and rams the midget's head as&lt;br /&gt;far as he can up the horse's twat, pulls him out and&lt;br /&gt;slams him on the ground. The midget gets up,&lt;br /&gt;sputtering and coughing. "Perhapth I should rephrathe&lt;br /&gt;that. Can I thee her wun awound a widdle bit&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112809568594352166?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112809568594352166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112809568594352166&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112809568594352166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112809568594352166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/midget-buying-horse.html' title='Midget Buying a Horse'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112802401425572795</id><published>2005-09-29T12:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-29T13:00:14.260-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Witness to an Affair</title><content type='html'>A man returning home a day early from a business trip, got into a &lt;br /&gt;taxi at the airport after midnight. While en route to his home, he asked the &lt;br /&gt;cabby if he would be a witness. The man suspected his wife was having an &lt;br /&gt;affair, and expected to catch her in the act. For $100, the cabby agreed to be &lt;br /&gt;a witness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quietly arriving at the house, the husband and cabby tiptoed into the&lt;br /&gt;bedroom. The husband flipped on the lights, pulled the blanket back and&lt;br /&gt;there was his wife in bed with another man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband put his gun to the man's head, and the wife shouted &lt;br /&gt;"Don't do it! This man has been very generous. Who do you think paid for the &lt;br /&gt;Corvette I said I bought for you? He did! Who do you think paid for our new &lt;br /&gt;cabin cruiser? He did! Who do you think pays our monthly country club dues &lt;br /&gt;you believe I budget for? He does!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband, looked over at the cab driver and asked "What would you &lt;br /&gt;do?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cabby said, "I'd cover him with that blanket before he catches a&lt;br /&gt;cold."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112802401425572795?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112802401425572795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112802401425572795&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112802401425572795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112802401425572795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/witness-to-affair.html' title='Witness to an Affair'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112783426980007349</id><published>2005-09-27T08:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-27T08:17:49.803-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blonde Joke</title><content type='html'>A guy enters bar carrying an alligator. Says to the patrons, "Here's the deal. I'll open this alligator's mouth and place my genitals inside. The gator will close his mouth forone minute, then open it, and I'll remove my unit unscathed. If it works, everyone buys me drinks."The crowd agrees. The guy drops his pants and puts his privates in the gator's mouth. Gator closes mouth. After a minute, the guy grabs a beer bottle and bangs the gator on the top of its head. The gator opens wide and he removes his genitals unscathed. Everyone buys him drinks.Then he says, "I'll pay anyone $100 who's willing to give it a try."&lt;br /&gt;After a while, a hand goes up in the back of the bar. It's a blonde woman. "I'll give it a try," she says, "but you have to promise not to hit me on the head with the beer bottle."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112783426980007349?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112783426980007349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112783426980007349&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112783426980007349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112783426980007349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/blonde-joke.html' title='Blonde Joke'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112774998932332938</id><published>2005-09-26T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-26T08:53:09.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Im Tired</title><content type='html'>Why I am Tired . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a couple years I've been blaming it on lack of sleep, too much pressure from my job, earwax buildup, poor&lt;br /&gt;blood, but now I found out the real reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're tired because we're overworked. Here's why:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The population of this country is 273 million.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;140 million are retired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That leaves 133 million to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 85 million in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This leaves 48 million to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of this there are 29 million employed by the federal government.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leaving 19 million to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.8 million are in the armed forces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This leaves 16.2 million to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take from the total the 14,800,000 people who work for state and city governments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that leaves 1.4 million to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At any given time there are 188,000 people in hospitals, Leaving 1,212,000 to do the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, there are 1,211,998 people in prisons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That leaves just two people to do all the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You and me . . .&lt;br /&gt;And you're sitting on your ass, at your computer, reading jokes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112774998932332938?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112774998932332938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112774998932332938&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112774998932332938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112774998932332938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/why-im-tired.html' title='Why Im Tired'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112749030445079079</id><published>2005-09-23T08:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-23T08:45:04.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandma's Love Letter</title><content type='html'>~ Grandma's Letter Of Love ~&lt;br /&gt;Dear Friend, The other day I went up to a local Christian bookstore and saw a "Honk If You Love Jesus"&lt;br /&gt;bumper sticker. I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting, so I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy, I'm glad I did! What an uplifting experience followed!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good He is...and I didn't notice that the light had changed. It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed! I found that LOTS of people love Jesus!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, "For the love of GOD! GO! GO! Jesus Christ, GO!" What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus! Everyone started honking! I just leaned out of my window and started waving and smiling at all these loving people. I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yelling something about a "sunny beach"... I saw another guy waving in a funny way with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. I asked my teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant, he said that it was probably a Hawaiian good luck sign or something. Well, I've never met anyone from Hawaii, so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign back. My grandson burst out laughing ... he was enjoying this religious experience, too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed. So, I waved to all my sisters and brothers grinning, and drove on through the intersection. I noticed I was the only car that got through the intersection before the light changed again and I felt kind of sad that had to leave them after all the love we had shared, so I slowed the car down, leaned out of the window and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away. Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love, Grandma&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112749030445079079?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112749030445079079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112749030445079079&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112749030445079079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112749030445079079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/grandmas-love-letter.html' title='Grandma&apos;s Love Letter'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16020666.post-112740471500486701</id><published>2005-09-22T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-22T08:58:35.010-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TEXAS!</title><content type='html'>From the State where drunk driving is considered a sport,&lt;br /&gt;comes a true story from deep in the heart of Texas.&lt;br /&gt;Recently a routine police patrol parked outside a local neighborhood&lt;br /&gt;tavern. Late in the evening the officer noticed a man leaving the bar so&lt;br /&gt;intoxicated that he could barely walk. The man stumbled around the&lt;br /&gt;parking lot for a few minutes, with the officer quietly observing.&lt;br /&gt;After what seemed an eternity and trying his keys on five vehicles, the&lt;br /&gt;man managed to find his car which he fell into. He was there for a few&lt;br /&gt;minutes as a number of other patrons left the bar and drove off.&lt;br /&gt;Finally he started the car, switched the wipers on and off (it was a&lt;br /&gt;fine dry night) flicked the blinkers on, then off, honked the horn and&lt;br /&gt;then switched on the lights. He moved the vehicle forward a few inches,&lt;br /&gt;reversed a little and then remained still for a few more minutes as some&lt;br /&gt;more vehicles left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last he pulled out of the parking lot and started to drive slowly down&lt;br /&gt;the road. The police officer, having patiently waited all this time, now started&lt;br /&gt;up the patrol car, put on the flashing lights, promptly pulled the man over&lt;br /&gt;and carried out a breathalyzer test. To his amazement the Breathalyzer&lt;br /&gt;indicated no evidence of the man having consumed alcohol at all!&lt;br /&gt;Dumbfounded, the officer said "I'll have to ask you to accompany me to&lt;br /&gt;the Police station this Breathalyzer equipment must be broken."&lt;br /&gt;"I doubt it," said the man, "Tonight I'm the designated decoy"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16020666-112740471500486701?l=dialajoke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/feeds/112740471500486701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16020666&amp;postID=112740471500486701&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112740471500486701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16020666/posts/default/112740471500486701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dialajoke.blogspot.com/2005/09/texas.html' title='TEXAS!'/><author><name>Me</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15237816811266388412</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
