'tis better to give than recieve...

[ArAich]

Hey Everybody...it's my birthday...

 

In order for me to celebrate I have devised a simple Contest...

 

Whoever makes me laugh the hardest by midnight tonight will recieve This item that I recently did not sell on ebay..

 

It could be a joke or even a gremlin (although I hope they don't totally invade this post) or whatever you want....

 

I will announce the winner before noon tommorow...

 

 

[Gunsmoke]

Ok, if this is good enough for Eddie and Michael, it should be good enough for you.

 

A Vegas Scare

For anyone who didn't see David Letterman's take on this:

(And it's a true story...)

 

On a recent weekend in Las Vegas, a woman won a

bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She took a

break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the

hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the

quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and we'll go

to eat," she told her husband and carried the coin-laden

bucket to the elevator.

 

As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed

two men already aboard. Both were black. One of them was

tall...very tall...an intimidating figure. The woman

froze. Her first thought was: These two are going to rob

me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot; they look

like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes

are powerful and fear immobilized her.

 

She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious,

flustered and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her

mind but Gosh; they had to know what she was thinking!!!

Her hesitation about joining them in the elevator was

all too obvious now. Her face was flushed. She couldn't

just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she

picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with

the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye

contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the

elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then

another second, and then another. Her fear increased!

The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God,

she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed!

 

Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every

pore. Then one of the men said, "Hit the floor."

Instinct told her to do what they told her. The bucket

of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and

dove to the elevator floor. A shower of coins

rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed.

 

More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say

politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor

you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who

said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He

was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. The woman

lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They

reached down to help her up. Confused, she struggled to

her feet. "When I told my friend here to hit the

floor," said the average sized one, "I meant that he

should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't

mean for you to actually hit the floor, ma'am."

 

He spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was

having a hard time not laughing. The woman thought: My

God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was

humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology,

but words failed her. How do you apologize to two

perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though

they were going to rob you? She didn't know what to say.

The three of them gathered up the strewn quarters and

refilled her bucket.

 

When the elevator arrived at her floor they then

insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little

unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not

make it down the corridor.

 

At her door they bid her a good evening. As she slipped

into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter

as they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed

herself off. She pulled herself together and went

downstairs for dinner with her husband.

 

The next morning flowers were delivered to her room

- a dozen roses.

 

Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar

bill. The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've

had in years." It was signed;

Eddie Murphy, Michael Jordan

 

[drbanner]

A bear goes up to a rabbit in the woods and asks

 

"Do you have problems with sticking to your fur?"

 

to which the rabbit responds

 

"No."

 

So the bear picks up the rabbit and wipes his with it!

[comicinvestor-migration]

Post deleted by comicinvestor

[g-man]

this kid i know buys a book for $600, gets it graded by cgc and it comes back 8.5 RESTORED! So he is bummin. He thinks he might have the restoration removed and then re-grade it and maybe make his $ back. Instead he puts in on-line and sells it for $130. He thinks to himself "Wow that can't be good...can it?"

[Gunsmoke]

Ok an animal joke and a school kid joke.....let's see if I can't combine them for a laugh.

 

A kindergarten teacher was reading to her class one day. She had selected the book Chicken Little. After reading the part about Chicken Little running up to the farmer exclaiming the sky is falling, the sky is falling, she asked the class what they thought the farmer might say in reply.

 

Little Sarah raised her hand and was called upon to answer. She stood and said, "holy sh&t, a talking chicken!"

 

Probably what I'd say too!

[chromium]

I've almost thought that a picture merits a thousand words...

 

This one only merits two...

 

HOLY [!@#%^&^] !

 

Happy Birthday !

[Bonds25]

This'll win the contest hands down!

 

http://boards.collectors-society.com/showflat.php?Cat=&Board=comicgen&Number=71183&page=0&view=collapsed&sb=5&o=31&fpart=6&vc=1

[CosmicBob]

This vampire bat flies back into his cave, his muzzle is covered in blood. All his bat-friends look at him in envy and ask him where he got the nice, tasty blood. His demurs. They persist and finnally he gives in. He starts flying out of the cave, "follow me".

 

They fly around through the forest a while until they come to a heavily wooded area. The bat says: "see that big honkin' tree over there?" And they all nod their heads in great anticipation.

 

"Well, I f-ing didn't."

[blazingbob]

What do you see when the Pillsbury dough boy bends over?

 

Dough nuts!

 

Happy birthday

[comicinvestor-migration]

_

[Bugaboo-migration]

 

Allright folks......strap on the feedbag 'cause this is gonna be one long and ugly post (but well worth the time to read it........trust the Bugster. However, if you are easily offended, please skip this post or read it at your own risk).

 

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on these boards and I am aware that a large number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. It's the funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.

 

Three nights ago I decided to go out for dinner with my girlfriend to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Saturday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Saturday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

 

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar, then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that night, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

 

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make it's way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress....

 

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good , but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than a girlfriend telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I'm playing a little splashing pumpkins. I went to the normal stall.

 

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my was reaching Biblical proportions.

 

I began "The Move".

 

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move". Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And, when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur than cannot be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of at the exact same second that ones is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the stream lets loose at the same time; it truly is a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

 

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I didn't notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

 

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over no matter what is about to come slamming out of your . It is apparently an evolutionary thing since sh!tt!ng will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

 

At that very split second, my exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my . But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The wave was of such force and at just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

 

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. And, to top it all off, some even managed to splatter into my fking hair. Now, back to the vomit...

 

While all the sh!tt!ng was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

 

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

 

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid . All while thick was spread all over my in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

 

And there was no fking toilet paper!!!

 

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was he prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my date to come help me. I told him where she was sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

 

About two minutes later, my date came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. She has known me for many years so, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankle thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

 

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

 

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my date got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to her. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little kid walked in. At this point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

 

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my date was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

 

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steakhouse. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

 

 

 

[comicinvestor-migration]

_

[CosmicBob]

Ok Bugaboo, you win. araich send him the prize now.

 

I don't recall ever laughing so hard at something on the Internet before!

[Bugaboo-migration]

 

 

Oh.....and I almost forgot:

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RICK ! ! !

 

[comicinvestor-migration]

_

[Mister_Comics]

Hey this just reminded me of something.

 

Sceintists have decided that since so much embarrassment is made from the name of the planet URANUS. They have decided to change the name. From now on that planet will be known as URectum

[Illiterati-migration]

Bug, that was pretty funny... it was humor, but funny nonetheless... but I stopped laughing at one point and I was more than a little concerned from then on:

why wouldn't your poor girlfriend be surprised by the fact that you have pissed or yourself?? You act as though she will simply "know" if you're in the bathroom for too long that something like that has occured! How often does this happen? Does she work in a mental health facility? Does her boss know that she is dating one of her "clients"? (Come on, wearing sweatpants to a restaurant, you're seeing clowns, sh!tting yourself, puking in your pants, the HANDICAPPED stall??? It's okay, we're not here to judge you.)

 

Two things:

1) Your new name is Bugapoo.

 

2) Okay, that was the only thing.

[scottish]

Now that's just frickin' hilarious.

[Bugaboo-migration]

URectum........ Mister_Comics. Isn't that the one that's orbited by URpenis?