Author Topic: The old lady and the biker  (Read 3181 times)

Chris

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The old lady and the biker
« on: Apr 03, 2006, 06:15:04 PM »
A biker stops by the local Harley shop to have his bike fixed. They couldn't do it while he waited, so he decided to walk home.

On the way home he stopped at the hardware store and bought a bucket and an anvil.  He stopped by the livestock dealer and picked up a couple of chickens and a goose.

However, struggling outside the store he now had a problem: how to carry all of his purchases home.

While he is scratching his head he was approached by a little old lady who told him she was lost. She asked, "Can you tell me how to get to 160 Acacia Road?"

The biker said, "Well, as a matter of fact, I live at 176 Acacia Road. I would walk you home but I can't carry this lot."

The old lady suggested, "Why don't you put the anvil in the bucket, carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand?"

"Why thank you very much," he said and proceeded to walk the old girl home.

On the way he says: "Let's take my short cut and go down this alley. We’ll be there in no time."

The little old lady looked him over cautiously then said, "I am a lonely widow without a husband to defend me. How do I know that when we get in the alley you won't pin me to the wall, and ravish me?"

The biker said, "Hey lady! I am carrying a bucket, an anvil, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly pin you up against the wall and do that?

The lady replied, "Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the anvil on top of the bucket, and I'll hold the chickens."

cool hand luke

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Re: The old lady and the biker
« Reply #1 on: Nov 26, 2006, 07:14:47 PM »
A drunk man smelling strongly of beer sat down on a tube seat next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with lipstick, and a half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket.

He opened his newspaper and began reading.

After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, "Say, Father, what causes arthritis?"

The priest looks at him steadily for a bit, and then replies:

"My Son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, a contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with dirty prostitutes and a lack of bathing."

"Well, I'll be damned," the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.

The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologised;

"I'm very sorry, my Son, I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have   
 you had the arthritis?"


"I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does."