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- You ever heard the phrase, *May the force be with y*all.*

- Your Jedi robe is camouflage.

- You have ever used your light saber to open a bottle of Bud Light.

- At least one wing of your X-Wings is primer colored.

- You can easily describe the taste of an Ewok.

- You have ever had a land-speeder up on blocks in your yard.

- The worst part of spending time on Dagobah is the dadgum skeeters.

- Wookies are offended by your B.O.

- You have ever used the force to get yourself another beer so you didn*t have to wait for a commercial.

- You have ever used the force in conjunction with fishing/bowling.

- Your father has ever said to you, *Shoot, son come on over to the dark side…it*ll be a hoot.*

- You have ever had your R-2 unit use its self-defense electro-shock thingy to get the barbecue grill to light.

- You have a confederate flag painted on the hood of your land-speeder.

- You ever fantasized about Princess Leah wearing Daisy Duke shorts.

- You have the doors of your X-wing welded shut and you have to get in through the window.

- Although you had to kill him, you kinda thought that Jabba the Hutt had a pretty good handle on how to treat his women.

- You have a cousin who bears a strong resemblance to Chewbacca.

- You suggested that they outfit the Millennium Falcon with redwood deck.

- You were the only person drinking Jack Daniels during the cantina scene.

- If you hear… *Luke, I am your father…and your uncle*

@Star Wars

Sometimes women are overly suspicious of their husbands….
When Adam stayed out very late for a few nights, Eve became upset.
“You’re running around with other women,” she told her mate.
“Eve, honey, you’re being unreasonable,” Adam responded. “You know you’re the only woman on earth.”
The quarrel continued until Adam fell asleep, only to be awakened by a strange pain in the chest. It was his darling Eve poking him rather vigorously about the torso.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Adam demanded.
“Counting your ribs,” said Eve!

“Look at me.” an elderly Yuppie boasted to his guests at his
birthday bash. “I’ve aged like a fine old carefully stored wine.”

“I certainly have to agree with that.” piped-up his obviously long
suffering wife. “Henry’s cork’s been stationary for years.”

One day the different parts of the body were having an
argument to see which should be in charge.

The brain said “I do all the thinking so I’m the most
important and I should be in charge.”

The eyes said “I see everything and let the rest of you
know where we are, so I’m the most important and I
should be in charge.”

The hands said “Without me we wouldn’t be able to pick
anything up or move anything. So I’m the most important
and I should be in charge.”

The stomach said “I turn the food we eat into energy for
the rest of you. Without me, we’d starve. So I’m the most
important and I should be in charge.”

The legs said “Without me we wouldn’t be able to move
anywhere. So I’m the most important and I should be in
charge.”

Then the rectum said “I think I should be in charge.”

All the rest of the parts said “YOU?!? You don’t do
anything! You’re not important! You can’t be in charge.”

So the rectum closed up. After a few days, the legs were all
wobbly, the stomach was all queasy, the hands were all shaky,
the eyes were all watery, and the brain was all cloudy.

They all agreed that they couldn’t take any more of this and
agreed to put the rectum in charge.

Today’s lesson: You don’t have to be the most important to be
in charge, just an a – - hole.

Calling in Sick….

A Cat Owner’s Story Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable
because no matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss
thinks I am lying. On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied
anyway because the truth was too humiliating to reveal. I simply
mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel
up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to
explain the bandage on my crown. In this case, the truth hurt. I mean
it really hurt in the place men feel the most pain. The accident
occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife’s wishes to adopt a cute
little kitty. As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower
after breakfast when I heard my wife call out to me from the kitchen.
“Ed!” she hearkened. “The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it.”
“You know where the button is.” I protested through the shower
(pitter-patter). “Reset it yourself!” “I am scared!” She pleaded.
“What if it starts going and sucks me in?” Pause. “C’mon, it’ll only
take a second.” No logical assurance about how a disposal can’t start
itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers from
“Big-ol-scary-machinephobia,” a condition brought on by watching too
many Stephen King movies. It is futile to argue or explain, kind of
like Lloyd Bentsen telling Americans they are over-taxed. And if a
poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground
into round, I’d have to live with that the rest of my life. So out I
came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about
how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence but it was I who
would suffer. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find
the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It struck
without warning. Nay, it wasn’t a hexed disposal drawing me into its
gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the
dangling objects she spied between my legs. She (“Buttons” aka “the
Grater”) had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took
the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most
vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged
them with her needle-like claws. Now when men feel pain or even sense
danger anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all
rational thought to control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively,
their nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising
upwardly at a violent rate of speed. Not even a well-trained monk
could calmly stand with his groin supporting the full weight of a
kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step procedure. Wild
animals are sometimes faced with a “fight or flight” syndrome; men, in
this predicament, choose only the “flight” option. Fleeing straight
up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a
dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never
made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the
impact knocked me out cold. When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics
stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics
snorted as they tried to conduct their work while suppressing their
hysterical laughter. My wife told me I should be flattered. At the
office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept
silent, claiming it was too painful to talk. “What’s the matter, cat
got your tongue?” If they had only known.



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