February 28, 2011

It is important for men to remember . . .

Filed under: Gender Bashing, Personal — Bad Jim @ 1:35 pm

A special thanks to Skatehead Eileen, Dr Pammie, Pu55yhair Larry and Hatrack with T!ts, Fred in Norway, and Go-Kart Al for contributing to Emily’s Relay for Life cancer fundraiser.

There is still time to send Emily a donation if you’re so inclined. It’s easy. Click here:

An oldie but Goody from Montana Ave.

It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger. When you notice this, try not to yell at them. Some are oversensitive, and there*s nothing worse than an oversensitive woman.

My name is Jim. Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife, Betty. When I retired a few years ago, it became necessary for Betty to get a full-time job along with her part-time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed.

Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age. I usually get home from the golf club about the same time she gets home from work and although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner. I don’t yell at her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table. I generally have lunch in the Men’s Grill at the club so eating out twice is not reasonable. I’m ready for some home-cooked grub when I hit that door.

She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating. But now it’s not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won’t clean themselves. I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.

Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think. For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour. But, boys, we take ‘em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three days. That way she won’t have to rush so much.

I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn’t hurt her any (if you know what I mean). I like to think tact is one of my strong points.

When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the lawn. I try not to make a scene. I’m a fair man. I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.

I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support Betty. I’m not saying that showing this much consideration is easy.. Many men will find it difficult. Some will even find it impossible! Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older…

However, guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile. After all, we are put on this earth to help each other…

Jim died suddenly on May 27 of a perforated rectum. The police report says he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club jammed up his rear end, with barely 5 inches of grip showing and a sledge hammer laying nearby. His wife Betty was arrested and charged with murder. The all-woman jury took only 15 minutes to find her Not Guilty, accepting in her defense that Jim somehow, without looking, accidentally sat down on his golf club.

February 21, 2011

Eastern toilets

Filed under: Other Bad Jokes or Useless Crap — Bad Jim @ 2:29 pm

From Chriss in Dubai:
Eastern toilets aka squat toilets; a foreigner’s impression
Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities.
If you are truly in need and condemned to use the squat toilet, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are several thousand miles from friends and family. No one has to know.
Proceed as follows:
Most stalls do not have toilet paper. This is the best time to realize this. Either take paper from the general dispenser in the bathroom area or preferably bring your own as it will be made of tissue and not plywood carpaccio.
Approach the squat toilet apprehensively and make sure it’s not covered in stool. If it is covered in stool, choose another stall. If another stall is not available, accept the cards that have been dealt you. This is a good time to come up with a title for your experience such as My Great B.M. Adventure or Disgusticon One.
Close the door to the stall, knowing full well the handle has more germs on it than the entire population of Botswana.
Place your feet on the appropriate foot grids, assuming they are not covered in stool. If they are covered in stool, place your feet on the least fouled space you can find, being careful to maintain balance.
Unfasten and drop your trousers and underpants, making sure that they do not make contact with the urine and stool covered surface area.
Grimace and ask yourself if a country with such a toilet can or should ever be a superpower.
Assume a squatting position like a competitive ski jumper. Stick your ass out like a wh0re in a 50 Cent video. This is a good time to pretend you’re not a miserable tourist with your pants around your ankles, squatting over a barbaric poo hole.
Use your right hand to prevent the soiling of your trousers and underpants by holding them off the ground and pushing them forward, away from any Danger Zone. This is perhaps the best time ever to be a kilt*wearing Scotsman.
In your left hand should be the assortment of paper/wipes/anti*bacterial sheets you intend to use after you are finished with your production.
You would think you would want your left hand to brace your squatting self against the stall wall. However, the stall wall is covered in nose nuggets and as such is not touchable. At any rate, if you have a penis you will need your left hand for guidance anyway.
For the pen!sed: Use your left hand to aim it away from your trousers and underpants. Point it backwards between your legs - as if it were a rocket engine designed to propel you far away from this alien hellhole. At the same time be sure not to drop any of the objects in your left hand as they will be rendered horribly irretrievable should you do so.
If you do not have a pen!s, use the left arm to balance yourself - waving it around wildly rather than touching the snot covered stall wall or filthy support bars (if any).
If you are able to maintain balance for several seconds, you are ready to begin bowel evacuation. At this point the bulk of your focus should be towards the quick evacuation of your bowels without soiling your clothing, missing your mark or, God forbid, losing your balance and falling.
For aiming purposes keep your head tucked between your legs, like a bombardier on a very unpleasant mission assigned by General Squalor.
If your aim is true you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) drop down a deep, dark hole to a resounding ploot. If it’s not true, you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) come to rest on the floor between your legs.
After you have completed your bowel evacuation, DO NOT STAND UP. Remain squatting and miserable.
Continue using your right hand to prevent contact of your trousers/underpants with urine/stool. Place your tissues and wipes in your left hand on top of your underwear/trousers and select the items you need for wiping.
Wipe and curse culture simultaneously, all the while maintaining the squatting position.
Do not drop soiled tissues. That would be too easy. Sadly, the 16th century plumbing can only handle poo. Soiled tissues are to be placed in the bin behind you. Without leaving the squat position, twist your body in order to see the bin and make a good throw. Don’t worry if you miss, as it’s obvious from the poo*sheet pile on the floor that even the squat-tastic natives are no Michael Jordans.
Once sufficiently wiped, humiliated and traumatized, you may stand and re-underpant and re-trouser yourself. This is a good time to reflect on your life and also a good time to try blacking out these last ten minutes, like a freshly-sodomized felon might do.
The filth-covered flush button is behind you and may or may not work.
Open the door to the stall, again knowing the handle has more germs on it than a decade of scrapings from Paris Hilton’s tongue.
Exit the stall and never, ever, ever get yourself into a situation where you have to do that again. But first, wash your hands until they bleed.

February 13, 2011

It’s soooo cold . . .

Filed under: Clean, Ethnic/Regional Jokes — Bad Jim @ 12:58 am

Bad Jim,
It’s so cold in Houston, that I saw a group ah gangstas in the 3rd Ward with their pants pulled up!

Rigger Robert

February 12, 2011

Karma’s a bitch

Filed under: In the News — Bad Jim @ 4:31 pm

Supplied by Hugh Jass, Esq. in Houston:

California man killed by armed bird at cockfight Monday, February 7, 2011

(02-07) 15:09 PST Delano, Calif. (AP) - A Kern County man attending a cockfight died after being stabbed in the leg by a bird that had a knife attached to its own limb.

The coroner says 35-year-old Jose Luis Ochoa was declared dead at the hospital about two hours after he suffered the injury in neighboring Tulare County on Jan. 30.

An autopsy last week concluded that Ochoa died of an accidental “sharp force injury” to his right calf.

Cockfighting is a sport, illegal in the United States, in which specially bred roosters are put into a ring and encouraged to fight until one is incapacitated or killed.

February 10, 2011

Visit to the Pharmacy

Filed under: Bad Medicine — Bad Jim @ 11:52 pm

From new subscriber “Tony at Home”, though Bad Jim is not sure where home is. Maybe Montana?
A nice, calm and respectable lady went into the pharmacy, walked up to the pharmacist, looked straight into his eyes, and said, *I’d like to buy some cyanide.”
The pharmacist asked, “Why in the world do you need cyanide?”
The lady replied, “I need it to poison my husband.”
The pharmacist’s eyes got big and he explained, “I can’t give you cyanide to kill your husband, that’s against the law! I’ll lose my license! They’ll throw both of us in jail! All kinds of bad things will happen. Absolutely not!
You CANNOT have any cyanide!”
The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a picture of her husband in bed with the pharmacist’s wife.
The pharmacist looked at the picture and said, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a prescription!”

February 9, 2011

Kindly Biker

Filed under: Other Bad Jokes or Useless Crap — Bad Jim @ 2:08 pm

Greetings from Lobito, Angola. I finally have Internet at my house here. Slow as molasses. But Internet none the less!

Several folks sent me this one:

A tough looking biker was riding his Harley when he sees a girl about to jump off a bridge so he stops.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m going to commit a suicide,” she says.

While he did not want to appear insensitive, he didn’t want to miss an opportunity. He asked, “Well, before you jump,why don’t you give me a kiss?”

So, she does.

After she’s finished, the biker says, “Wow! That was the best kiss I have ever had. That’s a real talent you are wasting. You could be famous. Why are you committing suicide?”

“My parents don’t like me dressing up like a girl…..”