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A wealthy American man was having an affair with an Italian woman for a few years. One night, during a rendezvous, she confided to him that she was pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he told her he would pay her a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to have the child. If she stayed there, he would also provide child support until the child turned 18.
She agreed, but wondered how he would know when the baby is born. To keep it discreet, he told her to mail him a postcard, and write “Spaghetti” on the back. He would then arrange for child support.
One day, about nine months later, he came home to his confused wife.
“Honey,” she said, “you received a very strange postcard today.”
“Oh, just give it to me and I’ll explain it later,” he said.
The wife did as she was asked, and watched as her husband read the card, turned white and fainted. On the card was written “Spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti. Two with meatballs, one without.”

What is the difference between an Italian prostitue and her mother?
About 15 Euros.

An Englishman, a Scott, and a Irishman walked into a pub.
Each orderd a pint of beer. Then a fly landed in each one’s beer.

The Englishman, turning slightly green, pushed his beer away and asked for another one.

The Scott took the fly out, shrugged, and drank his beer.

The Irisman pinched the fly between his fingers and yelled
“SPIT IT OUT!” “SPIT IT OUT!”

Sarah and Issy are out celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary. During the evening, Sarah broaches the subject of life insurance (his) – an issue she has been raising with him for at least 10 years, without success.
“Issy,” she says, with tears in her eyes, “I don’t think you love me.”
“Why do you think that?” he asks.
“Because if you really love me, you would ensure that if anything happened to you, God forbid, I would be properly provided for.”
“Sarah,” he says angrily, “I need life insurance like I need a hole in the head.”
“I know your views,” says Sarah, “but I’ve spoken to two of my friends recently and they tell me that their husbands have life insurance – and they’re not as rich as you. If it’s good enough for them, why isn’t it good enough for you?”
“I’ll tell you why,” replies Issy, “it’s because they’ve been paying high premiums month after month and what have they got so far in return? Nothing, gornisht.”
“So what if their husbands have been paying for nothing?” says Sarah, “You’ve always told me I’m luckier than my friends – who knows, maybe this time I’ll strike it rich.”

Jed and Solly, both in their 50s, have been working in the same office for many years and have become close friends. One Monday, despite his age, Jed boasts to Solly about his sexual endurance the night before.
“I did it three times with my wife last night Solly,” says Jed, matter-of-factly.
“Oy yoy yoy! Three times,” gasps Solly admiringly. “How on earth did you manage that?”
“It wasn’t too difficult,” replies Jed, modestly. “After my wife and I made love for the first time, I took a 10 minute nap. Then I made love to her again, followed by another 10 minute nap. And then we made love for the third time. I can’t describe how I feel, Solly. I woke up this morning feeling like a stallion.”
“What a good method,” says Solly, “I must try it. Mine Sadie wont believe what’s happening to her when I manage to shtup her 3 times in one night. It will be a mekheiyeh for both of us.”
So that night Solly surprises Sadie. He makes love to her, then takes a 10 minute nap, makes love to her again, takes another nap, this time for 15 minutes and then makes love to her for a third time. Then, with a smile on his face, he rolls over and falls fast asleep.
Solly wakes up feeling absolutely marvellous. He gets dressed and leaves for work. Rather than get on his usual bus, he takes a leisurely stroll to his office. This makes him 30 minutes late. When he arrives, his boss is waiting for him.
“Whats the matter Mr Jones?” he asks, “Ive been working for you for nearly 25 years and I’ve never once been late. Surely you’re not going to reprimand me for a measly thirty minutes?”
“What do you mean thirty minutes?” says Mr Jones, “where were you yesterday?”

shtup: vulgar for making love
mekheiyeh: a pleasure



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