www.ditl.org

that's good...I'll have to go dig for my "the fight was on" jokes.

Bravo, Mark. Bravo.

Daily Routines

Woman:
Attempt to wake husband. Feed baby. Make breakfast. Change baby. Wake kids. Dress kids. Walk dog. Feed baby. Drive kids to school. Drag husband out of bed. Do laundry. Iron clothes. Clean house. Make husband lunch. Feed and change baby. Clean house again. Walk dog again. Pick up kids. Pick up school stuff. Clean up dog's mess. Make dinner. Call repair man, plumber, electrician, and exterminator. Swat flies. Yell at kids. Put kids to bed. Change baby. Go to Wal-Mart to stand on line for three hours to get one bag of chips for husband. Clean house again. Go to bed. Get up. Comfort baby. Let dog out. Change baby. Let dog in. Get 10 minutes of sleep.
Man:
Sleep. Go to work. Sleep. Drink coffee. Have wife pick up. Watch football and drink beer. Fall asleep. Go to bathroom. Lift one heavy object for begging wife. Go to bed. Yell at wife to feed baby.

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Remember the book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"? Well,
here's a prime example offered by an English professor at Southern
Methodist University:

In-class Assignment for Wednesday:

Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The
process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting
to his other immediate right. One of you will then write the first
paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph
and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will
then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to
re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story
coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been
reached. The following was actually turned in by two of my English
students, Rebecca [last name deleted] and Gary [last name deleted.] "

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The
chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home,
now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times,
that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs,
keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if
she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So
chamomile was out of the question.

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron
now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about
than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with
whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to
Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar
orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he
could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and
blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct
hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt
one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who
had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its
pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.
"Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,"
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously
excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her
youth -- when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree with no
newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of
innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one
lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Au'udrian mothership launched
the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy
peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty
through Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile
alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within
two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on
course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire
planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their
diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere
unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine
headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the
inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million
other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference
table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's
blow'em out of the sky!"

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My
writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at
writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

A**hole.

B****.

I hope they got an A

So do I.

ditto

both myself and the people in class around me are hoping that A get's through as well!

Not so much a joke as a cricketing anecdote:

Merv Hughes bowling to Viv Richards at Trent Bridge (I think).

First ball of the over, Hughes came in, bowled, beat the bat, and called to Viv: "It's red and it's round, can't you see it?"

Second ball, he came in again, beat the bat again, and called: "It's red and it's round and it weighs about five and a half ounces, can't you see it?"

Third ball was on a length, and got the King Viv treatment - blasted right out of the ground and into the river. Viv turned to Hughes and said: "You know what it looks like, now go and get it!"

I guess you have to understand crickett to get that one

I thought it was pretty funny.

Since when did anyone need to understand cricket to get the point of some one taking the piss, having the next ball he bowled smashed out of the ground, and then being told to go and get it?

Yeah, all I know about cricket is that you may need to pack an overnight bag, but I got the joke.

There once was a gaucho named Bruno,
Who said, "There is one thing I do know.
A woman is fine,
And a sheep is divine,
But a llama is número uno."

A wino bum staggers into a church, slowly heading for the confessional, stumbling along the way and reeking of cheap wine. The priest sees him come in and thinks to himself, Oh, no, I'm gonna have to hear this guy's confession. So the priest heads for his side of the confessional, gets in and waits for about 10 minutes before the wino finally makes his way to the other side. The priest slides the little door back and waits for the wino to begin confession. Finally after about 5 minutes, the priest asks, "My son, is there anything you'd like to tell me?" "Yeah," the wino slurs out,"...uh, you goth ahny toilet paper on yer shide?"