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Sir Loin Salami, the chief executive of Sir Loin Pork Sausages Incorporated, calls his clerk, Muffin Snuffler, into the office. "Let us get straight to the point, Snuffler," snaps Sir Loin. "Your work has been lousy lately. You are late every day and your accounting errors are ridiculous. You have been working for me for fifteen years, Snuffler, but recently you don't seem to know a pork sausage from a bunch of bananas!"

"Well, sir," replies Muffin, "I have tried not to let it affect my work, but things have been going very badly for me at home."
"Oh! I am sorry to hear that, Snuffler," apologizes Sir Loin. "I hope I am not interfering, but if you tell me what is on your mind, perhaps I can help?"

"That's very kind of you, sir," sniffles Muffin. "You see, I have been married for two years, and about six weeks ago my wife started to nag me constantly. You know: Nag! Nag! Nag! I just don't know what to do. She is driving me nuts!"

"Ah!" cries Sir Loin. "I am sure that I can help you. You see, Snuffler, women need to feel that they are wanted. You have probably been neglecting her needs. For example, when I get home from work, I embrace my wife, kiss her passionately, remove her clothing piece by piece and carry her upstairs to bed."

"That sounds great!" cries Muffin.
"It is, Snuffler," replies Sir Loin. "Why don't you give it a try? Take the afternoon off; she won't be expecting you, and the element of surprise will make it even better!"

"That is really kind of you, sir," says Muffin. "What is your address?"
Kowalski goes into a crowded bar for a few drinks after work. A couple of hours later, he feels the need to take a shit, so he asks the bartender for directions to the toilet.

"It's upstairs," replies the barman, "down the hall, turn left, and second door on the right."

Kowalski, who is pretty well plastered by now, blinks at the bartender, and sets off in search of the toilet.

He manages to get up the stairs all right, but gets confused from there onwards. Finally, completely lost and desperate to relieve himself, he pulls up a loose board from the floor and makes his deposit. But what Kowalski does not know is that this floorboard is right in the middle of the ceiling of the bar below.

When he gets back downstairs, he finds that the bar is completely deserted. The place smells awful. Kowalski goes over to the bartender, sits down at the bar and orders another drink.

"Where did everybody go?" asks Kowalski, drunkenly.

"My God!" replies the bartender. "Where were you when the shit hit the fan?"
Mrs. Applebottom becomes angry with the French maid and after a series of stinging remarks about her abilities, she dismisses her. But the French girl will not allow such abuse to go unanswered. "Your husband," she cries, "considers me a better cook and housekeeper than you, madam! He told me so himself."

Mrs. Applebottom looks at the girl scornfully and makes no comment.
"Also," says the angry girl, "I am better than you in bed!"

"And I suppose," snaps Mrs. Applebottom, "my husband told you that too!"
"No madam," says the maid, "the chauffeur told me that."
Little Ernie took his paper up to the teacher for marking and as she bent over the desk, he looked down the front of her blouse and said, "Teacher, I see something."

The teacher was extremely embarrassed and said, "Ernie, that is very rude. Tomorrow, don't come to school." The next week Ernie was sitting in the front row when the teacher was writing on the blackboard. She dropped her chalk and, with her back to Ernie, bent down to pick it up.

Ernie got up and without a word headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked the teacher sternly.
"Teacher," said Ernie, "my school days are over."
At a special dinner and dance at the Shalom Retirement Home in Miami, Rubin, aged eighty-two and Florrie, aged seventy-six, meet and fall in love. They discuss their situation and decide that they can live better on two social security checks, so they get married.

On their wedding night, they go to bed and consummate their marriage in three hours of energetic lovemaking. As Florrie lays back in bed afterwards, she notices that Rubin is not moving. On closer inspection, she realizes that he is dead.

At the funeral, Florrie is standing with her friend, Ruthie, who has come along to comfort her.

"I am so sorry," says Ruthie. "What happened?"
"Nothing much," sniffs Florrie, "he came and he went."
There is a Saturday night shoot-out in the O.K. Saloon, and the air is thick with lead bullets. Suddenly, the doors swing open, and in walks a man who strides straight across the room and up to the bar. Immediately, all the shooting stops.

The barman pops his head up from behind the counter. "Friend," he says, "that took real courage to walk through those blazing guns without even looking left or right!"

"Not at all," replies the man, looking around, casually. "You see, I owe money to everyone here!"
Olga Kowalski comes bouncing enthusiastically downstairs in her new Kung Fu outfit.

Kowalski takes one look at her, and puts his hand over his face.
"Good God, Olga!" groans Kowalski. "Now what are you doing?"
"I'm taking Kung Fu lessons," says Olga, proudly -- and she playfully slices the air with her hand, giving Kowalski a punch on the neck.

"It is just in case," explains Olga, "some sex-fiend tries to rape me on some dark night."
"Why bother?" remarks Kowalski, slurping his beer. "It will never get that dark!"
A new young priest, Father Fever, has just arrived at the "Holy Saints of Sack-cloth" monastery. After a couple of weeks he is feeling so disturbed by sexual fantasies that he goes to see the father superior, old Father Fornicate, aged ninety-five.

"Ah, Father," cries Fever, "I am deeply troubled by impure thoughts, and sexual temptations come crowding into my mind -- things like doggie-style and sixty-nine, French ticklers and satin panties with pictures of Jesus on them! The more I try to resist them, the more they crowd into my mind."

"Hmm," says Father Fornicate, adjusting his robe. "So what would you like to know?"

"Well," replies Father Fever, perspiring, "you are ninety-five years old and one of the most ancient relics of the church -- tell me, how old do you have to be before you are released from the lusts of the flesh?"

"Hmm," says Father Fornicate, eyeing the young priest. "It takes many years of self-torture and holy prayer before your mind is cleaned of all such wickedness."

"Really?" asks the young priest. "How many years?"
"Well," replies old Fornicate with a sigh, "I can tell you that it is more than ninety-five!"
Chester Cheese, the golf-crazed golfer, is preparing one Sunday morning to go golfing at the local golf course.

"Golf! Golf! Golf!" nags Betty Cheese, his wife, standing with her hands on her hips and curlers in her hair. "That's all you ever think about. If you ever spent a week-end with me I think I would drop dead!"

"Look," replies Chester, putting on his golf hat. "There is no point in trying to bribe me!"

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