They are all getting tired and happen across an old farm with a huge barn. Sneaking inside the barn, they see three old flour sacks. They all hide in separate sacks.

The police enter the barn and upon seeing the sacks, kick the first one containing the redhead. The redhead says “Woof!”.

“Nothing in here but a dog sarge” says the constable. “We’d better move on”.

They kick the sack containing the brunette. “Miaow!” she says.

“Nothing in here but a cat sarge. Better move on”.

They kick the sack containing the blonde and the blonde says “Potatoes!”
jokes

The blonde bet the redhead $50 that he wouldn’t jump, and the redhead replied, “I’ll take that bet!”

Anyway, sure enough, the man jumped The blonde gave the redhead $50.

The redhead said, “I can’t take this, you’re my friend.”

The blonde said, “No, a bet’s a bet.”

So the redhead said, “Listen, I have to admit, I saw this on TV on the five o’clock news, so I can’t take your money.”

The blonde says, “Well, so did I, but I never thought he’d jump again!”
jokes

What would happen if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not? The answer is clear: menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event. Men would brag about how long and how much.

Boys would mark the onset of menses, that longed-for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.

Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.

Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali’s Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields – “For Those Light Bachelor Days,” and Robert “Baretta” Blake Maxi-Pads.)

Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation (MENstruation) as proof that only men could serve in the army (you have to give blood to take blood), occupy political office (can women be aggressive without that steadfast cycle governed by the planet Mars?), be priests and ministers (how could a woman give her blood for our sins), or rabbis (without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean).

Male radicals, left-wing politicians, and mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different; and that any woman could enter their ranks if only she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month (you MUST give blood for the revolution), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her selfness to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment.

Street guys would brag (I’m a three-pad man) or answer praise from a buddy (Man, you are lookin’ good) by high-fiving and saying, “Yeah, man, I’m on the rag!” TV shows would treat the subject at length. (Happy Days: Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still “The Fonz,” though he has missed two periods in a row.) So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in “Blood Brothers!”)

Men would try to convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at “that time of the month.” Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself —-though probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.

Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets — and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefied fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?

Liberal males in every field would be kind to women: the fact that “these people” have no gift for measuring life or connecting the universe, the liberals would explain, that should be punishment enough.

“Okay, how many of you have seen a ghost?” About 30% of the class puts their hand up.

“Okay, how many of you have actually touched a ghost?” About 10% of the class puts their hand up.

“Okay, how many of you have had sex with a ghost?” Dead silence, until a little redneck boy in the back row puts up his hand.

“You’ve actually had sex with a ghost?”

“Ghost? Oh. I thought you said goat!”

The bartender walked over them looked at the first duck and said, ”How was your day?”

”Not too bad, since I was in and out of puddles all day,” replied the duck.

”What is your name?” the bartender asked.

”Hewy, and I’ll have a beer.”

The bartender asks the next duck the same question and gets the same answer, that his day was pretty good because he was in and out of puddles all day, and his name was Dewy.

The bartender looks at the third duck and says, ”Let me guess your name is Lewy” The duck looked up at him with a tired look on his face and said, ”My name is puddles, and don’t ask me how my bloody day was!

9. Outgoing faxes have tobacco stains on them.

8. The six front keys have rotted out.

7. The extra RAM slots have truck parts installed in them.

6. The numeric keypad only goes up to six.

5. The password is “Huntin”.

4. The CPU has a gun rack mount.

3. There is a Skoal can in the CD-ROM drive.

2. The keyboard is camouflaged.

1. The mouse is referred to as a “critter”.