man was walking down the street when he was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless man who asked him for a couple of dollars for dinner.

The man took out his wallet, extracted ten dollars and asked, "

If I give you this money, will you buy some beer with it instead?"

"No, I had to stop drinking years ago," the homeless man replied.

"Will you use it to gamble instead of buying food?" the man asked.

"No, I don't gamble," the homeless man said. "I need everything

I can get just to stay alive."

"Will you spend this on greens fees at a golf course instead of food?" the man asked.

"Are you NUTS!" replied the homeless man. "I haven't played golf in 20 years!"

"Will you spend the money on a woman in the red light district instead of food?" the man asked.

"What disease would I get for ten lousy bucks?" exclaimed the homeless man.

"Well," said the man, "I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you home for a terrific dinner cooked by my wife."

The homeless man was astounded. "Won't your wife be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting."

The man replied, "That's okay. I just want her to see what a man looks like who has given up beer, gambling, golf, and sex."

 

Its all in the font

 

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it
out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on
someone
you don't know.

It all started one day when I was sitting at my desk and remembered a
phone
call I had forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it.

A man answered, saying, "Hello."

I politely said, "This is Chris. May I please speak with Robin Carter?"

Suddenly, the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that
anyone
could be so rude.

I tracked down Robin's correct number and called her. I had transposed
the
last two digits of her phone number. After hanging up with her, I decided
to
call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled, "You're an asshole!" and
hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'ass hole' next to it, and put it in
my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a
really
bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!"

It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic 'asshole'
calling
would have to stop.

So, I called his number and said: "Hi, this is John Smith from the
Telephone Company. I'm just calling to see if you're interested in the
Caller ID
program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed the phone down.

I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!"

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had
patiently
waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I had been waiting for the
spot.
The idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his car window, so
I
wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his
number on speed dial), I thought I had better call the BMW asshole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"

"Yes, it is."

"Can you tell me where I can see it?"

"Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It's a yellow house, and the car's
parked right out in front."

"What's your name?"

"My name is Don Burgemeyer," he said.

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home every evening after five."

"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"Don, you're an asshole."

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. But after several
months of calling them, it wasn't as enjoyable as it used to be. So, I
came up
with an idea.

I called Asshole #1.

"Hello."

"You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Stop calling me," he screamed.

"Make me," I screamed back.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Don Burgemeyer."

"Yeah? Where do you live?"

"I live at 1802 West 34th Street, ASSHOLE! It's a yellow house, with my
black beemer parked in front."

He said, "I'm coming over there right now, Don. And you had better start
saying your prayers."

I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole."

Then I called Asshole #2.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hello, asshole," I said...again, without hanging up.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are!"

"Yeah, you'll what?" I said.

"I'll kick your ass," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right
now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at
1802 West 34th Street, and that I was on my way home to kill my gay lover.

Then I called Channel 9 News to let them know about the war going down on
West 34th Street. I quickly got into my car and headed over to 34th
street.

There I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of
six
squad cars, a police helicopter, and a news crew.

NOW, I feel better.

Anger management really works!!!

 

i love that one

 

> your inner child playing with matches.

>

> Don 't let aging get you down. It's too hard to get back up.

>

> Remember: You don't stop laughing because you grow

> old, You grow old because you stop laughing.

>

> THE SENILITY PRAYER

> Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked

> anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do,

> and the eyesight to tell the difference.

>

> Now, I think you're supposed to send this to 5 or 6, maybe

> 10 people. Oh heck, just send it to a bunch of your friends

>