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A Colonel was about to start the morning briefing with his staff. While waiting for the coffee machine to finish its brewing, the colonel decided to pose a question to all assembled. He explained that his wife had been a bit frisky the night before and he failed to get his usual amount of sound sleep. He posed the question of just how much of sex was "work" and how much of it was "pleasure?" A Major chimed in with 25-75% in favor of work . A Captain said it was 50-50%. A lieutenant responded with 25-75% in favor of pleasure , depending upon his state of inebriation at the time. There being no consensus, the colonel turned to the Private who was in charge of making the coffee. What was HIS opinion? Without any hesitation, the young Private responded, "Sir, it has to be 100% pleasure." The colonel was surprised and, as you might guess, asked why. "Well, sir, if there was any work involved, the officers would have me doing it for them."

You have to be a Pearls Before Swine fan to get the joke within the joke.

It’s a variation on an old joke that predates A&C. Scroll to History: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Who's_on_First%3F

After stopping a mugger and protecting his girlfriend, a Marine reflected on his actions and decided the criminal deserved an apology. To the Guy Who Tried to Mug Me in Downtown Savannah night before last. Date: 2010-09-27, 1:43 am. E.S.T. I was the guy wearing the black Burberry jacket that you demanded that I hand over, shortly after you pulled the knife on me and my girlfriend, threatening our lives. You also asked for my girlfriend’s purse and earrings. I can only hope that you somehow come across this rather important message. First, I’d like to apologize for your embarrassment; I didn’t expect you to actually crap in your pants when I drew my pistol after you took my jacket.. The evening was not that cold, and I was wearing the jacket for a reason.. my girlfriend was happy that I just returned safely from my 2nd tour as a Combat Marine in Afghanistan .. She had just bought me that Kimber Custom Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol for my birthday, and we had picked up a shoulder holster for it that very evening. Obviously you agree that it is a very intimidating weapon when pointed at your head … isn’t it?! I know it probably wasn’t fun walking back to wherever you’d come from with crap in your pants. I’m sure it was even worse walking bare-footed since I made you leave your shoes, cell phone, and wallet with me. [That prevented you from calling or running to your buddies to come help mug us again]. After I called your mother or “Momma” as you had her listed in your cell, I explained the entire episode of what you’d done. Then I went and filled up my gas tank as well as those of four other people in the gas station, — on your credit card. The guy with the big motor home took 153 gallons and was extremely grateful! I gave your shoes to a homeless guy outside Vinnie Van Go Go’s, along with all the cash in your wallet. [That made his day!] I then threw your wallet into the big pink “pimp mobile” that was parked at the curb ….. after I broke the windshield and side window and keyed the entire driver’s side of the car. Earlier, I managed to get in two threatening phone calls to the DA’s office and one to the FBI, while mentioning President Obama as my possible target. The FBI guy seemed really intense and we had a nice long chat (I guess while he traced your number etc.). In a way, perhaps I should apologize for not killing you … but I feel this type of retribution is a far more appropriate punishment for your threatened crime. I wish you well as you try to sort through some of these rather immediate pressing issues, and can only hope that you have the opportunity to reflect upon, and perhaps reconsider, the career path you’ve chosen to pursue in life.. Remember, next time you might not be so lucky. Have a good day! Thoughtfully yours, Semper Fi

Murphy's' old lady had been pregnant for some time and the time had come. He brought her to the doctor and the doctor began to deliver the baby. She had a little boy, and the doctor looked over at Murphy and said. 'Hey, Murph! You just had you a son,! 'Ain't dat grand, !!' Murphy got excited by this, but just then the doctor spoke up and said, 'Hold on! We ain't finished yet, !' The doctor then delivered a little girl. He said, 'Hey, Murph! You got you a daughter, !!!! She is a pretty lil ting, too....' Murphy got kind of puzzled by this and then the doctor said, 'Hold on, we aint got done yet, !' The doctor then delivered another boy and said, 'Murph, you just had yourself another boy, !' Murphy said to the doctor, 'Doc, what caused all of dem babies,?' The doctor said, 'You never know Murph, it was probably something that happened during conception.' Murphy said, 'Ah yeah, during conception.' When Murph. and his wife went home with their three children, he sat down with his wife and said, 'Mama, you remember dat night that we ran out of Vaseline and we had to use dat dere 3-in-1 Oil.' She said, 'Yeah, I remember dat night...' Murph said, 'I'll tell you, .....it's a freaking' good ting we didn't use WD-40

But Abbott and Costello refined it to a masterpiece.

I found this interesting.

This could be bad…very bad

Funny, but a short take on Abbot and Costello routine from 1938 Who's on First?

Back in 1959, a cement truck crashed near Winganon, Oklahoma. By the time a tow truck arrived to haul it away, all of the cement had hardened inside the mixer, making it too problematic to move - so they just left it there. The locals have since repainted it to look like a NASA space capsule.

I mowed the lawn today, and after doing so I sat down and had a cold beer. The day was really quite beautiful, and the drink facilitated some deep thinking. My wife walked by and asked me what I was doing, and I said, "Nothing." The reason I said "nothing" instead of saying "just thinking" is because she then would have asked, "About what?" At that point I would have had to explain that men are deep thinkers about various topics, which would lead to other questions. Finally I pondered an age old question: Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts? Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts, but how could they know? Well, after another beer, and some more heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with an answer to that question. Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby, and even though I obviously couldn't really know, here is the reason for my conclusion: A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, "It might be nice to have another child." But you never hear a guy say, "You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts." I rest my case. Time for another beer. Then maybe a nap.

I distinctly remember Gretchen, our favorite server at our local, reminding me: Do you really think I let drunks make decisions?

THE HELL HE AIN'T! It was over before the Sheriff had time to duck back into his office and grab a rifle. Jackson Cooper and a stranger stood toe to toe. Linn saw the stranger earlier and judged him to be within half a hand of his own height. The stranger, standing close enough to Jackson Cooper to count the whiskers in the town marshal's beard, looked rather short compared to the tall, broad shouldered, giant of a Town Marshal. It didn't hurt any that Jackson Cooper had the man's revolver in his grip, raised a little the way a man will when he takes an abused toy from a toddler throwing a tantrum. Pale eyes swung up the street, then down the street: no one seemed to be backing this stranger's play, so Linn slouched his shoulder over against one of the posts that held up the overhang, shadowing him from the forenoon sun and allowing him a deceptively casual appearance. Linn watched as Jackson Cooper spoke quietly to the man -- Linn heard the man raise his voice precious few times, and only when dire and absolute need dictated -- the pair turned and crossed the street toward him. Linn leaned away from the post at their approach, stood relaxed, ready, eyes still busy: it's not that the Sheriff wasn't a trusting man, you understand, but he'd learned the hard way that if a man lets himself get distracted with the obvious, that the opportune will sneak up and bite him on the leg, and the Sheriff had been bit before. Jackson Cooper handed Linn the revolver -- it was a rust-brown, obviously worn, used-but-not-abused old Remington conversion -- they disappeared inside, Jackson Cooper ducking to get through the doorway. Linn didn't have to duck to get through the doorway. Matter of fact he could strut through that open door with his hat on his head and no trouble a'tall. Jackson Cooper, on the other hand, ducked out of habit, out of reflex: the doors on his own house were tall enough he didn't have to duck, which made his stout and motherly wife look all the shorter, but Linn reckoned a woman is welcome to look short in her own home. Linn waited a few minutes, then followed the pair inside, closed the door. Jackson Cooper had the lockup book out and was carefully, painstakingly writing in his slow, methodical hand, recording the prisoner's name, his offense, the date and time he was locked up: Linn set the time-browned Remington on the corner of the desk, waited. Jackson Cooper straightened, then he bent again and laid the thick-bodied pen back in the desk, tucked the folded wiping rag in beside it: it was good manners, he'd maintained, to wipe off another man's pen before he set it back, and the Sheriff had that particular pen made specially for his old and dear friend. Jackson Cooper was a tall man, he was a broad shouldered man, Jackson Cooper could likely pick up a freight wagon and walk off with it if he was so inclined: he was a thick-fingered man, and he'd grinned like a little boy on Christmas Day when the Sheriff gave him a half dozen, custom made, extra thick, pens. One of the pens lived in the Sheriff's top desk drawer for this very purpose, and Linn waited until Jackson Cooper closed the lid on the ink bottle and set it away: he left the jail book open so the ink could dry. Linn looked at the man with amusement, waited. Jackson Cooper frowned, considered: he turned, parked his broad backside on the edge of Linn's desk, reached up and scratched his thatch. "Linn," he rumbled, his voice sounding like it started a couple foot below the floor boards, "that feller reckoned you are God's gift to wimmen folks, and he was unhappy that his wife wanted you more'n him." Linn's eyes widened in honest surprise. Jackson Cooper raised a hand of surprising breadth. "Emma has talked about how good a dancer you are and she's told me you are a complete gentleman, and her eyes were just a-shinin' when you found that little boy with his leg all skint up and you cleaned out the dirt from his shin and talked to him and she said you looked like Saint Francis the Sissy." Jackson Cooper frowned, chewed on something nonexistent, shook his head. "I've heard of the man and he warn't no sissy." Linn nodded slowly. "Hell, Linn, I've heard wimmen sayin' f'r years how lucky Miz Esther is and how much of a catch you'd be was she to fall over dead." Jackson Cooper shook his head slowly, ponderous as a sleepy bear. "When attair fella" -- he thrust his chin toward the hallway that went back through the cells -- "when he allowed as his wife left him 'cause he warn't more like you, why, he allowed you was the cause and he's goin' t' kill you so's his wife'd have no cause to stay away!" Linn raised his eyebrow but made no reply. "I asked how he's goin' t' do that an' he pulled attair Remington, so I fetched it out of his grip and allowed as he warn't, so he's goin' t' talk t' the Judge come Courthouse Day." "You fetched it out of his grip," Linn said slowly, remembering just how fast Jackson Cooper's big hand had been. "Why Jackson Cooper," Linn drawled, eyes swinging back to the cell block hallway, "you snatched a drawn gun out of a man's hand?" He tipped a wink to his old friend, who grinned his understanding: "You are not that fast!" From the cell block came a distressed wail: "THE HELL HE AIN'T!"

More Funny Signs I just found my cremation urn

A doctor on TV said that in order to have inner peace in our lives this time of year, we should always finish things that we start. Since we all could use more calm in our lives, I looked around my house to find things I'd started & hadn't finished. I finished a bottle of Crown Royal, a bottle of Bim Beam, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of wum, tha mainder of Valiuminun scriptins, an a boxa choclutz. Yu has no idr how fablus I feel rite now. Sned this to all ur frenz who need inner piss. An telum u luvum.

Pretty sure this would give my wife a heart attack!

I think there's a tractor in this picture ....