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| Posted by Bubble Angel on 12-Aug-2005 | Physiotherapist and the GolferA couple of women were playing golf one sunny Saturday morning. The first of the twosome teed-off and watched in horror as the ball headed directly toward a foursome of men playing the next hole. Indeed, the ball hit one of the men and he immediately clasped his hands together at his crotch, fell to the ground and proceeded to roll around in agony.
The woman rushed down to the man and immediately began to apologize.
"Please allow me to help, I'm a physiotherapist and I know I could relieve your pain if you'd just allow me!", she told him earnestly.
"Ummph, oooh, nnooo, I'll be alright. I'll be fine in a few minutes", he replied as he remained in the fetal position still clasping his hands together at his crotch.
The woman takes it upon herself to begin to "ease his pain". She began
to massage his groin.
After a few moments she asked, "Does that feel better?"
The man looked up at her and replied, "Yes, that feels pretty good... but my thumb still hurts like hell!"
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| Posted by cool sal on 12-Aug-2005 | Bosnian FootballerAl Davis had put together the perfect Raiders team for '96. The only Thing he was missing was a good quarterback. He had scouted all the colleges, and even the high schools, and he couldn't find a ringer quarterback that would ensure a Super Bowl win.
Then one night, while watching CNN, he saw a war zone in Bosnia. In the background, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a young Bosnian soldier with a truly incredible arm. First, he threw a hand grenade straight into a 15th story window over 200 yards away --ka-boom! Next, he threw another hand grenade into a group of about 10 soldiers a good 110 yards away--ka-blooey!
Then, a car passes going 90 miles an hour-- bulls-eye! Another grenade right into the barely open window.
"I've got to get this guy," Al says to himself. "He has the perfect arm!"
So he brings him to the states and teaches him the great game of football. Predictably, the young man breaks all NFL records for completed passes, accuracy and touchdowns. The Raiders go on to handily win the Super Bowl.
The young Bosnian is lionized as the Great Hero of Super Bowl XXXI, and When Al asks him what he wants, all the young man wants to do is call his mother.
Al arranges for the call and hands the phone to his young quarterback: "Mom," the young man says into the receiver, "I just won the Super Bowl!"
"I don't want to talk to you," the old woman says. "You deserted us. You're no longer my son."
"I don't think you understand, mother" the young man pleads. "I just won the greatest sporting event in the world. I'm in the middle of thousands of adoring fans."
"No, let me tell you," the mother implores. "At this very moment, there are gun shots all around us. The neighborhood is a pile of rubble. Your two brothers were beaten within an inch of their life last week, and this week your sister was raped in broad daylight...."
The old lady pauses, in tears...
"...I'll never forgive you for moving us to Oakland!"
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| Posted by katie e. eylar on 12-Aug-2005 | Golfer Pays His RespectsA golfer and his buddies where playing a big round of golf for $200. At the eighteenth green the golfer had a ten foot putt to win the round, and the $200.
As he was lining up his putt, a funeral procession started to pass by. The golfer set down his putter, took his hat off, placed it over his chest, and began to wait for the funeral procession to pass. After it passed, he picked up his putter and returned to lining up his putt.
One of his buddies said, "That was the most touching thing I have ever seen. I can't believe you stopped playing, possibly loosing your concentration, to pay your respects."
"Well, we were married for 25 years!"
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| Posted by dee on 12-Aug-2005 | Golfers and the GenieA guy is golfing with his pretty wife, who is a very poor golfer. On the first hole she sends the ball smashing through the window of a nearby house.
The couple goes to the house to investigate the damage and finds the door open. They go inside and found a man sitting on a couch next to the broken window. There is also a broken oil-lamp.
The husband asks: "Did we break that too?"
"Yes", replies the man.
"Sorry. Do you live here?" the husband asks.
"No, actually, I'm a genie." The man states. "I was sleeping in that lamp when your golf ball smashed it. Now, I'm supposed to give you three wishes, but I'm keeping one for myself since you smashed my lamp. OK, what'll they be?"
The husband thinks a moment: "First, make my wife a better golfer."
"Poof! She's a better golfer", the genie announces.
"Second, I want a million bucks a week for life."
"Poof! you get a million bucks a week", the genie announces.
"Good. OK, what do you want?" asks the husband.
"For my wish. I want to have my way with your pretty wife," grins the genie.
"Hmmm", the husband hesitated, "I guess that's all right. After all, she broke your lamp, you've made us rich, and our golf games will be much more interesting. Go ahead."
So the genie and the wife retire the bedroom. After several steamy hours the "genie" says to the wife: "How long have you known your husband?"
"Ten years," she replies.
"How long has he believed in this genie stuff?"
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| Posted by SwEeTiE PiE on 12-Aug-2005 | Touched By Dallas CowgirlQ: What's the smart thing to do if a Dallas Cowgirl touches you?
A: Touchback.
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| Posted by Tommy Handler on 12-Aug-2005 | Snow Boarding For the YoungWhen you're 47 years old, you sometimes hear a small voice inside you that says: "Just because you've reached middle age, that doesn't mean you shouldn't take on new challenges and seek new adventures. You get only one ride on this crazy carousel we call life, and by golly you should make the most of it."
This is the voice of Satan.
I know this because recently, on a mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice, and as a result my body feels as though it has been used as a trampoline by the Budweiser Clydesdales.
I am currently on an all-painkiller diet. "I'll have a black coffee and 250 Advil tablets" is a typical breakfast order for me these days.
This is because I went snowboarding.
For those of you who, for whatever reason, such as a will to live, do not participate in downhill winter sports, I should explain that snowboarding is an activity that is popular with people who do not feel that regular skiing is lethal enough.
These are of course young people, fearless people, people with 100 percent synthetic bodies who can hurtle down a mountainside at 50 miles per hour and knock down mature trees with their faces and then spring to their feet and go, "Cool."
People like my son. He wanted to try snowboarding, and I thought it would be good to learn with him, because we can no longer ski together.
We have a fundamental difference in technique: He skis via the Downhill Method, in which you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via the Breath-Catching Method, in which you stand sideways on the hill, looking as athletic as possible without actually moving muscles (this could cause you to start sliding down the hill).
If anybody asks if you're OK, you say, "I'm just catching my breath!" in a tone of voice that suggests that at any moment you're going to swoop rapidly down the slope; whereas in fact you're planning to stay right where you are, rigid as a statue, until the spring thaw.
At night, when the Downhillers have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers will still be up there, clinging to the mountainside, chewing on our parkas for sustenance.
So I thought I'd take a stab at snowboarding, which is quite different from skiing.
In skiing, you wear a total of two skis, or approximately one per foot, so you can sort of maintain your balance by moving your feet, plus you have poles that you can stab people with if they make fun of you at close range.
Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is one board, which is shaped like a giant tongue depressor and manufactured by the Institute of Extremely Slippery Things. Both of your feet are strapped firmly to this board, so that if you start to fall, you can't stick a foot out and catch yourself. You crash to the ground like a tree and lie there while skiers swoop past and deliberately spray snow on you.
Skiers hate snowboarders. It's a generational thing. Skiers are (and here I am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans wearing designer space suits; snowboarders are defiant young rebels wearing deliberately drab clothing that is baggy enough to cover the snowboarder plus a major appliance. Skiers like to glide down the slopes in a series of graceful arcs; snowboarders like to attack the mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling, going backward, blasting through snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their noses pierced in midair, etc.
Skiers view snowboarders as a menace; snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd.
I took my snowboarding lesson in a small group led by a friend of mine named Brad Pearson, who also once talked me into jumping from a tall tree while attached only to a thin rope.
Brad took us up on a slope that offered ideal snow conditions for the novice who's going to fall a lot: Approximately seven flakes of powder on top of an 18-foot-thick base of reinforced concrete.
You could not dent this snow with a jackhammer. (I later learned, however, that you COULD dent it with the back of your head.)
We learned snowboarding via a two step method:
STEP ONE: Watching Brad do something.
STEP TWO: Trying to do it ourselves.
I was pretty good at Step One. The problem with Step Two was that you had to stand up on your snowboard, which turns out to be a violation of at least five important laws of physics.
I'd struggle to my feet, and I'd be wavering there and then the Physics Police would drop a huge chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my body would hit the concrete snow, sometimes bouncing as much as a foot.
"Keep your knees bent!" Brad would yell, helpfully.
Have you noticed that whatever sport you're trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent? As if THAT would solve anything. I wanted to shout back, "FORGET MY KNEES! DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GRAVITY CHUNKS!"
Needless to say my son had no trouble at all. None. In minutes he was cruising happily down the mountain; you could actually see his clothing getting baggier. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lying on my back, groaning, while space-suited Republicans swooped past and sprayed snow on me.
If I hadn't gotten out of there, they'd have completely covered me; I now realize that the small hills you see on ski slopes are formed around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried to learn snowboarding.
So I think, when my body heals, I'll go back to skiing. Maybe sometime you'll see me out on the slopes, catching my breath. Please throw me some food.
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