*** ASW - Postwhore Contest #3!! ***
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Three people, 2 men and 1 woman, and their dogs are in the Vets waiting room. The first man's dog asked the second man's dog what he's there for. They are putting me down. Oh no, says the first dog, why? The second dog says, "Well, you see... I've been chasing the Postman for years. Yesterday, I finally caught him, and bit him. So, I'm going to be put to sleep. The second dog says, "Well, my master just completely remodeled the inside of his house. I didn't like it because my scent wasn't anywhere, anymore. So, when he went to bed last night, I pissed on everything I could find, to get my scent back. This morning, my master found out what I had done, so he is putting me to sleep also.
The third dog said, "This is my masters new girlfriend. She runs around the house all the time without her closes. This makes me very horny. So, this morning, as she was getting out of the shower, and bent over to wipe up the water on the floor. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I jumped on her a gave it to her good!" The other dogs say, " so' that's why they are putting you to sleep?" No says the dog, "She is bringing me here to get my toenails clipped!"
The third dog said, "This is my masters new girlfriend. She runs around the house all the time without her closes. This makes me very horny. So, this morning, as she was getting out of the shower, and bent over to wipe up the water on the floor. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I jumped on her a gave it to her good!" The other dogs say, " so' that's why they are putting you to sleep?" No says the dog, "She is bringing me here to get my toenails clipped!"
A doctor and his wife were having a big argument at breakfast. "You aren't so good in bed either!", he shouted and stormed off to work. By mid morning, he decided he'd better make amends and called home.
"What took you so long to answer?"
"I was in bed."
"What were you doing in bed this late?"
"Getting a second opinion."
"What took you so long to answer?"
"I was in bed."
"What were you doing in bed this late?"
"Getting a second opinion."
Two deaf people get married. During the first week of marriage, they find that they are unable to communicate in the bedroom when they turn off the lights because they can't see each other using sign language. After several nights of fumbling around and misunderstandings, the wife decides to find a solution. "Honey," she signs, "Why don't we agree on some simple signals? For instance, at night, if you want to have sex with me, reach over and squeeze my left breast one time. If you don't want to have sex, reach over and squeeze my right breast one time. "The husband thinks this is a great idea and signs back to his wife, "Great idea, Now if you want to have sex with ME, reach over and pull on my penis one time. If you don't want to have sex, reach over and pull on my penis ... fifty times"
An American businessman was in Japan. He hired a local hooker and was going at it all night with her. She kept screaming "Fujifoo, Fugifoo!!!", which the guy took to be pleasurable.. The next day, he was golfing with his Japanese counterparts and he got a hole-in-one. Wanting to impress the clients, he said "Fujifoo". The Japanese clients looked confused and said "No, you got the right hole."
STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
-- Introibo ad altare Dei.
Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:
-- Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.
Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.
Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.
-- Back to barracks, he said sternly.
He added in a preacher's tone:
-- For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.
-- Introibo ad altare Dei.
Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:
-- Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.
Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.
Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.
-- Back to barracks, he said sternly.
He added in a preacher's tone:
-- For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.
-- Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?
He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
-- The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.
He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.
Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.
-- My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?
He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:
-- Will he come? The jejune jesuit.
Ceasing, he began to shave with care.
-- Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
-- Yes, my love?
-- How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?
Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
-- God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.
He shaved warily over his chin.
-- He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?
-- A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?
-- I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.
Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
-- Scutter, he cried thickly.
He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:
-- Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.
Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
-- The bard's noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?
He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.
-- God, he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.
Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.
-- Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.
He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.
-- The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.
-- Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.
-- You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.
He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.
-- But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.
He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.
Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
-- The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.
He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.
Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on.
-- My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?
He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:
-- Will he come? The jejune jesuit.
Ceasing, he began to shave with care.
-- Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
-- Yes, my love?
-- How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?
Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
-- God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.
He shaved warily over his chin.
-- He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?
-- A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?
-- I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.
Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
-- Scutter, he cried thickly.
He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's upper pocket, said:
-- Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.
Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
-- The bard's noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can't you?
He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.
-- God, he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.
Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.
-- Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.
He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's face.
-- The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you.
-- Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.
-- You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I'm hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.
He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.
-- But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.
He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.
Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
One day when the teacher walked into the classroom, she noticed that someone had written the word 'PENIS' (in tiny letters) on the blackboard. She scanned the class looking for a guilty face. Finding none, she rubbed the word off and began class. The next day, the word 'PENIS' was written on the board again; this time it was written about halfway across the board. Again she looked around in vain for the culprit, so she proceeded with the day's lesson. Every morning for about a week, she went into the classroom and found the same disgusting word written on the board, each day's being larger than the previous one, and each being rubbed off vigorously. At the end of the second week, she walked in expecting to be greeted by the same word on the board but instead found the words: "The more you rub it, the bigger it gets."
Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.
-- Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
-- They fit well enough, Stephen answered.
Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.
-- The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you're dressed.
-- Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.
-- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.
He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.
Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.
-- That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.
He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.
-- Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.
Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
-- I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.
Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.
-- The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you.
Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:
-- It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.
-- It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.
Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.
-- Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.
Cranly's arm. His arm.
-- Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
-- They fit well enough, Stephen answered.
Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.
-- The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You'll look spiffing in them. I'm not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you're dressed.
-- Thanks, Stephen said. I can't wear them if they are grey.
-- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers.
He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.
Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.
-- That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He's up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.
He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.
-- Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.
Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
-- I pinched it out of the skivvy's room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.
Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.
-- The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you.
Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:
-- It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.
-- It's not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.
Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.
-- Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He's stinking with money and thinks you're not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.
Cranly's arm. His arm.
A man and a woman were waiting at the hospital donation center.
Man: "What are you doing here today?"
Woman: "Oh, I'm here to donate some blood. They're going to give me $5 for it."
Man: "Hmm, that's interesting. I'm here to donate sperm, myself. But they pay me $25."
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment and they chatted some more before going their separate ways. A couple months later, the same man and woman meet again in the donation center.
Man: "Oh, hi there! Here to donate blood again?"
Woman: [shaking her head with mouth closed] "Unh unh."
Man: "What are you doing here today?"
Woman: "Oh, I'm here to donate some blood. They're going to give me $5 for it."
Man: "Hmm, that's interesting. I'm here to donate sperm, myself. But they pay me $25."
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment and they chatted some more before going their separate ways. A couple months later, the same man and woman meet again in the donation center.
Man: "Oh, hi there! Here to donate blood again?"
Woman: [shaking her head with mouth closed] "Unh unh."
-- And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I'm the only one that knows what you are. Why don't you trust me more? What have you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe.
Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another, O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!
Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
To ourselves... new paganism... omphalos.
-- Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at night.
-- Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm quite frank with you. What have you against me now?
They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
-- Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.
-- Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.
He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.
Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:
-- Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?
Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
-- What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
-- You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.
-- Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
-- You said, Stephen answered, O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.
A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.
-- Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?
He shook his constraint from him nervously.
-- And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissecting room. It's a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor Sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother.
Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another, O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!
Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
To ourselves... new paganism... omphalos.
-- Let him stay, Stephen said. There's nothing wrong with him except at night.
-- Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I'm quite frank with you. What have you against me now?
They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
-- Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.
-- Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don't remember anything.
He looked in Stephen's face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes.
Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:
-- Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?
Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
-- What? Where? I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
-- You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.
-- Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
-- You said, Stephen answered, O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.
A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.
-- Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?
He shook his constraint from him nervously.
-- And what is death, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissecting room. It's a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn't matter. You wouldn't kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why? Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it's injected the wrong way. To me it's all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor Sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it's over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's. Absurd! I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother.
Late at night this guy runs into a pub and demands a glass of water from the landlord. The guy drinks it in one gulp then asks for a second glass. Six pints later, and he has recovered enough to speak. "Thanks," he croaks. "That's one hell of a thirst you've got," says the landlord.
The guy says: "Any man would be as bad if they'd just had sex with the woman in my car. She's insatiable. She wants me to go right back out there and do it all again, but I can't." "Where's your car?" the landlord asks. "At the roadside," the guy gasps.
"Tell you what," says the landlord, "you watch the bar for me while I nip out and take your place." "Be my guest," the guy says. So the landlord goes outside and gets in the car. It's totally dark, so the woman doesn't realize she's with a different man. And they get right down to it, humping away.
Five minutes later there's a knock on the window. It's a cop, and he shines his flashlight on the naked couple. "What's going on here?" he asks. "It's all right, officer," explains the landlord, "She's my wife." The officer replies apologetically, "Oh, sorry sir, I didn't realize."
Look at the woman the landlord says, "Neither did I till you switched on that damned light."
The guy says: "Any man would be as bad if they'd just had sex with the woman in my car. She's insatiable. She wants me to go right back out there and do it all again, but I can't." "Where's your car?" the landlord asks. "At the roadside," the guy gasps.
"Tell you what," says the landlord, "you watch the bar for me while I nip out and take your place." "Be my guest," the guy says. So the landlord goes outside and gets in the car. It's totally dark, so the woman doesn't realize she's with a different man. And they get right down to it, humping away.
Five minutes later there's a knock on the window. It's a cop, and he shines his flashlight on the naked couple. "What's going on here?" he asks. "It's all right, officer," explains the landlord, "She's my wife." The officer replies apologetically, "Oh, sorry sir, I didn't realize."
Look at the woman the landlord says, "Neither did I till you switched on that damned light."
A man from the Internal Revenue Service knocks on a door and it is opened by a little boy. The man asks the boy, "Where is your mother?" The boy states, "She's in the backyard, screwing the goat." The man exclaims, "Son, it's not nice to make up stories like that!" The boy says, "Come on in and I'll show you." So the taxman follows the little boy to the back of the house and looks out the window into the backyard. There, he sees a woman screwing a goat. Disgusted, he turns to the boy and says, "That is gross! Doesn't that bother you?" The little boy answers, "Naaaaaaaaah!"
A guy is walking down the street and enters a clock and watch shop. While looking around, he notices a drop dead gorgeous female clerk behind the counter. He walks up to the counter where she is standing, unzips his pants, flops his chop out and and places it on the counter. "What are you doing, Sir?", she asks. "This is a clock shop!!" He replied, "I know it is and I would like 2 hands and a face put on this!"
One time there was an army camp in India that just received a new commander. During the new commanders first inspection everything checked out except one thing. There was a camel tied to a tree on the edge of the camp. The commander asked what it was for, one of the soldiers who had been stationed there for a while explained to him that the men sometimes get lonely since there where no woman there so they have the camel. The commander just let that go, but after a few weeks he was feeling very lonely so he ordered the men to bring the camel into his tent. The men did, and he went to work on it. After about an hour the commander came out zipped up his pants and said, "So is that how the other men do it?" One of the men responded, "No we usually just use the camel to ride into town."
One day the sheriff sees Billy-Bob walking around town with nothing on except his gun belt and his boots. The sheriff says "Billy-Bob, what the hell are you doing walking around town dressed like that?" Billy-Bob replies "Well sheriff, it's a long story!" Sheriff says he isn't in a hurry and that Billy-Bob should tell the story. Billy-Bob continues "Well sheriff, me and Mary-Lou was down on the farm and we started a cuddling. Mary-Lou said we should go in the barn and we did." "Inside the barn we started a kissing and a cuddling and things got pretty hot and heavy, well Mary-Lou said that we should go up on the hill so we did." "Up on the hill we started a kissing and a cuddling and the Mary-Lou took off all her clothes and said that I should do the same. Well, I took off all my clothes except my gun belt and my boots. Then Mary-Lou lay on the ground and opened her legs and said "Okay Billy-Bob, go to town..."
One Fall day, Bill was out raking leaves when he noticed a hearse slowly drive by. Following the first hearse, was a second hearse which was followed by a man walking solemnly along, followed by a dog, and then about 200 men walking in single file. Intrigued, Bill went up to the man following the second hearse and asked him who was in the first hearse. "My wife," the man replied. "I'm sorry," said Bill. "What happened to her?" "My dog bit her and she died." Bill then asked the man who was in the second hearse. The man replied, "My mother-in-law. My dog bit her and she died as well." Bill thought about this for a while. He finally asked the man, "Can I borrow your dog?" To which the man replied, "Get in line."
A man and a woman were celebrating their 50th anniversary. They were talking before their dinner about how they should celebrate their big evening. The woman decided she would cook a big dinner for her husband. Then he said they should do what they did on their wedding night and eat at the dinner table naked. The woman agreed. Later that night at the table, the woman says, "Honey, my nipples are as hot for you as they were fifty years ago." The man replies, "That's because they are sitting in your soup."
In a tiny village lived an old maid. In spite of her old age, she was still a virgin. She was very proud of it. She knew her last days were getting closer, so she told the local undertaker that she wanted the following inscription on her tombstone:
"Born as a virgin, lived as a virgin, died as a virgin."
Not long after, the old maid died peacefully, and the undertaker told his men what the lady had said. The men went to carve it in, but as the lazy no-goods they were, they thought the inscription to be unnecessarily long. They simply wrote: "Returned unopened."
"Born as a virgin, lived as a virgin, died as a virgin."
Not long after, the old maid died peacefully, and the undertaker told his men what the lady had said. The men went to carve it in, but as the lazy no-goods they were, they thought the inscription to be unnecessarily long. They simply wrote: "Returned unopened."
A 54 year old accountant leaves a letter for his wife one Friday evening that reads...
Dear Wife,
I am 54 and by the time you receive this letter I will be at the Grand
Hotel with my beautiful and sexy 18 year old secretary."
When he arrived at the hotel there was a letter waiting for him that read as follows...
Dear Husband,
I too am 54 and by the time you receive this letter I will be at the
Breakwater Hotel with my handsome and virile 18 year old boy toy. AND,
you, being an accountant, will appreciate that 18 goes into 54 many more times than 54 goes into 18."
Dear Wife,
I am 54 and by the time you receive this letter I will be at the Grand
Hotel with my beautiful and sexy 18 year old secretary."
When he arrived at the hotel there was a letter waiting for him that read as follows...
Dear Husband,
I too am 54 and by the time you receive this letter I will be at the
Breakwater Hotel with my handsome and virile 18 year old boy toy. AND,
you, being an accountant, will appreciate that 18 goes into 54 many more times than 54 goes into 18."
- Status