* Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
* A day without sunshine is like, night.
* On the other hand, you have different fingers.
* I just got lost in thought. It was unfamiliar territory.
* 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.
* 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.
* I feel like I'm diagonally parked in a parallel universe.
* Honk if you love peace and quiet.
* Remember, half the people you know are below average.
* He who laughs last thinks slowest.
* Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
* The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese
* I drive way too fast to worry about cholesterol.
* Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people
have.
* Monday is an awful way to spend 1/7 of your week.
* A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
* Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
* Get a new car for your spouse. It'll be a great trade!
* Plan to be spontaneous tomorrow.
* Always try to be modest, and be proud of it!
* If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.
* How many of you believe in telekinesis? Raise my hand...
* OK, so what's the speed of dark?
* How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?
* If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked
something.
* When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
* Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.
* Everyone has a
photographic memory. Some just don't have film.
* If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?
* Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
* What happens if you get scared half to death twice in a row?
* I used to have an open mind but my brains kept falling out.
* I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
* Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
* Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what
happened...

I've heard/seen a lot of these.

then you'd have 1/4 of your life left. Time to find another 1up mushroom

What's the difference between a vitamin and a hormone?

hmm, now if this is chauvanist, i shall enjoy being a feminist bi*&h...lol

Well actually .....
very fast

http://www.zerobeat.net/drakelist/darktheory.html

cheers
floppy

hey guys, these are funnies...you guys need to get out a bit...
anybody want to buy the Sydney Harbour bridge...with this literalism, i'm sure i could make a sale...

You can't make a vita min.

(read it out loud)

That's hilarious!

Here is an australian army letter to add to this thread....
Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad (for those of
you not in the know, Eromanga is a small town west of Quilpie in the
far south west of Queensland)."

Dear Mum and Dad

I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that
the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get in bloody
quick smart before the jobs are all gone!
I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get
outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now,
cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and
clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to
stack - nothing!!! Blokes haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad,
coz there's lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks
or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon,
and by that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a'
route march' - geez, its only just like walking to the windmill inthe
back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep
getting medals for shootin' - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a
bloody possum's bum and it don't move and its not firing back at ya like the
Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the
Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the
target - it's a piece of piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges - they comes
in little boxes and ya don't have to steady yourself against the
rollbar of the roo shooting truck and when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real
careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and
Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the
muster.
Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the
platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the
Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pickhandles across the
shoulders, and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin'
wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the
boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before
word gets around how bloody good it is.


Your loving daughter
Jill.

What is hotter? Hell or Heaven?

Solution here:
http://www.lhup.edu/~dsimanek/hell.htm

Being Story Number 1 in the Chronicles of the Bizarre

It was a small town, small in the way only really tiny things can be small. And yet, there was a melancholy flavor in the way the ants, with their brightly tinted bonnets and tattered Broadway musical scores, would parade up and down the street until the wee wee hours of the morning. Their only snacks would be the veal cutlets dispersed by old Jack's cropduster fleet.

But even then, things were changing. The low bleating of the Sheep of the Ages softened to a dull roar, gradually, year by imperfect year, until at last it was all over. No more would the ants bravely strip naked in celebration of the harvest. Brutal big-eyed hamsters with meat cleavers and finely tuned muffin launchers roamed the streets of the small town. An ant wasn't safe now, not any more.

The town fair was a haven of relative peace; here the hamsters dared not go, not yet, not until the Great Shaving. Every fall, as the days lengthened, and the toads swelled to enormous size in anticipation of the seasonal junkets, a little sunshine would rejuvenate the ants' bleak, pathetic lives. They would bet merrily on their eel-driven chariot races... raucous laughter would fill the air at the weevil fartathon... and it would be as it once was, for a time, until the twilight came, and with it, the soft rustle-rustle-THUMP of the creeping hamsters, hauling their rickety pianos out to the town square in ominous fashion.