FRIDAY HUMOR

The next few days I plan to hit on some topic that men will get some humor from (at least I hope you do).  For example these are ones that I would never post on the main board or state board because I would be getting hate mail for months.   Dan ************************************************************************************************** A man was invited for dinner at a friend's house. Every time the host needed something, he preceded his request to his wife by calling her "My Love", "Darling", "Sweetheart", etc., etc. His friend looked at him and said, "That's really nice after all of these years you've been married to keep saying those little pet names." The host said, "Well, honestly, I've forgotten her name."

Here's one for you Dan, Sign of the times? A little boy goes to his father and asks "Daddy, how was I born?" The father answers: "Well son, I guess one day you will need to find out anyway! Your Mom and I first got together in a chat room on Yahoo. Then I set up a date via e-mail with your Mom and we met at a cyber-cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room, where your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive. As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later a little Pop-Up appeared that said: 'You got Male!'"

Marcel That is really funny.  I have to share this the folks in my address book. Thanks Dan

I know this is a little long but I beleive you folks will enjoy it. Hot Texas Chili Cookoff *Note: Please take time to read this slowly. If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better. For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how true this is. *They actually have a chili cook-off about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the San Antonio city park. The notes are from an inexperienced chili taster named Frank, who was visiting from Springfield, IL. *Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking for directions to the Coors Light beer truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted." *Here are the scorecards from the event: Frank is Judge #3. *Chili # 1 - Eddie's Maniac Monster Chili. *Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick. *Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild. *Judge # 3 -- (Frank) Holy Katz What the heck is this stuff?! You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put out the flames. I hope that's the worst one. These Texans are crazy. *Chili # 2 - Austin's Afterburner Chili. *Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang. *Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor; needs more peppers to be taken seriously. *Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face. *Chili # 3 - Ronny's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili. *Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick. Needs more beans. *Judge # 2 -- A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers. *Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting smashed from all of the beer. *Chili # 4 - Dave's Black Magic. *Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing. *Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish, or other mild foods; not much of a chili. *Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. That 300-lb. woman is starting to look good...just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chili or a new highway pavement *Chili # 5 - Lisa's Legal Lip Remover. *Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive. *Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement. *Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead, and I can no longer focus my eyes. I broke foul wind and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really ticked me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Who are those rednecks. *Chili # 6 - Pam's Very Vegetarian Variety. *Judge # 1 -- Thin, yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers. *Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb. *Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. I messed my pants when I broke wind and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone. *Chili # 7 - Carla's Screaming Sensation Chili... *Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers. *Judge # 2 -- Ho-hum; tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress, as he is cursing uncontrollably. *Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me I've decided to stop breathing; it's too painful. Oh well; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach. *Chili # 8 - Karen's Toenail Curling Chili. *Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold, but spicy enough to declare its existence. *Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild, nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge # 3 farted, passed out, fell over, and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?

You had me laughing.   As a Minnesota Norwegian Lutheran who grew up just west of Lake Wobegon, I can relate to judge #3.   Can I get another beer, please?

Maybe you will like this one as well, it's called "What is your call sign" Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have .. John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity... Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death! Whatever you do . Do Not Go!!! I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach. Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way. Fast. Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting ..." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff" Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60 million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning. "Bananas," he said. "For the potassium?" I asked. "No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they do going down." The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot ... but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it. A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked unconscious. Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over another F-14. Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, snap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie. And I egressed the bananas. And I egressed the pizza from the night before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing stuff that never thought would be egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two. Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw down. I used to know 'cool'. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know 'cool'. Cool is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves. I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes in a home stand. A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit. What is it? I asked. "Two Bags."