From an American lorry drivers’ forum:
I had a layover in Denver one night and being a good looking man in the prime of life I decided to go to the bar across the street.You have to be careful about choosing a bar in unfamiliar places. I was there for 3 hours before I found out everyone there was gay accept me and the guy I was dancing with.
I walked into a crowded, dark, long bar in Greenwich Village in the seventies and having made my way right to the end of the bar realised it was a lesbian bar. I would have stayed but my moustache gave me away.
An Irish friend posted this on my facebook:
MY DADDY SLEEPS NAKED
“Late again!” the third-grade teacher sternly said to little Robbie.
“It ain’t my fault this time, Miss Russell. You can blame this 'un on my Daddy.The reason I’m three hours late is my Daddy sleeps naked!”
Miss Russell had taught grammar school for 30-some-odd years. Despite her mounting fears, she asked little Robbie what he meant by that.
Full of grins and mischief, and in the flower of his youth, little Robbie and trouble were old friends but he always told the truth.
"You see, Miss Russell, out at the farm we got this here low down fox. The last few nights, he done ate six hens. Last night, when Daddy heard a noise out in the chicken pen, he grabbed his double barreled shot gun and said to my Ma, "That fox is back again… I’m a gonna git him!‘’
“Stay back,” Daddy whispered to all us kids!
"My Daddy was naked as a jaybird – no boots, no pants, no shirt! To the hen house he crawled, just like an Injun on the snoop. Then, he stuck that double-barrelled 12-gauge shotgun through the window of the coop.
As he stared into the darkness, with a fox on his mind, our old hound dog, Rip, had done gone and woke up and comes sneaking up behind Daddy. Then, as we all looked on, plumb helpless, old Rip done went and stuck his cold nose in my Daddy’s crack!"
“Miss Russell, we all been pluckin’ chickens since three o’clock this mornin!”.
Had to share this:
"I was doing a bit of research on a local castle and came across an excavation report, dating back to the early 1900’s, which mentioned the finding of a cemetery within the castle’s walls.
One of the skeletons they exhumed was, they deduced from its length and robust appearance, was of someone of high status but, and this is really strange, another person’s skull was embedded in the skeleton’s torso. Intrigued, obviously, I delved into all my books and notes and trawled the internet to see if any more information could be found.
Eventually, in Swansea University’s library I came across a Victorian book entitled ‘A History Of Carmarthenshire Castles’ and found an account of a siege that occurred in 1201. It said that the eldest son of the Norman lord who held the castle was killed when one of the besiegers loaded his trebuchet with the only missile to hand, the head of a peasant executed for stealing food the day before. By an amazing fluke the young man was hit and killed by his shot!
This is believed to be the first recorded case, anywhere in the world, of the use of a serf face to heir missile!"
Now that’s using your head 
or somebody elses.
