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The three ministers and their wives were on vacation when their van ran off the road and they all died.

 

At the entrance to the Pearly Gates, the first couple asked:  Rev & Mrs Smith, request to enter.  St. Peter looks thru his book and tells them:  No, because you have lusted.  You have lusted for money, and besides that, your wife's name is Penny.  Take the left road down to hell.

 

The second couple asked:  Rev & Mrs Brown, request to enter.  St. Peter looks thru his book and tells them:  No, because you have lusted.  You have lusted for alcohol, and besides that, your wife's name is Sherry.  Take the left road down to hell.

 

The third couple, Rev Jones, looks at his wife and says, come on Fanny, we need to follow them.  🍷

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FLATULENCE ALERT - This story nearly made me wee my pants with laughter yesterday. Enjoy the very funny story from Anna Lind about her experience with farting on a date xx

 

Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?

That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized ...

My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.

“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it!  UNLOCK IT!”

“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.

I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.

“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”

“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”

“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”

This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.

Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.

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Another dating story:

A guy, who'd just had eaten his favorite dinner- beans- arrives at his date's house for the first time. Dad comes to the door and tells him to please come in and have a seat while his daughter is getting ready. He does and is greeted by the dog who sits on the floor below his feet. Well, sure enough, those beans go to work and a loud stinky fart emerges. But luckily the dog is right there and the guy is relieved to hear the dad yell at the dog, "Spot!" Again a fart emerges evern louder and smellier than the one before. Again the dad shouts "Spot"! The young man is so relieved to think that the dog is taking the blame for his flatulence that he lets out the loudest, most odiferous fart imaginable. Sure enough the dad calls out the dog again!

Only this time he says, "Spot! Move now before he craps all over you!

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A man sits next to a kid on a plane. The man turns to the kid and says, "Let's talk."
The kid says, "sure, about what?"
The man, teasingly, says, "nuclear power."
The kid says, "sure, but first, let's talk deer, cows and horses. They all eat grass, but the deer drops pellets, the cow does patties, and the horse produces clumps. Do you know why?"
The man is stumped. "No", he says.
The kid replies, " do you really think we should talk about nuclear power when you don't know crap!?"

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