is this Freds one-a-day ?

Err,don't look like it

not now it dont

To My Dear Wife,

You will surely understand that I have certain needs that you, being 54 years old, can no longer satisfy. I am very happy with you and I value you as a good wife. Therefore, after reading this letter, I hope that you will not wrongly interpret the fact that I will be spending the evening with my 18 year-old secretary at the Comfort Inn Hotel. Please don't be upset - I shall be home before midnight... When the man came home late that night, he found the following letter on the dining room table:

"My Dear Husband,

I received your letter and thank you for your honesty about my being 54 years old. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you are also 54 years old. As you know, I am a maths teacher at our local college. I would like to inform you that while you read this, I will be at the Hotel Fiesta with Michael, one of my students, who is also the assistant tennis coach. He is young, virile, and like your secretary, is 18 years old. As a successful businessman who has an excellent knowledge of maths, you will understand that we are in the same situation, although with one small difference - 18 goes into 54 a lot more times than 54 goes in to 18. Therefore, I will not be home until sometime tomorrow."

ha ha ha ....love it !

When will it fall this year??? see below.....



Ah, Tit Monday. It's not that far off now, that glorious day when,
heading into work on the bus, or walking to the Tube, or sitting on the
train, you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months.
You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild
involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout
the morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.

And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At
last, Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy.
For Tit Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time,
the temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls
getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin.

After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the world's birds suddenly
dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this
season's
stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban landscape is
suddenly lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark
months of burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.

Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small breasts
braless in vest tops, the nipples frotted by ribby fabrics. Breasts in
summer dresses bouncing in the distance so that they catch your eye
before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging
out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering to cross the road...

And you know it is nearly summer. For previous generations, the arrival
of spring was heralded by the sound of the first cuckoo. For us, it is
Tit Monday.

Not that it always falls on a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a
moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 29 April, to be
precise, when temperatures maxed out at 22.1C after nothing much above
16C all year.
It last
fell on a Monday in 2004, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 24 April.

And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in early
summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit
Friday
2005
dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not prepared.
Slightly
stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the summer clothes but forget
to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make again until next year),
so that when they're all standing outside All Bar One after work
celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples have no
protection from the cold. It's like a Bring-and-Buy sale where everyone
has brought hat pegs. It's like a prog-rock gig where, instead of
lighters, everyone is holding up nipples.

So when will Tit Monday fall this year? Will you be the first to text
your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt too early.
There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and see a
couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare Tit Monday. But
your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep
your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of their bra straps


As the poet said: one bold Northern ruffe slapper in a bikini doth not a
summer make

The International Council of Man Laws.
1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.
2: It is OK for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:
(a) When a heroic dog dies to save its master.
(b) The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her Blouse.
(c) After wrecking your boss's car.
(d) When she is using her teeth.
3: Any man who brings a camera to a stag night may be legally killed and eaten by his friends.
4: If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.
5: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a mate's fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.
6: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your mate's birthday is strictly optional. At that point, you must celebrate at a strip bar of the birthday boy's choice.
7: In the mini-bus, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.
8: When stumbling upon other blokes watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.
9: You may f@rt in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment (commonly known as a Dutch oven), she's officially your girlfriend.
10: It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach ... and it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.
11: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.
12: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked.
13: Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.
14: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.
15: Women who claim they 'love to watch sports' must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers.
16: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.
17: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.
21: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have s_x with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.
22: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly 'just a friend' have carnal, drunken monkey s_x. The fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.
23: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.
24: Thou shall not buy a car in the colours of brown, pink, lime, green, yellow, orange or sky blue.
25: The girl who replies to the question 'What do you want for Christmas?' with 'If you loved me, you'd know what I want!' gets an Xbox 360 End of story.
26: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.
27. Never ever wear a man bag to work.
cont

28 : We've all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition of each is listed below:
· 'GUTS' is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to say, 'are you still cleaning or are you flying somewhere?'
· 'BALLS' is coming home late after a night out with the guys smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife square on the ass and having the balls to say, 'You're next fatty!'
I hope this clears up any confusion,

I love Tit Monday Fred! In fact I posted it a couple of years ago - the trouble was that a certain moderator deleted it (rather unfairly IMHO!!)

  A Jewish woman was having lunch with her mother when she said to her:


'I'm divorcing Ralph mum, all he ever wants is anal sex and my bum hole is the size of a 50 pence piece when it used to be the size of a 5 pence piece'


Her mother says:


'You're married to a multi-millionaire businessman, you live in an

eight-bedroomed mansion, you drive a Ferrari, you get a £1,000 a week allowance, you take 6 Carribean holidays a year and you go skiing to the Swiss Alps for 3 weeks at Christmas................ and you want to throw all that away for the sake of 45 pence

hahahahahahahahaha, is thius Freds one a day

While on his morning walk, Prime Minister Gordon Brown falls over, has a heart attack and dies because the accident and emergency department at his nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time.
So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.
'Welcome to Heaven,' says Saint Peter, 'Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Socialist around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you.'
'No problem, just let me in; I'm a good Christian; I'm a believer' says the PM.
'I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from God Himself. He says that since the implementation of his new HEAVEN CHOICES policy, you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity.'
'But I've already made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven,' replies Brown.
'I'm sorry .. But we have our rules,' Peter interjects. And, with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down...all the way to Hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course.
The sun is shining in a cloudless sky. The temperature is a perfect 22C degrees. In the distance is a beautiful club-house. Standing in front of it is Harold Wilson and thousands of other Socialist luminaries who had helped him out over the years --- John Smith, Michael Foot, Jim Callaghan, etc. The whole of the Labour Party leaders were there ..Everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed.
They run to greet him, to hug him and to reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants.'
They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
The Devil himself comes up to Brown with a frosty drink, 'Have a tequila and relax, Gord!'
'Uh, I can't drink anymore, I took a pledge,' says Brown, dejectedly.
'This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry and it just gets better from there!'
Brown takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly bloke who tells funny jokes like himself and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like the ones the Labour Party pulled with the European Constitution and the Education, Immigration, Tough on Crime promises.
They are having such a great time that, before he realises it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Brown steps on the elevator and heads upward.
When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and Saint Peter is waiting for him. 'Now it's time to visit Heaven,' the old man says, opening the gate.
So for 24 hours Brown is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or short-arse joke among them. No fancy country clubs here and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor. He doesn't see anybody he knows and he isn't even treated like someone special!
'Whoa,' he says uncomfortably to himself. 'Harold Wilson never prepared me for this!'

Continued


The day done, Saint Peter returns and says, 'Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for Eternity.'

With the 'Deal or No Deal' theme playing softly in the background, Brown reflects for a minute ... Then answers: 'Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all --but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends.'

So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down,down, all the way to Hell.

The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial wasteland, looking a bit like the eroded, rabbit and fox affected Australian outback, but worse and more desolate.

He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the roadside rubbish and putting it into black plastic bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.

The Devil comes over to Brown and puts an arm around his shoulder.' I don't understand,' stammers a shocked Brown, 'Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a club-house and we ate lobster and caviar and drank tequila. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!'

The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly and purrs:

'Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!

It wojld be funny if it wasn't so true!!!!!

The seven dwarfs go to theVatican , and because they
are the seven dwarfs, they are immediately ushered in
to see the Pope.

Grumpy leads the pack. 'Grumpy, my son,' says the
Pope, 'What can I do for you?'

Grumpy asks, 'Excuse me your Excellency, but are there
any dwarf nuns in Rome ?'

The Pope wrinkles his brow at the odd question, thinks
for a moment and answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no
dwarf nuns in Rome .'

In the background, a few of the dwarfs start giggling.

Grumpy turns around and glares, silencing them.

Grumpy turns back, 'Your Worship, are there any dwarf
nuns in all of Europe ?'

The Pope, puzzled now, again thinks for a moment and
then answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no dwarf nuns
in Europe .

'This time, all of the other dwarfs burst into
laughter.

Once again, Grumpy turns around and silences them with
an angry glare.

Grumpy turns back and says, 'Mr.. Pope! Are there ANY
dwarf nuns anywhere in the world?'

The Pope, really confused by the questions says, 'I'm
sorry, my son, there are no dwarf nuns anywhere in the
world.'

The other dwarfs collapse into a heap, rolling and
laughing, pounding the floor, tears rolling down their
cheeks, as they begin chanting......






'Grumpy shagged a penguin!'

'Grumpy shagged a penguin!'