Stolen from ejokes. It had to be done

Erection
Frank can't obtain an erection so he goes to the doctor. The doctor tells him the muscles at the base of his penis are broken down and there's nothing he can do unless he's willing to try an experimental surgery.
Frank asks what the surgery is and the doctor tells him they take the muscles from the base of a baby elephant's trunk, insert them in the base of his penis, and hope for the best. Frank says that sounds pretty scary but the thought of never having sex again is even scarier, so he says ok.
The doctor goes ahead and performs the surgery and about 6 weeks later the gives frank the go ahead to "try out his new equipment". Frank takes his wife out to dinner. While at dinner Frank starts feeling incredible pressure in his pants.
It gets unbearable and he figures no one can see him so he undoes his pants. No sooner does he do this his penis pops out of his pants, rolls across the table, grabs a dinner roll, and disappears back into his pants.
His wife sits in shock for a few moments, and then gets a sly look on her face. She says, "That was pretty cool! Can you do that again?" With his eyes watering and a painful look on his face, Frank says, "Probably, but I don't know if I can fit another dinner roll up my ass."

Happy valentine's day

God is love.
He who lives in love
Lives in God
And God in him

______

That's all the religion I need.

Found in the Translation

Today I had my first session with a new student. He is a Greek
orthodox priest who is translating a Hebrew text into Greek.
However all the notes he has about grammatical forms and
Possible alternate translations are in English and ancient Greek.
A far cry from teaching school children ABC but very interesting,
honestly.

Anyway, to cut a long story short we decided to take it easy for a
while by translating the beginning of the Kabbalah from English into Greek (a piece of cake in comparison).

Here comes the interesting part, for those interested in such things.
AH HEM… (drum roll, followed by eerie but expectant silence).

The first few paragraphs of the MANIFESTATION,
which is the Kabbalistic creation myth reads like some ancient dude’s
description of the big bang. So there you go science and religion are
actually in total agreement about how the universe came into existence.

Embarrassed in the Outback

Ayers Rock. Australia

Some years ago I spent several months traveling round Australia.
One of the places I visited was Alice Springs and whilst there it seemed like a good Idea to go on a trip to Ayers Rock, which now has an unpronounceable Aborigine name that I can’t
Remember. I traveled there on a coach with a whole bunch of other intrepid tourists. Ayers Rock is a lot further away from Alice Springs than it looks on the map and some bright spark
of a tour operator thought it would be a good plan to visit a
camel farm along the way.

It was after this spit stop that things started to go downhill as several of the aforementioned intrepids took up the offer of a free camel ride. Camels STINK. The rest of the coach ride was
an epic endurance test. All the camel riders sat there steaming camel stench and the rest of us were turning green, though not with envy.
It was a blessed relief to reach our destination and stagger off the coach into the blazing heat of the Australian desert. We were greeted by park rangers who blithely informed us that we were the first visitors to arrive since the reopening of the rock.

View from the top of Ayers Rock

It had been closed while they cleaned up after a previous visitor had fallen off and died. The day was just getting better by the minute.
After receiving advice about carrying plenty of water and not trying this at home etc we were led to “the chicken run”. This was a fairly steep area at the foot of the rock which you have to climb unaided in order to be allowed to continue the assent to the top. Most of the path has posts and chain ropes to help people along the way. After negotiating this initial hurdle we continued upwards, each one at their own pace, I dawdled a little not wanting to feel like I was in a train station at rush hour and most of my camelly companions were soon out of sight.
I had been climbing for about twenty minutes when I came across a forlorn figure sitting on the slope sobbing. It was a young woman who, upon my enquiring into her welfare, told me the sad tale of how she and her boyfriend had saved up for over a year for a dream holiday backpacking in OZ. This weasel of a man had chosen, half way up Ayers Rock, to tell his girlfriend that he wanted them to split up after the trip was over.
Having just reached the end of a fairly serious relationship myself I had nothing but sympathy for her so having persuaded her to continue the climb I kept her company for the rest of the way. There is a book on a pedestal on the top of Ayers Rock where anyone who gets there can write a comment and sign to record the event for posterity. Somewhere in that book along with all the profound comments about the majestic beauty of nature and poetic prose inspired by the climbers own sense of achievement there are two comments about what bastards men are, and I’ve not even got to the most embarrassing part yet.

That's me posing by the pedestal.

Forlorn and Weasel set off together on the descent while I took a few photos. I then realized that if I wasn’t quick the bus would be held up by my tardiness therefore I set off somewhat hurriedly on the downward part of my trek. As it turned out this was a lot quicker than I had anticipated because I slipped and fell backwards landing on my bottom then sliding for at least a hundred yards down the path before having my progress rudely interrupted by a protruding tree branch.
Feeling shaken but relatively unhurt I continued more carefully holding on to the chain for reassurance. I had almost reached the coach when I realized that the friction of my unorthodox descent had ripped the back out of not only my leggings but also my underwear. There I stood with my backside outside in the outback. And the worst was yet to come.
I climbed the steps onto the coach wondering how I could possibly reach my seat, which was near the back, without exposing my derriere to the world in general. It was impossible.
Having considered several courses of action I did what seemed, at the time, to be the most sensible thing. I faced my fellow travellers and apologized politely for delaying their departure, and then I turned around and mooned at them. Among the subsequent shouts and cheers I’m sure I detected the flashes and clicks of several cameras going off among the applause.
If anyone out there, in possession of an old photo of a stranger's bare bottom, ever stops to wonder if that was the most embarrassing moment of my life then I’m afraid to have to tell you that it wasn’t. But that’s another story.

Animals in Athens.

We have been adopted by a kitten. He just walked into our kitchen through the open door, jumped up onto a chair and went to sleep. Once the children saw him it was a done deal. They have given him an unpronounceable Greek name that I can’t spell or even, when it comes right down to it, remember. I call him Cat because that is what he is and it suffices to differentiate him from the other members of our animal collection. We have a fish called Fish, and a squirrel called Squirrel as well as a tortoise called, strangely enough, Tortoise.
Whenever my children are allowed out of the house under their Grandfather’s supervision they come back with something that we really could have done without, however I am thankful for small mercies. For example the snakes, spiders and frogs that my youngest daughter has collected are all made of plastic. There is only one plastic creature in the house whose presence I object to, the green dinosaur which hangs from the light fitting in my living room clashes terribly with my burgundy, chesterfield, three piece suite. The only thing I object to more than this intoxicating pterodactyl is sharing my food with uninvited guests. My youngest daughter is not past running in from the garden and putting a snail in the salad, because they like lettuce.
I know very little about genetics but this fascination with all manner of creeping things can only have come from my sister Pauline who lives in a different country and sees her nieces, on average, once a year for a fortnight. Can anyone explain how this happened?

No sleep, No smokes.

SUNDAY MORNIN’ BLUES

I woke up this mornin’
It was only 5 am.
But try as I might
I couldn’t get to sleep again
I’ve got those early Sunday mornin’
Ain’t getting’ no lie in blues

I staggered out of bed
With a cravin’ for nicotine
But my cigarettes and lighter
Were nowhere to be seen
I’ve got those early Sunday mornin’
No smokin’ in the kitchen blues.

I went to the bathroom
Just to wash my face
Now I can’t find a towel
And I’m drippin’ all over the place
I’ve got those early Sunday mornin’
No towels in the bathroom blues

MY brother has been bitchin’
That I need a middle eight
To break things up a bit
He gave it to me straight
Damned if I know what he’s talkin’ about
I’m not Andrew Lloyd Webber
So I’ll leave writin’ better songs
To folks who are really clever

I’ve got those early Sunday Mornin’
I’m a blogger not a boffin blues.

Vincent DÓnofrio, Better Than Valium

Lost In Unreality

I look at the TV screen.
And I’m lost in the dream.
I escape from reality.
To a place that can never be.
The modern day madness
The new ‘’opium of the masses”.
If you hate your situation
It’s the perfect medication
There’s no need to shout and scream
When you’re lost in the TV dream.

.................................................................................................................

I was wondering what I could add to this poem to make a post.
A visit to Youtube soon solved the problem. So I would like to
say thankyou to everyone who has used their time and talent
to create clips featuring Vincent D'Onofrio, who happens to be
my favourite actor.

Here are a couple of links to youtube's VDO fans.

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=ElizaJane

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=jane1975