<?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-37902328</id><updated>2011-10-26T04:37:18.872-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thunderjokes</title><subtitle type='html'>This is where I put funny stuff.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-6479450105850309163</id><published>2008-11-29T14:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T14:28:47.296-06:00</updated><title type='text'>2008's First Christmas Joke</title><content type='html'>Three  men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at  the pearly&lt;br /&gt;Gates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'In honor of this holy season'  Saint Peter said,  'You must each possess&lt;br /&gt;Something  that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a  lighter. He&lt;br /&gt;Flicked it on. 'It represents a candle', he  said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'You may pass through the pearly  gates' Saint Peter said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of  keys. He&lt;br /&gt;Shook them and said, 'They're  bells.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saint Peter said 'You may pass through the  pearly gates'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third man started searching  desperately through his pockets and  &lt;br /&gt;Finally pulled  out a pair of women's panties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;St. Peter looked at  the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, 'And just  &lt;br /&gt;What do those symbolize?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man  replied, 'These are Carols.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And  So The Christmas Season Begins......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-6479450105850309163?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/6479450105850309163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=6479450105850309163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/6479450105850309163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/6479450105850309163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2008/11/2008s-first-christmas-joke.html' title='2008&apos;s First Christmas Joke'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-820714441415950783</id><published>2008-11-26T09:13:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T09:17:27.557-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Republic Of Texas</title><content type='html'>We Texans love y'all, but we have decided to take action since Obama will soon be president. We'll miss you, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Texas has given all those complainers plenty of time to get used to the results. After seeing all the whiners along the campaign route, the folks from Texas are taking matters into our hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is our solution:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1: Swear in Barak Hussein Obama President of the United States . (All 49 states.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2: George W. Bush comes home and becomes the President of the Republic Of Texas .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what does Texas have to do to survive as a Republic? We are already set!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. NASA is just south of Houston, Texas. (We will control the space industry.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We refine over 85% of the gasoline in the United States.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Defense Industry. (We have over 65% of it) The term "Don't mess with Texas," will take on a whole new meaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Oil - we can supply all the oil that the Republic of Texas will need for the next 300 years. Yankee states? Sorry about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Natural Gas - Again we have all we need and it's too bad about those northern states. Obama will figure a way to keep them warm. ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Computer Industry - we currently lead the nation in producing computer chips and communications: Small places like Texas Instruments, Dell Computer, EDS, Raytheon, National Semiconductor, Motorola, Intel, AMD, Atmel, Applied Materials, Ball Semiconductor, Dallas Semiconductor, Delphi, Nortel, Alcatel, Etc, Etc. &lt;br /&gt;The list goes on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Health Centers - We have the largest research centers for Cancer research, the best burn centers and the top trauma units in the world, as well as other large health planning centers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. We have enough colleges to keep us going: UT Texas, A&amp;M, Texas Tech, Rice, SMU, University of Houston , Baylor, UNT, Texas Women's University. Ivy grows better in the south anyway...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. We have a ready supply of workers. (We can just open the border when we need some more.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. We have control of the paper industry, plastics, insurance, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. In case of a foreign invasion, we have the Texas National Guard and the Texas Air National Guard. We don't have an army but since every body down here has at least six rifles and a pile of ammo, we can raise an army in 24 hours if we need it. If the situation really gets bad, we can always call Department of Public Safety and ask them to send over a couple of Texas Rangers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. We are totally self sufficient in beef, poultry, hogs and several types of grain, fruit and vegetables and let's not forget seafood from the  gulf....and everybody down here knows how to cook 'em so they taste good. Don't need any food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This just names a few of the items that will keep the Republic Of Texas in good shape. There isn't a thing out there that we need and don't have. To the rest of the United States under President Obama: Since you won't have the refineries to get gas for your cars, you will have to walk or ride bikes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You won' t have any TV as the space center in Houston will cut off your communications. You won' t have any natural gas to heat your homes but since Al Gore has predicted global warming, you will not need the gas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to add one more thing.  Texas can always apply for foreign aid from the US as they give to every body else in the world.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;LET'S DO IT TODAY!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The People of Texas&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-820714441415950783?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/820714441415950783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=820714441415950783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/820714441415950783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/820714441415950783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2008/11/republic-of-texas.html' title='The Republic Of Texas'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-1905915157544296786</id><published>2008-03-05T10:50:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T10:50:26.028-06:00</updated><title type='text'>HILLARY'S FIRST NIGHT AS PRESIDENT</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;   &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Hillary Clinton was sworn in today as&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;President.&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;She has disposed of Bill&amp;#160; and is spending her first night alone in the White House. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;She has waited &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;several years for this&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;!&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;FIRST NIGHT&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Suddenly!&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;The ghost of George Washington appears to her, and Hillary says, 'How can I best serve my country?'&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Washington&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt; says, 'Never tell a lie.' &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Ouch!' Says Hillary, 'I don't know about that.'&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;SECOND NIGHT&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;The next night, the ghost of Thomas&amp;#160; Jefferson appears...        &lt;br /&gt;Hillary says, 'How can I best serve my country?' &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Jefferson&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt; says, 'Listen to the people.'&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;       &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;       &lt;br /&gt;'Ohhh! I really really don't want to do that.'&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;THIRD NIGHT&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt; &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;On the third night, the ghost of Abe Lincoln appears...        &lt;br /&gt;Hillary says, 'How can I best serve my country?'&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;Lincoln &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;says,&amp;#160; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;'Go &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;to&amp;#160; the &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;theater.'&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-1905915157544296786?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/1905915157544296786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=1905915157544296786' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/1905915157544296786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/1905915157544296786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2008/03/hillary-first-night-as-president.html' title='HILLARY&amp;#39;S FIRST NIGHT AS PRESIDENT'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-1036688932612087920</id><published>2008-01-31T15:09:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T15:09:39.862-06:00</updated><title type='text'>From some guy named Reggie</title><content type='html'>Found this in the comments of &lt;a href="http://territerri.wordpress.com/2008/01/30/how-cold-is-it/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;A woman awakes during the night to find that her husband is not in their bed.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;She puts on her robe and goes downstairs to look for him. She finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him. He appears deep in thought, just staring at the wall. She watches as he wipes a tear from his eye and takes a sip of coffee.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she whispers as she steps into the room. ‘Why are you down here at this time of night?’&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The husband looks up, ‘Do you remember 20 years ago when we were dating, and you were only 17?’ he asks solemnly.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The wife is touched thinking her husband is so caring and sensitive. ‘Yes, I do,’ she replies.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The husband pauses. The words are not coming easily. ‘Do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car?’&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;‘Yes, I remember,’ says the wife, lowering herself into a chair beside him.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The husband continues…’Do you remember when he shoved a shotgun in my face and said, ‘Either you marry my daughter, or I will send you to jail for 20 years’.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;‘I remember that too’, she replies softly.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;He wipes another tear from his cheek and says… ‘I would have gotten out today!’&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-1036688932612087920?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/1036688932612087920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=1036688932612087920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/1036688932612087920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/1036688932612087920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2008/01/from-some-guy-named-reggie.html' title='From some guy named Reggie'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-8306906574173520556</id><published>2008-01-31T14:30:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T14:31:23.082-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Arnold</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/R6IwDDsmHtI/AAAAAAAAAPA/qgamrdTcMAo/s1600-h/arnold_1_2a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/R6IwDDsmHtI/AAAAAAAAAPA/qgamrdTcMAo/s320/arnold_1_2a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161740952010104530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-8306906574173520556?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/8306906574173520556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=8306906574173520556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/8306906574173520556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/8306906574173520556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2008/01/arnold.html' title='Arnold'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/R6IwDDsmHtI/AAAAAAAAAPA/qgamrdTcMAo/s72-c/arnold_1_2a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-3627499792301393812</id><published>2007-09-25T15:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T15:52:29.130-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The History of the Middle Finger</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/Rvl090fKy2I/AAAAAAAAAFY/CJno_fLmWwo/s1600-h/untitled.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/Rvl090fKy2I/AAAAAAAAAFY/CJno_fLmWwo/s320/untitled.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114247457266125666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Well, now......here's something I never knew before, and now that I know it, I feel compelled to send it on to my more intelligent friends in the hope that they, too, will feel edified.  Isn't history more fun when you know something about it?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the Battle of Agincourt in 1415, the French, anticipating victory over the English, proposed to cut off the middle finger of all captured English soldiers. Without the middle finger it would be impossible to draw the renowned English longbow and therefore they would be incapable of fighting in the future. This famous English longbow was made of the native English Yew tree, and the act of drawing the longbow was known as "plucking the yew" (or "pluck yew").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much to the bewilderment of the French, the English won a major upset and began mocking the French by waving their middle fingers at the defeated French, saying, See, we can still pluck yew! &lt;br /&gt;Since 'pluck yew' is rather difficult to say, the difficult consonant cluster at the beginning has gradually changed to a labiodentals fricative F', and thus the words often used in conjunction with the one-finger salute!  It is also because of the pheasant feathers on the arrows used with the longbow that the symbolic gesture is known as "giving the bird."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT IS STILL AN APPROPRIATE SALUTE TO THE FRENCH TODAY!&lt;br /&gt;(And yew thought yew knew every plucking thing.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-3627499792301393812?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/3627499792301393812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=3627499792301393812' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3627499792301393812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3627499792301393812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/09/history-of-middle-finger.html' title='The History of the Middle Finger'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_qUhHMjkP40o/Rvl090fKy2I/AAAAAAAAAFY/CJno_fLmWwo/s72-c/untitled.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-7975536135325389588</id><published>2007-08-17T08:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-17T08:36:31.374-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Private Part Died</title><content type='html'>An old man, Mr. Goldstein, was living the last of his life in a nursing home. One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed. Nurse Tracy asked if there was anything wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Nurse Tracy," said Mr. Goldstein, "My Private Part died today, and I am very sad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing her patients were forgetful and sometimes a little crazy she replied, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Goldstein, please accept my condolences."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day, Mr. Goldstein was walking down the hall with his Private Part hanging out of his pajamas, when he met Nurse Tracy."Mr. Goldstein," she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall like that. Please put your Private Part back inside your Pajamas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, Nurse Tracy," replied Mr. Goldstein, " I told you yesterday that my Private Part died."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your pajamas?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," he replied, "Today is the viewing."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-7975536135325389588?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/7975536135325389588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=7975536135325389588' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/7975536135325389588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/7975536135325389588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/08/my-private-part-died.html' title='My Private Part Died'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-3496994770384188612</id><published>2007-08-17T08:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-17T08:27:53.791-05:00</updated><title type='text'>From my "other mother"</title><content type='html'>Great joke sent to me by my friend K's mom .... pretty good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="left: 347px ! important; top: 0px ! important;" title="Click here to block this object with Adblock Plus" class="abp-objtab visible" href="http://www.youtube.com/v/BAwoZMc7JnA"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;object height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BAwoZMc7JnA"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BAwoZMc7JnA" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-3496994770384188612?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/3496994770384188612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=3496994770384188612' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3496994770384188612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3496994770384188612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/08/from-my-other-mother.html' title='From my &quot;other mother&quot;'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-3349222182675359562</id><published>2007-08-01T08:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T08:34:49.486-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Men Go To The Doctor's Office</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pamperedpassions.com/images_products/sexy_nurse_lingerie_set_b20917.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 342px;" src="http://www.pamperedpassions.com/images_products/sexy_nurse_lingerie_set_b20917.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Another good one from Duane ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two men were in the doctor's office. Each of them is to get a vasectomy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse comes into the room and tells both men "Strip and put on these gowns before going in to see the doctor to have your procedures done."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later she returns and reaches into one man's gown and proceeds to fondle and ultimately begins to masturbate him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shocked as he was, he asks, "Why are you doing that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which she replies, "We have to vacate the sperm from your system to have a clean procedure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man, not wanting to be a problem and enjoying it, allows her to complete her task.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she is through, she proceeds to the next man. She starts to fondle him as she had the previous man, but then drops to her knees and proceeds to give him oral sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first man, seeing this, quickly responds, "Hey! Why is it that I get masturbated and he gets a blow job?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The nurse simply replies, "That, sir, is the difference between an HMO and Blue Cross/Blue Shield!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-3349222182675359562?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/3349222182675359562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=3349222182675359562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3349222182675359562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/3349222182675359562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/08/two-men-go-to-doctors-office.html' title='Two Men Go To The Doctor&apos;s Office'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-7753298816324805626</id><published>2007-07-10T07:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T07:20:28.957-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You Are A Texan If</title><content type='html'>1. You can properly pronounce Corsicana, Palestine, Decatur, Wichita Falls,&lt;br /&gt;San Antonio, Burnet, Boerne, Nacogdoches, Mexia, Waco, Amarillo, and&lt;br /&gt;Waxahachie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. A tornado warning siren is your signal to go out in the yard and look for&lt;br /&gt;a funnel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You've ever had to switch from "heat" to "A/C"  and back in the same day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. You know that&lt;a href="javascript:void(0)" onclick="return false;" tabindex="10"&gt;&lt;span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;the true value of a parking  space is not determined by the&lt;br /&gt;distance to the door, but by the availability of shade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Stores don't have bags, they have sacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. You see people wear bib overalls at funerals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. You measure distance in minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Little Smokies are something you serve only for special occasions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. You go to the lake because you think it is like going to the ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. You listen to the weather forecast before picking out an outfit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. You know cow-pies are not made of beef.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.. Someone you know has used a football schedule to plan their wedding&lt;br /&gt;date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. You have known someone who has had a belt buckle bigger than your fist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. You aren't surprised to find movie rental, ammunition, and bait all in&lt;br /&gt;the same store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Your "place at the lake" has wheels under it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. A Mercedes Benz is not a status symbol; a Ford F350 4x4 is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. You know everything goes better with Ranch dressin'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. You learned how to shoot a gun before you learned how to multiply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. You actually understand this and you are "fixin' to" send it to your&lt;br /&gt;friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Finally, you are 100% Texan if you have ever heard this conversation:&lt;br /&gt;"You wanna coke?"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah."&lt;br /&gt;"What kind?"&lt;br /&gt;"Dr. Pepper"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-7753298816324805626?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/7753298816324805626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=7753298816324805626' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/7753298816324805626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/7753298816324805626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/07/you-are-texan-if.html' title='You Are A Texan If'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-2509649360504574088</id><published>2007-06-22T17:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T17:14:55.267-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why You Never Question A Drunk</title><content type='html'>A woman was shopping at her local supermarket&lt;br /&gt;where&lt;br /&gt; she selected :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; A quart of orange juice&lt;br /&gt; A half gallon of 2% milk&lt;br /&gt; A carton of eggs&lt;br /&gt; A head of Romaine lettuce&lt;br /&gt; A 2 lb can of coffee&lt;br /&gt; and 1 lb of bacon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; As she was unloading her items on the conveyor belt to check out,  a drunk standing behind her watched as she placed them in front of the cashier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, the drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The woman was a bit startled by this proclamation, but she was intrigued by the derelicts intuition, since she was indeed single.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looked at her six items on the belt but saw nothing particularly unusual about her selections that could have tipped off the drunk to her marital status.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curiosity getting the better of her, she said, "Well, you know what, you're absolutely correct. But how on earth did you know that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The drunk replied, "Cause you're ugly."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-2509649360504574088?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/2509649360504574088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=2509649360504574088' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/2509649360504574088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/2509649360504574088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/06/why-you-never-question-drunk.html' title='Why You Never Question A Drunk'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-8468892850304744873</id><published>2007-05-17T10:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T10:04:17.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A priest and his donkey enter a race</title><content type='html'>A good one from my co-worker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered in another race and it won again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The local paper read: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in any more races.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the local paper headline read:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BISHOP SCRATCHES THE PASTOR'S ASS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was too much for the Bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of  the donkey.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The local paper, hearing of the news, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Posted the following headline:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUN HAS THE BEST ASS IN TOWN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bishop fainted.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey so she sold it to a farmer for $10.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the headlines read:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was too much for the Bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the high plains where it could run free.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the headlines read: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas ... The Bishop was buried the next day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-8468892850304744873?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/8468892850304744873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=8468892850304744873' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/8468892850304744873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/8468892850304744873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2007/05/priest-and-his-donkey-enter-race.html' title='A priest and his donkey enter a race'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-116604760336674868</id><published>2006-12-13T16:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T16:06:43.373-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning To Men About Women Offerning Drinks</title><content type='html'>Police are warning all men who frequent clubs, parties and local pubs to be alert and stay cautious when offered a drink from any woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many females use a date rape drug on the market called "Beer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The drug is found in liquid form and is available anywhere. It comes in bottles, cans, or from taps and in large "kegs". Beer is used by female sexual predators at parties and bars to persuade their male victims to go home and sleep with them. A woman needs only to get a guy to consume a few units of Beer and then simply ask him home for no strings attached sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men are rendered helpless against this approach. After several beers, men will often succumb to the desire to sleep with horrific looking women to whom they would never normally be attracted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After drinking beer, men often awaken with only hazy memories of exactly what happened to them the night before, often with just a vague feeling that "something bad" occurred.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At other times these unfortunate men are swindled out of their life's savings, in a familiar scam known as "a relationship."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In extreme cases, the female may even be shrewd enough to entrap the unsuspecting male into a longer term form of servitude and punishment referred to as "marriage." Men are much more susceptible to this scam after beer is administered and sex is offered by the predatory females.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you fall victim to this "Beer" scam and the women administering it, there are male support groups where you can discuss the details of your shocking encounter with similarly victimized men.  For the support group nearest you, just look up "Golf Courses" in the phone book.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-116604760336674868?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/116604760336674868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=116604760336674868' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116604760336674868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116604760336674868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2006/12/warning-to-men-about-women-offerning.html' title='Warning To Men About Women Offerning Drinks'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-116560002942325788</id><published>2006-12-08T11:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-08T11:47:09.430-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Aggie Joke #1</title><content type='html'>A Texas Tech graduate, a University of Texas grad and a Texas Aggie were sitting in a bar in San Antonio . The view of the river was fantastic, the beer was ice cold and the food exceptional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But," said the guy from Tech, "I still prefer the beer joints back in Lubbock . There's one place where the owner goes out of his way for the locals. When you buy 4 beers, he will buy the 5th."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Longhorn said "Well, at my local bar in Austin , the owner will buy your 3rd drink after you've bought 2."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hell, that's nothin'," the Aggie responded. "Back in College Station there's this bar where the moment you set foot in the place they'll buy you a drink and keep them coming all night. Then when you've had enough to drink, they take you upstairs and see that you get laid. And it's all on the house."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Red Raider and the Longhorn immediately doubted the Aggie's claims. "And this actually happened to you?" asked the Tech grad. "No, not myself personally," admitted the Aggie. "But it did happen to my sister four times last week."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-116560002942325788?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/116560002942325788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=116560002942325788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116560002942325788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116560002942325788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2006/12/aggie-joke-1.html' title='Aggie Joke #1'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37902328.post-116544279949685287</id><published>2006-12-06T16:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-12-06T16:06:39.506-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sensitive Man</title><content type='html'>From my buddy Duane:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman meets a man in a bar. They talk; they connect; they end up leaving together. They get back to his place, and as he shows her around his apartment, she notices that one wall of his bedroom is completely filled with soft, sweet, cuddly teddy bears. There are three shelves in the bedroom, with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears, carefully placed in rows covering the entire wall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into organizing the display. There were small bears all along the bottom shelf, medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She found it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large a collection of Teddy Bears, but doesn't mention this to him, and actually is quite impressed by his sensitive side. They share a bottle of wine and continue talking and, after a while, she finds herself thinking, "Oh my God! Maybe, this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future father my children?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the lips. He responds warmly. They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom where they rip off each other's clothes and make hot, steamy love. She is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity, more heat than she has ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an intense, explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over, gently strokes his chest and asks coyly, "Well, how was it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy gently smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and says.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Help yourself to any prize from the middle shelf."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/37902328-116544279949685287?l=thunderjokes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/feeds/116544279949685287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=37902328&amp;postID=116544279949685287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116544279949685287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/37902328/posts/default/116544279949685287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thunderjokes.blogspot.com/2006/12/sensitive-man.html' title='The Sensitive Man'/><author><name>Knot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01101520347964546696</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
