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"The trouble with quotes on the internet is that it's difficult to determine whether or not they are genuine.
~ Abraham Lincoln."
 

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A group of primary school infants, accompanied by two female teachers, went on a field trip to Cheltenham races to see and learn about thoroughbred horses.

When it was time to take the children to the toilet, it was decided that the girls would go with one teacher and the boys would go with the other.

The teacher assigned to the boys was waiting outside the men's toilet when one of the boys came out and told her that none of them could reach the urinal.

Having no choice, she went inside, helped the boys with their underpants, and began hoisting the boys up, one by one, holding their willies to direct the flow away from their clothes.

As she lifted one, she couldn't help but notice that he was unusually well endowed. Trying not to show that she was staring, the teacher said, 'You must be in year four.'

'No, love,' he replied. "I'm riding Silver Arrow in the 2.15"
 

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This guy sat next to me on the train, pulled out a photo of his wife and said “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

I said “If you think she’s beautiful – you should see my wife mate”

He said “Why? Is she a stunner”

I said “No – she’s an optician”
 

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VIRUS WARNING

If you get a link called 'free porn' dont opin it. It is a birus wich deactivates your spelchuck and fcuks up you riting. I also receibeld it but lukily I dont uatch porn so I dint opin it. Plaese warm yu frends, ****s
 

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Why are fish so easy to weigh? They have their own scales.

I’m so addicted to honey … I keep breaking into hives.

What do you call a drunk coffee? A-merry-cano.

What happens to a frog’s car when it breaks down? It gets toad away.

What did the big chimney say to the little chimney? ‘You’re too young to smoke.’
 

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Why are fish so easy to weigh? They have their own scales.

I’m so addicted to honey … I keep breaking into hives.

What do you call a drunk coffee? A-merry-cano.

What happens to a frog’s car when it breaks down? It gets toad away.

What did the big chimney say to the little chimney? ‘You’re too young to smoke.’

You been opening the Christmas Crackers early?
 

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Most of you know that I am an avid family historian and experienced genealogist.

But did you know that I have traced my family history back to my 32nd great grandfather who was killed at the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

It would be an understatement to say that he was unlucky because he wasn't involved in the actual fighting.....

HE WAS CAMPING IN THE NEXT FIELD AND ONLY WENT OVER TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE NOISE !!!
:)
:)
:)
 

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WINDY STORY (Part 1 of 3)
She was awakened by a horrible sound. She found herself sitting upright in bed, completely disoriented. Had it been a nightmare? Some unspeakably hideous thing had just happened and she struggled mentally to clear the panic from her head and piece together what it was. No, she thought, it wasn't a nightmare. She'd been soundly curled up, lost in a warm and comfortable dreamland when the ear splitting blast had forced her from that state. It had been next to her.

She looked down at him. He was lying prone, next to her on the bed. Her nostrils curled back in disgust as realization hit her. This had been one of his early-morning surprises. Lately, they were happening with increasing frequency. His eyes opened and he groggily looked up at her, an expression of blissful relief upon his face. He focused on her look of shocked repulsion and when he realised that he was the cause, shot her his trademark lunatic grin.

She was not amused.

He rolled over in a slow, almost comical fashion, that might remind one of a bear coming out of hibernation. "God-damn", he sighed, "That was one to remember!"

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever had the displeasure of having happen to me", she snarled as she moved for the opposite side of the bed. She tried to put as much distance between herself and the source of her disgust as possible, hoping to get away from him before the terrible stench that invariably followed one of his gaseous eruptions permeated her delicate nose.

Too late. Before she even had both feet on the floor, the smell hit her with full force. She choked back nausea and moved to the doorway. It did little to help. Last night before bed, he had wolfed down a triple-fried egg sandwich smothered in chilli sauce washed down with several beers. The post-digestive odor of such a culinary nightmare was not something mere mortals were likely to evade.

She glared at him from behind watering eyes. He was lying on his back, still grinning with pride and satisfaction. He had his fingers interlocked behind his head, elbows pointing out to either side, enjoying the warm feeling his flatulence always left him with. This wasn't just the inner-peace that came with a great accomplishment, this was actual tangible warmth. A glance at the windows proved it. The glass was completely fogged up from the sudden rise in temperature and humidity. "I think you need to see a doctor or something. This is the third morning this week that I've been rudely awakened by your gas!"

"Are you kidding?", he said, enjoying her reaction almost as much as the satisfying feat that had prompted it, "Nothing brings more pleasure into my day than starting it off with a nice, juicy blast of methane".

She wasn't willing to endure the befouled air of the bedroom a second longer. She headed for a nice shower, leaving him to wallow in the stink he had created.

DOES HE SURVIVE THE GAS ATTACK

WILL SHE SLEEP WITH HIM AGAIN

WILL A CORK HELP

FIND OUT TOMORROW​
 

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WINDY STORY (Part 1 of 3)
She was awakened by a horrible sound. She found herself sitting upright in bed, completely disoriented. Had it been a nightmare? Some unspeakably hideous thing had just happened and she struggled mentally to clear the panic from her head and piece together what it was. No, she thought, it wasn't a nightmare. She'd been soundly curled up, lost in a warm and comfortable dreamland when the ear splitting blast had forced her from that state. It had been next to her.

She looked down at him. He was lying prone, next to her on the bed. Her nostrils curled back in disgust as realization hit her. This had been one of his early-morning surprises. Lately, they were happening with increasing frequency. His eyes opened and he groggily looked up at her, an expression of blissful relief upon his face. He focused on her look of shocked repulsion and when he realised that he was the cause, shot her his trademark lunatic grin.

She was not amused.

He rolled over in a slow, almost comical fashion, that might remind one of a bear coming out of hibernation. "God-damn", he sighed, "That was one to remember!"

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever had the displeasure of having happen to me", she snarled as she moved for the opposite side of the bed. She tried to put as much distance between herself and the source of her disgust as possible, hoping to get away from him before the terrible stench that invariably followed one of his gaseous eruptions permeated her delicate nose.

Too late. Before she even had both feet on the floor, the smell hit her with full force. She choked back nausea and moved to the doorway. It did little to help. Last night before bed, he had wolfed down a triple-fried egg sandwich smothered in chilli sauce washed down with several beers. The post-digestive odor of such a culinary nightmare was not something mere mortals were likely to evade.

She glared at him from behind watering eyes. He was lying on his back, still grinning with pride and satisfaction. He had his fingers interlocked behind his head, elbows pointing out to either side, enjoying the warm feeling his flatulence always left him with. This wasn't just the inner-peace that came with a great accomplishment, this was actual tangible warmth. A glance at the windows proved it. The glass was completely fogged up from the sudden rise in temperature and humidity. "I think you need to see a doctor or something. This is the third morning this week that I've been rudely awakened by your gas!"

"Are you kidding?", he said, enjoying her reaction almost as much as the satisfying feat that had prompted it, "Nothing brings more pleasure into my day than starting it off with a nice, juicy blast of methane".

She wasn't willing to endure the befouled air of the bedroom a second longer. She headed for a nice shower, leaving him to wallow in the stink he had created.

DOES HE SURVIVE THE GAS ATTACK

WILL SHE SLEEP WITH HIM AGAIN

WILL A CORK HELP

FIND OUT TOMORROW​
WINDY STORY (Part 2 of 3)

At breakfast, things had calmed down. They quickly had their morning toast, exchanging only a few sentences before he left for work.

On the way out, he noted with no small amount of disappointment, that little olfactory evidence of this mornings air-pollution remained.

She stared him right in the eye and in a serious and unwavering tone one might ascribe to a prophet foretelling the end of the world, said, "I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days you're going to wake up and find that you have farted your guts right out."

The image of such an event kept him giggling all the way to work.

It did not, however, deter him from his regular evening drinking pleasures which fermented overnight and caused the routine morning release of intestinal-pressure. As weeks passed, scarcely a morning went by where she did not find herself being startled from slumber by flatulence of legendary proportions.

One moment, she'd be snuggled up against the warmth of her pillow, and the next, she'd be scrambling from the room in mortal fear of the vapor that erupted from his rectum with such force that it caused his buttock cheeks to flap and reverberate like the end of an overfilled balloon when it is let go of. His gas was a truly frightening thing that began as a low ominous gurgling deep within his gut and ended in a thunderclap that had the presence of a sousaphone player putting every ounce of effort he can muster into letting fly one long, drawn-out bass-note from his instrument.

The noisome aroma these daily blasts brought with them as they tainted the air, was a marriage of the pungent sting of sulfur one normally associates with swamp mud, and a very fecal scent of decay, not unlike raw sewage. It hung in the air like a physical entity and as she became more and more familiar with its presence at each daybreak, she would always remark, as if it gave her comfort to envision, "I swear to God, one of these mornings one of those farts is going to blow your guts clear out your ass into your pyjamas"

WILL HE GIVE UP THE BOOZE

WILL THEY GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THINGS

WILL A REBORE HELP HIM

ANOTHER THRILLING EPISODE IS ONLY 24 HOURS AWAY​
 
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