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       Posted by STRETCH1 Posted on September 1, 2008 View Comments 0      
Blonde Mortician.........
A man who just died is  delivered to a local mortuary
              wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black  suit.
              The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how
              She would  like the body dressed. She points out that the
              man does look good in the  black suit he is already wearing.

              The widow, however, says that she  always thought her
              husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him  in
              a blue suit. She gives the blonde mortician a blank check
              and says, 'I  don't care what it costs, but please have my
              husband in a blue suit for the  viewing.'

              The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her
              delight,  she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue
              suit with a subtle chalk  stripe; the suit fits him
              perfectly.

              She says to the mortician,  'Whatever this cost, I'm very
              satisfied. You did an excellent job and I' m  very grateful.
              How much did you spend?' To her astonishment, the
              blonde  mortician presents her with the blank check.

              'There's no charge,' she  says.
             'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of  that
              exquisite blue suit!' she says.

              'Honestly, ma'am,' the blonde  says, 'it cost nothing. You
              see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's  size was
              brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was
              wearing  an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she
              minded him going to his  grave wearing a black suit instead,
              and she said it made no difference as  long as he looked
              nice.'

              'So I just switched the heads.'

       Posted by STRETCH1 Posted on September 1, 2008 View Comments 0      
THE HORTH WHITHPERER
A guy calls his buddy, the horse rancher, and says he's sending a friend over to look at a horse.



His buddy asks, 'How will I recognize him?'


'That's easy; he's a midget with a speech impediment.'


So, the midget shows up, and the guy asks him if he's looking for a male or female horse.
 
'A female horth.'


So he shows him a prized filly.
 
'Nith lookin horth. Can I thee her eyeth'?
 
So the guy picks up the midget and he gives the horse's eyes the once over.
 
'Nith eyeth, can I thee her earzth'?


So he picks the little fella up again, and shows him the horse's ears.
 
'Nith earzth, can I see her mouf'?
 
The rancher is getting pretty ticked off by this point, but he picks him up again and shows him the horse's mouth.
 
'Nice mouf, can I see her twat'?
 
Totally mad as fire at this point, the rancher grabs him under his arms and rams the midget's head as far as he can up the horse's fanny, pulls him out and slams him on the ground. 
 
The midget gets up, sputtering and coughing.

 

'Perhapth I should rephrase that..  Can I thee her wun awound a widdlebit'?