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Q: How can you tell when a blond was baking chocolate chip cookies?

A: When you find M’n M shells on the floor

* “What the fuck was that?” – Mayor of Hiroshima

* “Where did all these fucking Indians come from?” – Custer

* “Any fucking idiot could understand that!” – Einstein

* “It does SO fucking look like her!” – Picasso

* “How the fuck did you work that out?” – Pythagoras

* “You want WHAT on the fucking ceiling?” – Michelangelo

* “I don’t suppose it’s gonna fucking rain?” – Joan of Arc

* “I need this parade like I need a fucking hole in my head!” – J.F.K.

* “Who the fuck is going to know?” – Bill Clinton

Harry had a bit of a drinking problem. Every night, after dinner, he took off for the local watering hole. He spent the whole evening there, and arrived home, well inebriated, around midnight each night.

He always had trouble getting his key into the keyhole, and getting the door opened. His wife, waiting up for him, would go to the door and let him in. Then she would proceed to yell and scream at him, for his constant nights out, and coming home in a drunken state. But, Harry continued his nightly routine.

One day, the wife was talking to a friend about her husband’s behavior, and was particularly distraught by it all. The friend listened to her, and then said, “Why don’t you treat him a little differently when he comes home? Instead of berating him, why don’t you give him some loving words, and welcome him home with a kiss? He then might change his ways.”

The wife thought it was worth trying.

That night, Harry took off again, after dinner. And, about midnight, he arrived home, in his usual condition. His wife heard him at the door, quickly went to it, opened the door, and let Harry in.

This time, instead of berating him, as she had always done, she took his arm, and led him into the living room. She sat him down in an easy chair, put his feet up on the ottoman and took his shoes off. Then she went behind him, and started to cuddle him a little. After a while, she said to him, “It’s pretty late. I think we had better go upstairs to bed now, don’t you?”

At that, Harry replied, in his inebriated state, “I guess we might as well. I’ll get in trouble when I get home anyway!”

(To the tune of Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive”)

At first I was afraid, I was petrified.
By the ugly slapper that was lying by my side.
I would’ve drunk a little less, I would’ve tried to keep my head,
If I’d known for just one second you’d assault me in your bed.

I tried to go, walk out the door.
But you’ve been sitting on my legs and I can’t feel them anymore.
And now you’re sitting on my face, my nose has vanished – not a trace.
I only hope that you’re big knickers aren’t made of liquorice lace.

I want to go, I’ve got to leave.
Before your fat and naked body makes me want to heave.
Only hope that no one saw me walking home with such a slut.
God the things that you get up to when you’re half cut.

I can’t believe, I’m lying here.
It’s all ‘cos of that f**king evil drink that we call beer.
You can sod your beer goggles, shit I must have been blind,
To mistake that Hoover dam for a sexy young behind.

Please let me go, I’m getting scared.
There’s nothing I can do to stop those ugly breasts from being bared.
I think that I must have been mad, God what made me want to court her?
With tits that look like Tesco bags I’ve just filled up with water.

It’s time to go, run out the door.
She’s started hinting she wants sex on her dirty lino floor.
I don’t think there’s anything worse
Than the al-co-hol-lics curse.

I will survive, I will survive, I will survive!

Q. What do you call a blond with a brain?
A. A golden retriever.



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