Joke 818

4 – 1878 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

INSTALLING HUSBAND 1.0

 

Dear Tech Support,

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to Husband 1.0 and noticed a distinct slowdown in overall system performance — particularly in the flower and jewellery applications, which operated flawlessly under Boyfriend 5.0.  In addition, Husband 1.0 uninstalled many other valuable programs, such as Romance 9.5 and Personal Attention 6.5, and then installed undesirable programs such as NFL 5.0, NBA 3.0. And Golf Clubs 4.1.  Conversation 8.0 no longer runs, and Housecleaning 2.5 simply crashes the system. I’ve tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these problems, but to no avail.

What can I do?

Signed, Desperate

 

 

Dear Desperate:

First keep in mind, Boyfriend 5.0 is an Entertainment Package, while Husband 1.0 is an Operating System. Please enter the command: “http: I Thought You Loved Me.htm” and try to download Tears 6.2 and don’t forget to install the Guilt 3.0 update.  If that application works as designed, Husband 1.0 should then automatically run the applications Jewellery 2.0 and Flowers 3.5.  

But remember, over use of the above application can cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence 2.5 Whatever you do, DO NOT install Mother-in-law 1.0 (it runs a virus in the background, that will eventually seize control of all your system resources).

Also, do not attempt to re-install the Boyfriend 5.0 program. These are unsupported applications and will crash Husband 1.0.

In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program, but it does have limited memory and cannot learn new applications quickly. You might consider buying additional software to improve memory and performance. We recommend Hot Food 3.0 and Lingerie 7.7

Good Luck, 

Tech Support

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Thanks to Charlie at readbetweentheminds for this one.

   

Wednesday

The post’s title is short because that’s all I can think of today.  I promised you stories of my mucus, old buildings and new visitors; but all you’ve had are jokes.

Super Yorkie (Photo credit: Jenn and Tony Bot)

I’m tired.

I’ve had two months of constant on-the-go-ness and now I have to listen to my husband using my own nagging against me: Listen to your body!  It’s okay to do nothing for a little while. Watch telly and leave your laptop alone.  Your readers will manage to survive without you.

Okay, I don’t say that last bit to him, but I would if he was a blogger.

I’m lying in bed at lunchtime typing this, and I don’t feel guilty.  I don’t feel anything except jellyness – that feeling that you will collapse into a sticky puddle on the floor, licked up by dogs with sweet tooths and remembered only as that blogger who made us laugh for a bit till she overdid it and then disappeared into a Yorkie’s gut.

Yes, self-pity is alive and well in Tillybudland, but it’s nothing a week off and the first thirty episodes of ER won’t cure.

See you on the other side, if I don’t turn into a pudding.

Joke 804

World’s Largest Cell Phone is prank-called (Photo credit: spudart)

Thanks to Siggi of Maine for sending this great joke, now one of my favourites.  

I was tempted to make it about the Hub and me, with Hub playing the wife and me playing the husband, because if the character fits….

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A middle-aged couple had finally learned how to send and receive texts on their cell phones.

The wife, being a romantic at heart, decided one day that she’d send her husband a text while she was out of the house having coffee with a friend. She texted:

If you are sleeping, send me your dreams.
If you are laughing, send me your smile.
If you are eating, send me a bite.
If you are drinking, send me a sip.
If you are crying, send me your tears.
I love you.

The husband, being a no-nonsense sort of guy, texted back:

I’m on the toilet. Please advise.

 

Somebody Went To Prison And All I Got Was This Lousy Anniversary Card

Today is my 28th wedding anniversary.  

Our wedding anniversary, I should say.

Nelson Mandela served twenty-seven years and he got a Nobel Peace Prize.  Me? I got an extra year, a card, and the most loving husband on the planet.

If you don’t believe me, ask my recent escapee, Janet.

Janet of Janet’s Notebook came to visit this week, for five days, with her son, Ben.  They wore me out but we had a great time.  You will be reading about our adventures over the next week or so, when I’ve recovered, but if you can’t wait until then, here are some of her posts about our time together:

Granny Liu: On accents

Who is that dog walker?: On dogs

The north south divide: On the phone

Laughter and love: On being soppy

I know how much you love me so don’t think she’s having fun at my expense (she is, but not maliciously), though I have to admit, it’s a weird sensation to be the butt instead of the butter of the joke.

However, I had great fun learning about another blogger and her quirks.  And of my own.  Janet made me wonder how the Hub has put up with me all of these years.

Now for the next twenty-eight.  Gulp.

Love you, my darling.  But please don’t tell anyone, it ruins my image.  

Happy anniversary xx

Joke 799

A spouse is someone who’ll stand by you through all the trouble you wouldn’t have had if you’d stayed single.

Let Snoring Dogs Lie

English: Road north from Little Snoring to Great Snoring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m off to see the Ear, Nose & Throat doctor this afternoon, about my snoring.  I have begun to suspect that all of this bad weather is caused by my sucking in the sun every time I inhale in my sleep.

Yes, I am that bad.

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If you are wondering where Patrecia, Miss Whiplash, she who was always thinking about things, has gone to, it’s to a new blog, God’s Creatures, about animals.

She forgot to tell you what she was doing before she deleted her old blog.

I bet she snores; it’s hard to remember things when your head is aching from sleep-sniffing the entire contents of your bedroom.

Patrecia writes about animals, including her dogs.  

Did you know that the calculation of 7 human years for every 1 dog year is incorrect?  And did you like my smooth segue from one topic to another without the use of an asterisk?  I should be on TV.

According to BBC News, it works like this:

For first two years:

• 12.5 years per human year for the first two years for small dogs
• 10.5 years per human year for the first two years for medium-sized dogs
• 9 years per human year for the first two years forlarge dogs

For years 3+:

• Small: Dachshund (Miniature) 4.32, Border Terrier 4.47, Lhasa Apso 4.49, Shih Tzu 4.78, Whippet Medium 5.30, Chihuahua 4.87, West Highland White Terrier 4.96, Beagle 5.20, Miniature Schnauzer 5.46, Spaniel (Cocker) 5.55, Cavalier King Charles 5.77, Pug 5.95, French Bulldog 7.65
• Medium: Spaniel 5.46, Retriever (Labrador) 5.74, Golden Retriever 5.74, Staffordshire Bull Terrier 5.33, Bulldog 13.42
• Large: German Shepherd 7.84, Boxer 8.90

The Village sign, Little Snoring, Norfolk (Photo credit: Wikipedia) I can only dream…

Time for my favourite-ever joke (from the film, Dumb & Dumber):

What do you get if you cross a Shih Tsu with a Bulldog?  

A Bullshit.

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Despite the funniest joke in the world, I think I’m in a bad mood. My head aches: my dog woke me an hour early for his breakfast, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ (or ‘Get lost, you horrible dog!’) for an answer.  You’d think at age 39.34 he’d be able to fix his own breakfast.

He’ll be wanting me to run his shower for him next.

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I think I’m mostly in a bad mood because a popcorn machine arrived this morning.  

Do you like a lot of salt on your Hub?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape

The Hub has often tried to escape from me:

This is the result:

He tried to pay me off:

Trouble is, the party his generosity paid for lead to this:

And, consequently, this:

Face it, Hub: there’s no escaping me:

Joke 775

Split Mercedes (Photo credit: Scalino)

 

A fellow bought a new Mercedes and took it out on the highway for a nice Friday evening drive. The top was down, the breeze was blowing through what was left of his hair and he decided to open her up.

 

As the needle jumped up to 80mph, he suddenly saw flashing red and blue lights behind him.

 

“There’s no way they can catch a Mercedes,” he thought to himself, and opened her up further.

 

The needle hit 90, 100…. Then the reality of the situation hit him.

 

“What in the heck am I doing?” he thought; and pulled over.

 

The cop came up to him, took his license without a word and examined it and the car.

 

“It’s been a long week, this is the end of my shift and I’m tired. I don’t feel like more paperwork, so if you can give me an excuse for your driving that I haven’t heard before, you can go.”

 

The guy thinks for a second and then says, “Last week my wife ran off with a cop. I was afraid you were trying to give her back!”

 

“Have a nice weekend,” said the officer.

 

Thanks to Grannymar for this one.

 

Joke 761

A WORD TO THE WIVES ON HOW TO KEEP HUSBANDS HAPPY (Photo credit: strph)

Aussie Barbecue Season

After long months of cold and winter, we are finally coming up to summer and BBQ season. Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking as it’s the only type of cooking a real man will do, probably because there is an element of danger involved.

When a man volunteers to do the Barbecue, usually on a Saturday, the following chain of events are put into motion:

Barbecue Routine

• The woman buys the food.
• The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert.
• The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill, beer in hand.
• Here comes the important part:  
• THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.
• The woman goes inside to organise the plates and cutlery.
• The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he deals with the situation.
• Important again:
• THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.
• The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces and brings them to the table.
• After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.
• And most important of all:  
• Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
• The man asks the woman how she enjoyed “her night off.” And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there’s just no pleasing some women….

Thanks to Will & Guy for this one.

Joke 750

A man asked his wife what she’d like for her birthday. “I’d love to be eight again,” she replied.

On the morning of her birthday he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Coco Pops, and then took her off to the local theme park. What a day! He put her on every ride in the park: the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster, every thing there was.

Funny Face (8 of 12) (Photo credit: merfam)

Five hours later she staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down. Right away, they journeyed to a McDonald’s where her loving husband ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a refreshing chocolate shake.

Then it was off to the movies: the latest Star Trek epic, a hot dog, popcorn, all the Coke she could drink, and her favorite M&M’s. What a fabulous adventure!

Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed, exhausted. He leaned over his precious wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, “Well, Dear, what was it like being eight again?”

Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed. “I meant my dress size!”

The moral of the story: Even when a man is listening, he’s going to get it wrong.

From ajokeaday.com

We Are A Grandmother

Margaret Thatcher famously used the Royal ‘we’ when son Mark’s wife gave birth.

my male albino kribensis (Photo credit: sshingler)

We are a grandmother of a different sort; and I accidentally killed the little blighters.  About forty of them.

The Hub’s Kribensis gave birth.  An Albino Kribensis at that.  The Hub likes Kribensis because they care for their young instead of giving them a twelve-hour head start and then eating them.  He bought a special spawning net for a nursery, because the other fish don’t respect babydom when there’s the chance of a good meal.  The net floats near the top and is attached to the glass by suction pads.  The Hub is soppy over his fish.

When I put on the tank light the other morning, two of the Siamese Fighters appeared to be trapped between the tank wall and the net.  Fish need to keep swimming to breathe, something to do with the movement and the water creating their oxygen.  Here endeth the science lesson.

I pulled the net away and prodded the Fighters to make sure they were still alive. They swam away in a huff.   The Hub told me later that they don’t need to move as much as most fish and like to snuggle in that space from time to time.

I was rather pleased with my act of charity.  The net frame had come away from the suction pads but it still floated so I didn’t wake the Hub to fix it.

The Hub came downstairs a little later and did his usual fussing over the tanks, talking the baby talk he reserves for his millions of little fishies in his five – yes, five – tanks.  He got to the big tank last and exploded with angst-ridden rage: in the

My siamese fighter. (Photo credit: LHG Creative Photography)

nursery net he found a bloated Siamese Fighter, licking its lips and smiling smugly.

I don’t know why it was so smug – it missed the two baby Kribensis hiding in the corner.

It transpired that the nursery net had somehow come away from the suction pads and sunk just enough for the Siamese Fighter to jump in and participate in some fine dining.

I confess, I blanched.  I considered packing my handkerchief and stick and running away to the circus.  All that stopped me is that I don’t have a handkerchief big enough for my Malteser stash.

I blanched again.  I confessed.  I told my sorry story of mistaken heroics to the Hub, and he forgave me.  He’s like that.  It’s so annoying.

Several days later, I decided it was time to put the kitchen voile back up on the window.  I took it down for the Christmas lights and, once washed, stuck it in the ironing cupboard.  

The ironing cupboard holds the iron (three of them, for no reason that I can fathom; I’ve no idea where the other two came from), several tons of clean washing (always, no matter how much ironing I do which, okay, isn’t a lot, but even so…), bits of material that we kept from the many, many costumes our kids have worn on school activity days (Obi-Wan Kanobe?  Here’s an old brown blanket and a bit of Hub wizardry.  Punk rocker?  Let us just zip one up), sundry items like the sewing kit (never sewed anything), silver polish (never polished anything) and kitchen roll (never rolled around the kitc…oh, wait…blush).

I picked up the voile; it was rather small.  There was another piece, also rather small.  I put the two pieces together – talking of pieces, in church on Sunday, our vicar got the biggest laugh of the morning when the congregation read on the overhead projector, The piece of the Lord be always with you.  We wondered which piece it was – I put the two pieces together and there was a huge hole in the centre.

I’d no idea what had happened but I knew who to blame.  I didn’t want to rollick him when he had just woken up so I left a heart-shaped note and a snippet of voile stuck to the Hub’s mug when I took him his coffee.  It read: I love you but you are in BIG trouble.

He was pretty sheepish when he came downstairs because he realised what he’d done.  His explanation was that, when the Kribensis gave birth, his little catching net broke, it was late at night, and he needed to repair it quickly so that the other fish wouldn’t eat the babies.  He went in the ironing cupboard, found what he thought was a bit of spare material (what?  From the time one of the boys played a bride?) and the rest is history…

I haven’t forgiven him yet.  He finds that so annoying.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Unique

Korea and a World Population of 7 Billion (Photo credit: United Nations Photo)

I didn’t take this photo, but it occurred to me that, though there are seven billion people in the world, we are all unique.  Which is directly opposite to the claim that we are all the same, which I also believe.  

We are unique in our alikeness and alike in our uniqueness.  Some of us are weird (according to my husband); some of us are allegedly normal.  Some of us have an over-developed sense of humour; others have an over-developed pituitary gland.  Some of us consider chocolate to be the missing food group; some of us will live longer than those of us who consider chocolate to be the missing food group; some of us will enjoy life more than those of us who don’t have a missing food group.

My point is: hello friend; you are different to me.  I love that.  

You love it, too?  We are so alike!    How weird is that?

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• Weekly Photo Challenge: Unique – Bright As Sunshine (teepee12.wordpress.com)

 

Joke 678

Escargot (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A couple were having a party at their house.  An hour before the party the woman found out that she still needed escargots, so she sent her husband out for them.

He was walking to the supermarket and he figured he had lots of time.  He stopped at a bar on the way.  An hour and a half later he looked at his watch and realized that the party must already have started.

He quickly ran to the market, bought the snails and ran home.  He tried to sneak into the kitchen without his wife seeing him, but at that moment she came out.

He quickly threw the snails on the floor and said, “Come on guys, we’re almost there.”

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From ajokeaday.com

More On Crocodile Paddling

This is how it worked:  

English: Theodore Roosevelt assisting in capturing a crocodile on Lake Victoria (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

• First, tell your wife she knows nothing and never listens and it was Lake Victoria in UGANDA not Imaginary River in Burundi and if she’s going to repeat stories, get the facts FIRST instead of having to write second and third corrections
• Drink a lot with new buddies
• Go out at night
• Take a torch
• Paddle ankle deep
• Shine torch on water
• See light bounce off crocodile eyes
• Run 

Apparently, the biggest problem is the crocodiles you can’t see, because they are underwater, ready to pounce.

But that’s okay; the Hub had a branch with which to clock any attacking crocodiles.  

Good grief.  The wonder isn’t that he wasn’t attacked by a crocodile; the wonder is that he manages to get his socks on in the morning without falling over.

 

Don’t Listen To Me

Stanley and Livingstone (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was telling the Hub about Dianne’s comment yesterday that she had thought he was over six foot tall from the way I write about him.  We had a good chuckle because he is 5’6″.

I am 5’2″ and not happy about it, as I told you three years ago.  I used to be 5′ until the Hub measured Spud’s height one day.  At that time he was 5′ which was weird, because he was shorter than me.

I have always been 5′ tall (since I reached 5′, anyway) and rather like it. Think of Kylie Minogue and you get the idea of how dainty I am. Or was, twenty-eight years ago. Now I’m 5′ wide as well: a sort of Kylie-squared.

Shocked (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Only, I am not 5′ small after all, despite what it says in my passport. The tape measure proved it: I am 5’2″. No more standing on the third step up to the back garden that backed onto my childhood back garden to kiss 6′ tall boyfriends for me (though the Hub might have something to say about that, anyway; so perhaps it’s just as well).

My problem was that I had always believed myself to be a certain height and then I discovered that was not so.  I was anxious that the Police might take me away in the night and electrocute my testicles with passion fruit (sorry if that doesn’t make sense; I had a sleepless night worrying about it) for making a false declaration on my passport.

Imagine if you were a girl and you had always been a girl and it says on your passport that you’re a girl and then somebody measures you against your child one day – a child that you lovingly carried, birthed, reared and gained weight for, the miserable little turncoat – and they tell you that, oops, it’s a mistake and you are actually a boy. I think you’d be as hysterical as I was, wouldn’t you? My image of myself as diminutive was irrevocably altered – I can no longer ask strangers in the supermarket to pass me the tofu* on the top shelf or get Tory Boy to dust the parts my little arms cannot reach; they’ll just laugh and tell me to ‘Get it yourself, Lofty.’

*If it’s true that I am tall then it’s true that I am a healthy eater as well.

The Hub obviously didn’t think things through when he told me the alleged truth about myself.  He likes dainty women, which is why he roughed me up and bundled me into a wedding carriage all those years ago. He was six inches taller than me then: tall enough to make me feel protected but not so tall that I needed to wear a neck brace after canoodling with him. We had to re-think our whole relationship once I became a giant.

Colorized title card from Dopey Dicks. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He tried to soothe my understandable fury by blaming my Dad – who would have been the one to measure me for my passport – for making a mistake. This did calm me down because my Dad was a bit dopey (where do you think I get it from?) and it is a plausible theory. BUT – and it’s a big but, as you can see – I remembered that my Dad didn’t measure me for my passport because he was in South Africa at the time; I was still in the UK.

That made me doubly angry at the Hub – he shattered my self-esteem and besmirched the good name of the best Dad who ever lived at the same time. That’s a good enough excuse to throw food at him, I think. Excuse me a moment…

…that feels better.

Spud said I should look on the bright side: I am no longer an official midget.  I should be grateful for small mercies.

But I digress.  I mentioned the context (boasting about his exploits in Africa) to the Hub of his mythical size.  It appears I got some facts wrong:

• The source of the Nile and where Stanley and Livingstone met are not the same place.  The source of the Nile is in Uganda.  However, the Hub did make sure to get there.  I got my stories and my African countries confused.
  

  Description unavailable (Photo credit: rosshuggett)

• The Stanley/Livingstone spot marked by the rock is in Burundi but the Hub didn’t swim in a crocodile-infested river.  However, he did paddle in it.  I got my water levels confused.
• The Hub did not force me to marry him.  However, I’m not sure I believe that one.  He has me all confused.  

Amazingly, not one of my readers picked me up on the first error.  You are either a wonderfully uncritical audience or as bad at history and geography as I am.  I prefer to believe it’s the former.  Thank you.  

To conclude, a word of advice: I don’t listen to the Hub; don’t you listen to me.  I don’t know my Africa from my apogee.