The Golden Soapbox
Gail’s Pic of the Week
I Love My Dog
So during the last fireside chat, I might have given some of you the impression that I don't like my dog. Well, I do, but with such boundless energy she can be very tiring. I'm getting on in my years, and having a living bouncy ball sap my energy every day is frustrating.
But Gail is my baby girl, and though she often tests my limits, she does have her up sides. Off hand I can't think of any, but... Oh wait! She does actually settle down, and when I'm sitting on the couch or lying in bed, she is right there snuggled up next to me. She looks at me in such a way as to tell me that I am her everything.
And Gail is still just a pup. Granted, she is an 85 pound musclebound pup, but her brain is still developing. It is always a pleasant surprise when something finally "clicks" in that head of hers, and she learns to control some of the less desirable aspects of her behavior.
Make no mistake, there is a long way to go before Gail is what I would consider a "good" dog, and I have had enough dogs to know the difference. In the meantime, she still gets plenty of toys and treats and belly rubs.
She is going to be great some day.
GET THE PLUNGER!
What is Flush Twice?
Flush Twice is a JOTD (Joke of the Day) website. New jokes are published every Monday through Friday (midnight EST). There is also a comic and a personal blog in the sidebar that updates on the weekends. We’ve been operating since May of 2003.
Jokes are generously provided by friends and visitors such as yourself. If you would like to contribute, please check out our submission page, or e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org. If you know anyone who constantly e-mails you jokes, forward them to us! We’ll take what we can get!
So what makes a joke funny?
It all boils down to a sudden shift in perception. The story starts you thinking one way, then the punchline turns that thinking on its ear. The art of the joke is to craft a short story that isn’t overly contrived, then deliver a punchline that suddenly shifts your perception about the story you were being told.
Many of the jokes on this site are offensive, and we make no apologies for it. Offensive jokes work by making the reader uncomfortable through the use of a taboo subject thus enhancing the underlying humor. Without the offensive element, the joke would simply not be as funny.
(Just thought you might like to know.)
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A woman heard her husband cussing up a storm from behind the bathroom door. She knocked and asked, “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Her husband emerged from the bathroom and explained, “The doctor prescribed these suppositories, and no matter what I do, I just can’t get the little sucker to go up my ass. Even the doctor had to shove the first one in to show me how it was done, and I tell you, it took forever for him to get it up there and it hurt!”
“You were probably nervous and tense, and he probably wasn’t very gentle with you,” soothed the wife. “Here, let me give you the suppository. I don’t mind, and I’ll promise to be gentle.”
Still grumbling, the husband bent over. His wife put her left hand on his left shoulder to brace him, and with her right hand she quickly and easily slipped the pill up her husband’s rear end.
The husband suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“My God!” said his wife. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”
“No!” cried the man. “But I just realized that when the doctor did it, he had both hands on my shoulders!”
Brian looked down in the dumps, and his friend Larry asked him what was the matter.
“My wife is pregnant again,” signed Brian. “This is the eighth one. I have no idea how I’m going to afford another mouth to feed!”
Larry realized Brian’s predicament and suggested, “Perhaps you should consider getting a vasectomy.”
“I already did,” replied Brian. “All it did was change the color of the babies.”
A man went into a restaurant in Paris with his girlfriend and ordered the 1928 Mouton.
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, and poured a small amount in the glass for tasting.
The customer picked up the glass, smelled the wine, and put it down on the table with a thud. “This is not the 1928 Mouton.”
The waiter assured him it was, and soon there are another twenty people surrounding the table, including the chef and the manager trying to convince the man that the wine is the 1928 Mouton. Finally someone asked him how he knew that it is not the 1928 Mouton.
“My name is Phillipe de Rothschild, and I make the wine.”
Finally, the original waiter stepped forward and admitted that he poured the Clerc Milon 1928. “I could not bear to part with our last bottle of 1928 Mouton. You know Clerc Milon, it is in the same village as Mouton, you pick the grapes at the same time, the same cépage, you crush in the same way, you put them into similar barrels. You bottle at the same time, you even use eggs from the same chickens to fine them. The wines are the same, except for a small matter of geographic location.”
Rothschild beckons the waiter forward, and whispers to him, “When you return home tonight, ask your wife to remove her underwear. Put one finger in each opening, then smell both the fingers. Perhaps then you will understand what difference a small distance in geographic location makes.”
Did you hear about the lunatic who seduced the laundry woman to get her keys so he could escape from the asylum?
The headline in the daily paper read: Nut Screws Washer and Bolts!