<?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-2996141</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:48:36.659-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Missy's Email Jokes</title><subtitle type='html'>Jokes that have been sent to me via email</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>108</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-110403476756884332</id><published>2004-12-25T23:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-25T23:19:27.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WHAT KIDS THINK NUDITYI was driving with my three young children one warm summer evening when a Woman in the convertible ahead of us stood up and waved. She was stark naked! As I was reeling from the shock, I heard my 5-year-old shout from the back seat, "Mom! That lady isn't wearing a seat belt!HONESTYMy son Zachary, 4, came screaming out of the bathroom to tell me he'd dropped his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/110403476756884332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/110403476756884332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2004_12_19_archive.html#110403476756884332' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-107274030794860509</id><published>2003-12-29T18:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T18:26:37.373-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A retired gentleman   A retired gentleman went to the social security office  to apply for social security. After waiting in line a long  time, he got to the counter. The woman behind the  counter asked him for his drivers license to verify his  age. He looked in his pockets and realized he had  left his wallet at home. He told the woman that he was very sorry but he seemed to have left his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107274030794860509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107274030794860509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_12_28_archive.html#107274030794860509' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-107274013266955340</id><published>2003-12-29T18:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T18:23:42.140-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>city cop A city cop was on his horse waiting to cross the street when a little girl on her new shiny bike stopped beside him.  Nice bike", the cop said "did Santa bring it to you?" "Yep", the little girl said, "he sure did!" The cop looked the bike over and handed the girl a $5 ticket for a safety violation. The cop said, "Next year tell Santa to put a reflector light on the back of it." </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107274013266955340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107274013266955340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_12_28_archive.html#107274013266955340' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-107273998953672950</id><published>2003-12-29T18:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T18:21:19.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>      A professor of mathematics sent a fax to his wife. It read:        Dear Wife:         You must realize that you are 54 years old, and I have certain  needs  which you are no longer able to satisfy. I am otherwise happy  with  you as wife, and I sincerely hope you will not be hurt or  offended to  learn that by the time you receive this letter, I will be at the  Grand Hotel with my 18-</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107273998953672950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107273998953672950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_12_28_archive.html#107273998953672950' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-107273966377561551</id><published>2003-12-29T18:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T18:15:53.340-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A young man named John received a parrot as a gift.  The parrot had a bad  attitude and an even worse vocabulary.  Every word out of the bird's  mouth  was rude, obnoxious and laced with profanity.  John tried and tried to  change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite words,  playing  soft music and anything else he could think of to "clean up" the bird's  vocabulary.  Finally, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107273966377561551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/107273966377561551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_12_28_archive.html#107273966377561551' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-106018779136221603</id><published>2003-08-06T12:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-08-06T12:36:31.276-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A married couple was on vacation in Jamaica. They were touring around &gt; the marketplace looking at the goods and such, when they passed a small &gt; sandal shop. From inside they heard the shopkeeper with a Jamaican &gt; accent say, "You foreigners! Come in. Come into my humble shop." &gt; &gt; So the married couple walked in. The Jamaican said to them, "I have &gt; some special sandals I tink you would </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/106018779136221603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/106018779136221603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_08_03_archive.html#106018779136221603' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-89933480</id><published>2003-02-28T21:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T21:12:14.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The SpeederWoman: Is there a problem, Officer? Officer: Ma'am, you were speeding. Woman: Oh, I see. Officer: Can I see your license please? Woman: I'd give it to you but I don't have one. Officer: Don't have one? Woman: Lost it 4 times for drunk driving. Officer: I see... Can I see your vehicle registration papers please. Woman: I can't do that. Officer: Why not? Woman: I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89933480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89933480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89933480' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-89933463</id><published>2003-02-28T21:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T21:11:47.686-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SNAILSA wife and her husband were having a dinner party for all the major status figures in Rome, Italy. The wife was very excited about this and wanted everything to be perfect. At the very last minute, she realized that she didn't have any snails for this dinner party, so she asked her husband to run down to the beach with a bucket to gather some snails. Very grudgingly he agreed. He </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89933463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89933463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89933463' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-89229524</id><published>2003-02-17T03:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-17T03:41:53.130-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Watch those Neighbors! Charlie had been in business for 25 years and was finally sick of the stress. So, he quit his job and bought 50 acres of land in Alaska as far from humanity as possible. He saw the postman once a week and he got groceries once a month. Otherwise, it was total peace and quiet. After six months or so of total isolation, someone knocked on his door. He opened the door and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89229524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/89229524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_16_archive.html#89229524' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-88787403</id><published>2003-02-09T01:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-09T01:04:24.006-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the 3 bears Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in his small chair at the table, he looks into his small bowl. It is empty. "Who's been eating my porridge?!!", he squeaks. Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty. "Who's been eating my Porridge?!!,"he roars. Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#88787403' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-88787322</id><published>2003-02-09T01:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-09T01:02:19.020-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying. On one occasion, I had a valid reason, but lied anyway because the truth was too humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#88787322' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-88787104</id><published>2003-02-09T00:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-09T00:56:20.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Points to Ponder Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out"? Who was the first one who thought that the white thing that came from a hen's butt looked edible? Why do toasters always have a setting that burns the toast to a horrible crisp which no decent human being would eat?  Why is there a light in the</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/88787104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#88787104' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87988273</id><published>2003-01-24T21:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-24T21:33:38.096-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> A gastroenterologist/proctologist claims that these are actual comments made by his patients made while he was performing colonoscopies: 1. "Take it easy, Doc, you're boldly going where no man has gone before." 2. "Find Amelia Earhart yet?" 3. "Can you hear me NOW?" 4. "Oh boy, that was sphincterrific!" 5. "Could you write me a note for my wife, saying that my head is not, in fact, up there</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_19_archive.html#87988273' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87988201</id><published>2003-01-24T21:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-24T21:31:52.766-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Bumper Stickers For Women: BEHIND EVERY SUCCESSFUL WOMAN IS HERSELF OH MY GOD, I THINK I'M BECOMING THE MAN I WANTED TO MARRY! GINGER ROGERS DID EVERYTHING FRED ASTAIRE DID, BUT SHE DID IT BACKWARDS AND IN HIGH HEELS A WOMAN IS LIKE A TEA BAG...YOU DON'T KNOW HOW STRONG SHE IS UNTIL YOU PUT HER IN HOT WATER I HAVE YET TO HEAR A MAN ASK FOR ADVICE ON HOW TO COMBINE MARRIAGE AND A CAREER</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_19_archive.html#87988201' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87988076</id><published>2003-01-24T21:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-24T21:28:27.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>For those of you who are married, were married, or are contemplating marriage, under the assumption that men need (or ought) to be trained for marriage. Southwest Tech is offering a new 2 year associates degree.... TWO YEAR DEGREE: Becoming a Real Man. That's right, in just six mini-mesters, you, too, can be a real man as well as earn an associates degree in MA (Male Arts). Please take a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87988076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_19_archive.html#87988076' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87241633</id><published>2003-01-10T19:09:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T19:09:43.830-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Joe's Nutsack Joe was moderately successful in his career, but as he got older he was increasingly hampered by incredible headaches. When his personal hygiene and love life started to suffer, he sought medical help. After being referred from one specialist to another, he finally came across a doctor who solved the problem. "The good news is I can cure your headaches... The bad news is that</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_05_archive.html#87241633' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87241613</id><published>2003-01-10T19:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T19:09:09.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Two couples were playing cards one evening. John accidentally dropped some cards on the floor. When he bent down under the table to pick them up, he noticed that Bill's wife Sue, legs spread wide, wasn't wearing any underwear! Shocked by this, John upon trying to sit back up again, hit his head on the table and emerged red-faced. Later, John went to the kitchen to get some refreshments. Bill's </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_05_archive.html#87241613' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-87241284</id><published>2003-01-10T18:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T18:59:42.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One Christmas Eve, a frenzied young man ran into a pet shop looking for an unusual Christmas gift for his wife. The shop owner suggested a parrot, named Chet, which could sing famous Christmas carols. This seemed like the perfect gift. "How do I get him to sing?" The young man asked, excitedly. "Simply hold a lighted match directly under his feet," was the shop owner's reply. The shop owner </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/87241284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2003_01_05_archive.html#87241284' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-84151349</id><published>2002-11-06T22:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-11-06T22:27:10.973-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Subject: Fwd: Fw: Fw: Grouchy One day a sweet little girl becomes puzzled about her origin. "How did I get here, Mommy?" she asks. Her mother replies, using a well-worn phrase, "Why God sent you, Honey." "And did God send you too Mommy?" she continues. "Yes,Sweetheart, he did." "And Daddy, and Grandma and Grandpa, and their moms and dads, too?" "Yes,Honey, all of them too." The child shakes </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/84151349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/84151349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_11_03_archive.html#84151349' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-82917758</id><published>2002-10-13T07:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-10-13T07:54:07.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Five Secrets to a Great Relationship 1. It is important to find a man who works around the house, occasionally cooks and cleans and who has a job. 2. It is important to find a man who makes you laugh. 3. It is important to find a man who is dependable and doesn't lie. 4. It is important to find a man who's good in bed and who loves to have sex with you. 5. It is important that these four</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/82917758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/82917758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_10_13_archive.html#82917758' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-81960846</id><published>2002-09-22T16:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-22T16:12:16.310-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A gynecologist had a burning desire to change careers and become a mechanic. So he found out from the local tech college what was involved, signed up for evening classes, attended diligently, and learned all he could. When the time for the practical exam approached, the Gynecologist prepared carefully for weeks, and completed the exam with tremendous skill. When the results came back, he was </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81960846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81960846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_09_22_archive.html#81960846' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-81842581</id><published>2002-09-19T18:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-19T18:34:49.176-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A study in Wisconsin showed that the kind of male face a woman findsattractive can differ depending on where a woman is in her menstrual cycle.For instance: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged andmasculine features; and if she is menstruating, she is more prone to beattracted to a man with scissors shoved in his temple and a bat jammed up his ass.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81842581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81842581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_09_15_archive.html#81842581' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-81842519</id><published>2002-09-19T18:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-09-19T18:32:58.893-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Russian President  Putin called President George W. Bush with an emergency:"Our largest condom factory has exploded," the Russian  President cried."My people's favorite form of  birth control. This is a true disaster!""Mr. Putin, the American people  would be happy to do anything within theirpower to help you,"  replied the President."I do need your help" said Putin.  "Could you possibly</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81842519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/81842519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_09_15_archive.html#81842519' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80870788</id><published>2002-08-29T10:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-29T10:38:54.526-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> SUBJECT: Only in America This will bring a smile.....ENJOY! 1. Only in America......can a pizza get to your house faster than an ambulance. 2. Only in America......are there handicap parking places in front  of a skating rink. 3. Only in America......do drugstores make the sick walk all the way to  the back of the store to get their prescriptions while healthy people  can  buy cigarettes at </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80870788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80870788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_25_archive.html#80870788' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80771886</id><published>2002-08-27T07:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-27T07:50:53.980-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>REAL WOMEN vs. MARTHA STEWART  Martha Stewart:  Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of a sugar cone to  prevent ice  cream drips.  Real Women:  Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete's sake. You  are probably lying on the couch, with your feet up eating it anyway.  Martha Stewart:  To keep potatoes from budding, place an apple in the bag with the potatoes. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80771886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80771886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_25_archive.html#80771886' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80417360</id><published>2002-08-19T01:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-19T01:41:32.490-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>St-st-st-stuttering Pr-pr-pr-problem! A guy who has a stuttering problem says to his doctor... "Ex-Ex-ex-cu-cu-se me-me d-d-oc but-but I-I have th-th-this st-st-stuttering problem and I-I-I was wo-wondering if you c-c-c-could help m-m-m-me?" Well, take off your clothes and get into this gown and let me check you over!" The guy gets into the gown and the doctor begins his examination. Finally </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_18_archive.html#80417360' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80417285</id><published>2002-08-19T01:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-19T01:39:16.330-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Carnation Milk Company A lady had been married to a farmer all of her life. They had cows and horses on their farm and also grew a number of crops for sale at the local farmers market. While shopping at the local grocery store for a few items that she and her husband did not raise or grow for themselves, she came across a contest form while in the store. So she completed their jingle and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_18_archive.html#80417285' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80417219</id><published>2002-08-19T01:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-19T01:37:19.733-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>KID'S EARS.............. For his birthday Little Patrick asked for a 10 speed bicycle. His father said, "Son, we'd give you one, but the mortgage on this house is $80,000 and your mother just lost her job. There's no way we can afford it. The next day the fathe saw Little Patrick heading out the front door with a suitcase. So he asked, "Son, where are you going?" Little Patrick told him, "I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_18_archive.html#80417219' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80417077</id><published>2002-08-19T01:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-19T01:33:07.150-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jack was going to be married to Jill, so his father sat him down for a littlefireside chat. He says, "Let me tell you something. On my wedding night in ourhoneymoon suite, I took off my pants and handed them to your mother, and said,'Here honey, try these on.' . She did and said, 'Well sweetie they 're alittle too big, and I can't wear them.' . I replied, 'Exactly. I wear thepants in this </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80417077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_18_archive.html#80417077' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80130229</id><published>2002-08-12T04:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-12T04:23:24.020-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Interesting facts  1. Butterflies taste with their feet.  2. A duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one knows why.  3. In 10 minutes, a hurricane releases more energy  than all the world's nuclear weapons combined.  4. On average, 100 people choke to death on  ball-point pens every year.  5. On average people fear spiders more than they do  death. (( A spider in a airplane might be a real </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_11_archive.html#80130229' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80130155</id><published>2002-08-12T04:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-12T04:19:25.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller.He can see from her name plate that the teller's name is Patricia Whack. So, he says, "Mrs. Whack,I'd like to get a loan to buy a boat and go on a long vacation." Patti looksat the frog in disbelief and asks how much he wants to borrow.The frog says "$30,000." The teller asks his name and the frog says that his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_11_archive.html#80130155' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-80130084</id><published>2002-08-12T04:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-08-12T04:14:14.696-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Subject: Bra Sizes  Have you ever wondered why A, B, C, D, DD, E and F are the letters used to  define bra sizes?  If you have wondered why, but couldn't Figure out what the letters stood  for...  It is about time you became informed!   {A} - Almost Boobs...  {B} - Barely there.  {C} - Can't Complain!  {D} - Damn!  {DD} - Double damn! {E} - Enormous!  {F} - Fake. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/80130084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_08_11_archive.html#80130084' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-79363201</id><published>2002-07-24T17:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-07-24T17:17:24.493-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  Man Bashing 101        Why are all dumb blonde jokes one-liners?   So men can remember them.       What's easier to make, a snowman or a snow-woman?   A snow-woman is easier to make. With a snowman you have to hollow out the head and use all that extra snow to make its testicles.           What is that insensitive bit at the base of the penis called?   The man.       What do you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/79363201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/79363201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_07_21_archive.html#79363201' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-78380840</id><published>2002-06-30T09:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-30T09:12:33.720-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>There were three old ladies sitting on a park bench having a quietconversation when a flasher approached from across the park. The flasher stood right in front of them and opened his trench coat. The first lady immediately had a stroke. Then the second lady also had a stroke.But the third lady, being older and more feeble, couldn't reach that far </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/78380840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/78380840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_06_30_archive.html#78380840' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-78277239</id><published>2002-06-27T13:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-27T13:53:01.660-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>GEOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN Between 18 and 20 a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, naturally beautiful with fertile deltas. Between 21 and 30 a woman is like America, well developed and open to trade especially for someone with cash. Between 31 and 35 she is like India, very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty. Between 36 and 40 a woman is like France. Gently aging but </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/78277239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/78277239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_06_23_archive.html#78277239' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-77338466</id><published>2002-06-04T13:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-06-04T13:54:37.756-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Women don't mess around... A married couple are driving along a highway doing sixty mph, the wifebehind the wheel.  Her husband suddenly looks over at her and says, "Honey,I know we've been married for twenty years, but I want a divorce." The wife says nothing but slowly increases speed to seventy mph. He then says, "I don't want you to try to talk me out of it, becauseI'vebeen having an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/77338466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/77338466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_06_02_archive.html#77338466' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76546214</id><published>2002-05-14T15:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:43:32.180-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Each year the staff at Beloit College in Wisconsin puts together a list to try to give the faculty a sense of the mindset of that year's incoming freshmen. Here is this year's list: The people who are starting college this fall across the nation were born in 1982. a) They have no meaningful recollection of the Reagan era and probably did not know he had ever been shot. b) They were </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76546214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76546214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76546214' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545974</id><published>2002-05-14T15:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:37:38.376-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Eternal Truths  1. Once over the hill, you pick up speed.  2. I love cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food.  3. If it weren't for STRESS I'd have no energy at all.  4. Whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.  5. Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.  6. I know God won't give me more than I can handle. I just wish He didn't trust me so</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545974' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545794</id><published>2002-05-14T15:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:33:00.873-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Fishing Four married guys went fishing. After an hour, the following conversation took place: First guy: "You have no idea what I had to do to be able to come out fishing this weekend. I had to promise my wife I will paint every room in the house next weekend." Second guy: "That's nothing! I had to promise my wife I'll build her a new deck for the pool." Third guy: "Man, you both have it </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545794' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545694</id><published>2002-05-14T15:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:29:51.746-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Rest Stop  Ethel is a bit of a demon in her wheelchair and loves to charge around the nursing home taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors. Because the poor woman is one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerate her and some of the men actually  join  in. One day, Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Crazy Clarence </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545694' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545544</id><published>2002-05-14T15:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:26:23.166-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A wish A woman was out golfing one day when she hit her ball into the woods. She went into the woods to look for it and found a frog in a trap. The frog said to her, "If you release me from this trap, I will grant you 3 wishes." The woman freed the frog and the frog said, "Thank you, but I failed to mention that there was a condition to your wishes (naturally) -that whatever you wish for, your </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545544' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545408</id><published>2002-05-14T15:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:22:36.460-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sick but funny Frank was excited about his new rifle, and decided to try bear hunting. He spotted a small brown bear and shot it. There was then a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to see a big black bear. The black bear said, "That was my cousin, and you have got two choices. Either I maul you to death or we have sex." After considering briefly Frank decided to accede to the latter </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545408' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-76545351</id><published>2002-05-14T15:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-05-14T15:20:25.223-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Subject: Little Leroy Little Leroy came into the kitchen where his mother was making dinner. His birthday was coming up and he thought this was a good time to tell his mother what he wanted. "Mom, I want a bike for my birthday." Little Leroy was a bit of a troublemaker. He had gotten into trouble at school and at home Leroy's mother asked him if he thought he deserved to get a bike for his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/76545351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_05_12_archive.html#76545351' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75836985</id><published>2002-04-26T01:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-26T01:16:52.110-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Good Hygiene Will Really Wow The Doctor Radio stations routinely pay money to people so that they will tell their most embarrassing stories on the air. Here is the what is believed to be a story of a "lucky" winner of one of these contests.  I was due later that week for an appointment with the gynecologist, when early one morning I received a call from his office saying that I had been </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75836985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75836985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_21_archive.html#75836985' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75836888</id><published>2002-04-26T01:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-26T01:12:21.136-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>   The Horth  A guy calls his buddy the horse rancher and says he's sending a friend over to look at a horse. The buddy said, "How will I recognize him?"  "That's easy, he's a midget with a speech impediment" So, the midget shows up, and the guy asks him if he's looking for a male or female horse.  "A female horth." So he shows him a prized filly. "Nith lookin horth. Can I thee her </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75836888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75836888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_21_archive.html#75836888' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75513399</id><published>2002-04-17T14:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-17T14:32:44.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Subject: Children, How WONDERFUL they Are!!!!! For those who already have children past this age, this is hilarious. For those who have children this age, this is not funny. For those who have children nearing this age, this is a warning. For those who have not yet had children, this is birth control.  The following came from a woman in Austin, Texas. Things I've Learned from My Children</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75513399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75513399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_14_archive.html#75513399' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75471886</id><published>2002-04-16T14:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-16T14:29:12.513-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Songs in church  What song would you pick in church? A minister decided to do something a little different one Sunday morning. He said "Today, in church, I am going to say a single word and you are going to help  me preach". Whatever single word I say, I want you to sing whatever hymn that comes to your mind. The pastor shouted out, "Cross." Immediately the congregation started singing in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75471886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75471886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_14_archive.html#75471886' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75402676</id><published>2002-04-14T19:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T19:51:16.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Blame Let's see if I understand how the world works lately... If a man cuts his finger off while slicing salami at work, he blames the restaurant.  If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer, your family blames the tobacco company.  If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home  drunk, he blames the bartender.  If your grandchildren are brats without </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75402676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75402676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_14_archive.html#75402676' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75402533</id><published>2002-04-14T19:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-14T19:46:41.516-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SEND THIS WARNING TO EVERYONE ON YOUR EMAIL LIST.  IF A MAN COMES TO YOUR FRONT DOOR AND SAYS HE IS CONDUCTING A SURVEY AND  ASKS YOU TO SHOW HIM YOUR BOOBS, DO NOT SHOW HIM YOUR BOOBS.  THIS IS A SCAM, HE ONLY WANTS TO SEE YOUR BOOBS!   I wish I'd gotten this yesterday. I feel so stupid.   Signed,  The Blonde </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75402533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75402533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_14_archive.html#75402533' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75231964</id><published>2002-04-09T23:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-09T23:38:27.473-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Who's Boss?  A husband was advised by his psychiatrist to assert himself. "You  don't have to let your wife  henpeck you. Go home and show her you're the boss."  The man was on fire with enthusiasm and couldn't wait to try the  Doctor's advice...  He rushed home, slammed the door, shook his fist in his wife's face,  and growled, "From now  on, you're taking orders from me. I want my supper </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75231964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75231964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_07_archive.html#75231964' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-75231866</id><published>2002-04-09T23:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2002-04-09T23:35:06.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Baptist Preacher  There was a Preacher whose wife was expecting a baby. The Preacher went to the congregation and asked for a raise. After much consideration and discussion, they passed a rule that whenever the preacher's family expanded, so would his paycheck. After five or six children, this started to get expensive and the congregation decided to hold another meeting to discuss the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75231866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/75231866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_04_07_archive.html#75231866' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11384979</id><published>2002-04-02T14:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-04-02T14:31:08.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>For all the men who like to send blonde jokes.....the paybacks are here! 1. How many honest, intelligent, caring men in the world does it take to do the dishes? Both of them. 2. Why did the man cross the road? He heard the chicken was a slut. 3. Why does it take 1 million sperm to fertilize one egg? They won't stop and ask for directions. 4. How does a man show that he is planning for the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_31_archive.html#11384979' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11384851</id><published>2002-04-02T14:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-04-02T14:26:48.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE RULES OF LIFE Sometimes we just need to remember what the Rules of Life really are... 1. Never give yourself a haircut after three margaritas. 2. You need only two tools: WD-40 and duct tape. If it doesn't move and it should, use WD-40. If it moves and shouldn't, use duct tape. 3. The five most essential words for a healthy, vital relationship: "I apologize" and "You are right." 4. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_31_archive.html#11384851' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11384767</id><published>2002-04-02T14:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-04-02T14:23:47.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>MAMMOGRAMS  Many women are afraid of their first mammogram, and even if they have had them before, there is fear. But there is no need to worry. By taking a few minutes each day for a week preceding the exam and doing the following practice exercises, you will be totally prepared for the test, and best of all, you can do these simple practice exercises right in your home. EXERCISE 1: Open </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_31_archive.html#11384767' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11384592</id><published>2002-04-02T14:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-04-02T14:18:10.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>BEDTIME PRAYER!   Now I lay me  Down to sleep.  I pray the Lord  My shape to keep.  Please no wrinkles,  Please no bags, Please lift my butt  Before it sags. Please no age spots,  Please no gray,  And as for my belly,  Please take it away.  Please keep me healthy,  Please keep me young,  And thank you, Dear Lord,  For all that you've done.  Amen. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11384592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_31_archive.html#11384592' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11097431</id><published>2002-03-25T08:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-03-25T08:54:05.646-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Blond Joke Number 374  Two bored casino dealers were waiting at a craps table. A very attractive blonde woman arrived and bet twenty thousand dollars on a single roll of the dice. She said, "I hope you don't mind, but I feel much luckier when I'm completely nude." With that she stripped from her neck down, rolled the dice and yelled, "Mama needs new clothes!" Then she hollered..."YES! YES! I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_24_archive.html#11097431' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11097361</id><published>2002-03-25T08:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-03-25T08:51:10.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE FIRE FIGHTERA fire fighter is working on the engine outside the station when he notices a little girl next door in a little red wagon with little ladders hung off the side and a garden hose, tightly coiled in the middle. The girl is wearing a fire fighters helmet and has the wagon tied to a dog and a cat. The fire fighter walks over to take a closer look. "That sure is a nice fire truck," </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_24_archive.html#11097361' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11097273</id><published>2002-03-25T08:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-03-25T08:48:20.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> EVE  One day in the Garden of Eden, Eve called out to  God. "Lord, I have a problem!"  "What's the problem, Eve?" "Lord, I know you created me and provided this beautiful garden and all of these wonderful animals and that hilarious comedic snake, but I'm just not happy.  "Why is that, Eve?" came the reply from above. "Lord, I am lonely, and I'm sick to death of apples."  "Well, Eve, in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_24_archive.html#11097273' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-11097161</id><published>2002-03-25T08:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-03-25T08:44:14.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SATAN A few minutes before the church services started, the townspeople were sitting in their pews and talking. Suddenly, Satan appeared at the front  of the church. Everyone started screaming and running for the front entrance, trampling each other in a frantic effort to get away from evil  incarnate.  Soon everyone had exited the church except for one elderly gentleman who  sat calmly in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/11097161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_03_24_archive.html#11097161' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-9042860</id><published>2002-01-25T13:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-01-25T13:50:42.603-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Vanity, Thy Name is Facelift  A woman decides to have a facelift for her birthday. She spends  $5,000  and  feels pretty good about the results. On her way home she stops at a  newsstand to buy a paper. Before leaving, she asks the sales clerk,  "I  hope  you don't mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?"  "About 32," the clerk replies.  "I'm actually 47," the woman says happily.  A </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/9042860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/9042860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_01_20_archive.html#9042860' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-8841500</id><published>2002-01-19T06:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-01-19T06:46:13.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> 7 Reasons To Crawl Under a Rock...  1. CURL UP AND DIE I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three kids in tow and asked loudly, "How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?" - Melinda Lowe, 39, Seguin, TX  2. PAD PLEASE: An insurance man visited me at home to talk about our mortgage insurance. He was throwing a lot of facts and figures at me, and I wanted to follow as </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_01_13_archive.html#8841500' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-8841449</id><published>2002-01-19T06:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-01-19T06:40:46.210-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>viagra  Staff Meeting  The boss of a small company called a spontaneous staff meeting in the  middle of a particularly stressful week. When everyone gathered, the employer,  who  understood the benefits of having fun, told the burnt-out staff the purpose  of the meeting was to have a quick contest, whose theme was "Viagra advertising slogans." Dividing into 10 groups of three, the only rule  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_01_13_archive.html#8841449' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-8841427</id><published>2002-01-19T06:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-01-19T06:37:29.066-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE MEN'S THESAURUS  "I'M GOING FISHING"  Means: "I'm going to drink myself dangerously stupid, and stand by a stream with a stick in my hand, while the fish swim by in complete safety."   "IT'S A GUY THING" \ Means: "There is no rational thought pattern connected  with it, and you have no chance at all of making it logical."   CAN I HELP WITH DINNER?"  Means: "Why isn't it already on </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8841427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2002_01_13_archive.html#8841427' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-8080206</id><published>2001-12-20T15:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2001-12-20T15:05:01.140-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Maw is outside hangin up the laundry, when she hears Paw in the kitchen.Maw walks in and says, "Paw, get out there and fix that there outhouse."Paw says, "All right, Maw."Paw walks out to the outhouse, looks at it, and says, "Maw, there ain't nothin' wrong with this here outhouse!"Maw says, "Yes, there is.  Put your head down in the hole."Paw says "I ain't puttin my head in that there hole!"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8080206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/8080206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_12_16_archive.html#8080206' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-7703736</id><published>2001-12-06T14:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2001-12-06T14:31:02.740-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Mirror A newly wed couple were looking to decorate their new house. Whilst bargain hunting, they found an unusual mirror, which the shop owner states is "magical". The couple buy the mirror, and place it on the back of their bedroom door. One day the wife decided to test the mirror out, and whilst looking into the mirror said: "Mirror, mirror on the door, Make my boobs size 44." And lo and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_12_02_archive.html#7703736' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-7703665</id><published>2001-12-06T14:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2001-12-06T14:28:10.830-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A Dozen Wise Sayings &gt; &gt;1. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks. &gt; &gt;2. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity. &gt; &gt;3. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never &gt;tried before. &gt; &gt;4. Age is a very high price to pay for maturity. &gt; &gt;5. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going &gt;to a garage makes you a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_12_02_archive.html#7703665' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-7703601</id><published>2001-12-06T14:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2001-12-06T14:25:44.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to every historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, every </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/7703601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_12_02_archive.html#7703601' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-6301093</id><published>2001-10-12T22:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-10-12T22:05:11.430-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You Know You've Had Enough Time On The Computer 1. A friend calls and says, "How are you? Your phones have been busy for a year!" 2. You forgot how to work the TV remote control. 3. You see something funny and scream, "LOL, LOL." 4. You meet the mailman at the curb and swear he said YOU'VE GOT MAIL. 5. You sign off and your screen says you were on for 3 days and 45 minutes. 6. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/6301093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/6301093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_10_07_archive.html#6301093' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-6145079</id><published>2001-10-06T00:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-10-06T00:02:10.290-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&gt;10 Things that tick me off 1. People who point at their wrist while asking for the time. I know where my watch is, buddy ... where the hell is yours? Do I point at my crotch when I ask where the bathroom is??  2. People in the supermarket check out line who  wait until their entire bill is rung up before they  begin writing their check. Hello...is the store name going to change, or the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/6145079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/6145079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_09_30_archive.html#6145079' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4844153</id><published>2001-07-31T22:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-31T22:49:09.256-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Farmer's Donkey One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried pitifully for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do.  Finally he decided the animal was old and the well needed to be covered up anyway, it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey.  He invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They all grabbed a shovel and began to shovel </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4844153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4844153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_29_archive.html#4844153' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4844128</id><published>2001-07-31T22:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-31T22:47:05.376-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Damn, It's Good to Be a Man! &gt; &gt; &gt;  Your last name stays put. &gt; &gt; &gt;  The garage is all yours. &gt; &gt; &gt;  Wedding plans take care of themselves. &gt; &gt; &gt;  Chocolate is just another snack. &gt; &gt; &gt;  You can be president. &gt; &gt; &gt;  You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. &gt; &gt; &gt;  Car mechanics tell you the truth. &gt; &gt; &gt;  You don't give a rat's ass if someone notices your new haircut. &gt; &gt; &gt;  The </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4844128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4844128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_29_archive.html#4844128' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4709062</id><published>2001-07-24T16:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-24T16:37:18.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A little old lady goes to the doctor and says, "Doctor I have this problem with gas, but it really doesn't bother me too much. My farts never smell and are always silent. As a matter of fact, I've farted at least 20 times since I've been here in your office. You didn't know I was farting because they don't smell and are silent. "  The doctor says, "I see, take these pills and come back to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4709062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4709062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_22_archive.html#4709062' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4345152</id><published>2001-07-02T14:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T14:18:50.806-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Leaving an impression  According to a radio report, a middle school in Oregon was faced with a unique problem.  A number of girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick  they would press their lips to the mirror leaving  dozens of little lip prints. Finally the principal  decided that something had to be done.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4345152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4345152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4345152' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4345052</id><published>2001-07-02T14:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T14:12:34.286-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Secrets of Women's Language: Keywords and their meaning.  Fine:  This is the word we use at the end of any argument that we feel we are right about but need to shut you up. NEVER use fine to describe how woman  looks. This will cause you to have one of those arguments.   Five minutes:  This is half an hour. It is equivalent to the five minutes that your  football game is going to last </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4345052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4345052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4345052' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4344892</id><published>2001-07-02T14:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T14:02:17.053-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I want to be six again... A man asked his wife what she'd like for her birthday. "I'd love to be six again," she replied. On the morning of her birthday, he got her up bright and early and off they went to a local theme park. What a day! He put her on every ride in the park: the Death Slide, the Screaming Loop, the Wall of Fear-everything there was! Wow! Five hours later she staggered out of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4344892' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4344805</id><published>2001-07-02T13:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T13:56:31.093-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sure signs you are a "grown-up."  A. Your potted plants stay alive. B. Having sex in a twin sized bed is absurd. C. You keep more food than beer in the fridge. D. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to sleep. E. You  hear your favorite song on an elevator. F. You carry an umbrella. You watch the Weather Channel. G. Your friends marry and divorce  instead of hookup and breakup. H.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4344805' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4344639</id><published>2001-07-02T13:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T13:45:53.206-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>    Dear Billy joe Bob, &gt;I'm writting this slow because I know you can't read fast. We don't live &gt;where we did when you left home. Your Pa read in the newspaper that most &gt;accidents happen within 20 minutes of your home, so we moved. I won't be able &gt;to send you the address because the last family that lived here took the &gt;house numbers when they moved so they wouldn't have to change </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4344639' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-4344617</id><published>2001-07-02T13:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-07-02T13:44:02.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The sixth grade science teacher asked his class, "Who can tell me which organ of the human body expands to 10 times its usual size when stimulated?" Nobody raised a hand, so he called on the first student to look his way. "Mary, can you tell me which organ of the human body expands to 10 times its usual size when stimulated?" Mary stood up, blushed beet-red, and said, "Sir, how dare you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/4344617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_07_01_archive.html#4344617' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3745167</id><published>2001-05-22T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-22T11:08:39.123-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Top Ten Reasons To Go to Work Naked:  10. No one ever steals your chair.  9. Gives "bad hair day" a whole new meaning.  8. Diverts attention from the fact that you also came to work drunk.  7. People stop stealing your pens after they've  seen where you keep them.   6. You want to see if it's like the dream.   5. To stop those creepy guys in Marketing from looking down your blouse.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3745167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3745167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_20_archive.html#3745167' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3745092</id><published>2001-05-22T11:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-22T11:03:47.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One night, shortly after midnight, three guys broke into a bank, and promptly proceeded to disable the internal security alarm.  The robbers, who expected to find one or two large safes filled with cash and valuables, were surprised to see hundreds of smaller safes scattered throughout the bank.  The robbers cracked the first safe's combination,  and inside they found only a bowl of vanilla </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3745092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3745092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_20_archive.html#3745092' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662670</id><published>2001-05-16T18:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:17:08.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Bad Day  Upon arriving home, a husband was met at the door by his sobbing wife.  Tearfully she explained, "It's the druggist. He insulted me  terribly  this  morning on the phone."   Immediately the husband drove downtown to confront  the druggist and demand an apology.   Before he could say more than  a  word  or two, the druggist told him,  Now, just a minute, listen to my side of it.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662670' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662511</id><published>2001-05-16T18:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:07:29.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Two men are driving through Texas when they get pulled over by a  State Trooper. The cop walks up and taps on the window with his  nightstick. The driver rolls down the window and WHACK,  the cop smacks  him in the head with the stick.  The driver asks, "What the heck was that for?" The cop answers, "You're  in  Texas boy. When we pull you over, you better have your license ready when  we get to</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662511' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662476</id><published>2001-05-16T18:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:05:16.963-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"As I was trying to pack for vacation, my 3-year-old daughter was having a wonderful time playing on the bed. At one point, she said, "Mom, look at this," and stuck out two of her fingers. Trying to keep her entertained, I reached out and stuck her fingers in my mouth and said, "Mommy gonna eat your fingers!" pretending to eat them before I rushed out of the room again. When I returned, my</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662476' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662455</id><published>2001-05-16T18:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:04:17.820-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A woman is in a coma. Nurses are in her room giving her a sponge bath.  One of them is washing her "private area" and notices that there is a response on the monitor when he touches her. They go to her husband and explain what happened, telling him, "Crazy as this sounds, maybe a little oral sex will do the trick and bring her out of the coma." The husband is skeptical, but they assure him that</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662455' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662435</id><published>2001-05-16T18:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:02:18.116-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A woman and a man get into a car accident, and it's a bad one. Both 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 </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662435' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662421</id><published>2001-05-16T18:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T18:01:25.663-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jonah  A little girl was talking to her teacher about whales. The teacher said it was physically impossible for a whale to swallow a human because even though they were a very large mammal their throat was very small. The little girl stated that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. The teacher reiterated that a whale could not swallow a human; it was impossible. The little girl said, "When I get </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662421' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662390</id><published>2001-05-16T17:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:59:04.300-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>TEN DOLLARS Bill and his wife Martha went to the state fair every year, and every year, Bill would say, "Martha, I'd like to ride in that airplane."  Martha always replied, "I know Bill, but that airplane ride costs 10 dollars, and 10 dollars is 10 dollars."  One year Bill and Martha went to the fair and Bill said, "Martha, I'm 81 years old.  If I don't ride that airplane now, I might never </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662390' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662343</id><published>2001-05-16T17:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:55:49.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>BLONDE  Two Coats Are Better Than One  A blonde, wanting to earn some money, decided to hire herself out as a handyman.  She started by door-to-door canvassing in a well-to-do neighborhood.  At the front door of the first house, she asked the owner if he had any  handyman jobs for her to do.  "Well, you can paint my porch. How much will you charge?"  "Hmmmm..." said the blonde after looking </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662343' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662273</id><published>2001-05-16T17:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:51:37.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Redneck Birth Control After having their 11th child, an Alabama couple decided that was enough, as they could not afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his doctor/veterinarian and told him that he and his wife/cousin didn't want to have any more children. The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive. A less costly </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662273' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662198</id><published>2001-05-16T17:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:47:44.943-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>LIFE'S TRIALS An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort forced himself down the stairs, gripping the railing with both hands.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662198' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3662146</id><published>2001-05-16T17:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:44:46.660-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I BET AA DOESN"T EVEN TEACH THIS!!!  Due to increasing products liability litigation, American beer  brewers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning  labels  be  placed immediately on all beer containers: WARNING:  The consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering  what the hell happened to your bra. WARNING:  The consumption of alcohol may make you think you  are </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3662146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3662146' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3661938</id><published>2001-05-16T17:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:33:33.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A rich white guy in Georgia decided that he wanted to throw a party and  invited all of his buddies and neighbors. He also invited Leroy,  the token black  guy in the neighborhood.   He held the party around the pool in the backyard  of his mansion.  Everyone was having a good time drinking,  dancing, eating shrimp,  oysters and BBQ and flirting with the women.  At the height of the party, the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3661938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3661938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3661938' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3661809</id><published>2001-05-16T17:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-05-16T17:24:30.010-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Doctor Darren had slept with one of his patients and had felt guilty all day long.  No matter how much he tried to forget about it, he couldn't.  The guilt and sense of  betrayal was overwhelming.  But every once in a while he'd hear that soothing voice, within himself, trying to reassure him: "Darren, don't worry about it.  You  aren't the first doctor to sleep  with one of their patients and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3661809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3661809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_05_13_archive.html#3661809' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3400557</id><published>2001-04-27T20:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-27T20:06:31.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Women's Bumper Stickers 1. SO MANY MEN, SO FEW WHO CAN AFFORD ME. 2. GOD MADE US SISTERS, PROZAC MADE US FRIENDS. 3. IF THEY DON'T HAVE CHOCOLATE IN HEAVEN, I AIN'T GOING. 4. MY MOTHER IS A TRAVEL AGENT FOR GUILT TRIPS. 5. PRINCESS, HAVING SUFFICIENT EXPERIENCE WITH PRINCES, SEEKS FROG. 6. COFFEE, CHOCOLATE, MEN . . . SOME THINGS ARE JUST BETTER RICH. 7. DON'T TREAT ME ANY DIFFERENTLY THAN YOU </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3400557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3400557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_22_archive.html#3400557' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3367947</id><published>2001-04-25T17:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-25T17:48:46.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE TRUTH IN 13 WORDS... Inside every older person is a younger person - wondering what the hell happened</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3367947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3367947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_22_archive.html#3367947' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3332381</id><published>2001-04-23T13:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-23T13:38:02.620-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> This farmer has about 200 hens, but no rooster, and he wants chicks. So, he goes down the road to the next farmer and asks if he has a rooster that he  would sell.  The other farmer says, "Yeah, I've got this great rooster, named  Bob. He'll service every chicken you got, no problem."  Well, Bob the rooster  costs a lot of money, but the farmer decides he'd be worth it. So, he buys Bob. The </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3332381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3332381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_22_archive.html#3332381' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3332311</id><published>2001-04-23T13:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-23T13:32:22.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A lady goes to her priest one day and tells him, "Father, I have a problem.Ihave two female parrots, but they only know how to say one thing."  "What dothey say?" the priest inquired. They say, 'Hi, we're prostitutes. Do youwantto have some fun?""That's obscene!" the priest exclaimed, then he thought for a moment. "Youknow," he said, "I may have a solution to your problem. I have two maletalking </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3332311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3332311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_22_archive.html#3332311' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3273031</id><published>2001-04-19T09:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-19T09:23:09.940-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>When the ark's door was closed Noah called a meeting with all the animals. "Listen up!" Noah said with a demanding voice. "There will be NO sex on this trip. Not even the wetting of the tip of your penis. All of you males, take off your penis and hand it in to my sons. I will be sitting over there and write you a receipt. After we see land, you can get your penis back." After about a week Mr. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3273031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3273031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_15_archive.html#3273031' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3249511</id><published>2001-04-17T20:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-17T20:34:11.273-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A young man is wandering, lost, in a forest when he comes upon a small house. He knocks on the door and is greeted by an old Chinese man with a long grey beard. "I'm lost," said the man, "Can you put me up for the night?""Certainly," the Chinese man said, "but one condition. If you so much as lay a finger on my daughter I will inflict upon you the three worst Chinese tortures known to man." "OK,"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3249511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3249511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_15_archive.html#3249511' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2996141.post-3206395</id><published>2001-04-14T22:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2001-04-14T22:27:44.473-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You know that all potatoes have eyes. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Potato had eyes for each other, and finally they got married, and had a little sweet potato, whom they called 'Yam.' Of course, they wanted the best forYam.  When it was time, they told her about the facts of life. They warned her about going out and getting half-baked, so she wouldn't get accidentally mashed and get a bad name for herself </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3206395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2996141/posts/default/3206395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://missyjokes.blogspot.com/2001_04_08_archive.html#3206395' title=''/><author><name>Michele</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10080269588666552401</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
