[via The New Yorker]
]]>Dear, please, go to the nearby grocery store to buy some bread. Also, if they have eggs, buy 6.
OK, hun.
Twenty minutes later the husband comes back bringing 6 loaves of bread.
His wife is flabbergasted:
Dear, why on earth did you buy 6 loaves of bread?
They had eggs.
]]>(A young girl of 18 or 19, clearly a first-time voter, skips the line and rushes up to my table.)
Me: “I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait. There’s a line.”
Voter: “I’m sorry, but it’s important! I need to get my ballot paper back. I voted for the wrong person!”
Me: “Alright, give me the spoiled one.”
Voter: “I can’t. I put it in the box.”
Me: “Then I’m afraid we can’t get it back. The boxes can’t be opened until the end of voting at ten o’clock.”
Voter: “But I didn’t know! I don’t want the Conservatives to get in so I voted for [Conservative candidate]. I should have voted for someone else!”
Me: “Um, why did you vote for the Conservative?”
(The girl turns scarlet and looks utterly miserable.)
Voter: “I thought it was like TV where you vote them off!”
]]>The couple sit and wait, and wait. Two months pass and the couple is still waiting. As they wait, they discuss that if they were allowed to get married in Heaven, what was the eternal aspect of it all. ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ they wondered. ‘Are we stuck together forever?’
After yet another month, St. Peter finally returns, looking somewhat bedraggled. ‘Yes,’ he informs the couple, ‘you can get married in Heaven.’
‘Great!’ says the couple, ‘But we were just wondering, what if things don’t work out? Can we also get a divorce in Heaven?’
St. Peter, red-faced with anger, slams his clipboard onto the ground.
‘What’s wrong?’ ask the frightened couple.
‘OH, COME ON!’ St. Peter shouts, ‘It took me three months to find a priest up here! Do you have any idea how long it’ll take me to find a lawyer?’
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[via The New Yorker]
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[via Dilbert]
]]>The first officer who accepted asked that he be measured from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He was measured at six feet and walked out with a bonus of $72,000.
The second officer who accepted was a little smarter and asked to be measured from the tip of his outstretched hands to his toes. He walked Out with $96,000.
The third one was a non-commissioned officer, a grizzly old Chief who, when asked where he would like to be measured replied, ‘From the tip of my weenie to my testicles.’
It was suggested by the pension man that he might want to reconsider,explaining about the nice big checks the previous two Officers had received. But the old Chief insisted and they decided to go along with him providing the measurement was taken by a Medical Officer.
The Medical Officer arrived and instructed the Chief to ‘drop ‘em,’ which he did. The medical officer placed the tape measure on the tip of the Chief’s weenie and began to work back. “Dear Lord!”, he suddenly exclaimed, ‘‘Where are your testicles?’’ The old Chief calmly replied, ‘’ Vietnam’‘.
]]>I get it, you have money to throw around willy-nilly. That doesn’t make the product any more necessary or important.
]]>He asks, “What was that for?”
She says, “I found a piece of paper in your pocket with ‘Betty Sue’ written on it.”
He says, “Jeez, honey, remember last week when I went to the track? ‘Betty Sue’ was the name of the horse I went there to bet on.” She shrugs and walks away. Three days later he’s reading his paper when she walks up behind him and smacks him on the back of the head again with the frying pan.
He asks, “What was that for?”
She answers, “Your horse called.”
]]>When he reached his hotel, he decided to send his wife a quick email. Unable to find the scrap of paper on which he had written her email address, he did his best to type it in from memory.
Unfortunately, he missed one letter and his note was directed instead to an elderly preacher’s wife, whose husband had passed away only the day before. When the grieving widow checked her email, she took one look at the monitor, let out a piercing scream and fell to the floor in a dead faint. At the sound, her family rushed into the room and saw this note on the screen:
DEAREST WIFE: JUST GOT CHECKED IN. EVERYTHING PREPARED FOR YOUR ARRIVAL TOMORROW.
P.S. SURE IS HOT DOWN HERE.
]]>The psychiatrist responds, “Tell him I can’t see him.”
]]>I spent a while trying to find my best fit. I believe I would be classified as Slavic. I have a distinct lack of hair on my stomach, long arms and trunk compared to legs, and a light beard compared to my hair. It’s not perfect; for instance, my eyes don’t match the generic light grey or blues, but it’s pretty fascinating to read through.
Don’t forget to check out the addendum.
]]>What is more interesting to me is that it is illegal to share even part of copywritten content. It makes sense that it is illegal to hand out full copies of a show or movie that you have no right to distribute. What doesn’t make sense is the illegality of sharing 5% or 1% of a file.
The line is not drawn ever because, really, how can you decide where the line should be drawn. Why would 10% be legal but 11% be a violation of copyright law.
It is, however, funny that by sharing a single byte I could be fined for violating copyright. How can you prove that was your byte? Further, what makes one show’s 0b11 different from another show’s 0b11?
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