Scottish Cow

The only cow in a small town in Ireland stopped giving milk.


The town folk heard they could buy a cow in Scotland quite cheaply, which in Scotland is...unusual. They journeyed to the land of Robbie Burns, discovered the inhabitants had ransacked the local distillery and were drunker even than the Irish, bought the cow cheaply and returned to Eire.


The cow was, comment on dit, Awesome. Yes. Awesome. That is to say, it produced excellent milk in quantity. This is the definition of Awesome.


The Eireans, desirous of creating a herd, procured a massive payout from Brussels, drank most of it, then hired a prize-winning stud bull to mate with the cow--her name was Fionnula. If/when they sobered up, they would never have to worry about milk again.


They installed the bull in the pasture and escorted Fionnula into his presence with great enthusiasm, winking, nudging, etc.


Alas, whenever the bull tried to mount the cow, the cow would move away.


No matter what approach the bull tried, the cow would move away from the bull and he--his name was John Thomas--was never able to fulfill his genetic destiny.


And lo, The People were upset and decided to bring in the veterinarian who was very wise and known the world over.


"Whenever Johnny tries to mount our cow, she moves away. If he approaches from the back, she moves forward. When he approaches her from the front, she backs off. If he attempts from the side, she walks away to the other side."


The vet rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pondered this before asking,


"Did ya by chance, buy the feckin cow in Scotland?"


The People were dumbfounded. No one had mentioned to the vet they had brought the cow over from Scotland.


"Verily, thou art truly wise, Vettie," they cried in unison. "Prithee, how did you know we got the cow from Scotland?"


The vet replied with a distant look in his eye.


"My wife is from Scotland."


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Are You Ready For Some Football?

An old married couple no sooner hit the pillows when the husband passes gas and says: "Seven Points."

His wife rolls over and says, "What the hell are you doing?"

The old man replies, "It's Fart Football."

A few minutes later his wife lets one rip and says "Touchdown! Tie score."

Five minutes later, the husband releases a violation of the Geneva Convention and says, "Aha! I'm ahead, 14 to 7."

Not to be outdone, the wife lets fly with an appalling contrail and says, "Touchdown! Tie Score!"

A mere five seconds later, she lets out a squeaker and says, "Field goal! I lead 17 to 14!"

Incensed and outraged at the prospect of being humbled by a woman, the husband gives it everything he's got, straining till his eyes are bloodshot: defeat is totally unacceptable, he strains even further. He shits the bed.

The wife says, "What the hell was that?"

"Half time," says the husband. "Switch sides."

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Amicable Separation

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Bank Job II

An armed robber wearing a full balaclava burst into a Wisconsin bank and forced the tellers to load a sack full of cash.

A brave customer grabbed the mask and pulled it completely off, revealing the robber's face.

The robber shot the customer dead without a moment's hesitation.

He then looked around the bank and noticed one of the tellers looking straight at him. The robber immediately shot her too.

Everyone in the bank was staring intently down at the floor with fierce concentration.

The robber yelled: "Well? Anyone else see my face?"

There were a few moments of utter silence.

Then an old Norwegian named Ole yelled out: "The vife heer got a reely guud look at ya!"

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Overcoming Depression

After both suffering from severe depression, my wife and I decided to commit suicide yesterday.

Strangely enough, after she'd killed herself, I inexplicably sensed a source of new strength that came over me from out of nowhere.

"This is gonna be tough," I admitted to myself.

"But somehow I've found the grit within to carry on."

"After all. Tomorrow is another day."

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Suffer The Little Bastards Unto Me

A father put his 3 year old daughter to bed, told her a story and listened to her prayers which she ended by saying: "God bless Mommy, God bless Daddy, God bless Grandma and Goodbye Grandpa."

The father asked: "Why did you say goodbye Grandpa, honey?"

The little girl said, "I don't know daddy, it just seemed like the thing to do."

The next day grandpa died.

The father thought it was a strange coincidence.

A few months later the father put the girl to bed and listened to her prayers which went like this: "'God bless Mommy, God Bless Daddy and goodbye Grandma."

The next day the grandmother died.

"Jezuz Jump-up Christ!" thought the father. "The kid is in contact with the other side!"

Several weeks later when the girl was going to bed, her daddy heard her say: "God bless Mommy. And Goodbye Daddy."

He barely made the bathroom before his bowels gave way uncontrollably. He couldn't sleep all night and got up at the crack of dawn to go to the office. He was nervous as a whore in church all day, drank lunch and watched the clock incessantly.

He figured if he could get by until midnight he would be okay. He felt safe in the office. So instead of going home at the end of the day he stayed there, drinking coffee, looking at his watch and jumping at every sound.

Finally, midnight arrived. He breathed a sigh of relief, staggered to the parking lot and drove home.

When he got home his wife, still up, looking haggard, said: "Where have you been? I've never seen you work so late--"

He said, "I don't want to talk about it! I just spent the worst day of my goddamned life!"

"You think you had a bad day," she said. "You won't fucking believe what happened to me."

"Hunh?"

"This morning my golf pro dropped dead in the middle of my lesson!"

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Front Page

All My Exes Live in Houston

Four Texans have been going to the same deer camp for many years.

Two days before the group is to leave, Pat's wife puts her foot down and tells him he isn't going.

Pat's buddies are pretty upset he can't go--but what can they do?

Two days later the three hunters return to the camp site after murdering Bambi only to find Pat sitting there with a tent set up, firewood gathered and chili (no beans) cooking on the fire.

"Sumbitch, Pat, how long you been here, boy? And how the hell'd you talk your wife into lettin' you go?"

"Well, boys," says Pat, "I've been here since this morning. Last night I was sitting in the Barcalounger and the wife comces up behind me and puts her hands over my eyes and says, 'Guess whoooo?'"

"I pulled her hands off, swivelled around and she was wearing a brand new nightie."

"That woman grabbed me by the shirt and brutally drug me off to the bedroom. It had candles lit up everywhere and rose petals scattered all over...."

"Then she throws me on the bed. She had handcuffs and ropes on there! Damned if she didn't tell me to tie and cuff her to the goddam bed! Slicker'n snot on a door handle! "

"Then all of a sudden she was breathing really heavy and she let out a blood-curdling shriek: 'OH MY SWEET JESUS DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, DARLIN'!!'"

"So here I am."

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Death in Blighty. And Elsewhere.

Pall Nosiree, renowned automotive authority and traditional 'four-on-the-floor' technician, recently had his star removed from the wall in Langley, VA. Ooops.


A man was leaving a convenience store with his morning coffee when he noticed a most unusual funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery.

A long black hearse was followed by a second long black hearse about 50 feet behind the first one.

Behind the second hearse was a solitary man walking a dog on a leash. Behind him, a short distance back, were about 200 men walking single file.

The man couldn't stand the curiosity. He respectfully approached the man walking the dog and said, “I am so sorry for your loss, and this may be a bad time to disturb you, but I've never seen a funeral like this. Whose funeral is it?”

“My wife's.”

“What happened to her?”

The man replied, “My dog attacked and killed her.”

He inquired further, “But who is in the second hearse?”

The man answered, “My mother-in-law, she was trying to help my wife when the dog turned on her.”

A poignant and thoughtful moment of silence passed between the two men.

“Can I borrow the dog?”

The man replied, “Get in line.”

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First Do No Harm

An obscure Congressman wakes up in the hospital bandaged from head to foot. The doctor enters and says, "Aha! I see you've regained consciousness, Senator. That's excellent. Now, you probably won't remember, but you were in a head-on collision with a trailer tractor driven by a Democrat on the Santa Monica freeway. Don't worry--you're going to be alright, you'll walk again, you may even play the violin again, even though you couldn't before...."

"But something else happened...and I'm trying to break this to you gently, your excellency. But the fact is, your willy was severed in the wreck. And we were unable to find it."

The patient lets out a groan of existential despair that continues for a full minute while one Congressional intern after another flashes before his eyes like a bad Power-Point presentation on Demerol. But the physician simply waits until the people's representative regains his self-control; and then continues: "Naturally, as a member of Congress you've got so much insurance coverage, we frankly don't quite know how to piss it all away. Yet. Let me rephrase that--'pissing it all away' may be an unfortunate locution in this context.... In any case, the good news is that we are now in a position to make our new incredibly overpriced nanotechnological procedure available to you to build you a new love tricep that will work as well as your old one did--only better! But the problem is, the procedure is implemented on an inch-by-inch basis only. No fractions. Just inches."

At this, the solon revives a bit, then definitely perks up.

"So", says the physician, "it's for you to decide how many inches you want. But it's something you'll need to discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five-inch tallywhacker before and you go for the nine-inch, the wife might be a bit put off. On the other hand, if you had a nine-inch pile-driver before and you go for the five-inch now, she might be rather disappointed. So, professionally speaking and with an eye out for possible malpractice action at any given moment, it's an important decision that you and your wife should seriously talk over."

"Yes, I see what you mean, doctor. I'll talk it over with my lovely Francine and get back to you."

The next afternoon, the sawbones re-enters the deluxe, no expense spared single room and says, "Well, feeling slightly better today, are we? So--did you have a chance to discuss the matter we went over yesterday with the little woman?"

"I have," says the patient.

"And she has helped you in making the decision?"

"Yes she has," replies the legislator in the body cast.

"And what have you decided, then?" the doctor inquires.

"We're gonna go with the new 12-bedroom bungalow in Brentwood."

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Frank Feldman

A newly unemployed ex-cube farm veteran exits the hopelessly packed Manhattan Job Fair--complete waste of time--walks out onto the curb outside Madison Square Garden and hails a cab.

He gets into the taxi, gives the address of a discrete public house in the lower 60's and the Cabbie says, "Perfect timing. You're just like Frank."

Passenger: "Frank? Frank Who?"

Cabbie: "Frank Feldman. He's the guy who did everything right. Always. Like my coming along when you needed a cab. Things like that happened to Frank Feldman every single time."

Passenger: "Hunh. Interesting. Then again, of course, into each life some rain must fall...."

Cabbie: "Not Frank Feldman. For example, he was a terrific athlete. He could easily have won the tennis Grand-Slam. He could golf with the pros. He also sang like an opera baritone, danced like Fred Astaire and you should have heard him play the piano. He made Liberace sound heterosexual."

Passenger: "Hunh. He must have been something really special, then. A guy who would've avoided The Big Downturn, for example. And would never have invested with Bernie Madoff--"

Cabbie: "Are you shittin' me? He would've gone short at 14,000. He had a memory like a goddam computer. He remembered everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with. He could fix anything in a flash--not like me. I change a fuse, the whole street blacks out. But Frank Feldman--he could do everything right."

Passenger: "Hunh. Well, I guess he really was special."

Cabbie: "Are you kidding? Frank always knew the short cuts and totally avoided traffic jams. Not like me, I gravitate to gridlock like flies on shit. But Frank, he never made a mistake, nosirree Bob! And he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel right, know what I mean? He'd never answer her back, even if she was in the wrong, as usual. And his clothes were always immaculate, shoes strictly spit and polish, you could look down and see if you had a piece of corned beef stuck between your teeth. Yeah...Frank was really something. He was the perfect man! He never made a mistake. There'll never be another one like Frank Feldman!"

Passenger: "Jesus Christ, I was having a really shitty day. But your story about Frank Feldman has really bucked me up. Hell, I may even pass up that perfunctory yet nominal 10AM pick-me-up I was giving very serious thought to.... But tell me something, you didn't mention it: How did you meet this guy, Frank Feldman?"

Cabbie: "Oh. I never actually met Frank. He died. I married his fucking widow."

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My Count, Try! 'Tis of Thee!

Michael Edward Rashoff is still at work on a think piece exploring the curiously unremarked caesura after the second syllable of Aretha Franklin's performance of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" at the Inauguration.

During this period of intense introspection commencing with the traditional tying of his ass to a tree and walking forty miles into the parking lot at Costco, his wife has submitted the following:




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Mailer's Ride

David Marvin Mailer is currently on probation and under the care of the Bumfuck Probation Department's Aluminum and Underage Canine Protection Unit. As a result of having shorted all property, finance and aluminum related securities in July of this year, he came into a substantial sum of money recently during the Welcome Back, GOP stock market rally.

So he bought a car.




Mailer drove his brand new BMW Z3 convertible off the car showroom floor, through the window, laughing maniacally but not hysterically.

Taking off down the motorway, he floored it to 90 mph, enjoying the wind blowing insanely through the beatnik-style haircut that, except for having expired from drink, would have induced Jack Kerouac a quick case of the DT's.

"Jesus Christ!" Mailer ejaculated to himself as he flew down the freeway, pushing the pedal to the metal, revelling in a sensation of non-pharmaceutical speed which he had not sensed ever since joining the industry which had previously employed him as a Project Meeting Attender.

Looking in his rear view mirror, he was distraught to observe a police car behind him, blue lights flashing. Then the siren commenced its ontological wail.

"I can get away from this punk--no fucking problem," thought Mailer to himself, half insane behind 400mg of sildenafil-citrate and well into early stage Alzheimer's with a side order of Senile Democracy.

He hit 110, then 120...then 130mph!

Coming to his senses, it suddenly occurred to him: "What the fukk am I doing? I'm too goddamned old for this shit, Jesus, I musta OD'd on the Diovan again this morning...."

He pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the end. This time it was truly over.

Pulling in behind him, the police orifice walked up to the driver's side of the BMW, removed his Ray-Bans, looked at his watch and then beheld the sad wastrel of what had previously been a functioning Corporate employee. The officer took in the beautiful day, the stunning Z3, the onset of the late afternoon bringing with it the first hint of dusk.

"Sir, my shift ends in 10 minutes," the officer said in a resigned fashion.

"Today is Friday and I'm taking off for the weekend and to tell the truth, I could give a shit today, know what I mean? You ever have a day like that?"

"Well, possibly once or twice," Mailer replied.

"So here's the bottom line--if you can give me a single reason why you were doing 130 that I've never heard before, I say, what the hell--I'll let you go."

Mailer looked off into the distance, the road leading into some future that held who knew what, all the unknowns... the conundra wrapped within onion rings, the great Mandala of Being that lay just over the horizon as always it does...and most of all that trip to his stockbroker to close out his account with the last of the 6.3 million he'd scored on the market collapse.

Of a sudden, he looked up at the cop, cleared his throat and spoke slowly but deliberately to the law enforcer.

"Years ago," Mailer told him, "one of my wives ran off with a policeman."

"Izzat right?"

"Yes. That's right," Mailer confirmed.

A tear welled up into Mailer's left eye as he struggled to contain himself, suddenly engulfed in an emotion that even he thought was real.

He gulped, gathered himself together and finally managed to continue.

"I thought you were bringing her back."

"You have a good day, Sir," said the policeman.

Rodeus Matrimonius

Two Texans were out on the range talking about their favorite sex positions.

One said, "I reckon I like the rodeo position best."

"I heard o' most of 'em but goddamned if I ever heard o' that one,' said the other cowboy. "Which one is that?"

"Well, it's where you get your wife down on all fours and you mount her from behind."

"Sheit, boy, that's just your reg'lar sheep position 'cept you take your boots off o' course...."

"Hold on, cowpoke, I ain't finished. After you're in position, you reach around and cup each one of her jugs in your hands. Then you whisper in her ear: 'Honey, these feel just like your sister's.'"

"Then you try and stay on for eight seconds."

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Lives of the Rich and Boring

In a bizarre twist on the concurrent prison situation in The Big PX, it was getting way too crowded in Heaven. So God decided to change the admittance policy. The new law was that in order to get into Heaven, you had to have had a really bad day on the day that you died. The policy would go into effect at noon the next day.

So, the next day at 12:01 the first person came to the gates of Heaven. The Angel at the gate, remembering the new policy, immediately asked the man, "Before I let you in, I need you to tell me how your day was going when you died."

"No problem," the man said. "I came home to my 25th-floor apartment on my lunch hour and caught my wife obviously having an affair. But her lover was nowhere in sight. I immediately began searching for him. My wife was half naked and yelling at me as I searched the entire apartment. Just as I was about to give up, I happened to glance out onto the balcony and noticed that there was a man hanging off the edge by his fingertips! The nerve of that guy!"

"Well, I ran out onto the balcony and stomped on his fingers until he fell to the ground."

"But wouldn't you know it, he landed in some trees and bushes that broke his fall and he didn't die. This pissed me off even more."

"In a rage, I went back inside to get the first heavy thing I could get my hands on drop on the sonofabitch."

"Oddly enough, the first thing I thought of was the refrigerator. I unplugged it, pushed it out onto the balcony, and tipped it over the side. It plummeted 25 stories and crushed him like a stepped-on banana!"

"The excitement of the moment was so great that I had a heart attack and died instantly."

The Angel sat back and thought a moment. Technically, the guy had indeed had a bad day. It was a crime of passion. So, the Angel announced, "OK, sir. Welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven ," and let him in.

A few seconds later the next guy came up. To the Angel's surprise, it was Donald Trump.

"Mr. Trump, before I can let you in, I need to hear about what your day was like when you died."

Trump said, "No problem. But you're not going to believe this. I was on the balcony of my 26th floor apartment doing my daily exercises. I had been under a lot of pressure so I was really pushing hard to relieve my stress I guess I got a little carried away, slipped, and accidentally fell over the side!"

"Luckily, I was able to catch myself by the fingertips on the balcony below mine. But all of a sudden this crazy fucker comes running out of his apartment, starts cussing, and stomps on my fingers. Well, of course I fell. I hit some trees and bushes at the bottom, which broke my fall, so I didn't die right away."

"As I'm laying there face up on the ground, unable to move and in excruciating pain, I manage to look up and see this guy--get this--push his fucking refrigerator off the balcony. It falls the 25 floors and lands on top of me, killing me instantly."

The Angel is listening intently as Trump finishes his story. "This is bizarre but I could get used to the new policy," he thinks to himself.

"Very well," the Angel announces. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven," and he lets Trump enter.

A few seconds later, Bill Clinton comes up to the gate. The Angel is temporarily speechless--thoughts of assassination and war pour through the Angel's head.

Finally he says, "Mr. President, I hate to violate Executive Privilege, even ex-post facto, but please tell me what it was that occurred the day you died."

Clinton says, "OK, first of all, I never had sex with that woman. Second, picture this--I'm naked, curled up inside a refrigerator......"

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When Will We Stop Coddling These Criminals?

From our own Far East Senior Inappropriate Animal Appreciation Bureau Chief, who recently finished his own sentence for first degree canine penetration at the Phnom Penh Institute for Corrective Liquidation (which failed to make an impression in his case) comes this fascinating anecdote he heard later from another ex-con at the bestial-aluminical section of The Log Cabin Buffet in the Men's Shitter at the Bumfuck Holiday Inn.


A man escapes from a prison where he's been locked up for fifteen years.

He breaks into an as-yet unforeclosed suburban house searching for money and guns.

In the bedroom, however, he is surprised to find a young couple in bed.

He orders the guy out of bed and ties him to a chair.

While tying the home owner's wife to the bed, the convict gets on top of her, kisses her neck, then gets up and disappears into the bathroom.

While he's in the bog, the husband whispers over to his wife: "Listen, this guy is obviously an escaped convict--just look at his clothes! He's probably spent a lot of time in jail and hasn't seen a woman in years. I saw how he kissed your neck. If he wants sex, don't resist, don't complain, it's not worth it, he might kill you. Do whatever he tells you to do! Satisfy him no matter how much he nauseates you. This guy is visibly violent--if he gets angry, he'll kill us both! Be strong, honey. I love you, no matter what!'"

His wife considers this a few seconds and then turns to the husband: "He wasn't kissing my neck. He was whispering In my ear. He told me that he's brutally gay, thinks you're cute, and asked if we had any vaseline in the toilet. I told him it was in the medicine chest somewhere behind the vaginal deodorant. So be strong! I love you, too, darling!!"

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Irrational Bitch Disease

A sportif was sitting quietly reading his paper when the missus walked up behind him and whacked him upside the head with a magazine.

"That was pourquoi?" he ventured.

"That was for the piece of paper in your pants pocket with the name 'Laura Lou' written on it," she replied.

"Mais, c'est merde tout ça! From two weeks ago when I go to ze track, Laura Lou iz ze name of ze horse I bet on!" he explained.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry," she said. "I should have known there was a good explanation."

Three days later he was watching a total UEFA soporific on the idiot box when she walked up and hit him upside the head with a cast-iron skillet, knocking him out cold.

Coming to, he inquired: "Eh bien, pourquoi ça, ma cherie?"

She replied: "Your horse has called."

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When A Man Loves A Woman

Regular readers may not be aware that David Marvin Mailer received the 1976 Asshole of the Year Award from the National Organization of Women® for his contribution to greater understanding amongst the four sexes via mandatory high colonics in the context of a creatively-empowered preemptive foreplay tableau.

Mailer is currently doing five to ten on a felony molestation beef brought by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

His appeal is being sponsored by Reynolds Wrap™.

1. It's important to have a woman who helps at home, who cooks, cleans up and has a job.
2. It's important to have a woman who can make you laugh.
3. It's important to have a woman whom you can trust and who doesn't lie to you.
   
4. It's important to have a woman who can suck a golfball through a garden hose and sincerely appreciates your company.
   
5. It's absolutely essential that these four women never meet.
   

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I Give To You And You Give To Me

Teardrops. Running Down My Face.

A woman awakens during the night to find that her husband is not in their bed.

She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him.

At the foot of the stairs, she can see him sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee in front of him. He appears to be in a profound reverie, staring longingly off into the distance.

She watches tenderly as he wipes a tear from his eye, then bucks himself up and takes a sip of his coffee.

"What's the matter, dearheart?" she whispers as she steps into the room, "Why are you down here at this time of night?"

The husband looks up from his coffee.

"Oh, I was just remembering when we first met 20 years ago and started going out. You were only 16. Do you remember back then?" he inquires solemnly.

The wife is almost reduced to tears herself, beholding such a caring, sensitive man--her husband!

"Yes, of course I remember, darling."

Searching for the words that come so reluctantly, the husband goes on: " And do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car?"

"Oh yes, sweetest, I remember so well," murmurs the wife, lowering herself into the chair beside him.

The husband continues. "And do you remember when he shoved that shotgun in my face and said, 'Either you marry my daughter...or I'll arrange for you to be taking it up the ass in the men's shower at Atascadero for the next twenty years'"?

"Well, yes, of course, honey, how could I forget--"

He wipes another tear falling inexorably down his cheek.

"I would have gotten out today."