Why did the dog go to the doctor after a tomato fell on his head? The tomato was in a can.

Speaking of Las Vegas another friend says he can always hide his gambling winnings from his wife. He stuffs the money into her cook books.

Knock Knock Who's there! Banana! Banana who? Banana split so ice creamed!

A 6-year-old and a 4-year-old are upstairs in their bedroom. "You know what?" says the 6-year-old. "I think it's about time we start cursing." The 4-year-old nods his head in approval. The 6-year-old continues. "When we go downstairs for breakfast I'm going to say hell and you say ass." "OK!" The 4 year old agrees with enthusiasm. Their mother walks into the kitchen and asks the 6-year-old what he wants for breakfast. "Aw hell, Mom, I guess I'll have some Cheerios." WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out, with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear every step. The mom locks him in his room and shouts "You can just stay there till I let you out!" She then comes back downstairs, looks at the 4-year-old, and asks with a stern voice, "And what do YOU want for breakfast young man? "I don't know," he blubbers, "But you can bet your ass it won't be Cheerios!"

You know you are addicted to coffee if ... You can outlast the Energizer bunny.

A woman and a man are involved in a car accident; it's a bad one. Both of their cars are totally demolished but amazingly neither of them are hurt. After they crawl out of their cars, the woman says,"So you're a man; that's interesting. I'm a woman. Wow,just look at our cars! There's nothing left, but fortunately we are unhurt. This must be a sign from God that we should meet and be friends and live together in peace for the rest of our days." Flattered, the man replied, "Oh yes, I agree with you completely!" "This must be a sign from God!" The woman continued, "And look at this, here's another miracle. My car is completely demolished but this bottle of wine didn't break. Surely God wants us to drink this wine and celebrate our good fortune." Then she hands the bottle to the man. The man nods his head in agreement, opens it and drinks half the bottle and then hands it back to the woman. The woman takes the bottle, immediately puts the cap back on, and hands it back to the man. The man asks, "Aren't you having any?" The woman replies, "No. I think I'll just wait for the police..."

How can you tell the difference between a monster and a banana? Try picking it up. If you can't, it's either a monster or a giant banana.

A guy walks into a tavern. As he walked up to the bar he noticed a twelve-inch man playing the piano, so he asked the bartender, "What's that all about?" The bartender told him he that would tell him later. So the guy asked the bartender for a drink. The bartender said, "Before you get your drink, you get to rub the magic beer bottle and make one wish." "Okay," said the guy. He went over to the magic beer bottle and rubbed it. Poof. Out came a genie. The genie, of course, said, "You have one wish." The guy thought about it and then wished for a million bucks. A cloud of smoke filled the room, and then both the genie and the guy disappeared. In a few minutes, the guy reappeared back in the bar with a million ducks all around him. The guy was astounded and said to the bartender, "Hey! I didn't want a million ducks." The bartender replied, "Do you think I wanted a twelve-inch Pianist?"

The jumbo jet is just coming into Pearson Airport in Toronto on its final approach. The pilot comes on over the intercom and says, "Ladies and gentlemen. This is Capt. Johnson speaking. We're on our final descent into Toronto. I want to thank you for flying with us today, and I hope you enjoy your stay in Toronto." Unknowingly, the pilot forgets to switch off the intercom and the entire plane can now hear the conversation in the cockpit. The co-pilot says to the pilot, "Well, Captain, what are you gonna do here in Toronto?" By now, all ears in the plane are listening in to this conversation. "Well," says the Captain, "First, I'm gonna check into the hotel and take a nice, long crap. Then I'm gonna take that new stewardess out for supper. You know, the cute one with the huge tits. I'm gonna wine and dine her, then take her back to my room, and then I'm gonna make love to her all night long." Everyone in the plane is trying to get a look at the new stewardess. She's so embarrassed, she runs from the back of the plane to get to the cockpit to turn the intercom off. Halfway down the aisle, she trips over an old lady's bag and down she goes, flat on her face. The old lady leans over to her and says calmly, "No need to run, dear. He said he's gotta take a shit first!"

Fred! What did I say I'd do if I found you with your fingers in the butter again? That's funny, Mom. I can't remember either.

What did the hamburger say when it pleaded 'not guilty'? I've been flamed!

Roy Collette and his brother-in-law have been exchanging the same pair of pants as a Christmas present for 11 years-- and each time the package gets harder to open. This year the pants came wrapped in a car mashed into a 3-foot cube. The trousers are in the glove compartment of a 1974 Gremlin. Now Collette's plotting his revenge -- if he can get them out. It all started when Collette received a pair of moleskin trousers from his brother-in-law, Larry Kunkel of Bensenville, Illinois. Kunkel's mother had given her son the britches when he was a college student. He wore them a few times, but they froze stiff in cold weather and he didn't like them. So he gave them to Collette. Collette, who called the moleskins "miserable," wore them three times, then wrapped them up and gave them back to Kunkel for Christmas the next year. The friendly exchange continued routinely until Collette twisted the pants tightly, stuffed them into a 3-foot-long, 1-inch wide tube and gave them back to Kunkel. The next Christmas, Kunkel compressed the pants into a 7-inch square, wrapped them with wire and gave the "bale" to Collette. Not to be outdone, the next year Collette put the pants into a 2-foot-square crate filled with stones, nailed it shut, banded it with steel and gave the trusty trousers back to Kunkel. The brothers agreed to end the caper if the trousers were damaged. But they were as careful as they were clever. Kunkel had the pants mounted inside an insulated window that had a 20-year guarantee and shipped them off to Collette. Collette broke the glass, recovered the trousers, stuffed them into a 5-inch coffee can and soldered it shut. The can was put in a 5-gallon container filled with concrete and reinforcing rods and given to Kunkel the following Christmas. Two years ago, Kunkel installed the pants in a 225 pound homemade steel ashtray made from 8-inch steel casings and etched Collette's name on the side. Collette had some trouble retrieving the treasured trousers, but succeeded without burning them with a cutting torch. Last Christmas, Collette found a 600-pound safe and hauled it to Viracon Inc. in Owatonna, where the shipping department decorated it with red and green stripes, put the pants inside and welded the safe shut. The safe was then shipped to Kunkel, who is the plant manager for Viracon's outlet in Bensenville. Last week, the pants were trucked to Owatonna, 55 miles south of Minneapolis, in a drab green, 3-foot cube that once was a car with 95,000 miles on it. A note attached to the 2,000-pound scrunched car advised Collette that the pants were inside the glove compartment. "This will take some planning," Collette said. "I will definitely get them out. I'm confident." But he's waiting until January to think about how to recover the bothersome britches. "Wait until next year," he warned. "I'm on the offensive again."

On every continent of the world, there is a sandwich named after Chuck Norris. On the North American continent it's the Knuckle Sandwich.

How does a man show that he is planning for the future? He buys two cases of beer.

It was mealtime on a small airline and the flight attendant asked the passenger if he would like dinner. "What are my choices?" he asked. "Yes or No," she replied.

After Chuck Norris ate a shrimp cocktail & a peanut butter sandwich, he won this year's Nobel Prize in Medicine for ridding the world of anaphylactic shock.

A young woman, who was at her father's funeral, asked her mother, "Mom, how did Dad die?" Her mom replied, "Heart attack." "What was he doing?" the daughter asked. Her mother said, "Well, we were having sex." This enfuriated the daughter, because they were both 80 years old. The daughter said, "You guys are 80 years old! You should have expected something like this! You're way too old to be engaging in this sort of activity!" The mom replied, "Well, you see, years ago, we realized that at noon every day, the church bells rang. So, we decided to work along to that nice, slow rhythm so that your father wouldn't have a heart attack. It worked for years too. That poor guy... he'd still be alive today if that darned Ice Cream truck hadn't come along..."

Three nurses went to heaven, and were awaiting their turn with St. Peter to plead their case to enter the pearly gates. The first nurse said, "I worked in an emergency room. We tried our best to help patients, even though occasionally we did lose one. I think I deserve to go to heaven." St. Peter looks at her file and admits her to heaven. The second nurse says, "I worked in an operating room. It's a very high stress environment and we do our best. Sometimes the patients are too sick and we lose them, but overall we try very hard." St. Peter looks at her file and admits her to heaven. The third nurse says, "I was a case manager for an HMO." St. Peter looks at her file. He pulls out a calculator and starts punching away at it furiously, constantly going back to the nurse's file. After a few minutes St. Peter looks up, smiles, and says, "Congratulations! You've been admitted to heaven ... for five days!" Harry was in the hospital. He was an old man. From time to time the young nurse came in and said in a patronising tone, "And how are we doing this morning?" Well, this is a story of revenge. Harry had received breakfast, and pulled the juice off the tray, and put it on his stand. He had been given a urine bottle to fill. The juice was apple juice. You know where the juice went. The nurse came in, picked up the urine bottle and said, "It seems we are a little cloudy today..." At this, Harry snatched the bottle out of her hand, drinked its contents, saying, "Well, I'll run it through again, maybe I can filter it better this time."

Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron Every Wednesday morning for the past nine years, my wife has interrupted the usual flow of chaos by shrieking, "oh my gosh, it's trash day!" The children, all three of whom are in various stages of school preparation, react to this statement as if she has just spoken Romanian, stopping and staring at her in numb incomprehension. "Hurry!" my wife urges them. Being obedient children, they immediately proceed to hurry. However, with no specific instructions beyond that, they don't seem to be hurrying to do anything in particular--certainly, trash collection is in no way involved. They bump into each other in the hallway a lot, shouting at each other to "get out of the way!" "Gather up all the garbage!" my wife and I command. The kids respond by forming a committee to debate the fairness of this directive. After a brief discussion, they reach the consensus that everyone should be held responsible for his or her "own" junk. As corollary to this absurd principle, they initiate an anthropologic study into the contents of each receptacle. For example, since the parents cook, most of the trash under the sink is "theirs." My oldest daughter haughtily declares that she "never" throws anything away. My son, checking through the downstairs trash can to gather evidence that he's not accountable for that one, begins to feel remorse over some of the things he's discarded, and starts pulling items out. "We're running late!" my wife warns. This could be our Official Family Motto. I recently purchased a shredder for my confidential documents, only to discover I don't have any confidential documents. However, a fifteen-year-old girl's entire life is cause for secrecy, and I can hear her using the device now, grinding up correspondence from her friends in school. "We don't have time for that!" I tell her. A few minutes later, my son joins her and begins shredding what sounds like a potato. The school bus chugs by, and I pick up the phone to call the attendance line. "For absences, press 1," the recording tells me. "For late arrivals, press 2. If you're the Camerons calling because it's trash day, press 3." "We're pigs," my oldest daughter announces. I regard her warily. "We throw away too much stuff." "It would be better just to dump it all on the floor in your bedroom like you do," I agree. Despite my expectations, a single garbage can has now found its way to the curb. My son places it in the center of the driveway, so that no one will be able to drive to work. A gusty wind blows an empty milk jug out of the container and into the woods. My boy responds with the reflexes of a glacier, watching the carton bounce away. I open the door. "Hey!" I tell him. "Go get that!" He stares at me blankly. "The milk jug!" I yell. "Oh, okay, Dad!" he responds cheerfully. Having seen his bus pass by has put him in a euphoric mood. He picks up a second plastic milk container and, to my amazement, tosses it into the wind, jubilantly clapping his hands as it flies into the trees. "Why did you do that?" I shriek. "Well it seemed like a waste of time to go after just one!" he responds logically. He'll make someone a fine husband someday. All week long my children have been denying that the kitchen trash needs to be emptied, jumping up and down on the contents to compress them. As a result, when I drag the plastic container from under the sink, it weighs as much as a collapsed star. I wrestle it to the end of the driveway and the neighborhood dogs trot up to see what the Camerons will have on the breakfast buffet this morning. My daughter is right; we do throw too much stuff away. By the time we're finished, we've dragged so much junk out to the end of my driveway it resembles the inside of my garage. The shredder falls silent and the kids go to school, and what passes for peace at the Cameron house settles over the morning. Until next Wednesday.

?I?ve been making a lot of Freudian slips lately,? a man says casually to his friend. ?Like what? asks his buddy. ?Well, last week I asked the train conductor for two pickets to Tittsburgh.? ?I did something similar the other day,? says the friend.?My wife and I were having breakfast, and instead of saying,?Honey, please pass the butter,? I said,?You bitch, you ruined my life!?