Four older ladies are sitting around playing bridge. The first lady says, “You know girls, I have known you all a long time and there is something I must get off my chest. I am a kleptomaniac. But don’t worry, I have never stolen from you and I never will. We have been friends for too long.”

The second lady says, “Well, since we are having true confessions here, I must get something off my chest too. I am a nymphomaniac. But don’t worry, I have not hit on your husbands. They don’t interest me and never will. We have been friends for too long.”

“Well,” says the third lady, “I, too, must confess something. I am a lesbian. But do not worry, I will not hit on you. You are not my type. We have been friends too long for me to ruin our friendship.”

The fourth lady stands up, says, “I have a confession to make also. I am an uncontrollable gossip, and I have some phone calls to make!”

There was this church that had a very big busted organist. Her breasts were so huge that they bounced and jiggled while she played and they distracted the congregation considerably.

The very proper church ladies were appalled – something had to be done about them or they would have to get another organist. One of the ladies approached her very discreetly and told her to put alum on them and maybe they would shrink in size. She agreed to try it.

The following Sunday morning the minister stood up in the pulpit and said, “Dew to thircumsthanthis bewond my contwol , we will not hath a thermon today.”

On a flight to Chicago, a gentleman had made several attempts to get into the men’s restroom, but it had always been occupied. The flight attendant noticed his predicament.

Sir, she said,” You may use the ladies room if you promise not to touch any of the buttons on the wall.”

He did what he needed to, and as he sat there he noticed the buttons he had promised not to touch. Each button was identified by letters: WW, WA, PP, and a red one labeled ATR. Who would know if he touched them?

He couldn’t resist. He pushed WW. Warm water was sprayed gently upon his bottom. What a nice feeling, he thought. Men’s restrooms don’t have nice things like this.

Anticipating greater pleasure, he pushed the WA button. Warm air replaced the warm water,gently drying his underside.

When this stopped, he pushed the PP button. A large powder puff caressed his bottom adding a fragile scent of spring flowers to this unbelievable pleasure. The ladies restroom was more than a restroom, it is tender loving pleasure.

When the powder puff completed its pleasure, he couldn’t wait to push the ATR button which he knew would be supreme ecstasy.

Next thing he knew he was in a hospital as soon as he opened his eyes. A nurse was staring down at him with a smirk on her face.

“What happened?” he exclaimed.

“You pushed one too many buttons,” replied the nurse.

“The last button marked ATR was an Automatic Tampon Remover. Your penis is under your pillow.”

A guy calls his buddy the horse rancher, and says he’s sending a friend over to look at a horse.

The Horse Rancher asks. “How will I recognize him?”

“That’s easy…he’s a midget with a speech impediment.”

So the midget shows up, and the rancher asks him if he’s looking for a male or a female horse.

“A female horth.”

So he shows him a prized filly.

“Nith lookin horth, can I thee her eyeth?”

So the guy picks up the midget and he gives the horse’s eyes the once over.

“Nith eyeth, can I thee her earzth?”

So he picks the little fella up again, and shows him the horse’s ears.

“Nice earzth, can I thee her mouf?”

The Rancher is gettin’ pretty ticked off by this point, but he picks him up again and shows him the horse’s mouth.

“Nice mouf, can I thee her twat?”

Totally mad as fire at this point, the rancher grabs him under his arms and rams the midget’s head as far as he can up the horse’s pussy, pulls him out and slams him on the ground. The midget gets up, sputtering and coughing.

“Perhapth I should rephrase that. Can I thee her wun awound a widdle bit?”

It was time for Father John’s Saturday night bath, and young nun Sister Magdalene had prepared the bath water and towels just the way the old nun had instructed. Sister Magdalene was also instructed not to look at Father John’s nakedness if she could help it, do whatever he told her to do, and pray.

The next morning the old nun asked Sister Magdalene how the Saturday night bath had gone.

“Oh, sister,” said the young nun dreamily. “I’ve been saved.”

“Saved? And how did that fine thing come about?” asked the old nun.

“Well, when Fr. John was soaking in the tub, he asked me to wash him, and while I was washing him he guided my hand down between his legs where he said the Lord keeps the Key to Heaven.”

“Did he now?” said the old nun evenly.

Sister Magdalene continued, “And Father John said that if the Key to Heaven fit my lock, the portals of Heaven would be opened to me and I would be assured of salvation and eternal peace. And then Father John guided his Key to Heaven into my lock.”

“Is that a fact?” said the old nun even more evenly.

“At first it hurt terribly, but Father John said the pathway to salvation was often painful and that the glory of God would soon swell my heart with ecstasy. And it did, it felt so good being saved.”

That wicked old Devil!” said the old nun. “He told me it was Gabriel’s Horn, and I’ve been blowing it for 40 years!”

Rule 1. A ball sliced or hooked into the rough shall be lifted and placed on the fairway at a point equal to the distance it carried or rolled into the rough with no penalty. Player should not be penalized for uncontrollable mechanical phenomena.

Rule 2. A ball hitting a tree shall be deemed not to have hit the tree. This is simply bad luck and luck has no place in a scientific game. The player must estimate the distance the ball would have traveled if it had not hit the tree and can play the ball from there.

Rule 3. There shall be no such thing as a lost ball. The missing ball is on or near the course and will eventually be found and pocketed by someone else, making it a stolen ball. The player is not to compound the felony by charging him or herself with a penalty stroke.

Rule 4. If a putt passes over a hole without dropping it is deemed to have dropped. The law of gravity supersedes the law of golf.

Rule 5. Putts that stop close enough to the cup that they could be blown in may be blown in. This does not apply to balls more than three inches from the hole. No one wants to make a travesty of the game.

Rule 6. There is no penalty for so-called “out of bounds.” If penny pinching golf club owners bought sufficient land this would not occur. The golfer deserves an apology, not a penalty.

Rule 7. There is no penalty for a ball in a water hazard as golf balls should float. That they do not is a technical problem that manufacturers have yet to overcome. Golfers should not be punished for manufacturer’s shortcomings.

Rule 8. Advertisements proclaim that golf scores can be improved by purchasing new clubs, balls, shoes etc. Since this is financially impossible for the average Senior Golfer, a stroke per hole may be subtracted for using old equipment.

I was in a truckstop restroom and was barely sitting down when I heard a voice from the other stall saying: “Hi, how are you?”

I’m not the type to start a conversation in the men’s restrooms at a truckstop but, I don’t know what got into me, so I answered, somewhat embarrassedly, “Doin Just Fine!”

And the other guy says, “So what are you up too?”

What kind of question is that? At that point, I’m thinking this is too bizarre so I say, “Uhhh I’m like you, just traveling east!”

At this point I am just trying to get out as fast as I can when I hear another question.

Then he asks,” Can I come over to your place after while?”

Ok, this question is just wacky but I figured I could just be polite and end the conversation.

I tell him, “Well, I have company over so today is a bad day for me!”

Then I hear the guy say nervously, “Listen, I’ll have to call you back, there’s an idiot in the other stall who keeps answering all my questions.”

An old man goes to the doctor for his yearly physical, with his wife tagging along. When the doctor enters the examination room, he tells the old man, “I need a urine sample, a stool sample and a sperm sample.”

The old man, being hard of hearing, looks at his wife and yells, “What? What did he say?”

His wife yells back, “Give the doctor your underwear.”

A man sat at a local bar and said, “This is a special day, I’m celebrating.”

“What a coincidence,” said the woman next to him. “I’m celebrating, too” she replied, clinking glasses with him. “What are your celebrating?”

“I’m a chicken farmer, and for years all my hens were infertile, but today they’re finally fertile.”

“What a coincidence”, the woman said. “My husband and I have been trying to have a child. Today, my gynecologist told me I’m pregnant!”

“How did your chickens become fertile?” she asked.

“I switched cocks,” he replied.

“What a coincidence,” she said.

Ziploc Bags: They are Male, because they hold everything in, but you can see right through them.

Copiers: They are Female, because once turned off, it takes a while to warm them up again. It’s an effective productive device if the right buttons are pushed, but can wreak havoc if the wrong buttons are pushed.

Tire: Male, because it goes bald and it’s often over-inflated.

Hot Air Balloon: Male, because, to get it to go anywhere, you have to light a fire under it, and of course, there’s the hot air part.

Sponges: Female, because they’re soft, squeezable and retain water.

Web Page: Female, because it’s always getting hit on

Subway: Male, because it uses the same old lines to pick people up.

Hourglass: Female, because over time, the weight shifts to the bottom.

Hammer: Male, because it hasn’t changed much over the last 5,000 years, but it’s handy to have around.

Remote Control: Female. You thought it’d be male but consider this; it gives a man pleasure, he’d be lost without it, and while he doesn’t always know the right buttons to push, he keeps trying.