Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Sunday, January 17, 2021
Sunday, May 17, 2020
True Story
This is my life on a regular basis...
Thank you Pinterest for finding these funny nuggets about my life for me.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
How to make a cashier laugh
Today at the store I purchased two candy bars and a water bottle. The cashier rang up my total and said "Your total today comes to $28.98" I looked at him and said Not today Satan, the devil is a liar. He laughed, looked at the register and apologized for his mistake. He apparently forgot to clear the price check he did a few minutes prior to me walking up. As I collected my things, he thanked me for his laugh. As I walked away, I could hear him saying "not today satan, the devil is a liar" LOL!!!
Friday, February 17, 2017
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Monday, November 14, 2016
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Random Text From Kayla
Kayla and I talk almost every day. Today's conversation started out as text messages. In the middle of our conversation, she sends me the most random thing I've read all day. We both thought it was funny so I naturally had to share it with you...Everyone needs a Kayla in their life...I am so grateful to have her in mine.
"Beans, beans the magical fruit the more you eat the more you poot. Beans, beans a magical art, the more you eat the more you fart!!"
Hahahahahahahahahahahaha and that my dear readers is your comedy for today.
Friday, February 5, 2016
The truth about bugs....
A friend sent this to me on Facebook. It is a funny picture but it is truly the story of my life. Geckos, spiders, ants, wasps, etc they are all trying to kill me.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
I can't technology
I have unintentionally successfully killed all the tablets in my house. How? I am not even sure, the screen just went black and wouldn't turn back on. One frozen in a middle of a update. Either way, they all met their demise in my hands. I took two of the three tablets to my Guam Dad and brother to take a look at. One of the two tablets, to my surprise was not dead at all in the sense of me breaking it. It just had an extremely dead battery. LOL! I am a genius---I can't technology.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Friday, November 7, 2014
The Art of Waxing
My friend posted this on her Facebook page as a way to bring some laughter in someones life...I laughed so hard I was crying and just had to share the story...
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: ‘Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.’
So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those ‘cold wax’ kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.
No mess, no fuss.
How hard can it be?
I mean, I’m not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. (‘Cold wax,’ yeah…right!)
I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull.
It works!
OK, so it wasn’t the best feeling, but it wasn’t too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me!
I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north after checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.
I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet.
Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip) ..
I inhale deeply and brace myself…RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I’m blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!….OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only managed to pull off half the strip.
CRAP!
Another deep breath and RIPP!
Everything is spinning and spotted.
I think I may pass out…must stay conscious…must stay conscious.
Do I hear crashing drums???
Breathe, breathe…OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy – a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!
There’s no hair on it.
Where is the hair???
WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip…it’s not! I touch. .. I am touching wax!!
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake…remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself ‘Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!’
What can I do to melt the wax?
Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!
I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???
*WRONG!!!!!!!*
I get in the tub – the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment – I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub…in scalding hot water.
Which, by the way, doesn’t melt cold wax.
So, now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter ‘So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!’
There is a slight pause.
She doesn’t know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, ‘Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?’
She’s laughing out loud by now…I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else’s night.
While we go through various solutions, I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace….the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.
What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and … OH MY GAWD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
Its sooo painful, but I really don’t care.
‘IT WORKS!!
It works!!’ I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair…?
THE HAIR IS STILL HERE…….ALL OF IT!
So I recklessly shave it off.
Heck, I’m numb by now.
Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I’m going to try hair color……
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: ‘Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.’
So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those ‘cold wax’ kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.
No mess, no fuss.
How hard can it be?
I mean, I’m not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. (‘Cold wax,’ yeah…right!)
I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull.
It works!
OK, so it wasn’t the best feeling, but it wasn’t too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me!
I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north after checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.
I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet.
Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip) ..
I inhale deeply and brace myself…RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I’m blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!….OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only managed to pull off half the strip.
CRAP!
Another deep breath and RIPP!
Everything is spinning and spotted.
I think I may pass out…must stay conscious…must stay conscious.
Do I hear crashing drums???
Breathe, breathe…OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy – a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!
There’s no hair on it.
Where is the hair???
WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip…it’s not! I touch. .. I am touching wax!!
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake…remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
Sealed shut! My butt is sealed shut. Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself ‘Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!’
What can I do to melt the wax?
Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!
I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???
*WRONG!!!!!!!*
I get in the tub – the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment – I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub…in scalding hot water.
Which, by the way, doesn’t melt cold wax.
So, now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter ‘So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!’
There is a slight pause.
She doesn’t know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, ‘Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?’
She’s laughing out loud by now…I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else’s night.
While we go through various solutions, I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace….the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.
What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and … OH MY GAWD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
Its sooo painful, but I really don’t care.
‘IT WORKS!!
It works!!’ I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair…?
THE HAIR IS STILL HERE…….ALL OF IT!
So I recklessly shave it off.
Heck, I’m numb by now.
Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I’m going to try hair color……
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
"Don't Fart During an MRI"
This article provides a good laugh..If you can't open the link you can read the story below:
Don't Fart During an MRI
Posted: Updated:
I share this true but pathetic story to commiserate with other tortured souls who relentlessly endure and survive extreme humiliation. We're a group of accident-prone fools who regularly trigger embarrassing situations that would permanently traumatize a normal person. My experience this week will be difficult to surpass: I farted inside an MRI machine.
In medical terms, I had torn the meniscus cartilage that acts as a shock absorber between my shinbone and thighbone. In middle-age woman terms, two demons from hell invaded my body and lit fires in my knee and then danced around poking the raw nerves with electric forks. The pain was beyond intense, and the accident severely damaged my body so I couldn't stand, walk, or even crawl to the wine bar.
Five drug-induced days later, I finally saw an orthopedic surgeon. He manipulated my knee until tears streamed down my cheeks and I threatened to tear off his arms. It should have been obvious that I was injured by the way I was ripping off chunks from the sides of the examination table. I silently vowed to add him as a nasty character in my next short story. Finally, some lovely angel gave me legal narcotics. Soon my ravaged leg was a big, bandaged joke, and I laughed and laughed.
A few days later I experienced the MRI - a magnetic resonance imaging procedure that uses a magnetic field and pulses of radio waves to make images of damaged ligaments and joints. A handsome young technician helped me into the tube of terror and strapped down my leg. I nervously remarked that a first name usually was required before I allowed anyone to tie me in a bed. He didn't laugh but ordered me to hold still for 45 minutes. So there I was, in pain, suffering from claustrophobia, moving on a conveyor belt into the white torture chamber, and I didn't have a clue how to remain motionless. And, to complete the distress, my only audience wasn't amused by my jokes.
After about 20 minutes, I started to get anxious. I was tied down in a tunnel and could only hear strange beeping noises and grinding sounds. For all I knew, they were deciding which body parts to extract and sell on the black market. Then a queasy feeling predicted a pending passing of gas. I bit my tongue, pinched my side, and tried to focus on a pastoral scene in a green meadow beside a babbling brook. I could hear my mother's advice: "Squeeze the dime." I fidgeted.
"Please hold still," came a voice from outside the shaft of shame.
I watched as the lights and numbers revealed how much time remained. Three minutes. I could do it! No! My body betrayed me at the one-minute mark. I was trapped and helpless so my nervous body did what it does best: it farted. I released gas with the intensity and conviction of a team of sumo wrestlers after a chili-eating contest. And the confined space caused the sound to be amplified as if a dozen foghorns had simultaneously activated. I didn't know whether to cry, giggle, or call my son and brag.
"Well now, I think we have enough images," the handsome technician said, suppressing a laugh.
The magic bed moved backwards into freedom, bringing along the putrid stench of decay. I was mortified as my imaginary meadow became a ravaged pasture full of rotting manure. What in the hell had I eaten? I avoided eye contact with the timid technician and hobbled back to the dressing room. Once again, I accepted my fate of being the perpetual, reluctant clown, the oddball, the one who farts during a complicated medical procedure.
If I ever need another MRI, I'll request a facility in Texas. Everyone farts there.
Follow Elaine Ambrose on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ambroseelaine
Monday, March 3, 2014
Gecko Problems
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Smile
This video is a few years old but its very encouraging with a hint of comedy. Just what I needed today, I am not having the greatest day but oh well....This song made me feel better.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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