<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529</id><updated>2011-11-27T21:55:52.161-05:00</updated><category term='Murphy'/><category term='parrots'/><category term='beer'/><category term='Tradgedy'/><category term='Lines'/><category term='fish'/><category term='Hormones'/><category term='Distress'/><category term='lawyers'/><category term='attraction'/><category term='fainting'/><category term='Stinky'/><category term='Dad'/><category term='passionate'/><category term='boat'/><category term='IPKL'/><category term='heart attacks'/><category term='Mining'/><category term='Denny&apos;s'/><category term='Schitt'/><category term='sex'/><category term='job'/><category term='haircuts'/><category term='rowboats'/><category term='Las Vegas'/><category term='Utah coal miners'/><category term='Grandpa'/><category term='hookers'/><category term='pets'/><category term='Canada'/><category term='Disaster'/><category term='asshole'/><category term='barbers'/><category term='kids'/><category term='blondes'/><category term='Crybabies'/><category term='aids'/><category term='reports'/><category term='Italy'/><category term='Ghost'/><category term='tzhit'/><category term='parties'/><category term='cookies'/><category term='penis'/><category term='linens'/><category term='security'/><category term='God'/><category term='Christmas'/><category term='shit'/><category term='Irish'/><category term='Taliban'/><category term='Creation'/><category term='chit'/><category term='Spaghetti'/><category term='schooling'/><category term='fighting'/><category term='bastards'/><category term='Life'/><category term='Lark'/><category term='shitt'/><category term='Bar'/><category term='czhit'/><category term='willie'/><category term='fishing'/><category term='nude'/><category term='Europe'/><title type='text'>The Sneaky Badger</title><subtitle type='html'>Anything and everthing.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>422</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8784376717257074932</id><published>2008-04-10T10:00:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-10T10:09:06.498-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dad'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='schooling'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reports'/><title type='text'>Dear Dad</title><content type='html'>A father passing by his son's bedroom, was astonished to see the bed was nicely made, and everything was picked up. Then, he saw an envelope, propped up  on the pillow.&lt;br /&gt;It was addressed, 'Dad.'  With the worst premonition, he opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands.'&lt;br /&gt;  Dear, Dad.&lt;br /&gt;It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to  elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mum and you. I've have found real love with Stacy, and she is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her, because of all her piercings, tattoos,  tight Motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am.&lt;br /&gt;But it's not only the passion, Dad. She's pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.&lt;br /&gt;Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't  really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves, and trading it with The other people in the commune, for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want. In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a  cure for AIDS, so Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!!&lt;br /&gt;Don't worry Dad, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself. Someday, I'm sure we'll be back to visit, so you can get to know your many grandchildren.&lt;br /&gt;Love, Your son, Joshua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.&lt;br /&gt; Dad, none of the above is true.&lt;br /&gt;I'm over at Jason's house.&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than my school report, that's on my desk. I love you! Call when it is safe for me to come home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8784376717257074932?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8784376717257074932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8784376717257074932&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8784376717257074932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8784376717257074932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2008/04/dear-dad.html' title='Dear Dad'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-994824784885223362</id><published>2008-04-06T13:15:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-06T13:28:28.918-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Taliban'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='schooling'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lark'/><title type='text'>MAL-LARKY</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;THE LARK PROGRAM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Lady wrote a lot of letters to the White House complaining about the&lt;br /&gt;treatment of a captive insurgent (terrorist) being held in Guantanamo Bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She received back the following reply:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Concerned Citizen,&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for your recent letter roundly criticizing our treatment of the Taliban and Al Quada detainees currently being held atGuantanamoBay, Cuba.&lt;br /&gt;Our administration takes these matters seriously and your opinion was heard loud and clear here in Washington. You'll be pleased to learn that, thanks to the concerns of citizens like yourself, we are creating a new division of the Terrorist Retraining Program, to be called the "Liberals Accept Responsibility for Killers" program, or LARK for short&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In accordance with the guidelines of this new program, we have decided to place one terrorist under your personal care. Your personal detainee has been selected and scheduled for transportation under heavily armed guard to your residence next Monday.&lt;br /&gt;Ali Mohammed Ahmed bin Mahmud (you can just call him Ahmed) is to be cared for pursuant to the standards you personally demanded in your letter of complaint. It will likely be necessary for you to hire some assistant caretakers. We will conduct weekly inspections to ensure that your standards of care for Ahmed are commensurate with those you so strongly recommended in&lt;br /&gt;your letter. Although Ahmed is a psychopath and extremely violent, we hope that your sensitivity to what you described as his attitudinal problem" will help him overcome these character flaws.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps you are correct in describing these problems as mere cultural&lt;br /&gt;differences. We understand that you plan to offer counseling and home&lt;br /&gt;schooling.&lt;br /&gt;Your adopted terrorist is extremely proficient in hand-to-hand combat and can extinguish human life with such simple items as a pencil or nail clippers. We advise that you do not ask him to demonstrate these skills at your next yoga group. He is also expert at making a wide variety of explosive devices from common household products, so you may wish to keep&lt;br /&gt;those items locked up, unless (in your opinion) this might offend him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahmed will not wish to interact with you or your daughters (except sexually), since he views all females as a subhuman form of property.&lt;br /&gt;This is a particularly sensitive subject for him and he has been known to show violent tendencies around women who fail to comply with the new dress code that he will recommend as more appropriate attire. I'm sure you will come to enjoy the anonymity offered by the burka --&lt;br /&gt;over time.&lt;br /&gt;Just remember that it is all part of "respecting his culture and his religious beliefs". Wasn't that how you put it?&lt;br /&gt;Thanks again for your letter. We truly appreciate it when folks like you keep us informed of the proper way to do our job. You take good care of Ahmed - and remember, we'll be watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-994824784885223362?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/994824784885223362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=994824784885223362&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/994824784885223362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/994824784885223362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2008/04/mal-larky.html' title='MAL-LARKY'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-753821685012471635</id><published>2008-02-11T18:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T18:51:30.491-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rowboats'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blondes'/><title type='text'>Row Row Row Your Boat</title><content type='html'>Two blondes were driving along a road by a wheat field when they saw a blonde in the middle of the field rowing a row boat.&lt;br /&gt;The driver blonde turned to her friend and said "You know - it's blondes like that that give us a bad name!"&lt;br /&gt;To this, the other blonde replies "I know it, and if I knew how to swim, I'd go out there and drown her."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-753821685012471635?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/753821685012471635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=753821685012471635&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/753821685012471635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/753821685012471635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2008/02/row-row-row-your-boat.html' title='Row Row Row Your Boat'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2773410487941909194</id><published>2008-02-07T00:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T00:11:02.477-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Creation'/><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>On the first day, God created the dog and said:'Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.&lt;br /&gt;'The dog said: 'That's a long time to be barking. How about only t en years and I'll give you back the other ten?&lt;br /&gt;'So God agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second day, God created the monkey and said:'Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give you a twenty-year life span.&lt;br /&gt;'The monkey said: 'Monkey tricks for twenty years? That's a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the Dog did?&lt;br /&gt;'And God agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the third day, God created the cow and said:'You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under th e sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family. For this, I will give you a life span of sixty years.&lt;br /&gt;'The cow said: 'That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?&lt;br /&gt;'And God agreed again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth day, God created man and said:'Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you twenty years.&lt;br /&gt;'But man said: 'Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the tenthe dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?&lt;br /&gt;''Okay,' said God, 'You asked for it.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family.&lt;br /&gt; For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren.&lt;br /&gt;And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life has now been explained to you.There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I'm doing it as a public service.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2773410487941909194?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2773410487941909194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2773410487941909194&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2773410487941909194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2773410487941909194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2008/02/life.html' title='Life'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-6155055666054672399</id><published>2007-12-31T03:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-31T03:50:59.782-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Schitt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tzhit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shitt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='czhit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chit'/><title type='text'>A Schitty Post</title><content type='html'>For some time many of us have wondered just who is Jack Schitt? We find ourselves at a loss when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt!' Well, thanks to my genealogy efforts, you can now respond in an intellectual way.&lt;br /&gt;Jack Schitt is the only son of Awe Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O. Schitt, the owner of Needeep N. Schitt, Inc. They had one son, Jack.&lt;br /&gt;In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt. The deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Giva Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Bull Schitt, and the twins Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt.&lt;br /&gt;Against her parents' objections, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.&lt;br /&gt;Noe Schitt later married Ted Sherlock, and because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt Sherlock.&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt, and they produced a son with a rather nervous disposition named Chicken Schitt.&lt;br /&gt;Two of the other six children, Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt, were inseparable throughout childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced theSchitt-Happens nuptials. The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd, and Horse.&lt;br /&gt;Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently returned from Italy with his new Italian bride, Pisa Schitt.&lt;br /&gt;Now when someone says, 'You don't know Jack Schitt,' you can correct them.&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,Crock O. Schitt&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-6155055666054672399?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/6155055666054672399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=6155055666054672399&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6155055666054672399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6155055666054672399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/12/schitty-post.html' title='A Schitty Post'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4773671836568292587</id><published>2007-12-29T10:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T10:34:18.055-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cookies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='penis'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='asshole'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Grandpa'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fishing'/><title type='text'>Fishing With Grandpa</title><content type='html'>One day, Little Johnny and his grandfather had gone fishing. After a while grandpa got thirsty and opened up his cooler for a beer.&lt;br /&gt;Little Johnny asked, "Grandpa can I have a beer too?"&lt;br /&gt;"Can you stick your penis in your asshole?" grandpa grunted back.&lt;br /&gt;"No"&lt;br /&gt; "Well, than your not big enough!" Grandpa then took out a cigarette and lit up. Little Johnny saw this and asked for one too."&lt;br /&gt;Can you stick your penis in your asshole?" growled grandpa .&lt;br /&gt;"No"&lt;br /&gt;"Well, than your still not big enough"&lt;br /&gt; Little Johnny got upset and pulled out some cookies, that his grandma had packed him.&lt;br /&gt;His grandfather noticed this and said, "Hey kid, those cookies look pretty good. Can I have one?" Little Johnny replied, "Can you stick your penis in your asshole?"&lt;br /&gt; Grandpa looked at Johnny and laughed.  "Well of course I can. I'm big enough."&lt;br /&gt;Little Johnny shouted, "Well, then go fuck yourself!  These are my cookies"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4773671836568292587?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4773671836568292587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4773671836568292587&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4773671836568292587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4773671836568292587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/12/fishing-with-grandpa.html' title='Fishing With Grandpa'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8882238033775398457</id><published>2007-12-26T22:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T22:54:29.328-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Stinky'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Christmas'/><title type='text'>A Stinking Holiday</title><content type='html'>DES MOINES, Iowa - It was a stinky holiday for Robert Schoff.&lt;br /&gt;The 77-year-old man spent part of Christmas Eve stuck upside down in the opening of his septic tank, with his head inside and his feet kicking in the air above.&lt;br /&gt;"It wasn't good, I'll tell you what," Schoff said Tuesday. "It was the worst Christmas Eve I've ever had.&lt;br /&gt;Schoff reached into the tank Monday in an effort to find a clog,(big turd) but he lost his balance and got wedged into the opening.&lt;br /&gt;The 5-foot-5-inch, 135-pound Schoff hollered and screamed for help, but it was an hour before his wife, Toni, walked by a window and saw his feet in the air.&lt;br /&gt;"I saw these kicking feet and ran out, but couldn't get him out," Toni Schoff said.&lt;br /&gt;She called 911 and two Polk County sheriff's deputies yanked her husband out of the tank.&lt;br /&gt;"I thought it was the end of my life," Schoff said. "Thank God my wife saw me. I don't think I could have stood staying in there much more."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8882238033775398457?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8882238033775398457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8882238033775398457&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8882238033775398457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8882238033775398457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/12/stinking-holiday.html' title='A Stinking Holiday'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8823154796793688854</id><published>2007-10-24T02:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T02:29:48.538-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Italy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Europe'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Spaghetti'/><title type='text'>Spaghetti</title><content type='html'>A doctor was having an affair with his nurse. Shortly afterward, she told him she was pregnant. Not wanting his wife to know, he gave the nurse a sum of money and asked her to go to Italy and have the baby there.&lt;br /&gt;"But how will I let you know the baby is born?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;He replied, "Just send me a postcard and write 'spaghetti' on the back. I'll take care of expenses."&lt;br /&gt;Not knowing what else to do, the nurse took the money and flew to Italy.&lt;br /&gt;Six months went by and then one day the doctor's wife called him at the office and explained, "Dear, you received a very strange postcard in the mail today from Europe, and I don't understand what it means."&lt;br /&gt;The doctor said, "Just wait until I get home and I will explain it to you."&lt;br /&gt;Later that evening, the doctor came home, read the postcard, fell to the floor with a heart attack.&lt;br /&gt;Paramedics rushed him to the ER. The lead medic stayed back to comfort the wife. He asked what trauma had precipitated the cardiac arrest.&lt;br /&gt;So the wife picked up the card and read, "'Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti, Spaghetti - Two with sausage and meatballs, two without.'"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8823154796793688854?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8823154796793688854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8823154796793688854&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8823154796793688854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8823154796793688854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/10/spaghetti.html' title='Spaghetti'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1436898767434058559</id><published>2007-10-22T08:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T08:57:15.716-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Denny&apos;s'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Las Vegas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hookers'/><title type='text'>Las Vegas</title><content type='html'>A guy is walking along the strip in Las Vegas and a&lt;br /&gt;knockout looking Vegas hooker catches his eye. He strikes up a&lt;br /&gt;conversation and eventually asks the hooker, "How much&lt;br /&gt;do you charge?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hooker says, "Do you see that Denny's on the corner?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you see the Denny's about a block further down?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And beyond that, do you see that third Denny's?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," says the hooker, smiling invitingly, "I own those.&lt;br /&gt;And, I own them because I give a hand-job that's worth $500."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy says, "What the hell? You only live once. I'll give&lt;br /&gt;it a try."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They retire to a nearby motel. A short time later, the guy is&lt;br /&gt;sitting on the bed realizing that he just experienced the&lt;br /&gt;hand-job of a lifetime, worth every bit of $500. He is so amazed,&lt;br /&gt;he says, "I suppose a blow-job is $1,000?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hooker replies, "$1,500."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I wouldn't pay that for a blow-job!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hooker replies, "Step over here to the window, big boy.&lt;br /&gt;Do you see that casino just across the street? I own that&lt;br /&gt;casino outright. And I own it because I give a blow-job that's worth&lt;br /&gt;every cent of $1,500." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy, basking in the afterglow of  that terrific hand-job, decides&lt;br /&gt;to put off the new car for another year or so, and says, "Sign&lt;br /&gt;me up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ten minutes later, he is sitting on the bed more amazed than&lt;br /&gt;before. He can scarcely believe it but he feels he truly got his&lt;br /&gt;money's worth. He decides to dip into the retirement savings&lt;br /&gt;for one glorious and unforgettable experience. He asks the&lt;br /&gt;hooker, "How much for some pussy?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hooker says, "Come over here to the window, I want to&lt;br /&gt;show you something. Do you see how the whole city of Las Vegas&lt;br /&gt;is laid out before us, all those beautiful lights, gambling palaces,&lt;br /&gt;and show places?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Damn!" the guy says, in awe, "You own the whole city?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No", the hooker replies, "but I would if I had a pussy."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1436898767434058559?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1436898767434058559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1436898767434058559&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1436898767434058559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1436898767434058559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/10/las-vegas.html' title='Las Vegas'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1605283885003757039</id><published>2007-10-19T01:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T01:41:02.032-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='linens'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='security'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Ghost'/><title type='text'>Ghosts</title><content type='html'>An extremely modest man was in the hospital for a series of&lt;br /&gt;tests, the last of which had left his system extremely upset.&lt;br /&gt;Upon making several false-alarm trips to the bathroom he&lt;br /&gt;decided the latest was another and stayed put. Unfortunately&lt;br /&gt;for him, this wasn't a false alarm and he soiled his bed&lt;br /&gt;linens terribly.&lt;br /&gt;He was embarrassed beyond his ability to&lt;br /&gt;remain rational. Losing his presence of mind, he jumped up,&lt;br /&gt;gathered up the bed sheets, and threw them out the hospital&lt;br /&gt;window.&lt;br /&gt;A drunk was walking by the hospital when the sheets landed&lt;br /&gt;on him. He started yelling, cursing, and swinging his arms&lt;br /&gt;wildly, which left the soiled sheets in a tangled pile at his&lt;br /&gt;feet.&lt;br /&gt;As the drunk stood there staring down at the sheets, a&lt;br /&gt;security guard who had watched the whole incident walked up&lt;br /&gt;and asked, "What the hell was that all about?"&lt;br /&gt;Still staring down, the drunk replied: "I think I just beat&lt;br /&gt;the shit out of a ghost!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1605283885003757039?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1605283885003757039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1605283885003757039&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1605283885003757039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1605283885003757039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/10/ghosts.html' title='Ghosts'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5664424307829120687</id><published>2007-10-17T01:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-17T02:00:35.713-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Irish'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='aids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Murphy'/><title type='text'>Murphy's Law</title><content type='html'>An Irishman named Murphy went to his doctor after a long illness. The doctor, after a lengthy examination, sighed and looked Murphy in the eye and said, "I've some bad news for you. You have cancer and it can't be cured. I'd give you two weeks to a month."&lt;br /&gt;Murphy, saddened and shocked by the news, but of solid character, managed to compose himself and walk from the doctor's office into the waiting room. There he saw his son who had been waiting.&lt;br /&gt;Murphy said, "Son, we Irish celebrate when things are good and we celebrate when things don't go so well. In this case, things aren't so well. I have cancer and I've been given a short time to live. Let's head for the pub and have a few pints.&lt;br /&gt;After three or four pints the two were feeling a little less somber.&lt;br /&gt;There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventual approached by some of Murphy's old friends who asked what the two were celebrating. Murphy told them that the Irish celebrate the good and the bad. He went on to tell them that they were drinking to his impending end.&lt;br /&gt;He told his friends "I've only got a few weeks to live as I have been diagnosed with AIDS." The friends gave Murphy their condolences and they had a couple more beers.&lt;br /&gt;After his friends left, Murphy's son leaned over and whispered his confusion.&lt;br /&gt; "Dad, I thought you said that you were dying from cancer? You just told your friends that you were dying from AIDS?"&lt;br /&gt;Murphy said, "I am dying from cancer son, I just don't want any of them sleeping with your mother after I'm gone!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5664424307829120687?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5664424307829120687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5664424307829120687&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5664424307829120687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5664424307829120687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/10/murphys-law.html' title='Murphy&apos;s Law'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7241438945877805014</id><published>2007-09-30T09:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T09:54:05.860-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boat'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fish'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fainting'/><title type='text'>Boating</title><content type='html'>Joe and John were identical twins.&lt;br /&gt;Joe owned an old dilapidated boat and kept pretty much to himself. One day he rented out his boat to a group of  out-of-staters who sank it. Joe spent all day trying to salvage as much  stuff as he could and was out of touch all that day and most of the  evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unbeknownst to him, his brother John's wife died suddenly. When he got back  on shore he went into town to pick up a few things at the grocery. A  kind old neighbor woman mistook him for John and said: 'I'm so sorry for your loss. You must feel terrible.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe, thinking she was talking about his boat said: 'Hell no! Fact is I'm sort of glad to be rid of her. She was a rotten old thing from the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;Her bottom was all shriveled up and she smelled like old dead fish.&lt;br /&gt;She was always holding water. She had a bad crack in the back and  a pretty big hole in the front too. Every time I used her, her hole got bigger and she leaked like crazy.&lt;br /&gt;I guess what finally finished her off was when I  rented her to those four guys looking for a good time.&lt;br /&gt;I warned them  that she wasn't very good and smelled bad. But they wanted her anyway. The  darn fools tried to get in her all at one time and she split right up the middle!'&lt;br /&gt;The old woman fainted .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7241438945877805014?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7241438945877805014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7241438945877805014&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7241438945877805014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7241438945877805014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/boating.html' title='Boating'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-450550983203998342</id><published>2007-09-26T23:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-26T23:15:35.314-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Canada'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='willie'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nude'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='job'/><title type='text'>A Tale Of Two Willies</title><content type='html'>A company was looking to hire someone for an important position so they interviewed dozens of applicants and narrowed their search down to three people from different parts of Canada. In an attempt to pick one of them, they decided to give them all the same question to answer within 24 hours, and the one with the best answer would get the job.&lt;br /&gt;The question was: A man and a woman are in bed, nude. The woman is lying on her side with her back facing the man, and the man is lying on his side facing the woman's back.&lt;br /&gt;What is the man's name?&lt;br /&gt;After the 24 hours was up, the three were brought in to give their answers.&lt;br /&gt;The first from Vancouver, says, "My answer is, there is no answer."&lt;br /&gt;The second, from Toronto, says, "My answer is, that there is no way to determine the answer with the information we were given.&lt;br /&gt;The third one from Newfoundland says, "I'm not exactly sure, but I have it narrowed down to two names. It's either: Willie Turner or Willie Nailer."&lt;br /&gt;The Newfoundlander got the job&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-450550983203998342?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/450550983203998342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=450550983203998342&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/450550983203998342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/450550983203998342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/tale-of-two-willies.html' title='A Tale Of Two Willies'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-6198704673225880644</id><published>2007-09-22T02:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-22T02:44:42.885-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lawyers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='barbers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='haircuts'/><title type='text'>Lawyers Part VIII</title><content type='html'>A barber gave a haircut to a priest one day. The priest tried to pay for the haircut, but the barber refused, saying, "you do God's work."&lt;br /&gt; The next morning the barber found a dozen bibles at the door to his shop.&lt;br /&gt;A policeman came to the barber for a haircut, and again the barber refused to pay, saying, "you protect the public."&lt;br /&gt;The next morning the barber found a dozen doughnuts at the door to his shop.&lt;br /&gt;A lawyer came to the barber for a haircut, and again the barber refused payment, saying, "you serve the justice system."&lt;br /&gt;The next morning the barber found a dozen lawyers waiting for a free haircut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-6198704673225880644?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/6198704673225880644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=6198704673225880644&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6198704673225880644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6198704673225880644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/lawyers-part-viii.html' title='Lawyers Part VIII'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4119694442779656339</id><published>2007-09-16T21:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-16T21:49:30.915-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bastards'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='heart attacks'/><title type='text'>Heart Attacks</title><content type='html'>Late, one morning, a married fellow comes home early from work and hears strange noises coming from the bedroom. He rushes upstairs to find his wife naked on the bed, sweating and panting.&lt;br /&gt; "What's up?" he asks.&lt;br /&gt; "I'm having a heart attack," she cries .&lt;br /&gt;He rushes downstairs to grab the phone, but just as he's dialing, his 4-year-old son comes up and says, "Daddy! Daddy! Uncle Ted's hiding in your closet and he's got no clothes on!"&lt;br /&gt;The guy slams the phone down and storms upstairs into the bedroom, past his screaming wife, and rips open the wardrobe door. Sure enough, there is his brother, totally naked, cowering on the closet floor.&lt;br /&gt; "You bastard!!!" says the husband.&lt;br /&gt;"My wife's having a heart attack, and all you  do, is run around the house naked, scaring the kids!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4119694442779656339?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4119694442779656339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4119694442779656339&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4119694442779656339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4119694442779656339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/heart-attacks.html' title='Heart Attacks'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4841807184201885155</id><published>2007-09-09T21:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-09T21:20:16.282-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parrots'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pets'/><title type='text'>Parrots Part IV</title><content type='html'>One day, a lady was walking past a pet store when a parrot, on display, spoke up and  said, "Hey, lady! You're really ugly!"&lt;br /&gt;The lady was at first shocked, and then became furious, but continued on her way.&lt;br /&gt;On the way back  home, she passed by the pet store again and the parrot once more said "Hey, lady! You're really ugly!"&lt;br /&gt; She was so angry and incredibly annoyed, that she went into the store and told the manager that she was going to sue the store, and have the bird killed.&lt;br /&gt; The store manager apologized profusely and promised he would make sure the parrot didn't say it again.&lt;br /&gt;The next day, she deliberately passed by the store to test the parrot.&lt;br /&gt; "Hey, lady!" it said.&lt;br /&gt; "Yes?"&lt;br /&gt;"You know."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4841807184201885155?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4841807184201885155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4841807184201885155&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4841807184201885155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4841807184201885155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/parrots-part-iv.html' title='Parrots Part IV'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2398754443724520990</id><published>2007-09-08T03:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-08T03:04:21.342-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fighting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parties'/><title type='text'>Hillbillies Part V</title><content type='html'>A man was tired of the city life so he decided to move way out in the country where he would have all the room and privacy that he needed. His house was at least 35 miles from everything and everyone. No one ever came to visit and he never went to visit anyone.&lt;br /&gt;After about the sixth month at his new home, he began to get a little lonesome and wondered if he'd really made the right move.&lt;br /&gt;  One evening,while he sat in his rocking chair on his front porch, he noticed someone walking along his long, secluded driveway towards his house.&lt;br /&gt;He quickly approached the strange man and asked what he needed.&lt;br /&gt;The stranger stated that he was a neighbor that lived just beyond the far hill and that he was having a party that night and would like to invite him.&lt;br /&gt;The man quickly accepted the  offer and was relived to finally have some company.&lt;br /&gt;Before the neighbor left, he told the man, "You better let me warn you about something. At this party, there's probably going to be some drinking."&lt;br /&gt;The man said, " well that's all right, I like to do some drinking."&lt;br /&gt; The neighbor said," and there's probably going to be some fighting."&lt;br /&gt;The man said, " that's OK too, and like to do a little fighting."&lt;br /&gt;Then the neighbor said, " and after the drinking and fighting, there's probably going to be some sex."&lt;br /&gt;The man said, "nothing wrong with a little sex, now is there?"&lt;br /&gt; The neighbor told the man to be there at 7:00 and started to leave when the man yelled, "hey I'll bring the beer. How much do we need?"&lt;br /&gt; The neighbor yelled back, " Oh, just a couple of six packs will do. It'll just be the two of us."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2398754443724520990?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2398754443724520990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2398754443724520990&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2398754443724520990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2398754443724520990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/hillbillies-part-v.html' title='Hillbillies Part V'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7060815605415630646</id><published>2007-09-07T01:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-07T01:49:02.645-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Milk</title><content type='html'>A farmer was out working in his fields when he had to pee really bad. He was quite a ways from the house so he just climbed off his tractor and peed in the clover. As luck would have it, a bee decided it was lunch time and zapped him right on the end of his dingus. It really hurt terribly when he remembered that buttermilk was known to relieve bee stings. He dashed to the house, opened the fridge, poured a glass of buttermilk and started to soak his dingus.&lt;br /&gt; What a relief!&lt;br /&gt;Then he heard a gasp and saw that his 20-year-old daughter was in the doorway, looking wide-eyed at what he was doing!&lt;br /&gt;He turned to her and said, "Now don't tell me you've never seen one of these!"&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "You're right, Daddy, I have. It's just that I've never seen one being reloaded!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7060815605415630646?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7060815605415630646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7060815605415630646&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7060815605415630646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7060815605415630646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/milk.html' title='Milk'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3742375598179798151</id><published>2007-09-05T01:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T01:39:06.443-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Name Change</title><content type='html'>Judge: "You say you're petitioning for a legal name change?"&lt;br /&gt;Leon: "Yes, your honour."&lt;br /&gt;Judge: (looking at petition) "I can see why, your name is Mr... Leon Shitferbrains, is it?"&lt;br /&gt;Leon: "Yes, your honour."&lt;br /&gt;Judge: "And what do you want to change your name to, Mr. Shitferbrains?"&lt;br /&gt;Leon: " Melvin, your honour."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3742375598179798151?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3742375598179798151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3742375598179798151&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3742375598179798151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3742375598179798151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/name-change.html' title='Name Change'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-6518184187667808640</id><published>2007-09-04T00:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-04T00:08:34.235-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Vaseline survey</title><content type='html'>A man doing market research knocked on a door and was greeted by a young woman with three small children running around at her feet.&lt;br /&gt;He said, "I'm doing some research for Vaseline. Have you ever used the product?"&lt;br /&gt;She said, "Yes. My husband and I use it all the time."&lt;br /&gt;"And if you don't mind me asking, what do you use it for?"&lt;br /&gt;"We use it for sex."&lt;br /&gt; The researcher was a little taken aback. He said, "Usually people lie to me and say that they use it on a child's bicycle chain or to help with a gate hinge. But, in fact, I know that most people do use it for sex. I admire you for your honesty. Since you've been frank so far, can you tell me exactly how you use it for sex?"&lt;br /&gt;The woman said, "I don't mind telling you at all. My husband and I put it on the door knob and it keeps the kids out."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-6518184187667808640?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/6518184187667808640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=6518184187667808640&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6518184187667808640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6518184187667808640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/vaseline-survey.html' title='A Vaseline survey'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3003125749516804903</id><published>2007-09-02T22:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-02T22:39:05.850-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Smelling Wood</title><content type='html'>A blind man interviews for a job as a quality controller at&lt;br /&gt;the local wood mill. The manager calls the blind man into his&lt;br /&gt;office and asks him how he expects to do this job since he is&lt;br /&gt;blind. The blind man replied he would do it by smell.&lt;br /&gt;The manager decides to test him and places a piece of wood&lt;br /&gt;in front of him.&lt;br /&gt;The manager asks, "What is it without touching it?"&lt;br /&gt;The blind man replies, "That's a good piece of fir."&lt;br /&gt;"Correct," says the manager, "now try this one."&lt;br /&gt;"That's a bad piece of willow," says the blind man.&lt;br /&gt;"Correct," answers the manager. With that, the manager&lt;br /&gt;decides to play a trick on the blind man. He gets his&lt;br /&gt;secretary to lift up her dress and put her crotch in the&lt;br /&gt;blind mans face.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm confused," says the blind man, "Can you turn it&lt;br /&gt;around?"&lt;br /&gt;The secretary turns around and puts her ass in his face.&lt;br /&gt;The blind man says, "Oh, you're trying to fool me! But I&lt;br /&gt;know exactly what kind of wood that is. It's the bathroom&lt;br /&gt;door off a tuna boat!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3003125749516804903?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3003125749516804903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3003125749516804903&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3003125749516804903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3003125749516804903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/09/smelling-wood.html' title='Smelling Wood'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2085489942389072760</id><published>2007-08-21T09:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-21T09:38:17.636-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Tale Of Two Spiders</title><content type='html'>One day, a father was watching his young daughter playing in the garden. He smiled, as he reflected on how sweet and pure his little girl was. He thought about her seeing the wonders of nature through such innocent eyes.&lt;br /&gt; Suddenly, she just stopped and stared at the ground. He went over to her to see what work of God had captured her attention.  He saw that she was watching two spiders mating.&lt;br /&gt;      "Daddy, what are those two spiders doing?" she asked."&lt;br /&gt;They're mating," her father replied.&lt;br /&gt; "What do you call the spider on top?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt; "That's a Daddy Long-legs," her father answered.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, is the other one a Mommy Long-legs?&lt;br /&gt;   He laughed to himself at such a cute and innocent question, then replied "No dear. Both of them are DaddyLong-legs."&lt;br /&gt;     The little girl, looking a little puzzled, thought for a moment. Then she took her foot and stomped them flat, and said,&lt;br /&gt; "Well, we're not having Any of that Brokeback-Mountain shit in our garden.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2085489942389072760?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2085489942389072760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2085489942389072760&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2085489942389072760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2085489942389072760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/tale-of-two-spiders.html' title='A Tale Of Two Spiders'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4905926887485189425</id><published>2007-08-18T21:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-18T22:08:44.652-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Disaster'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IPKL'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mining'/><title type='text'>Another Mining Disaster</title><content type='html'>XINTAI, China (Reuters) - More than 180 coal miners were trapped underground and feared dead in eastern China on Saturday after a rain-swollen river burst a levee and flooded two separate shafts, the latest blow to the world's deadliest mining industry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The trapped miners had only a "slim chance" of survival, Wang Ziqi, director of the Shandong coal mine safety administration, told Xinhua.&lt;br /&gt;"Nobody came up today, so everyone is waiting," a Xintai resident told Reuters by telephone. "It doesn't look good."&lt;br /&gt;President Hu Jintao and Premier Wen Jiabao urged local officials to spare no effort to reach the trapped miners as soon as possible.&lt;br /&gt;The scene of weary emergency workers and anxious relatives echoed a mine accident in the United States, which has a much cleaner safety record but where three people have died trying to save six miners trapped in a Utah coal mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mining is risky worldwide, but China's coal industry is deadlier than any other country's, with about 2,163 coal miners killed in 1,320 accidents in the first seven months of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;It was not known at what level most of the miners were trapped&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3333ff;"&gt;(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#3366ff;"&gt;Seems to be a reoccuring theme), &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;but 14 were 30 metres (100 feet) underground, according to Xinhua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;China relies on coal for most of its energy needs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Last year, 4,746 people were killed in thousands of blasts, floods and other mining accidents&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. While this year's record had been improving, the level is far worse than in other major coal-producing nations.&lt;br /&gt;The U.S. Department of Labor, for instance, had recorded 14 coal mine deaths as of August 10 this year. Chinese officials estimate that China now suffers 1.485 mine deaths for every million tonnes of coal produced, compared with about 0.04 U.S. deaths for every million tonnes that country produced in 2005.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4905926887485189425?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4905926887485189425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4905926887485189425&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4905926887485189425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4905926887485189425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/another-mining-disaster.html' title='Another Mining Disaster'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-806214576117711302</id><published>2007-08-16T19:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T19:44:19.211-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Time Change</title><content type='html'>Two Alabama State Trooper Patrol cars were in hot pursuit of a stolen car, heading east towards Georgia on I-90.&lt;br /&gt;When the suspect crossed the Georgia line, the first trooper pulled over immediately.&lt;br /&gt;The rookie Trooper pulled over right behind him and asked, "Sarge, why'd you stop?"&lt;br /&gt;"You dumb rookie," replied the Sarge.&lt;br /&gt;"He's in Georgia now. They're an hour ahead of us, so we'll never catch him."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-806214576117711302?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/806214576117711302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=806214576117711302&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/806214576117711302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/806214576117711302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/time-change.html' title='Time Change'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7578847429503181854</id><published>2007-08-15T16:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T17:16:50.969-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tradgedy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='IPKL'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mining'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Utah coal miners'/><title type='text'>A Real Fucking Tradgedy</title><content type='html'>Efforts to free Utah coal miners continueThe Associated PressPublished: August 14, 2007&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HUNTINGTON, Utah: Rescuers are running out of options to rescue six Utah coal miners trapped by a cave-in nearly 10 days ago, and experts are giving long odds against finding the men alive.&lt;br /&gt;As crews slowly dig a path to the men's &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;presumed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; location at the Crandall Canyon mine, narrow drill holes sunk deep into the mountain amount to little more than educated guesses. The men could be huddled together or spread out anywhere in a huge underground area.&lt;br /&gt;That is if they survived at all, experts say. The Aug. 6 cave-in released low-oxygen air from sealed chambers into the working area of the mine. And downward pressure on the walls sent chunks of coal flying like bullets through the shaft.&lt;br /&gt;"There's always a chance. You have to hang on to that chance. But realistically it is small, quite small," said J. Davitt McAteer, former head of the Mine Safety and Health Administration and now vice president of Wheeling Jesuit University in West Virginia. "You would have to have every single break and divine intervention to successfully extract these guys."&lt;br /&gt;Two holes drilled into the mine have not located them, and a third drill broke through Wednesday into &lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;an area where officials say the men MAY have sought refuge after the collapse&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;/span&gt; But rescuers were unable to get a microphone into the void that could pick up sounds of life. They planned to try again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Approx. 35% of all manufactured items, use raw materials that come from mining.The US Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that 675,000 are employed in the natural resources and mining sector. China employs over 12 million, and reported 6000 deaths last year, but independant observers report that the figure is closer to 20,000 dead.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So, why is the following technology, not made mandatory for all miners to have a better chance for survival, in the event of an accident?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Recent Mine-1-1 Satellite Simulcast Demonstration to Mine Safety and Health Administration RepresentativesTuesday May 29, 9:30 am ET&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;VANCOUVER, BC--(MARKET WIRE)--May 29, 2007 -- iPackets International, Inc. ("iPackets" or "Company") (Other OTC:IPKL.PK - News),&lt;/strong&gt; a developer and provider of wireless communications software and equipment for the mine-safety industry, confirmed today that the recent successful Mine-1-1 underground demonstration was viewed live, via a satellite simulcast, by representatives of the Mine Safety and Health Administration ("MSHA").&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;MSHA is part of the U.S. Department of Labor and its mission is to administer the provisions of the Federal Mine Safety and Health Act of 1977, and to enforce compliance with mandatory safety and health standards as a means to eliminate fatal accidents; to reduce the frequency and severity of nonfatal accidents; to minimize health hazards; and to promote improved safety and health conditions in the Nation's mines.&lt;br /&gt;Utilizing the satellite uplink capability of the MobileNet(TM) product, a component of the Mine-1-1 offering, the demonstration was simultaneously transmitted live from a coal mine to the National Mine Health and Safety Academy offices in Beckley, West Virginia. MSHA representatives, in the Beckley office, viewed the underground movement of the miners and the capability of real-time messaging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hugh McDavid, President of Mainline Communications, Inc., who was present at the remote demonstration, said, "Not only did the demonstration show definitively that the Mine-1-1 solution provides real-time tracking and monitoring of miners as they move about the mine, as well as two-way voice and data communication with the miners, the remote viewing of the demo showcased the unparalleled flexibility of the system. Nothing else on the market compares with this technology."&lt;br /&gt;"This was a home run! The Mine-1-1 solution was very adaptable to the environment that it was deployed in and performed great," stated Miner Lawrence, Director of Project Management and Advanced Solution Systems for AFL Network Services. "Within a few hours we deployed the wireless network, monitored the team below ground, and demonstrated other advanced services over the network without any problems."&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Lawrence also stated that it was a great team effort. "I'm very proud to be a part of something that will assist with making a safer work environment for the mine workers. It's amazing when you stop to think about everything that took place -- you can see the excitement in the faces of the mine workers standing there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I wonder why the Press makes no mention of this technology?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7578847429503181854?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7578847429503181854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7578847429503181854&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7578847429503181854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7578847429503181854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/real-fucking-tradgedy.html' title='A Real Fucking Tradgedy'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1424243623460684052</id><published>2007-08-13T09:54:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T09:54:51.901-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Camels</title><content type='html'>Two nuns were in the back of the convent smoking a cigarette, when one said,&lt;br /&gt;'It's bad enough that we have to sneak out here to smoke, but it really is a problem getting rid of the butts so that Mother Superior doesn't find them.'&lt;br /&gt;The second nun said, 'I've found a marvelous invention called a condom which works really well for this problem. You just open the packet up, take out the condom, and put the cigarette butt in, roll it up, and dispose of it all later.'&lt;br /&gt;The first nun was quite impressed and asked where she could find them.&lt;br /&gt;'You get them at a chemist, sister. Just go and ask the pharmacist for them.'&lt;br /&gt;The next day the good sister went to the chemist and walked up to the counter.&lt;br /&gt;'Good morning, sister,' the chemist said, 'what can I do for you today?'&lt;br /&gt;'I'd like some condoms please,' said the nun.&lt;br /&gt;The chemist was a little taken aback, but recovered soon enough and asked,&lt;br /&gt;'How many boxes would you like? There are 12 to a box.'&lt;br /&gt;'I'll take six boxes. That should last about a week,' said the nun.&lt;br /&gt;The pharmacist was truly flabbergasted by this time and was almost afraid to ask any more questions. But his professionalism prevailed and he asked in a clear voice.&lt;br /&gt;'Sister, what size condoms would you like? We have large, extra large, and the big liar size.'&lt;br /&gt;The sister thought for a minute and finally said:&lt;br /&gt;'I'm not certain, perhaps you could recommend a good size for a Camel?'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1424243623460684052?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1424243623460684052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1424243623460684052&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1424243623460684052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1424243623460684052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/camels.html' title='Camels'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1511050295651512203</id><published>2007-08-10T09:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-10T10:00:33.235-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Screwing</title><content type='html'>A married couple have been stranded on a deserted island for many years.&lt;br /&gt;One day another man washes up on shore. He and the wife become attracted to each other right away, but realize they must be creative if they are to engage in any hanky-panky.&lt;br /&gt;The husband, however, is very glad to see the second man there. "Now we will be able to have three people doing eight hour shifts in the watchtower, rather than two people doing 12-hour shifts."&lt;br /&gt;The newcomer is only too happy to help and in fact volunteers to do the first shift. He climbs up the tower to stand watch.&lt;br /&gt;Soon the couple on the ground are placing stones in a circle to make a fire to cook supper.&lt;br /&gt;The second man yells down, "Hey, no screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;They yell back, "We're not screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later they start to put driftwood into the stone circle.&lt;br /&gt;Again the second man yells down, "Hey, no screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;Again they yell back, "We're not screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;Later they are putting palm leaves on the roof of their shack to patch leaks.&lt;br /&gt;Once again the second man yells down, "Hey, I said no screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;They yell back, "We're not screwing!"&lt;br /&gt;Eventually the shift is over and the second man climbs down from the tower to be replaced by the husband.&lt;br /&gt;He's not even halfway up before the wife and her new friend are hard at it.&lt;br /&gt;The husband looks out from the tower and says, "Son-of-a-gun. From up here it DOES look like they're screwing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1511050295651512203?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1511050295651512203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1511050295651512203&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1511050295651512203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1511050295651512203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/screwing.html' title='Screwing'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-294802411480831042</id><published>2007-08-07T09:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T09:41:42.313-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Like A Woman</title><content type='html'>On a recent transpacific flight, a plane passed through a severe thunderstorm. The turbulence was awful, and things went from bad to worse, when one wing was struck by lightning.&lt;br /&gt; One woman in particular lost her composure.&lt;br /&gt;She began screaming, and stood up in the front of the plane.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm too young to die," she wailed. Then she yelled, "Well, if I'm going to die, I want my last minutes on earth to be memorable!&lt;br /&gt;Is there ANYONE on this plane who can make me feel like a WOMAN?"&lt;br /&gt;For a moment there was complete silence. Everyone  forgot the storm and the imminent danger. They all stared, riveted, at the desperate woman in the front of the plane.&lt;br /&gt; Finally, a man stood up in the rear ofthe plane.&lt;br /&gt; He was gorgeous: tall, well built, with sun-bleached blond hair and blue eyes. He began to walk slowly up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt.............One button at a time..........No one moved..........Everyone was transfixed..........He removed his shirt..........Muscles ripple across his chest..........She gasped...............He stood in front of her.......&lt;br /&gt;"Here ya go luv - iron this, and then go fetch me another beer...."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-294802411480831042?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/294802411480831042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=294802411480831042&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/294802411480831042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/294802411480831042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/feeling-like-woman.html' title='Feeling Like A Woman'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-6483501192840368753</id><published>2007-08-05T10:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T10:20:37.195-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Common Sense</title><content type='html'>Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years.&lt;br /&gt;No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.&lt;br /&gt;He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).&lt;br /&gt;His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.&lt;br /&gt; Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't legally defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.&lt;br /&gt;He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know my Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a Victim.&lt;br /&gt;Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-6483501192840368753?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/6483501192840368753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=6483501192840368753&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6483501192840368753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6483501192840368753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/common-sense.html' title='Common Sense'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-260053747312101371</id><published>2007-08-01T09:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T09:46:07.256-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pope</title><content type='html'>On a tour of Normandy, the Pope took a couple of days off his itinerary to visit the North coast on an impromptu sightseeing trip.&lt;br /&gt;His 4X4 Popemobile was driving along the golden sands when there was an enormous commotion heard just off the headland.&lt;br /&gt;They rushed to see what it was and upon approaching the scene the Pope noticed just outside the surf, a hapless man wearing a French soccer jersey, struggling frantically to free himself from the jaws of a twenty foot shark.&lt;br /&gt;At that moment a speedboat containing three men wearing English soccer tops roared into view from around the point.&lt;br /&gt;Spontaneously, one of the men took aim and fired a harpoon into the shark's ribs, immobilizing it instantly. The other two reached out and pulled the Frenchman from the water and then, using long clubs, beat the shark to death.&lt;br /&gt;They bundled the bleeding, semi conscious man into the speed boat along with the dead shark and then prepared for a hasty retreat, when they heard frantic shouting from the shore. It was of course the Pope, and he summoned them to the beach.&lt;br /&gt;Upon them reaching the shore the Pope went into raptures about the rescue and said, "I give you my blessing for your brave actions. I had heard that there were some separatist people trying to divide France and England, but, now I have seen with my own eyes this is not true. I can see that your society is a truly enlightened example of racial harmony and could serve as a model on which other nations could follow."&lt;br /&gt;He blessed them all and drove off in a cloud of dust.&lt;br /&gt;As he departed, the harpoonist asked the others, "Who the hell was that guy???!"&lt;br /&gt;"That," one answered, "was his Holiness the Pope.&lt;br /&gt;"Well," the harpoonist replied, "he doesn't know shit about shark hunting. How's that bait holding up anyway?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-260053747312101371?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/260053747312101371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=260053747312101371&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/260053747312101371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/260053747312101371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/08/pope.html' title='The Pope'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4373127504330075367</id><published>2007-07-30T09:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T09:47:56.620-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mother's Love</title><content type='html'>A guy shopping in a supermarket noticed a little old lady following him around.&lt;br /&gt;If he stopped, she stopped. Furthermore she kept staring at  him. She finally overtook him at the checkout, turned to him  and said,&lt;br /&gt;"I hope I haven't made you feel ill at ease;  it's just that you look so much like my late son." &lt;br /&gt;He answered, "That's okay."&lt;br /&gt;"I know it's silly, but if you'd call out "Good bye, Mom" as I leave the store, it would make me feel so happy."&lt;br /&gt; She then went through the checkout .. and as she was on her way out of the store, the man called out, "Goodbye, Mother."&lt;br /&gt;The little old lady waved and smiled back at him and said “Thank you”.&lt;br /&gt;Pleased that he had brought a little sunshine into someone's day, he went to pay for his groceries.&lt;br /&gt;"That comes to $121.85," said the clerk.&lt;br /&gt;"It can't be that much !  I only bought 5 items."&lt;br /&gt;The clerk replied  "Yes, but your Mother said you'd pay for her things, too."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4373127504330075367?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4373127504330075367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4373127504330075367&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4373127504330075367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4373127504330075367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/mothers-love.html' title='A Mother&apos;s Love'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3345406932934573727</id><published>2007-07-27T09:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-27T09:50:11.364-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Healing Power Of Beer</title><content type='html'>A man is waiting for his wife to give birth.&lt;br /&gt;The doctor comes in and informs the dad that his son was born without torso, arms or legs. The son is just a head! But the dad loves his son and raises him as well as he can, with love and compassion.&lt;br /&gt;  After 18 years, the son is now old enough for his first drink. Dad takes him to the bar, tearfully tells the son he is proud of him and orders up the biggest, strongest drink for his boy. With all the bar patrons looking on curiously and the bartender shaking his head in disbelief, the boy takes his first sip of alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;  Swoooosh! Plop!! A torso pops out! The bar is dead silent; then bursts into whoops of joy. The father, shocked, begs his son to drink again. The patrons chant "Take another drink!" The bartender continues to shake his head in dismay.&lt;br /&gt;   Swoooosh! Plip! Plop!! Two arms pop out. The bar goes wild. The father, crying and wailing, begs his son to drink again.&lt;br /&gt;The patrons chant, "Take another drink! Take another drink!!" The bartender ignores the whole affair and goes back to polishing glasses, shaking his head" clearly unimpressed by the amazing scenes. By now the boy is getting tipsy, but with his new hands he reaches down, grabs his drink and guzzles the last of it. &lt;br /&gt;  Plop! Plip!! Two legs pop out. The bar is in chaos. The father falls to his knees and tearfully thanks God. The boy stands up on his new legs and stumbles to the left then staggers to the right through the front door, into the street, where a truck runs over him and kills him instantly. The bar falls silent. The father moans in grief.&lt;br /&gt;  The bartender sighs and says, "He should've quit while he was a head".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3345406932934573727?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3345406932934573727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3345406932934573727&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3345406932934573727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3345406932934573727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/healing-power-of-beer.html' title='The Healing Power Of Beer'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5167524964279822814</id><published>2007-07-24T11:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T11:50:32.635-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid People Part XXVI</title><content type='html'>Yesterday,  I was buying a large bag of  dry food and was standing in the line at the register.&lt;br /&gt; A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.&lt;br /&gt;On impulse, I told her that,  No...., I was starting a Diet again, although I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.&lt;br /&gt;I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and the way that it works is to load your trouser pockets with  nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry.&lt;br /&gt;  The food is nutritionally complete, so I was going to try it again.&lt;br /&gt;I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.&lt;br /&gt;Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned. &lt;br /&gt;I told her no, it was because I'd been sitting in the road licking my balls and a car hit me.&lt;br /&gt;The lady was flabbergasted,  gave me an incredibly evil look , and stormed out of the shop, while  the guy behind her looked like he was  having a heart attack, from laughing so hard .&lt;br /&gt;Stupid lady..........why else would I buy dog food???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5167524964279822814?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5167524964279822814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5167524964279822814&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5167524964279822814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5167524964279822814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/stupid-people-part-xxvi.html' title='Stupid People Part XXVI'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-719089428467982400</id><published>2007-07-22T01:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-22T01:49:45.064-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lawyers Part XVII</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Mafia Godfather, accompanied by his attorney,&lt;br /&gt;walks into a room to meet with his former accountant.&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather asks the accountant, "Where&lt;br /&gt;is the 3 million bucks you embezzled from me?"&lt;br /&gt;The accountant does not answer.&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather asks again, "Where is the 3 million&lt;br /&gt;bucks you embezzled from me?"&lt;br /&gt;The attorney interrupts, "Sir, the man is a&lt;br /&gt;deaf mute and cannot understand you, but I can&lt;br /&gt;interpret for you."&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather says, "Well ask him where my&lt;br /&gt;damn money is!" The attorney, using sign language,&lt;br /&gt;asks the accountant where the 3 million dollars&lt;br /&gt;is.&lt;br /&gt;The accountant signs back, "I don't know what&lt;br /&gt;you are talking about."&lt;br /&gt;The attorney interprets to the Godfather, "He&lt;br /&gt;doesn't know what you are talking about."&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather pulls out a 9 millimeter pistol,&lt;br /&gt;puts it to the temple of the accountant, cocks&lt;br /&gt;the trigger and says, "Ask him again where my&lt;br /&gt;damn money is!"&lt;br /&gt;The attorney signs to the accountant, "He wants&lt;br /&gt;to know where it is!"&lt;br /&gt;The accountant signs back, "OK! OK! OK! The&lt;br /&gt;money is hidden in a brown suitcase behind the&lt;br /&gt;shed in my backyard!"&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather says, "Well....what did he say?"&lt;br /&gt;The attorney interprets to the Godfather,&lt;br /&gt;"He says...go to hell... ..that you don't have&lt;br /&gt;the guts to pull the trigger."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-719089428467982400?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/719089428467982400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=719089428467982400&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/719089428467982400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/719089428467982400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/lawyers-part-xvii.html' title='Lawyers Part XVII'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1008746483771432663</id><published>2007-07-18T00:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T00:59:48.259-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Freak Of Nature??</title><content type='html'>A missionary gets sent into deepest darkest Africa and goes to live with a tribe there. He spends years with the people, teaching them to read, write and the good Christian ways of the white man. One thing he particularly stresses is the evils of sexual sin. Thou must not commit adultery or fornication!!&lt;br /&gt;One day, the wife of one of the Tribe's noblemen gives birth to a white child. The village is shocked and the chief is sent by his people to talk with the missionary. "You have taught us of the evils of sexual sin, yet here a black woman gives birth to a white child. You are the only white man that has ever set foot in our village. It doesn't take a genius to work out what has been going on!"&lt;br /&gt;The missionary replies: "No, no, my good man. You are mistaken. What you have here is a natural occurrence - what is called an albino. Look to thy yonder field. See a field of white sheep, and yet amongst them is one black one. Nature does this on occasion."&lt;br /&gt;The chief pauses for a moment then says, "Tell you what, you don't say anything about the sheep, I won't say anything about the white child."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1008746483771432663?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1008746483771432663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1008746483771432663&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1008746483771432663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1008746483771432663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/freak-of-nature.html' title='Freak Of Nature??'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-790101177117453197</id><published>2007-07-15T17:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T17:15:23.172-04:00</updated><title type='text'>D.I.V.O.R.C.E.</title><content type='html'>A judge was interviewing a woman regarding her pending divorce, and asked, "What are the grounds for your&lt;br /&gt;divorce?"&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "About four acres and a nice little home in the middle of the property with a stream running by."&lt;br /&gt;"No," he said, "I mean what is the foundation of this case?"&lt;br /&gt;"It is made of concrete, brick and mortar," she responded.&lt;br /&gt;"I mean," he continued, "What are your relations like?"&lt;br /&gt;"I have an aunt and uncle living here in town, and so do my husband's parents."&lt;br /&gt;He said, "Do you have a real grudge?"&lt;br /&gt;"No," she replied, "We have a two-car carport and have never really needed one."&lt;br /&gt;"Please," he tried again, "is there any infidelity in your marriage?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, both my son and daughter have stereo sets. We don't necessarily like the music, but the answer to your questions is yes."&lt;br /&gt;"Ma'am, does your husband ever beat you up?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," she responded, "about twice a week he gets up earlier than I do."&lt;br /&gt;Finally, in frustration, the judge asked, "Lady, why do you want a divorce?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I don't want a divorce," she replied. "I've never wanted a divorce. My husband does.&lt;br /&gt;He said he cain't communicate with me!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-790101177117453197?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/790101177117453197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=790101177117453197&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/790101177117453197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/790101177117453197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/07/divorce.html' title='D.I.V.O.R.C.E.'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-6404859850859954605</id><published>2007-06-29T19:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-29T19:38:01.200-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Be On The Alert!</title><content type='html'>There has been a stinky badger sighting in the Maritimes. An alert has gone out since the family cat disappeared and a big pile of poop (the Sneaky Badger calling card) was left at the scene. Anyone who has seen this hideous creature should load their shotgun and blow his badger ass to smithereens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoWW5YJ5X7I/AAAAAAAAABU/VC8ZyeXmr5Q/s1600-h/Stinky+badger+with+a+weapon..JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoWXn4J5X8I/AAAAAAAAABc/u4II49IiFnY/s1600-h/Stinky+badger+with+a+weapon..JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081634465902059458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoWXn4J5X8I/AAAAAAAAABc/u4II49IiFnY/s400/Stinky+badger+with+a+weapon..JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crooked Badger with his buddy, "Stick."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-6404859850859954605?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/6404859850859954605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=6404859850859954605&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6404859850859954605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/6404859850859954605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/be-on-alert.html' title='Be On The Alert!'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoWXn4J5X8I/AAAAAAAAABc/u4II49IiFnY/s72-c/Stinky+badger+with+a+weapon..JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8527069784164573079</id><published>2007-06-29T19:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-29T19:10:36.709-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Guest Post</title><content type='html'>On my way across the street to get suppplies for my fishing expedition, I tripped over a body, lying  in the gutter. To my surprise and horror, up popped Willow, who then proceeded to spew a string of profanity at me, that a muleskinner would be proud of. After a brief moment of my having to dodge a barrage of lugies, Willow calmed down and invited me for tea.&lt;br /&gt;I decided to throw caution to the wind, and invited Willow to guest post on my blog.&lt;br /&gt;Needing no further introduction................&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8527069784164573079?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8527069784164573079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8527069784164573079&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8527069784164573079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8527069784164573079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/guest-post.html' title='Guest Post'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2477221313822018655</id><published>2007-06-28T19:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T19:17:43.389-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Answer To That Age Old Question</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoRBfoJ5X4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/QBxCXTcM1O0/s1600-h/bearshit.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081258291191439234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoRBfoJ5X4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/QBxCXTcM1O0/s400/bearshit.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2477221313822018655?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2477221313822018655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2477221313822018655&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2477221313822018655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2477221313822018655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/answer-to-that-age-old-question.html' title='The Answer To That Age Old Question'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RoRBfoJ5X4I/AAAAAAAAAA8/QBxCXTcM1O0/s72-c/bearshit.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7940611652795173312</id><published>2007-06-24T09:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-24T09:32:25.348-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Great Expectations</title><content type='html'>A group of girlfriends are on vacation, and see a 5-story hotel with a sign that reads: "For Women Only." Since they are without their boyfriends and husbands, they decide to go in.&lt;br /&gt; The bouncer, a very attractive guy, explains to them how it works. "We have 5 floors. Go up floor by floor, and once you find what you are looking for, you can stay there. It's easy to decide since each floor has a sign telling you what's inside."&lt;br /&gt; So they enter, and on the first floor the sign reads: "All the men on this floor are short and plain." The friends laugh and without hesitation move on to the next floor.&lt;br /&gt; The sign on the second floor reads: "All the men here are short and handsome." Still, this isn't good enough, so the friends continue on up.&lt;br /&gt; They reach the third floor and the sign reads: "All the men here are tall and plain." They still want to do better, and so, knowing there are still two floors left, they continued on up.&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth floor, the sign is perfect: "All the men here are tall and handsome." The women get all excited and are going in when they realize that there is still one floor left.&lt;br /&gt;Wondering what they are missing, they head on up to the fifth floor. There they find a sign that reads: "There are no men here.&lt;br /&gt; This floor was built, only to prove, that there is no way to please a woman."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7940611652795173312?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7940611652795173312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7940611652795173312&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7940611652795173312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7940611652795173312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/great-expectations.html' title='Great Expectations'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8739236522492294015</id><published>2007-06-22T09:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T10:29:26.734-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Skinny Dipping</title><content type='html'>An elderly man in Florida had owned a large farm for several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up nice - picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some orange and grapefruit trees.&lt;br /&gt;The pond was properly shaped and fixed up for swimming .&lt;br /&gt;One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond , as he hadn't been there for a while. He grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard shouting and laughter . He got closer and saw that it was a bunch of young women, who were skinny-dipping .&lt;br /&gt;When he made the women aware of his presence, they shrieked, and swam to the deep end.&lt;br /&gt;One of the women shouted at him, "We're not coming out until you leave!"&lt;br /&gt;The old man replied, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim naked in my pond, or to see you naked."&lt;br /&gt;Holding the bucket up, he said , "I'm here to feed the alligator."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8739236522492294015?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8739236522492294015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8739236522492294015&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8739236522492294015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8739236522492294015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/skinny-dipping.html' title='Skinny Dipping'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5340669761464769006</id><published>2007-06-20T23:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T23:31:48.515-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Thumb-Suckers</title><content type='html'>A little boy gets up to go to the bathroom, in the middle of the night.  As he passes his parent's bedroom he peeks in through the keyhole.&lt;br /&gt;He watches for a moment, then continues on down the hallway, muttering to himself, "Boy, what a hypocrate.  She gets mad at me for just sucking my thumb"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5340669761464769006?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5340669761464769006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5340669761464769006&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5340669761464769006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5340669761464769006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/thumb-suckers.html' title='Thumb-Suckers'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-801373079127420753</id><published>2007-06-19T23:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T23:17:18.673-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Running</title><content type='html'>A little rabbit is happily running through the forest when he stumbles upon a giraffe rolling a joint.&lt;br /&gt;The rabbit looks at her and says, "Giraffe, my friend, why do you do this? Come with me and run through the forest. You'll see you'll feel much better."&lt;br /&gt;The giraffe looks at him, looks at the joint, tosses it and goes off running with the rabbit.&lt;br /&gt;       Then, they came across an elephant doing cocaine.&lt;br /&gt;So, the rabbit again says, "Elephant, my friend, why do you so this? Think about your health. come running with us through the pretty forest. You'll see, you'll feel so good!"&lt;br /&gt;The elephant looks at them, looks at his razor, mirror and all, and then tosses them and starts running with the rabbit and giraffe.&lt;br /&gt;      The three animals then come across a lion about to shoot up.&lt;br /&gt;So, the rabbit again says, "Lion, my friend, why do you do this? Think about your health! come running with us through the sunny forest. You'll see, you will feel so good!"&lt;br /&gt;The lion looks at him, puts down the needle, and starts to beat the hell out of the rabbit.&lt;br /&gt;As the giraffe and elephant watch in horror, they look at him and ask,&lt;br /&gt;"Lion, why did you do this? He was merely trying to help us all!"&lt;br /&gt;The lion answers, "That little bastard makes me run around the forest like an idiot, everytime he's on ecstacy!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-801373079127420753?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/801373079127420753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=801373079127420753&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/801373079127420753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/801373079127420753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/running.html' title='Running'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3253024120427230758</id><published>2007-06-15T01:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-15T01:02:35.238-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Sportsman's Double</title><content type='html'>I met an 'older' woman at a club last night. She was okay...for 57.  We drank a bit, danced a bit, and then she purred, 'Have you ever had the 'Sportsman's Double,' a mother and daughter threesome?&lt;br /&gt;I said, 'No.' We drank a bit more, then she said, 'Tonight may be your lucky night!&lt;br /&gt; I went back to her place. &lt;br /&gt;As we walked through the front door of her house, she turned on the hall light and shouted upstairs: 'Mom, you still awake?'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3253024120427230758?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3253024120427230758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3253024120427230758&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3253024120427230758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3253024120427230758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/sportsmans-double.html' title='A Sportsman&apos;s Double'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7103764636037226207</id><published>2007-06-10T16:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T16:22:13.709-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Distress'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Crybabies'/><title type='text'>Cry Of Distress</title><content type='html'>When I went to lunch today, I noticed an elderly man about 75 to 80 years old sitting on a bench near the shopping centre , in obvious distress.&lt;br /&gt;I stopped and asked him what was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;He said, 'I have a 22year-old wife at home. She makes love to me every morning and then gets up and makes me pancakes, sausage, fresh fruit and freshly brewed coffee.'&lt;br /&gt;I said, 'Well, then why are you crying?'&lt;br /&gt;He said, 'She makes me homemade soup for lunch and my favorite brownies and then makes love to me half the afternoon.'&lt;br /&gt;I asked again, 'So why are you crying?'&lt;br /&gt;He continued, 'For dinner she makes me a gourmet meal with wine and my favorite dessert and then makes love to me until midnight.'&lt;br /&gt;I said, 'Well, why in the world would you be crying?'&lt;br /&gt;He answered, 'I can't remember where I live.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7103764636037226207?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7103764636037226207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7103764636037226207&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7103764636037226207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7103764636037226207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/cry-of-distress.html' title='Cry Of Distress'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8650248296874905244</id><published>2007-06-08T22:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T22:54:32.335-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hormones'/><title type='text'>Female Hormones And Beer</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, scientists for Health Canada suggested that men should take a look at their beer consumption, considering the results of a recent analysis that revealed the presence of female hormones in beer.&lt;br /&gt;The theory is that drinking beer makes men turn into women.&lt;br /&gt;To test the finding, 100 men were fed 6 pints of beer each.&lt;br /&gt;It was then observed that 100% of the men gained weight, talked excessively without making sense, became overly emotional, couldn't drive, failed to think rationally, argued over nothing, and refused to apologize when wrong.&lt;br /&gt;No further testing is planned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8650248296874905244?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8650248296874905244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8650248296874905244&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8650248296874905244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8650248296874905244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/female-hormones-and-beer.html' title='Female Hormones And Beer'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7117897372826734251</id><published>2007-06-06T11:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T11:12:27.990-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='passionate'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='attraction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lines'/><title type='text'>Drawing The Line</title><content type='html'>A guy and girl meet at a Bar and are instantly attracted to each other. They Party all night and at the end, decide to go back to his place . Once there, they get passionate and start to make out. When the time is right, the girl finds the bedroom, gets undressed, and gets under the covers of the bed, waiting for the guy who is now coming out of the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;The guy struts in,  whips off his clothes, but stops with just his shorts left. He reaches into his pants pocket an pulls out a magic marker and hands it to her.&lt;br /&gt; She takes one look at it an says, "What's this for? .... Are you some kinda pervert?"&lt;br /&gt;He looks at at her, drops his shorts, and grins.&lt;br /&gt; She smiles, her eyes now wide, and staring in disbelief at his penis which hangs more that halfway to his knees.&lt;br /&gt;She then hears him say, "Your gonna have to draw the  line somewhere baby".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7117897372826734251?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7117897372826734251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7117897372826734251&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7117897372826734251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7117897372826734251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/drawing-line.html' title='Drawing The Line'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-9213650354680355804</id><published>2007-06-05T02:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T02:45:41.329-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cows</title><content type='html'>An Alberta cowboy was over seeing his herd in a remote mountainous pasture when suddenly a brand new BMW advanced out of a cloud of dust towards him. The driver, a young man in a Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and YSL tie, leans out the window and asks the cowboy "If I tell you how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf?"&lt;br /&gt;The cowboy looks at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looks at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers, "Sure, why not?"&lt;br /&gt;The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects to his Cingular RAZR V3 cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an exact fix on his location, which he then feeds to another NASA Satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. The young man then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg Germany. Within seconds, he retrieves an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses a MS-SQL database through an ODCB connected Excel spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry and, after a few minutes, receives a response.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his high-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer and finally turns to the cowboy and says, "You have exactly 1,586 cows and calves."&lt;br /&gt;"That's right. Well I guess you can take one of my calves," says the cowboy. He watches the young man select one of the animals and looks on in amusement as the young man stuffs it into the trunk of his car. Then the cowboy says to the young man, "Hey, if I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my calf?"&lt;br /&gt;The young man thinks about it for a second, and then says, "Okay, why not?"&lt;br /&gt;"You work for the Canadian Government," says the cowboy.&lt;br /&gt;"Wow! That's correct," says the young man, "but how did you guess that?"&lt;br /&gt;"No guessing required," answered the cowboy. "You showed up here, even though nobody called you; you want to get paid for giving me an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked. You tried to show me how much smarter than me you are; and you don't know a thing about cows.  This is a flock of sheep.&lt;br /&gt; Now give me back my dog."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-9213650354680355804?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/9213650354680355804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=9213650354680355804&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/9213650354680355804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/9213650354680355804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/cows.html' title='Cows'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-9212274318621493536</id><published>2007-06-03T23:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-03T23:09:48.979-04:00</updated><title type='text'>BBQ</title><content type='html'>One morning, a woman was standing in front of her bedroom mirror, admiring herself in her expensive new outfit. She posed this way and that.&lt;br /&gt;Her husband, looking on with disinterest, remarked; "your butt is the size of a 3-burner barbeque!"&lt;br /&gt;Later that evening, tucked away cozy in bed, he leaned  over, tapped her on the shoulder, and asked hopefully; "How about it?"&lt;br /&gt;She replied,"It's hardly worth lighting the Barby for half a sausage now,  is it?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-9212274318621493536?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/9212274318621493536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=9212274318621493536&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/9212274318621493536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/9212274318621493536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/06/bbq.html' title='BBQ'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3012449777566978609</id><published>2007-05-29T02:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T02:10:15.693-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Boob Jobs</title><content type='html'>One day, a woman says to her husband, that she wants to have plastic surgery to enlarge her breasts.&lt;br /&gt;Her husband tells her, "Hey, you don't need surgery to do that. I know how to do it without surgery."&lt;br /&gt;She asks, "How do I do it without surgery?"&lt;br /&gt;Her husband answers, "Just rub toilet paper between them."&lt;br /&gt;"How does that make them bigger?", she asks.&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know, but it certainly worked for your ass."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3012449777566978609?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3012449777566978609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3012449777566978609&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3012449777566978609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3012449777566978609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/boob-jobs.html' title='Boob Jobs'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7394197993404783353</id><published>2007-05-24T09:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-24T09:26:06.126-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Control</title><content type='html'>There were three guys talking in the pub.&lt;br /&gt;Two of them are talking about the amount of control they have over their wives, while the third remained  quiet.&lt;br /&gt;After a while one of the first two turned to the third and said, "Well, what about you, what sort of control do you have over your wife?"&lt;br /&gt;The third fellow says "I'll tell you. Just the other night my wife came to me on her hands and knees."&lt;br /&gt;The first two guys were amazed. "What happened then?" they asked.&lt;br /&gt;"She told me to, get out from under the bed, and fight like a man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7394197993404783353?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7394197993404783353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7394197993404783353&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7394197993404783353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7394197993404783353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/control.html' title='Control'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-994155159585682363</id><published>2007-05-23T01:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T01:11:51.092-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy Matrimony!</title><content type='html'>A couple had only been married for two weeks and the husband,  although very much in love, couldn't wait to go out on the town and party with his  old  buddies. So, he said to his new wife, 'Honey, I'll be right back.'&lt;br /&gt; 'Where are you going, Coochy Coo?' asked the wife.&lt;br /&gt; 'I'm going to the bar, Pretty Face,' he answered. I'm going to have a beer.'&lt;br /&gt;The wife said, 'You want a beer, my love?' She opened the door to the refrigerator and showed him 25 different kinds of beer, brands from 12 different countries: Germany, Holland, Japan, India, etc.&lt;br /&gt; The husband didn't know what to do, and the only thing that he could  think of saying was, 'Yes, Lollipop... but at the bar... You know... they  have frozen glasses... ' He didn't get to finish the sentence, because the wife interrupted .&lt;br /&gt; 'You want a frozen glass, Puppy Face?' She took a huge beer  mug  out of the freezer, so frozen that she was getting chills just holding  it.&lt;br /&gt; The husband, looking a bit pale, said, 'Yes, Tootsie Roll, but at the  bar they have those hors d'oeuvre s that are really delicious... I won't  be  long. I'll be right back. I promise. OK?'&lt;br /&gt;'You want hors d'oeuvres, Poochie Pooh?'  She opened the oven and took out 5 dishes of different hors d'oeuvres: chicken wings, pigs in blankets, mushroom caps, and little quiches.&lt;br /&gt;'But my sweet honey... at the bar.... you know there's swearing,  dirty  words and all that...'&lt;br /&gt; 'You want dirty words, Cutie Pie? Ok.&lt;br /&gt; LISTEN UP CHICKEN SHIT!  SIT YOUR  ASS  DOWN.  SHUT THE HELL UP!  DRINK YOUR BEER IN YOUR FROZEN MUG AND EAT YOUR  HORS  D'OEUVRES,  BECAUSE YOUR MARRIED ASS ISN'T GOING TO ANY DAMNED BAR! THAT  SHIT  IS OVER.  GOT IT, JACKASS?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and...they lived happily ever after.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-994155159585682363?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/994155159585682363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=994155159585682363&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/994155159585682363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/994155159585682363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/holy-matrimony.html' title='Holy Matrimony!'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3583708560632494397</id><published>2007-05-20T23:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T23:12:44.270-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Blonde? Or Hillbilly?</title><content type='html'>Artery -- Study of paintings&lt;br /&gt;Bacteria -- Back door of cafeteria&lt;br /&gt;Barium -- What doctors do when treatment fails&lt;br /&gt;Bowel -- Letter like A.E.I.O.U&lt;br /&gt;Cat scan -- Searching for kitty&lt;br /&gt;Cauterize -- Made eye contact with her&lt;br /&gt;Coma -- A punctuation mark&lt;br /&gt;Congenital -- Friendly&lt;br /&gt;Diarrhea -- Journal of daily events&lt;br /&gt;Dilate -- To live long&lt;br /&gt;Enema -- Not a friend&lt;br /&gt;Fester -- Quicker&lt;br /&gt;Fibula -- A small lie&lt;br /&gt;Impotent -- Distinguished&lt;br /&gt;Morbid -- Higher offer&lt;br /&gt;Nitrate -- Cheaper than day rate&lt;br /&gt;Node -- Was aware of&lt;br /&gt;Outpatient -- Person who had fainted&lt;br /&gt;Pelvis -- Cousin of Elvis&lt;br /&gt;Post operative -- Letter carrier&lt;br /&gt;Protein -- Favoring young people&lt;br /&gt;Rectum -- It almost killed him&lt;br /&gt;Seizure -- Roman emperor&lt;br /&gt;Terminal illness -- Sickness at airport&lt;br /&gt;Tibia -- Country in North Africa&lt;br /&gt;Tumor -- An extra pair&lt;br /&gt;Urine -- Opposite of you're out&lt;br /&gt;Varicose -- Located nearby&lt;br /&gt;Vein -- Conceited&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3583708560632494397?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3583708560632494397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3583708560632494397&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3583708560632494397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3583708560632494397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/blonde-medical-lingo.html' title='Blonde? Or Hillbilly?'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8977612103411607512</id><published>2007-05-19T02:22:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-19T02:26:09.832-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Bee At A Bar Mitzva</title><content type='html'>A hungry bee meets a fellow bee who directs the hungry one&lt;br /&gt;to a Bar Mitzvah.&lt;br /&gt;The hungry bee eats his fill, then again&lt;br /&gt;meets his friend.&lt;br /&gt;The second bee asks how it went, and hears that his friend&lt;br /&gt;ate plenty.&lt;br /&gt;The second bee then asks why the first bee is&lt;br /&gt;wearing a yarmulke (the small round cap that religious Jews&lt;br /&gt;often wear).&lt;br /&gt;The first bee replies, "It was a Bar Mitzvah. I didn't want&lt;br /&gt;anyone to think I was a WASP."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8977612103411607512?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8977612103411607512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8977612103411607512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/bee-at-bar-mitzva.html' title='A Bee At A Bar Mitzva'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2636073634428490853</id><published>2007-05-17T00:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T00:46:22.200-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What Starts With F And Ends With K</title><content type='html'>A first-grade teacher, Ms. Brooks, was having trouble with one of her students. The teacher asked, "Harry, what's your problem?"&lt;br /&gt; Harry answered, "I'm too smart for the 1st grade. My sister is in the 3rd grade and I'm smarter than she is! I think I should be in the 3rd grade too!"&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks had had enough. She took Harry to the principal's office. While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher explained to the principal what the situation was.&lt;br /&gt;The principal told Ms. Brooks he would give the boy a test. If he failed to answer any of his questions he was to go back to the 1st grade and behave.&lt;br /&gt;She agreed.&lt;br /&gt; Harry was brought in and the conditions were explained to him and he agreed to take the test. Principal: "What is 3 x 3?"&lt;br /&gt;Harry: "9."&lt;br /&gt;Principal: "What is 6 x 6?"&lt;br /&gt;Harry: "36."&lt;br /&gt;And so it went with every question the principal thought a 3rd grader should know. The principal looks at Ms. Brooks and tells her, "I think Harry can go to the 3rd grade."&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks says to the principal, "Let me ask him some questions."&lt;br /&gt;The principal and Harry both agreed.&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks asks, "What does a cow have four of that I have only two of?"&lt;br /&gt;Harry, after a moment: "Legs."&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks: "What is in your pants that you have but I do not have?"&lt;br /&gt; The principal wondered why would she ask such a question!&lt;br /&gt;Harry replied: "Pockets."&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks: "What does a dog do that a man steps in to?"&lt;br /&gt; Harry: "Pants."&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks: What starts with a C, ends with a T, is hairy, oval, delicious and contains thin, whitish liquid?"&lt;br /&gt;Harry: "Coconut."&lt;br /&gt;The principal sat forward with his mouth hanging open.&lt;br /&gt; Ms. Brooks: "What goes in hard and pink then comes out soft and sticky?"&lt;br /&gt;The principal's eyes opened really wide and before he could stop the answer, Harry replied, "Bubble gum."&lt;br /&gt; Ms. Brooks: "What does a man do standing up, a woman does sitting down and a dog does on three legs?"&lt;br /&gt;Harry: "Shake hands."&lt;br /&gt;The principal was trembling.&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Brooks: "What word starts with an 'F' and ends in 'K' that means a lot of heat and excitement?"&lt;br /&gt; Harry: "Firetruck."&lt;br /&gt; The principal breathed a sigh of relief and told the teacher, "Put Harry in the fifth-grade, I got the last seven questions wrong......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2636073634428490853?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2636073634428490853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2636073634428490853&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2636073634428490853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2636073634428490853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/what-starts-with-f-and-ends-with-k.html' title='What Starts With F And Ends With K'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2646635848524347731</id><published>2007-05-15T01:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T01:50:48.114-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>He didn't like the casserole,&lt;br /&gt;And he didn't like my cake.&lt;br /&gt;He said my biscuits were too hard...&lt;br /&gt;Not like his mother used to make.&lt;br /&gt;I didn't perk the coffee right&lt;br /&gt;He didn't like the stew,&lt;br /&gt;I didn't mend his socks&lt;br /&gt;The way his mother used to do.&lt;br /&gt;I pondered for an answer,&lt;br /&gt;I was looking for a clue.&lt;br /&gt;Then I turned around and smacked the shit out of him...&lt;br /&gt;Like his mother used to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2646635848524347731?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2646635848524347731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2646635848524347731&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2646635848524347731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2646635848524347731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1421587809140744826</id><published>2007-05-10T23:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T23:28:27.809-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jesus</title><content type='html'>An Australian, an Irishman and a Newfie are in a bar. They're staring at another man when suddenly the Irishman says, it’s Jesus!" Sure enough, it is Jesus, nursing a pint. Thrilled, they send him over a pint of Guinness, a pint of Fosters and a Bottle of Molson Canadian.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus accepts the drinks, smiles over at the three men, and drinks the pints slowly, one after another. After he's finished the drinks, Jesus approaches the trio.&lt;br /&gt;He reaches for the hand of the Irishman and shakes it, thanking him for the Guinness. When he lets go, the Irishman gives a cry of amazement, "My God! The arthritis I've had for 30 years is gone. It's a miracle!"&lt;br /&gt;Jesus then shakes the Aussie's hand, thanking him for the lager. As he lets go, the man's eyes widen in shock. "Strewth mate, the bad back I've had all my life is completely gone! It's a miracle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus then approaches the Newfie who knocks over a chair and a table in trying to get away from the Son of God. "What's wrong my son?" asked Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;The Newfie shouts, "Fuck off, I'm on Workers’ compensation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1421587809140744826?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1421587809140744826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1421587809140744826&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1421587809140744826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1421587809140744826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/jesus.html' title='Jesus'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5827600888983656673</id><published>2007-05-09T00:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-09T00:52:51.432-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Mess With Badgers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RkFTYrJ-OzI/AAAAAAAAAAk/O7oma2w4XVY/s1600-h/don"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062419139507665714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RkFTYrJ-OzI/AAAAAAAAAAk/O7oma2w4XVY/s400/don%27t+mess+with+badgers1.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RkFTYrJ-O0I/AAAAAAAAAAs/MS0yCABCOi8/s1600-h/dont+mess+with+badgers2.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062419139507665730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RkFTYrJ-O0I/AAAAAAAAAAs/MS0yCABCOi8/s400/dont+mess+with+badgers2.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A Pit bull decided he would intrude upon a badger family outing. But being both brave and stupid, he ultimately learned the hard way that he can't always win. Especially&lt;br /&gt;with a badger named bob wielding a blow gun, with an endless supply of ammo, stolen from his friend Petey, while he was sleeping. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5827600888983656673?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5827600888983656673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5827600888983656673&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5827600888983656673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5827600888983656673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/dont-mess-with-badgers.html' title='Don&apos;t Mess With Badgers'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/RkFTYrJ-OzI/AAAAAAAAAAk/O7oma2w4XVY/s72-c/don%27t+mess+with+badgers1.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-322867100673547811</id><published>2007-05-03T00:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T00:42:20.921-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Construction</title><content type='html'>A construction worker on the 3rd floor of a building needs a handsaw, and  sees another man. down on the 1st floor.&lt;br /&gt;He yells down to him, but  the guy on the first floor can't understand him, so he decides to do sign language.&lt;br /&gt; He points to his eye, meaning "I", points to his knee meaning "need", and moves his hand back and forth in a sawing motion.&lt;br /&gt;The man on the 1st floor nods his head, pulls down his pants, and starts masturbating.&lt;br /&gt;The man on the 3rd floor gets so angry he climbs down to the 1st floor and says," What the fuck is wrong with you? You dumbass!  I said I need handsaw!!"&lt;br /&gt;The other guy says," I knew that. I was just trying to tell you that I'm coming."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-322867100673547811?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/322867100673547811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=322867100673547811&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/322867100673547811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/322867100673547811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/working-construction.html' title='Working Construction'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-458723432456699804</id><published>2007-05-02T00:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-02T00:25:20.645-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>A woman went to the doctor's office where a young new  doctor examined her.  After about four minutes in the examination room, the doctor  told her she was pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;She burst out screaming, and ran down the hallway. &lt;br /&gt;An older  doctor stopped her and asked what the problem was.  She told him her story.&lt;br /&gt; After listening, he had her sit down and relax in another room.  He then   marched  down the  hallway to  the first  doctor  and demanded, "What's the matter with you?!!   Mrs. Smith is 62  years old.  She has four grown children, seven grandchildren,  and you told  her she was  pregnant?!&lt;br /&gt;"The new doctor continued writing on his clipboard and without looking up  said, "Does she still have the hiccups?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-458723432456699804?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/458723432456699804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=458723432456699804&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/458723432456699804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/458723432456699804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/05/pregnancy.html' title='Pregnancy'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8072454287355305436</id><published>2007-04-29T17:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T17:53:21.989-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Snappy Comebacks</title><content type='html'>Marine Corps General Reinwald was interviewed on the radio the other day ,  concerning guns and children.&lt;br /&gt;Here is a portion of the National Public Radio (NPR) interview between a female broadcaster and General Reinwald, who was about to sponsor a Boy Scout Troop visiting his military installation.&lt;br /&gt;FEMALE INTERVIEWER: So, General Reinwald, what things are you going to teach these young boys when they visit your base?&lt;br /&gt;GENERAL REINWALD: We're going to teach them climbing, canoeing, archery, and shooting.&lt;br /&gt;FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Shooting!  That's a bit irresponsible, isn't it?&lt;br /&gt;GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see why, they'll be properly supervised on the rifle range.&lt;br /&gt;FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Don't you admit that this is a terribly dangerous activity to be teaching children?&lt;br /&gt;GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see how.  We will be teaching them proper rifle discipline before they even touch a firearm.&lt;br /&gt;FEMALE INTERVIEWER: But you're equipping them to become violent killers. GENERAL REINWALD: Well, Ma'am, you're equipped to be a prostitute, but you're not one, are you?&lt;br /&gt;The radio went silent and the interview ended.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8072454287355305436?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8072454287355305436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8072454287355305436&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8072454287355305436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8072454287355305436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/snappy-comebacks.html' title='Snappy Comebacks'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-8641411400024121382</id><published>2007-04-25T03:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T03:25:36.526-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meeting The Parents</title><content type='html'>A young man was delighted to finally be asked home to meet the parents of the young woman he'd been seeing for some time. He was quite nervous about the meeting, though, and by the time he arrived  at the doorstep he was in a state of gastric distress.&lt;br /&gt;The problem developed into one of acute flatulence, and halfway through  dinner the young man realized he couldn't hold it in one second longer, without exploding.&lt;br /&gt; A tiny fart escaped.&lt;br /&gt;"SPOT!" Yelled the young woman's mother, to the family dog, lying at the young man's feet.&lt;br /&gt;Relieved at the dog's having been blamed, the young man let another, slightly larger one go. "Spot!" she called out sharply.&lt;br /&gt; "I've got it made," thought the fellow to himself. One more and I'll feel fine. So he let loose a really big one.&lt;br /&gt;"Spot!" shrieked the mother. "Get over here now, before he shits on you!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-8641411400024121382?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/8641411400024121382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=8641411400024121382&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8641411400024121382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/8641411400024121382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/meeting-parents.html' title='Meeting The Parents'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-2324839226713510635</id><published>2007-04-22T17:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T17:30:49.981-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Blondes PT.VII</title><content type='html'>One day, a blonde heard that milk baths would make her beautiful,  so she left a note for her milkman to leave 15 gallons of milk.  The nexyt morning, when the milkman read the note, he thought, there must be a mistake, and that she probably meant 1.5 gallons.  So he knocked on her door to clarify the point.&lt;br /&gt; When the blonde came to the door  the milkman said, "I found your note to leave 15 gallons of milk. Did you mean 1.5 gallons?"&lt;br /&gt; The blonde said, "I want 15 gallons. I'm going to fill my bathtub  with milk and take a milk bath."&lt;br /&gt; The milkman asked, "Do you want it pasteurized?"&lt;br /&gt; The blonde said, "No, just up to my boobs.&lt;br /&gt;I can always splash it in my eyes&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-2324839226713510635?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/2324839226713510635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=2324839226713510635&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2324839226713510635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/2324839226713510635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/blondes-ptvii.html' title='Blondes PT.VII'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5611868000133841143</id><published>2007-04-22T02:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T02:18:13.889-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Retards</title><content type='html'>Tongue Twister&lt;br /&gt;See if you can do this:&lt;br /&gt;Read each line aloud&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is this cat&lt;br /&gt;This is is cat&lt;br /&gt;This is how cat&lt;br /&gt;This is to cat&lt;br /&gt;This is keep cat&lt;br /&gt;This is a cat&lt;br /&gt;This is retard cat&lt;br /&gt;This is busy cat&lt;br /&gt;This is for cat&lt;br /&gt;This is forty cat&lt;br /&gt;This is seconds cat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now go back and read the THIRD word in each linefrom the top.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5611868000133841143?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5611868000133841143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5611868000133841143&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5611868000133841143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5611868000133841143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/retards.html' title='Retards'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5322860814359323226</id><published>2007-04-20T00:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T00:22:37.764-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Viagra</title><content type='html'>An Irish woman of advanced age visited her physician to ask about reviving her husband's libido.&lt;br /&gt; "What about trying Viagra?" asked the doctor.&lt;br /&gt; "Not a chance", she said. "He won't even take an aspirin".&lt;br /&gt; "Not a problem", replied the doctor. "Give him an "Irish Viagra". It's  when you drop the Viagra tablet into his coffee. He won't even taste it.  Give it a try and call me in a week to let me know how things went."&lt;br /&gt; It wasn't a week later when she called the doctor, who inquired as to her progress.&lt;br /&gt;The poor lady exclaimed, "Oh, doctor, it was  horrible! Just horrible!"&lt;br /&gt; "Really? What happened? " asked the doctor.&lt;br /&gt; "Well, I did as you advised and slipped it in his coffee and the effect  was  immediate. He jumped straight up, with a twinkle in his  eye, and with his pants a-bulging fiercely! With one swoop of his arm, he  sent the cups and tablecloth flying, ripped my clothes to shreds and  took me then and there, on the tabletop! It was a  nightmare, I tell you, an absolute nightmare!"&lt;br /&gt; "Why so terrible?" asked the doctor, "Do you mean the sex your husband  provided wasn't good?"&lt;br /&gt; "It was the best sex I've had in 25 years!  But sure as I'm sittin here,  I'll never be able to show my face in that  Starbucks again!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5322860814359323226?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5322860814359323226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5322860814359323226&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5322860814359323226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5322860814359323226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/viagra.html' title='Viagra'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7866048141343042697</id><published>2007-04-17T11:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T12:08:17.802-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Virginia Tech Massacre (As Witnessed By A Gunshot Victim)</title><content type='html'>The gunman in the black leather jacket came into the classroom shooting and did not leave until everything was still, said Virginia Tech sophomore Derek O’Dell.&lt;br /&gt;“He didn’t say anything; that’s the weirdest part,” said O’Dell, who was shot in the arm during Monday’s massacre at Virginia Tech. “No screaming, no yelling. He just shot people.”&lt;br /&gt;O’Dell, a 2005 graduate of Cave Spring High School in Roanoke County, said he was in German class on the second floor of Norris Hall when he heard what he thought was a hammer banging on the wall of a nearby room.&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, the door swung open and the shooter, described as an Asian man wearing a jacket and a maroon baseball cap, mechanically opened fire, reloaded his handgun and then started shooting again, O’Dell said.&lt;br /&gt;“He was very quick in reloading, so it looked like he’d been trained,” said the 20-year-old biological sciences student.&lt;br /&gt;O’Dell said he crouched under his desk while some of his classmates, and possibly their professor, were shot around him.&lt;br /&gt;“No one was really moving,” he said.&lt;br /&gt;O’Dell estimated that 10 to 15 of the roughly 20 students in his class were shot. He did not know how many were killed.&lt;br /&gt;At least 33 people were killed in Monday’s shootings at Norris Hall, a classroom building, and earlier at West Ambler Johnston Hall, a dormitory. Authorities had not identified the gunman late Monday night.&lt;br /&gt;After the shooter left O’Dell’s classroom, O’Dell said that he and a man who appeared uninjured shut the door and barricaded it with their feet, fearing the gunman would return.&lt;br /&gt;“We heard more gunshots down the hall and I realized I had been shot,” O’Dell said.&lt;br /&gt;He said he wrapped his belt around the wound on his upper right arm to stop the bleeding.&lt;br /&gt;As they held shut the wooden door, which did not have a lock, the shooter returned and tried to muscle inside, O’Dell said.&lt;br /&gt;“He got the door open maybe an inch or two and then we were able to shut it again,” O’Dell recalled.&lt;br /&gt;The man shot at the door from outside and then left, O’Dell said. More shots were fired outside the room, and the shooter came back again and tried the door. Again he shot at the door and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;The shooter was found in Norris Hall after he killed himself, authorities said.&lt;br /&gt;O’Dell said he was taken from the building after police arrived.&lt;br /&gt;He was treated and released from Montgomery Regional Hospital.&lt;br /&gt;O’Dell’s father, Roger O’Dell, said he heard about the ordeal after his sister-in-law left him a message between 9:30 and 10 a.m., and his son called from the hospital about 10:20 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;Roger O’Dell said he did not know if anyone from Virginia Tech tried to contact him.&lt;br /&gt;“I didn’t believe it at first,” Roger O’Dell said.&lt;br /&gt;“And the magnitude ... I didn’t realize it at first.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7866048141343042697?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7866048141343042697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7866048141343042697&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7866048141343042697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7866048141343042697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/virginia-tech-massacre-as-witnessed-by.html' title='The Virginia Tech Massacre (As Witnessed By A Gunshot Victim)'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-271206007254396639</id><published>2007-04-17T01:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T01:03:18.225-04:00</updated><title type='text'>International Disadvantaged People's Day</title><content type='html'>In celebration of  International Disadvantaged People's Day,&lt;br /&gt;Please send an encouraging message to a retarded friend...just as I've done.&lt;br /&gt;I don't care if you lick windows, screw farm animals, take the short bus, or occasionally shit yourself...&lt;br /&gt;You hang in there sunshine, you're fucking special.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-271206007254396639?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/271206007254396639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=271206007254396639&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/271206007254396639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/271206007254396639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/international-disadvantaged-peoples-day.html' title='International Disadvantaged People&apos;s Day'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7396009842321312427</id><published>2007-04-14T01:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T01:48:24.666-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Scary Thought</title><content type='html'>Two elderly women were out driving in a large car, both women barely large enough to see over the dashboard.&lt;br /&gt;As they cruised along, they came to an intersection. The stoplight was red but they just&lt;br /&gt;went on through. The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself, "I must be losing it, I could have sworn we just went through a red light."&lt;br /&gt;After a few more minutes, they came to another intersection, the light was red, and again they went right through. This time, the passenger was almost sure that the light had been red, but was also concerned that she might be seeing things.&lt;br /&gt;She was getting nervous and decided to pay very close attention.&lt;br /&gt;At the next intersection, sure enough, the light was definitely red and they went right through it.&lt;br /&gt;She turned to the other woman and said, "Mildred! Did you know we just ran through three red lights in a row? You could have killed us!"&lt;br /&gt;Mildred turned to her and cried, "Oh shit! Am I driving?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7396009842321312427?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7396009842321312427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7396009842321312427&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7396009842321312427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7396009842321312427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/scary-thought.html' title='A Scary Thought'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4471412695689092970</id><published>2007-04-11T23:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T23:22:14.195-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Think Your Day Is About To Turn Bad ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PkI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QXQ4gLnuzY0/s1600-h/outhouse.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052376645231263298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PkI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QXQ4gLnuzY0/s400/outhouse.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PlI/AAAAAAAAAAU/p0HqbgebIZ0/s1600-h/aa9.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052376645231263314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PlI/AAAAAAAAAAU/p0HqbgebIZ0/s400/aa9.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PmI/AAAAAAAAAAc/DadtYCo_JH8/s1600-h/alligators.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052376645231263330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PmI/AAAAAAAAAAc/DadtYCo_JH8/s400/alligators.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4471412695689092970?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4471412695689092970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4471412695689092970&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4471412695689092970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4471412695689092970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/think-your-day-is-about-to-turn-bad.html' title='Think Your Day Is About To Turn Bad ?'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CyHzRnv9vZA/Rh2lykp9PkI/AAAAAAAAAAM/QXQ4gLnuzY0/s72-c/outhouse.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1692592005668512391</id><published>2007-04-11T01:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T01:21:12.931-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrigley's</title><content type='html'>A Scotsman was having coffee and croissants with butter and jam in a cafe when an English tourist, chewing gum, sat down next to him. The Scotsman politely ignored the Englishman, who, nevertheless, tarted up a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;The Englishman snapped his gum and said, "You Scots folk eat the whole bread?"&lt;br /&gt;The Scot frowned, annoyed with being bothered during his breakfast, and replied, "Of course."&lt;br /&gt;The Englishman blew a huge bubble. "We don't. In England, we only eat what's inside. The crusts we collect in a container, recycle them, transform them into croissants and sell them to Scotland." The Englishman had a smirk on his face.&lt;br /&gt;The Scotsman listened in silence.&lt;br /&gt;The Englishman persisted. "Do you eat jam with the bread?"&lt;br /&gt;Sighing, the Scot replied, "Of course."&lt;br /&gt;Cracking his gum between his teeth, the Englishman said, "We don't. In England, we eat fresh fruit for breakfast, then we put all the peels, seeds, and leftovers in containers, recycle them, transform them into jam and sell to Scotland."&lt;br /&gt;The Scot then asked, "Do you have sex in England?"&lt;br /&gt;The Englishman smiled and said, "Why of course we do."&lt;br /&gt;The Scotsman leaned closer to him and asked, "And what do you do with the condoms once you've used them?"&lt;br /&gt;"We throw them away, of course."&lt;br /&gt;Now it was the Scots turn to smile. "We don't. In Scotland, we put them in a container, recycle them, melt them down into chewing gum and sell them to England. Why do you think it's called Wrigley's?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1692592005668512391?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1692592005668512391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1692592005668512391&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1692592005668512391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1692592005668512391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/wrigleys.html' title='Wrigley&apos;s'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1315318944750836007</id><published>2007-04-09T23:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-09T23:35:28.185-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Six  Shots Of  Vodka</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a bar and asks for six shots of vodka.&lt;br /&gt;The bartender says, "Six shots? What's wrong?"&lt;br /&gt;"I found out my older brother is gay," replied the man.&lt;br /&gt;The next night, he walked into the bar again and asked for six shots of vodka.&lt;br /&gt;"What now?" asked the bartender.&lt;br /&gt;"I found out my younger brother is gay," replied the man.&lt;br /&gt;The night after that, the man walked into the bar again and asked for six shots of vodka.&lt;br /&gt;"Geez, does ANYBODY in your family like women?" asked the bartender.&lt;br /&gt;The man replied, "Yeah, my wife does."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1315318944750836007?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1315318944750836007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1315318944750836007&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1315318944750836007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1315318944750836007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/six-shots-of-vodka.html' title='Six  Shots Of  Vodka'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5031019729215086801</id><published>2007-04-04T02:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-04T02:36:35.784-04:00</updated><title type='text'>America's Smartest Woman</title><content type='html'>An airplane was about to crash. There were 5 passengers on board, but only  4  parachutes. The 1st passenger said, "I am Kobe Bryant, the best NBA basketball player.  The Lakers need me, and I can't afford to die" So he took the  first  pack and left the plane.&lt;br /&gt;The 2ND passenger, Hillary Clinton said, "I am the wife of a former US President, a NY State Senator, and a potential future president.  And  I am the smartest woman in American history, so America 's people don't  want me to die." She took the second pack and jumped out of the plane.&lt;br /&gt;The 3rd passenger, Ted Kennedy said, "I am a US Senator, the Democratic party needs me, and my liver still has some good years left." So he  grabbed the pack next to him and jumped.&lt;br /&gt; The 4Th passenger, Billy Graham, said to the 5Th passenger, a 10 year  old schoolgirl, "I am old and frail and don't have many years left, so as  a Christian, I will sacrifice my life and let you have the last parachute."&lt;br /&gt;The girl said, "That's okay. There's a parachute left for you.&lt;br /&gt;America's smartest woman just jumped out of the plane with my school backpack."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5031019729215086801?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5031019729215086801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5031019729215086801&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5031019729215086801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5031019729215086801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/americas-smartest-woman.html' title='America&apos;s Smartest Woman'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1467354608650859613</id><published>2007-04-03T01:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T01:36:51.294-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Good News</title><content type='html'>A guy goes to see a doctor and after a series of tests the doctor comes in and says,&lt;br /&gt;"I've got some good news and some bad news."&lt;br /&gt;"What's the bad news?"&lt;br /&gt;asks the patient.&lt;br /&gt;"The bad news is that unfortunately, you've only got 3 months to live."&lt;br /&gt;The patient is shocked, "Oh my god! Well what's the good news then, doctor?"&lt;br /&gt;The doctor points over to the secretary at the front desk,&lt;br /&gt;"You see that blonde with the big breasts, tight ass and legs that go all the way up to heaven?"&lt;br /&gt;The patient says, "Yes."&lt;br /&gt;The doctor smiles and replies, "I'm banging her!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1467354608650859613?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1467354608650859613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1467354608650859613&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1467354608650859613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1467354608650859613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/04/good-news.html' title='The Good News'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5029165336510155634</id><published>2007-03-30T23:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T23:22:10.896-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Meaning Of Easter</title><content type='html'>One Easter morning, a Sunday School teacher asked her class if they knew the origins of this, special day. One young man responded immediately,  "It's opening day for the Yankees and Giants."  &lt;br /&gt;Not wishing to stifle creative thinking, the teacher responded,  "What a wonderful answer! But I had something else in mind."&lt;br /&gt;A young girl then stood and remarked,  "That's the day we get nice new clothes and go find the eggs from the Easter Bunny.&lt;br /&gt;"That's right,"  said the teacher.  "But there's something else just a little more important.&lt;br /&gt;A young man then jumped up and yelled, "I know, I know!!  After Jesus died on the cross, some of his friends buried him in a tomb they called a sepulcher." &lt;br /&gt;The teacher thought,  "I don't believe it, someone actually knows."&lt;br /&gt;The little boy continued,  "And three days later Jesus arose and opened the door of the tomb and stepped out."&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, yes!" said the teacher.  "Go on, go on!"&lt;br /&gt;And the youngster said,  "And if he sees his shadow, we have six more weeks of bad weather&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5029165336510155634?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5029165336510155634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5029165336510155634&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5029165336510155634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5029165336510155634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/meaning-of-easter.html' title='The Meaning Of Easter'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-889510568656824942</id><published>2007-03-30T13:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T13:40:26.876-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking A Walk</title><content type='html'>A blond and her blond boyfriend went for a walk along the river.&lt;br /&gt;The blond walked across alone on a wooden bridge. After crossing the river, the bridge fell down.&lt;br /&gt;She called across to her blond boyfriend telling him that she couldn't get back.&lt;br /&gt;He yelled in response, "Wait until dark, and I will shine my flash light across the river. Get on the light beam and walk back."&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "No, I'll get half way across the river, and you will turn the light off on me!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-889510568656824942?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/889510568656824942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=889510568656824942&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/889510568656824942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/889510568656824942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/taking-walk.html' title='Taking A Walk'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-1530588793052052707</id><published>2007-03-27T01:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-27T01:50:56.170-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Doctors</title><content type='html'>This guy's at work when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that his wife's been in an accident. He rushes to the emergency room where he's met by the doctor. They sit down in the waiting room and the doctor, with a very solemn look on his face starts to speak. But before he can, the guy interrupts.&lt;br /&gt;Guy: "Doc, don't tell me my wife's dead. I just can't take it. Really, I can't take it. I love her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: "Well, sir, I do have some bad news."&lt;br /&gt;Again the guy interrupts.&lt;br /&gt;Guy: "Doc, just tell me, did she make it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: "As I was saying, we did all we could. Right now she's in a vegetative state, which is likely where she'll remain for the rest of her life. She can stay here overnight, but after that, you'll have to take her home because your insurance doesn't cover this type of thing."&lt;br /&gt;The guy slumps, just crushed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: "With the right care, which will include you feeding her five times a day, cleaning her and giving her constant care on a daily basis, she'll likely live for at least another 30 years."&lt;br /&gt;The guy sinks even lower, just crushed, and starts to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doctor: "As I said, your insurance doesn't cover this kind of care, so you'll have to make some sort of arrangements to purchase the equipment you'll need for your wife. I would suggest you put your house on the market today and sell it as quickly as possible and buy a mobile home. You're gonna need the excess cash. It should be enough to buy the equipment your wife needs and for you to live on for the next couple of months. By then, you should be able to qualify for welfare and other forms of state and federal aid."&lt;br /&gt;By this point, the guy is sobbing uncontrollably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor reaches over, puts his hand on his shoulder and says, "Hey, look at me."&lt;br /&gt;The guy looks up and the doctor smiles and says, "I'm just fucking with you ...she's dead."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-1530588793052052707?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/1530588793052052707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=1530588793052052707&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1530588793052052707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/1530588793052052707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/doctors.html' title='Doctors'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5901559206276593786</id><published>2007-03-25T02:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-25T02:05:19.381-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Athiest</title><content type='html'>An atheist was taking a walk through the woods. "What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!" he said to himself. As he continued walking alongside the river he heard a rustling in the bushes&lt;br /&gt;Turning to look, he saw a 7 foot grizzly charging towards him. He ran as fast as he could up the path. Looking over his shoulder he saw that the bear was closing in on him. His heart was pumping frantically and he tried to run&lt;br /&gt;even faster. He tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw the bear raising his paw to take a swipe at him. At that instant the atheist cried out: "Oh my God....!" ;&gt; Time stopped.&lt;br /&gt;The bear froze. The forest was silent. It was then that a bright light shone upon the man and a voice came out of the sky saying: "You deny my existence for all of&lt;br /&gt;these years, told others I didn't exist and even credit creation to a cosmic accident. Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer?"&lt;br /&gt;The atheist looked directly into the light and said: "It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask you to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps, could you make the BEAR a Christian?"&lt;br /&gt;"Very well," said the voice.&lt;br /&gt;The light went out, and the sounds of the forest resumed.&lt;br /&gt;And then the bear lowered his paw, bowed his head and spoke: "Lord, bless this food which I am about to receive and for which I am truly thankful, Amen"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5901559206276593786?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5901559206276593786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5901559206276593786&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5901559206276593786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5901559206276593786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/athiest.html' title='The Athiest'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4271072580224025873</id><published>2007-03-22T02:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-22T02:44:30.710-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Setting The Record Straight</title><content type='html'>Here's a quote from a government employee who witnessed a recent interaction between an elderly woman and an antiwar protester in a Metro station in DC:&lt;br /&gt;"There were protesters on the train platform handing out pamphlets on the evils of America.  I politely declined to take one.&lt;br /&gt;"An elderly woman was behind me getting off the escalator and a young (20ish) female protester offered her a pamphlet, which she politely declined.   The young protester put her hand on the old woman's shoulder as a gesture of friendship and in a very soft voice said, "Lady, don't you care about the children of Iraq?"&lt;br /&gt;"The old woman looked up at her and said,  ' Young lady, my father died in France during World War II, I lost my husband in Korea, and a son in Vietnam.  All three died so you could have the right to stand here and bad mouth our country.   If you touch me again. I'll stick this umbrella up your ass and open it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4271072580224025873?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4271072580224025873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4271072580224025873&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4271072580224025873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4271072580224025873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/setting-record-straight.html' title='Setting The Record Straight'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-261437323297953206</id><published>2007-03-21T00:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T00:04:41.381-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Gay Teddy</title><content type='html'>Gay Teddy goes into the doctor's office and has some tests&lt;br /&gt;run. The doctor comes back and says, "Teddy, I am not going&lt;br /&gt;to beat around the bush. You have AIDS."&lt;br /&gt;Teddy is devastated. "Doc, what can I do?"&lt;br /&gt;The doctor says "I want you to go home and eat 5 pounds of&lt;br /&gt;spicy sausage, a head of cabbage, 20 unpeeled carrots&lt;br /&gt;drenched in hot sauce, 10 jalapeno peppers, 40 walnuts and&lt;br /&gt;peanuts, 1/2 box of Grapenuts cereal, and top it off with a&lt;br /&gt;gallon of prune juice."&lt;br /&gt;Teddy asks, "Will that cure me, Doc?"&lt;br /&gt;"No, but it will teach you what your ass is for."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-261437323297953206?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/261437323297953206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=261437323297953206&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/261437323297953206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/261437323297953206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/gay-teddy.html' title='Gay Teddy'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-92922244514818264</id><published>2007-03-20T02:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T02:51:57.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cape Breton Sobriety Test</title><content type='html'>One day, a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman  pulled a car over on the Trans Canada Highway .  When the Mountie asked the driver why he was speeding, the driver answered that he was a magician and a juggler, and he was on his way to North Sydney to do a show that night at the Shrine  Circus, and didn't want to be late. The Mountie told the driver he was fascinated by juggling and if the driver would do a little juggling for him, he wouldn't give him a ticket. &lt;br /&gt;The driver told the Mountie that he had sent all of his equipment on ahead and didn't have anything to juggle.  The Mountie then said that he had some flares in the trunk of his patrol car and asked the magician if he would juggle them.  The juggler stated that he would, so the Mountie got three flares, lit them and handed them to the juggler.&lt;br /&gt;     While the man was doing his juggling act, a truck pulled in behind the patrol car.  A Cape Bretoner, drunk, and  driving home from the local tavern got out and watched the performance .  He then went over to the patrol car, opened the rear door, and got in. The Mountie observed him doing this, went over to the patrol car, opened the door, and asked the guy what the hell he thought he was doing.&lt;br /&gt;The guy replied, "You might as well take me right to jail, cause there's no f*ckin` way I can pass that test."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-92922244514818264?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/92922244514818264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=92922244514818264&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/92922244514818264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/92922244514818264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/cape-breton-sobriety-test.html' title='Cape Breton Sobriety Test'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4260853643961710656</id><published>2007-03-18T02:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T02:30:10.745-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Coincidence?</title><content type='html'>A chicken farmer went into a local tavern and took a seat at the bar, next to a woman, and ordered a glass of champagne.&lt;br /&gt;The woman perked up and said " How about that? I just ordered a glass of champagne, too!"&lt;br /&gt;He turned to her and said, "What a coincidence. This is a special day for me, I'm celebrating."&lt;br /&gt;"This is a special day for me, too, and I'm also celebrating!" says the woman.&lt;br /&gt;"What a coincidence." said the man.&lt;br /&gt;They clinked glasses and he asked, "What are you celebrating?"&lt;br /&gt;"My husband and I have been trying for years, to have a child, and  today, my doctor told me I'm pregnant!"&lt;br /&gt;"What a coincidence." says the man. "I'm a chicken farmer. For years all of my hens were infertile, but today they're finally fertile."&lt;br /&gt;"That's great!" said the woman, "How did your chickens become fertile?"&lt;br /&gt;"I switched cocks." he replied.&lt;br /&gt;"What a coincidence," she said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4260853643961710656?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4260853643961710656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4260853643961710656&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4260853643961710656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4260853643961710656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/coincidence.html' title='Coincidence?'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-361501100043162377</id><published>2007-03-15T23:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T23:37:50.364-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Reverse Immigration</title><content type='html'>This guy is definately thinking outside of the triangle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enter Mexico illegally.&lt;br /&gt;Ignore immigration quotas, visas, international law, and all that nonsense.&lt;br /&gt;Once there, demand that the local government provide free medical care for you and your entire family.&lt;br /&gt;Demand that the federal government provide retirement benefits for your elderly parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Procreate abundantly&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Demand that the Mexican school system provide schooling for all your children.&lt;br /&gt;Speak only English at home and in public and insist that your children do the same.&lt;br /&gt;Demand classes on American culture in the Mexican school system.&lt;br /&gt;Demand bilingual nurses and doctors.&lt;br /&gt;Demand free bilingual local government forms, bulletins, etc.&lt;br /&gt;Deflect any criticism of this irresponsible behavior with, "It is a cultural United States thing. You would not understand."&lt;br /&gt;Keep your American identity strong. Fly Old Glory from your rooftop; proudly display it in your front window and on your car bumper.&lt;br /&gt;Demand a local Mexican driver's license and then use your new Mexican driver's license to apply for other legal rights and to legitimize your illegal presence in Mexico.&lt;br /&gt;Demand that the Mexican driver's license be acceptable documentation for voter's registration.&lt;br /&gt;Insist that local Mexican law enforcement teach English to all its officers.&lt;br /&gt;Insist that you should not have to pay taxes, because you are not a Mexican citizen and are only there "temporarily."&lt;br /&gt;Good luck! You'll be demanding for the rest of time,  or soon be dead.&lt;br /&gt;It will never happen. It will not happen in Mexico or any other country in the world.&lt;br /&gt;The only place this happens is right here... in the land of the gullible and the home of the naively stupid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-361501100043162377?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/361501100043162377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=361501100043162377&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/361501100043162377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/361501100043162377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/reverse-immigration.html' title='Reverse Immigration'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-3322508108312447181</id><published>2007-03-13T23:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T23:44:09.979-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jack And Jill</title><content type='html'>Jack was about to marry Jill and his father took him to one side.&lt;br /&gt;When I married your mother, the first thing I did when we got home was take off my trousers," he said. "I gave them to your mother and told her to put them on. When she did, they were enormous on her and she said to me that she couldn't possibly wear them, as they were too large.&lt;br /&gt;I told her, "Of course they're too big. I wear the trousers in this family and I always will."&lt;br /&gt;Ever since that day, we have never had a single problem."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack took his father's advice and as soon as he got Jill alone after the wedding, he did the same thing; took off his trousers, gave them to Jill and told her to put them on. Jill said that the trousers were too big and she couldn't possibly wear them.&lt;br /&gt;"Exactly," replied Jack. "I wear the trousers in this relationship and I always will. I don't want you to forget that".&lt;br /&gt;Jill paused and removed her knickers and gave them to Jack. "Try these on," she said, so he tried them on but they were too small.&lt;br /&gt;"I can't possibly get into your knickers," said Jack.&lt;br /&gt;"Exactly," replied Jill. "And if you don't change your f*cking attitude, you never will!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-3322508108312447181?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/3322508108312447181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=3322508108312447181&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3322508108312447181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/3322508108312447181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/jack-and-jill.html' title='Jack And Jill'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-5803325543685644474</id><published>2007-03-08T23:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-08T23:27:30.392-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hot Seat</title><content type='html'>In a recent interview, forced upon me by a rabid female fan, wielding a rusty beer can, I had to endure a barrage of questions, and was coerced into  posting my responses. Fortunately for me, Willow can no longer read,....but a promise is a promise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Q. What's the fastest way to a badger's heart?&lt;br /&gt;A. Through his chest with a sharp knife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Why do men always  want to marry virgins?&lt;br /&gt;A. They can't stand criticism?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Why is it so hard for women to find men that are sensitive, caring, and good-looking?&lt;br /&gt;A. Because those men already have boyfriends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. What makes men chase women they have no intention of marrying?&lt;br /&gt; A. The same urge that makes a dog chase a car they have no intention of driving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Why does Mike Tyson cry during sex?&lt;br /&gt;A. Mace will do that to you.&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;                  Bonus Question&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Q. Why is there no Disneyland in China?&lt;br /&gt;A. No one is tall enough to go on the rides.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-5803325543685644474?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/5803325543685644474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=5803325543685644474&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5803325543685644474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/5803325543685644474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/hot-seat.html' title='The Hot Seat'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-4933207824060507751</id><published>2007-03-06T14:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T14:38:58.087-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Cows</title><content type='html'>DEMOCRAT - You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. Barbara Streisand sings for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;REPUBLICAN -You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOCIALIST -You have two cows. The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor. You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;COMMUNIST -You have two cows. The government seizes both and provides you with milk. You wait in line for hours to get it. It is expensive and sour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DEMOCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE -You have two cows. The government taxes you to the point you have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a gift from your government.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE -You have two cows. The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other, pays you for the milk, and then pours the milk down the drain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AMERICAN CORPORATION -You have two cows. You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one. You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses. Your stock goes up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FRENCH CORPORATION -You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows. You go to lunch and drink wine. Life is good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;JAPANESE CORPORATION -You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains. Most are at the top of their class at cow school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GERMAN CORPORATION -You have two cows. You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ITALIAN CORPORATION -You have two cows but you don't know where they are. While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman. You break for lunch. Life is good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;RUSSIAN CORPORATION -You have two cows. You have some vodka. You count them and learn you have five cows. You have some more vodka. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TALIBAN CORPORATION -You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two. You don't milk them because you can not touch any creature's private parts. Then you kill them and claim a US bomb blew them up while they were in the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IRAQI CORPORATION -You have two cows. They go in hiding. They send radio tapes of their mooing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FLORIDA CORPORATION-You have a black cow and a brown cow. Everyone votes for the best looking one. Some of the people who like the brown one best, vote for the black one. Some people vote for both. Some people vote for neither. Some people can't figure out how to vote at all. Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which is the best-looking cow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CALIFORNIA CORPORATION -You have millions of cows. Most are illegals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-4933207824060507751?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/4933207824060507751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=4933207824060507751&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4933207824060507751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/4933207824060507751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/two-cows.html' title='Two Cows'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-438148409779732180</id><published>2007-03-05T18:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T18:17:22.382-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Priceless</title><content type='html'>While she was "flying" down the road yesterday (10 miles over the limit),  a woman drove across a bridge, only to find a cop  with a radar gun on the other side, lying in wait. The cop pulled her over,  walked up to the car, and with that classic patronizing smirk we all know and  love,  asked, "What's your  hurry?"&lt;br /&gt;The woman replied, "I'm late for  work."&lt;br /&gt; "Oh yeah?" said the cop, "what do you do?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm a rectum stretcher,"  she responded.&lt;br /&gt;The cop stammered, "A what? A rectum stretcher? And just what does a rectum stretcher do?" "Well," she said, "I start by inserting one finger, then I work my way up to two fingers, then three, then four, then with my whole hand in. I work from side to side until I can get both hands in, and then I slowly but surely  stretch, until it's about 6 feet wide."&lt;br /&gt; "And just what the hell do you do with a 6 foot asshole?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt; "You give him a radar gun and park him behind a bridge..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Ticket                             $ 95.00&lt;br /&gt;Court Costs                                $ 45.00&lt;br /&gt;The Look on Cop's Face.          PRICELESS&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-438148409779732180?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/438148409779732180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=438148409779732180&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/438148409779732180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/438148409779732180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/priceless.html' title='Priceless'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-7951660579458438062</id><published>2007-03-02T12:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T21:43:34.956-05:00</updated><title type='text'>World History As It Really Happened</title><content type='html'>Humans originally existed as members of small bands of nomadic hunters/gatherers. They lived on deer in the mountains during the summer, and would go to the coast and live on fish and lobster in the winter.&lt;br /&gt;The two most important events in all of history were the invention of beer and the invention of the wheel. The wheel was invented to get man to the beer. These were the foundation of modern civilization and together, were the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct subgroups: 1. Liberals; and 2. Conservatives.&lt;br /&gt;Once beer was discovered, it required grain and that was the beginning of agriculture. Neither the glass bottle nor the aluminum can were invented yet, so while early humans were sitting around waiting for them to be invented, they just stayed close to the brewery. That's how villages were formed.&lt;br /&gt;Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals toB-B-Q at night while they were drinking beer. This was the beginning of what is now known as the Conservative movement. Other men who were weaker and less skilled at hunting, learned to live off the conservatives by showing up for the nightly B-B-Q's and doing the sewing, fetching, and hairdressing. This was the beginning of the Liberal movement.&lt;br /&gt;Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women. The rest became known as girlie men. Some noteworthy liberal achievements include the domestication of cats, the invention of group therapy, group hugs, and the concept of Democratic voting, to decide how to divide the meat and beer that the conservatives provided. Over the years conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant.&lt;br /&gt;Liberals were symbolized by the jackass. Modern liberals like imported beer (with lime added), but most prefer white wine or imported bottled water. They eat raw fish, but like their beef well done. Sushi, tofu, andFrench food are standard liberal fare.&lt;br /&gt;Another interesting evolutionary side note: most of their women have higher testosterone levels than their men. Most social workers, personal injury attorneys, journalists, dreamers in Hollywood, and group therapists, are liberals. Liberals invented the designated hitter rule because it wasn't fair to make the pitcher also bat.&lt;br /&gt;Conservatives drink domestic beer. They eat red meat and still provide for their women. Conservatives are big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, firemen, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, athletes, Marines, and generally anyone who works productively. Conservatives who own companies hire other conservatives who want to work for a living.&lt;br /&gt;Liberals produce little or nothing. They like to govern the producers and decide what to do with the production. Liberals believe Europeans are more enlightened than Americans. That is why most of the liberals remained inEurope when the conservatives were coming to America . They crept in after the Wild West was tamed and created the business idea of trying to get more for nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Here ends today's lesson in world history: It should be noted that a Liberal may have a momentary urge to angrily respond to the above before forwarding it.&lt;br /&gt;A Conservative will simply laugh and be so convinced of the absolute truth of this history, that it will be forwarded immediately to other true believers and to more liberals just to piss them off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-7951660579458438062?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/7951660579458438062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=7951660579458438062&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7951660579458438062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/7951660579458438062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/03/world-history-as-it-really-happened.html' title='World History As It Really Happened'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117253283710805422</id><published>2007-02-26T18:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-26T18:33:57.213-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Word Association</title><content type='html'>A businessman is getting on a flight when he hears from the other passengers that the Pope is going to be on the flight.&lt;br /&gt;"WOW!  Great!" he  thinks. "What a great place to be today."&lt;br /&gt;He is boarding, but he doesn't see the Pope, so he figures that maybe the other passengers were wrong. He takes his seat, and is thankful that there is an empty seat next to him. Just before the flight closes, the Pope enters the plane and sits next to him.&lt;br /&gt;"I am surely blessed", the man thinks. "Here I am, a good Catholic, on a flight,  with the Pope sitting next to me.&lt;br /&gt;The plane takes off, and after a few minutes the passengers take off their seatbelts. The man looks sideways and sees the Pope reaching into his bag to take out a crossword book. "Marvellous", he thinks, "not only am I blessed with the Pope next to me, but he does crosswords too".  Maybe he will ask for help. He notices that the Pope is working his way through the puzzle, and that the Pope is tapping his pencil, thinking.&lt;br /&gt;The Pope turns to him and says: "I usually don't talk to others on flights, but I wonder if you can help me?"&lt;br /&gt; "Anything your eminence. What is it?"&lt;br /&gt; "Do you know a four letter word for 'woman' that ends in u-n-t?"&lt;br /&gt; The man feels uncomfortable. He thinks and thinks. Finally he says, "The only word I can think of is aunt."&lt;br /&gt;The Pope looks at him and asks, "Do you have an eraser?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117253283710805422?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117253283710805422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117253283710805422&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117253283710805422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117253283710805422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/word-association.html' title='Word Association'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117237422934558644</id><published>2007-02-24T22:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-24T22:30:29.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Lesson Learned</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/619947/hilary.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/400/748975/hilary.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The picture shows that this soldier has been thru Survival School and learned his lessons well. He's giving the sign of "coercion" with his left hand. These hand signs are taught in survival school to be used by POW's as a method of posing messages back to our intelligence services who may view the photo or video. This guy was obviously being coerced into shaking hands with Hillary Clinton. It's ironic how little she knew that he would so inform us about the photo---perhaps because she's never understood our military to begin with.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117237422934558644?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117237422934558644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117237422934558644&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117237422934558644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117237422934558644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/lesson-learned.html' title='A Lesson Learned'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117225202310911408</id><published>2007-02-23T12:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T12:33:43.160-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MY DADDY, THE DANCER</title><content type='html'>One day a fourth-grade teacher asked the children what their fathers did for a living. All the typical answers came up --  fireman, mechanic,businessman, salesman, doctor, lawyer, and so forth.&lt;br /&gt;However, little Justin was being uncharacteristically quiet, so when the teacher prodded him about his father, he replied,  &lt;br /&gt;"My father's an exotic dancer in a gay cabaret and takes off all his clothes in front of other men and they put money in his underwear. Sometimes, if the offer is really good, he will go home with some guy and stay with him all night for money."&lt;br /&gt;The teacher, obviously shaken by this statement, hurriedly set the other children to work on some exercises and then took little Justin aside to ask him, "Is that really true about your father?"&lt;br /&gt;"No," the boy said, "he works for the Democratic National Committee and is helping to get Hillary Clinton elected, to be our next President, but I was too embarrassed to say that in front of the other kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117225202310911408?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117225202310911408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117225202310911408&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117225202310911408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117225202310911408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-daddy-dancer.html' title='MY DADDY, THE DANCER'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117217639827656003</id><published>2007-02-22T15:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T15:33:18.653-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Brian, The Hen</title><content type='html'>Brian came home from the pub late one Friday night just stinking drunk,as he often did, and crept into bed beside his wife who was already  asleep. He gave his wife a peck on the cheek and fell asleep.&lt;br /&gt;When he woke, he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed, wearing a long, flowing, white robe.&lt;br /&gt;"Who the hell are you?", demanded Brian, "and what are you doing in my bedroom?!"&lt;br /&gt;The mysterious man answered, "this is not your bedroom, and I'm St.Peter."&lt;br /&gt;Brian was stunned."You mean I'm dead?! That can't be, I have so much to live for, I haven't said goodbye to my family! You've got to send me back straightaway."&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter replied, "Yes, you can be reincarnated, but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog, or as a hen."&lt;br /&gt;Brian was devastated, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen.&lt;br /&gt;A flash of light later he was covered in feathers and clucking around pecking the ground.&lt;br /&gt;"This ain't so bad," he thought.&lt;br /&gt;Then he felt this strange feeling welling up inside of him.&lt;br /&gt;The farmyard rooster strolled up and said, "So you're the new hen. How are you enjoying your first day here?"&lt;br /&gt;"It's not so bad," replied Brian, "but I have this strange feeling inside,  like I'm about to explode."&lt;br /&gt;"You're ovulating," explained the rooster, "don't tell me you've never laid an egg before?"&lt;br /&gt;"Never!", replied Brian&lt;br /&gt;"Well, just relax and let it happen." advised the rooster.&lt;br /&gt;And so he did, and a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg popped out from under his tail. An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time.  When he laid his second egg , the feeling of happiness was overwhelming, and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that ever happened to him... ever!&lt;br /&gt;The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg, he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head......and heard his wife shouting, "BRIAN, wake up you drunken bastard!You're SHITTING the bed!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117217639827656003?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117217639827656003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117217639827656003&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117217639827656003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117217639827656003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/brian-hen.html' title='Brian, The Hen'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117204236765980506</id><published>2007-02-21T02:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T02:19:28.143-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cartoons</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/878029/aa2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/981226/aa2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/986295/aa3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/938701/aa3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/464474/aa5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/930882/aa5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/45353/aa1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/63535/aa1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/38751/aa4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/542041/aa4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117204236765980506?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117204236765980506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117204236765980506&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117204236765980506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117204236765980506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/cartoons.html' title='Cartoons'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117199071580993452</id><published>2007-02-20T11:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-20T11:58:35.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Can this be true???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/1600/157291/george_w_bush-laugh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6309/952/320/710619/george_w_bush-laugh.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's time to toss my hat in the ring!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gold Star Mothers (G.S.M.)is an organization made up of women whose sons were&lt;br /&gt;killed in military combat during service in theUnited StatesArmed Forces.&lt;br /&gt;Recently a dele gation ofNew YorkStateGold Star Mothers made a trip toWashingtonD.C., to discuss various concerns with their elected Representatives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to published reports, there was only one politician who refused&lt;br /&gt;to meet with these ladies.&lt;br /&gt;Can you guess which politician&lt;br /&gt;that might be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it New York Senator&lt;br /&gt;Charles Schumer? Nope, he met with them.&lt;br /&gt;Try again . Do y ou know anyone serving&lt;br /&gt;in the Senate who has never showed anything but contempt for our military?&lt;br /&gt;Do you happen to know the name of any politician in Washington, who's husband once wrote of his loathing for the military?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now you're getting warm! You got it!&lt;br /&gt;None other than the Queen herself, Hillary Rotten Clinton!&lt;br /&gt;She refused repeated requests to meet&lt;br /&gt;with the Gold Star Mothers.&lt;br /&gt;May you sleep in peace always...and please....hug or thank a Veteran for that&lt;br /&gt;privilege&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't forget, our girl,&lt;br /&gt;Hillary Rodham Clinton,&lt;br /&gt;as a New York Senator, now comes under this fancy congressional Retirement and Staffing Plan.&lt;br /&gt;It's common knowledge that, in order for her to establish NYS residency, they purchased a million+ dollar house in upscaleChappaqua,NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Makes sense.&lt;br /&gt;Now, they are entitled to Secret Service protection for life.&lt;br /&gt;Still makes sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is where it becomes interesting. The mortgage payments hover at about $10,000 per month.&lt;br /&gt;BUT, an extra residency had to be built within the acreage in order to house the&lt;br /&gt;Secret Service agents..&lt;br /&gt;The Clinton's now charge the Secret Service $10,000 monthly rent for the&lt;br /&gt;use of said Secret Service residence&lt;br /&gt;and that rent is just about equal to their mortgage payment, meaning that&lt;br /&gt;we, the tax payers, are paying the Clinton's mortgage, their transportation, their safety and security, their 12 man staff.&lt;br /&gt;And it's all perfectly legal.&lt;br /&gt;Something smells really bad here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely, Cmdr. Hamilton McWhorter&lt;br /&gt;U.S.N.&lt;br /&gt;(retired)&lt;br /&gt;(Edited for time, by Harry Badger.)&lt;br /&gt;(Formatted to fit your screen, by Pharryl Badger.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117199071580993452?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117199071580993452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117199071580993452&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117199071580993452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117199071580993452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/can-this-be-true.html' title='Can this be true???'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117181983532045407</id><published>2007-02-18T12:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-18T12:30:35.400-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Baseball Diaries</title><content type='html'>Bob and Earl were best friends, and had been for 50 years. They went to baseball games together, and had the best time possible. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They truly loved the game, but they always secretly wondered if there was baseball in heaven, and agreed that whoever died first had to call the other guy and, tell them if there was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one night Earl died, and then a few days later Bob attended his funeral and returned home after the  service. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the phone rang it was Earl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earl said,"Bob! is this you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob said,"Yes, Earl how are you doing, and hey!,is there baseball in heaven?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earl said,"Well I've got some good news and some bad news."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob said, "Whats the good news?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earl said, "Well there is baseball in heaven, and yes, you can play with Babe Ruth, and everybody here is great"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob said, "Then what's the bad news?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earl said, "Well Bob, you're the starting pitcher, tommorow night!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117181983532045407?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117181983532045407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117181983532045407&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117181983532045407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117181983532045407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/baseball-diaries.html' title='The Baseball Diaries'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117152600838674969</id><published>2007-02-15T02:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T02:53:28.443-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Monkey Business</title><content type='html'>One day, a Highway Patrol cop came upon a bad accident.&lt;br /&gt;A man and a woman were both dead from a car crash. The accident seemed to have no apparent explanation, until the cop looked up on the hillside and saw a monkey waving his arms at him, as if to say something.&lt;br /&gt;The cop yelled, "Hey monkey ... do you know what happened here?" &lt;br /&gt;The monkey began jumping up and down, motioning with his arms, as if he was drinking a bottle of some kind.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "They were drinking?"&lt;br /&gt;The monkey  nodded his head, vigorously.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "What else?"&lt;br /&gt;The monkey mimed smoking a joint.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "They were smoking dope?"&lt;br /&gt;Again, the monkey nodded his head vigorously.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "There must have been more. This is a very strange accident. Monkey! What else?"&lt;br /&gt;The monkey began miming  sexual intercourse.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "They were screwing?"&lt;br /&gt;For a third time, the monkey nodded his head.&lt;br /&gt;Cop: "This still doesn't make any sense.&lt;br /&gt;Hey monkey! What were you doing while all this was going on?"&lt;br /&gt;The monkey got all excited and with a huge grin began makin steering motions, as if he was driving the car, while looking behind him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117152600838674969?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117152600838674969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117152600838674969&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117152600838674969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117152600838674969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/monkey-business.html' title='Monkey Business'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117138148356190051</id><published>2007-02-13T10:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-13T10:44:43.613-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lawyers Part VIII</title><content type='html'>For 3 years, a young attorney had been taking his brief vacations at a country inn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time he'd finally managed to have an affair with the innkeeper's daughter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking forward to an exciting few days, he dragged his suitcase up the stairs of the inn, then stopped short. There sat his lover with an infant on her lap!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Helen, why didn't you write when you learned you were pregnant?" he cried. "I would have rushed up here, we could have gotten married, and the baby would have my name!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," she said, "when my folks found out about my condition, we sat up all night talkin' , and decided it would be better to have a bastard in the family, than a lawyer."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117138148356190051?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117138148356190051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117138148356190051&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117138148356190051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117138148356190051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/lawyers-part-viii.html' title='Lawyers Part VIII'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117117224827957455</id><published>2007-02-10T00:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-11T00:37:28.353-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sindian In The Cupboard</title><content type='html'>A woman takes a lover home during the day, while her husband is at work. &lt;br /&gt;Her 9-year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them, and hides in the &lt;br /&gt;bedroom cupboard to watch. &lt;br /&gt;The woman's husband also comes home, so she puts her lover in the cupboard, not &lt;br /&gt;realizing that the little boy is in there already. &lt;br /&gt;The little boy says, "Dark in here." &lt;br /&gt;The man says, "Yes, it is." &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "I have a football." &lt;br /&gt;Man - "That's nice." &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "Want to buy it?" &lt;br /&gt;Man - "No, thanks." &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "My dad's outside." &lt;br /&gt;Man - "OK, how much?" &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "£250" &lt;br /&gt;  A few weeks later, it happens again, and the boy and the lover &lt;br /&gt;end up in the cupboard together. &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "Dark in here." &lt;br /&gt;Man - "Yes, it is." &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "I have football boots." &lt;br /&gt;The lover, remembering the last time, asks the boy, "How much?" &lt;br /&gt;Boy - "£750" &lt;br /&gt;Man - "Sold." &lt;br /&gt;A few days later, the boys' father says to the boy, "Grab your boots &lt;br /&gt;and football, and let's go outside and have a game of soccer. &lt;br /&gt;The boy says, "I can't, I sold my ball and boots." &lt;br /&gt;The father asks, "How much did you sell them for?" &lt;br /&gt;Boy -"£1,000." &lt;br /&gt;The father says, "That's terrible! Overcharging your friends like that. That &lt;br /&gt;is much more than those  things cost. I'm going to take you to &lt;br /&gt;Church and make you confess." &lt;br /&gt;They go to the church, and the father makes the boy sit in the &lt;br /&gt;confession booth and he closes the door. &lt;br /&gt;The boy says, "Dark in here." &lt;br /&gt;The priest says, "Don't start that shit again. You're in my cupboard now."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117117224827957455?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117117224827957455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117117224827957455&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117117224827957455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117117224827957455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/sindian-in-cupboard.html' title='The Sindian In The Cupboard'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117083638518991472</id><published>2007-02-08T15:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-08T16:22:02.470-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Memories</title><content type='html'>A woman awakes during the night to find that her husband is not in bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him.  She finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee in front of him. He appears to be in deep thought, just staring at the wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She watches as he wiped a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his&lt;br /&gt;coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's the matter, dear?" she whispers as she steps into the room, "Why are you down here at this time of night?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband looks up from his coffee, "Do you remember 20 years ago when we were dating, and you were only 16?" he asks solemnly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wife is touched to tears thinking that her husband is so&lt;br /&gt;caring and sensitive. "Yes, I do" she replies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband paused. The words were not coming easily.&lt;br /&gt;"Do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I remember" said the wife, lowering herself into a chair beside him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The husband continued. "Do you remember when he shoved the shotgun in my face and said, "Either you marry my daughter, or I will send you to jail for 20 years?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I remember that too" she replied softly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wiped another tear from his cheek and said ... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I would have gotten out today!."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117083638518991472?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117083638518991472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117083638518991472&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117083638518991472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117083638518991472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/memories.html' title='Memories'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117078284814783098</id><published>2007-02-07T06:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-07T09:50:56.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cowboys</title><content type='html'>One day, a successful rancher, up and died, and left everything to his devoted wife.&lt;br /&gt;She was determined to keep the ranch, but knew that she would need some help,&lt;br /&gt;so she placed an ad in the local newspaper for a ranch hand.&lt;br /&gt;    Two cowboys applied for the job. One was gay and the other a drunk.&lt;br /&gt;She thought long and hard about it, and when no one else applied she decided&lt;br /&gt;to hire the gay cowboy, figuring it would be safer to have him around the house, rather than a drunk.&lt;br /&gt;    He proved to be a hard worker who put in long hours every day and knew a lot about ranching. For weeks the two of them worked hard and the ranch was doing very well.&lt;br /&gt;Then one day, the rancher's widow said "You have done a really good job,and the ranch looks great. You should go into town and kick up your heels."&lt;br /&gt;    The hired hand readily agreed and went into town on Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;He returned around 2:30am,and upon entering the room, he found the rancher's widow sitting by the fireplace with a glass of wine,waitting for him.&lt;br /&gt;She quietly called him over to her.&lt;br /&gt;"Unbutton my blouse and take it off, "she said. &lt;br /&gt;Trembling, he did as she directed.&lt;br /&gt;"Now take off my boots." &lt;br /&gt;He did as she asked, ever so slowly.&lt;br /&gt;"Now take off my socks." &lt;br /&gt;He removed each gently and placed them neatly by her boots.&lt;br /&gt;"Now take off my skirt." &lt;br /&gt;He slowly unbuttoned it, constantly watching her eyes in the fire light.&lt;br /&gt;"Now take off my bra." &lt;br /&gt;Again, with trembling hands did as he was told and dropped it to the floor.&lt;br /&gt;Then she looked at him and said,&lt;br /&gt; "If you ever wear my clothes into town again, you're fired!".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117078284814783098?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117078284814783098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117078284814783098&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117078284814783098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117078284814783098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/cowboys.html' title='Cowboys'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11637529.post-117078227550606568</id><published>2007-02-06T12:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-06T12:17:55.603-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Trophies</title><content type='html'>Bob, a 70-year-old, extremely wealthy widower, shows up at the Country&lt;br /&gt; Club with a breathtakingly beautiful 25 year- old who knocks everyone's&lt;br /&gt; socks off with her youthful appeal and charm. She hangs onto Bob's arm &lt;br /&gt;and listens intently to his every word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; His buddies at the club are all aghast. At the very first chance, they&lt;br /&gt; corner him and ask, "Bob, how did you get the trophy girlfriend?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Bob replies, "Girlfriend? She's my wife!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; They're amazed, but continue to ask. "So, how did you persuade her to&lt;br /&gt; marry you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "I lied about my age", Bob replies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "What, did you tell her you were only 50?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Bob smiles and says, "No, I told her I was 90."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11637529-117078227550606568?l=badgerbob.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/feeds/117078227550606568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11637529&amp;postID=117078227550606568&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117078227550606568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11637529/posts/default/117078227550606568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://badgerbob.blogspot.com/2007/02/trophies.html' title='Trophies'/><author><name>badgerbob</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06813345934729593279</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6309/952/400/Badger.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
