She greeted her husband and then watched in horror as he sat down to his dinner. To her surprise, the husband really enjoyed his dinner. "Darling, this is the best dinner you have made for me in forty years of marriage. You can make this for me any old day."

Needless to say, every bridge night from then on, the woman made her husband the same dish. She told her bridge cronies about it and they were all horrified.

"You're going to kill him!" they exclaimed.

Two months later, her husband died.

The women were sitting around the table playing bridge when one of the cronies said, "You killed him! We told you that feeding him that cat food every week would do him in! How can you just sit there so calmly and play bridge knowing you murdered your husband?"

The wife stoically replied, "I didn't kill him. He fell off the mantel while he was licking his butt."

What do you get if you cross a pit bull with a collie?
Maybe a dog that bites your leg off and then runs for help?

What do you get if you cross and elephant and a skin doctor?
How about a pachydermatologist?

What do you get when you cross a cow and a duck?
Don't tell me.......... milk and quackers.

I wonder why bees hum. Is it because they have forgotten the words?
Is a bee's favourite film called 'The Sting?'
What has more lives than a cat?
Must be a frog,(it croaks every night)

Take an ordinary envelope, what does it say when you lick it?
Nothing. It just shuts up.

We were looking at the word 'cross' I remember one occasion when I felt I had crossed........... from one dimension to another......... it was a sort of MIRRORLAND............

In a parallel time, in a parallel world, in a parallel galaxy, there's a parallel town and a parallel place, where my parallel house will be. In that parrallel house, there are parallel doors and parallel windows, one, two, three. There are parallel people all milling about, even a hologram of a parallel me. In that parallel time, in that parallel place what was left is now right, you see? In that parallel world with that parallel life would our holograms drink parallel tea? Would a parallel scone on a parallel plate have a parallel taste of real jam? I don't think it would taste as parallel good so on reflection I'll stay as I am.

Well that's me home and I'll be glad to get in and get these wet clothes off. I think I'll cook myself a Chinese, no not a CHINESE, a Chinese meal. I love a Chinese meal, but my doctor told me to go easy on the woc or I'd go stir crazy. Now I need a topic to occupy my mind whilst I prepare my meal, you see the problem with a problem is not the problem, it's finding the solution, that's the problem. Now that is a double whisky problem my dear Watson.

I remember a time when my wife and I took our wee son to a wedding at which both the bride and groom were teetotal . On the way home my son asked, "Daddy, what is fornication?" I muttered and stumbled at the unexpectedness of the question and tried to fend of the question the best I could, but eventually I had to ask why he was asking. He said, "Well I heard Aunty Mae saying to Uncle Tom, 'Fornication like this one would have thought they would have had champagne."
A schoolteacher friend o' mine was helping a wee lad who had cut himself quite badly during playtime at school in Scotland. Seeing all the blood she said to the boy, "I hope you're not squeamish." The laddie replied tearfully, "No Miss, I'm Hamish."

I was reading my horoscope and it said, "I must have daily sex" "WHAT?" said my wife. I handed her the paper and said, "Here, read it for yourself." She grabbed the paper and came up smiling, "That my sweet, says 'Dyslexia'............................

My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she'd bring me in the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, sit on a public toilet seat." And she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.

By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd go home.
That was a long time ago. Even now in our more mature years, The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially full. When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely.

And you finally get closer. You check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a stall door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter.

You hang your purse on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume "The Stance." Relief. More relief. Then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold The Stance as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale. To take your mind off it, you reach for the toilet paper. The toilet paper dispenser is empty. Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on. It's in your purse. It will have to do. You crumble it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work and your purse whams you in the head.

"Occupied!" you scream as you reach out for the door, dropping your tissue in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat. You get up quickly, but it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because you never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had enough time. And your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew. Her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you could get." By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain. Then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China.

At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a Chicklet wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and say warmly, "Here. You might need this."

At this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used, exited his bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. "What took you so long?" he asks, annoyed. This is when you smile sweetly, kick him sharply in the shins and go home.

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet (which is pretty much all of you, isn't it?). And it should finally answer that age old question "what takes them so long?"