Last night, my husband and I were sitting in the living room and I said to him, ‘I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug.’

He got up, unplugged the Computer, and threw out my wine.

He’s such an ass . . .

She was afraid she might have something wrong with her, so she decided to seek medical advice from the well known Chinese sex therapist, Dr Chang.

Upon entering the examination room, Dr Chang said ‘OK, take off all your crose.’

The woman did as she was told.’Now get down and craw reery, reery fass to odder side of room.’

Again the woman did as she was instructed. Dr Chang then said ‘OK, now craw reery, reery fass back to me.’

As she did Dr Chang shook his head slowly.
‘Your probrem vewy bad. You have Ed Zachary disease. Wurse case I ever see.

Dat why you not haf sex or dates.’

The woman asked anxiously ‘Oh my God, Dr Chang what is Ed Zachary disease?’

Dr Chang sighed deeply and replied,

‘Ed Zachary disease is when your face look Ed Zachary like your arse.’

The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra. After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin. Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and of course, Ibepokin.

Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer. It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to the names of ‘cocktails’, ‘highballs’ and just a good old-fashioned ‘stiff drink’. Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of: MOUNT & DO.

Thought for the day: There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer’s research. This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.

The doctor say,”How can I help you?”

So the man unzips his trousers, gets willy out and slaps it on the doctors desk.

“Well, what’s wrong with it?” asks the doctor

“Nothing. It’s a Cracker isn’t it!”

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 an internal, reassuring voice that said: “Dave, don’t worry about it. You aren’t the first doctor to sleep with one of their patients and you won’t be the last. And you’re single. Just let it go”…………….

Yet, invariably, the other voice would bring him back to reality, whispering….

“Dave…you’re a vet!”

The shepherd looks at the large flock and says ‘Okay’.

The woman connects a laptop to a mobile phone fax, enters the NASA website,scans the field using GPS, opens a database linked to 60 Excel files with logarithms and pivot tables, then prints out a 150 page report on a high tech mini printer.

She studies the report and says to the shepherd “You have exactly 1,586 sheep”.

The shepherd replies “That’s correct.  You can have the pick of my flock”.

The woman packs away her equipment, looks at the flock and puts one in the boot of her Porsche.

As she is about to leave the shepherd says “If I can guess your profession will you return the animal to me?”. The woman
thinks for amoment, then agrees.

The shepherd says “You are an NHS manager”.

“Correct” responds the woman, “but how did you know?”

The shepherd replies “Simple, first you came without being invited.

Second, you wasted a lot of time telling me something I already knew.

Third, you don’t understand anything about the work I do, but interfere anyway – Now can I have my dog back please?”!!!

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 alternative,” said the doctor, “is to go home, get a firework banger available from most east end corner shops all year round, put it in an empty beer can, light it then hold the can up to your ear and count to 10.

The Glesga Ned in the Charlie Nicholas parlance said to the doctor, “Ah might no be the smartest tool in the shed, but Ah cannae see how pittin a firework in a beer caun next to my ear is gonnae help me no tae huv ony mair weans.”

“Trust me,” said the doctor.

So the Ned went home, lit a banger and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count: “1″ “2″ “3″ “4″  “5″….. at which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs  and resumed counting on his other hand.

This procedure is available on the NHS, by the way, and works in Barrachnie, Garthamlock, Clydebank, Parkhead, Caldercruix, Shettleston, Bishopbrigs, Carmyle, and Barlanark.

Out of embarrassment she insisted that the surgery be kept a secret and the surgeon agreed.

Awakening from the anesthesia after the surgery she found 3 roses carefully placed beside her on the bed.

Outraged, she immediately calls in the doctor.

“I thought I asked you not to tell anyone about my operation!”

The surgeon told her he had carried out her wish for confidentiality and that the first rose was from him: ” I felt sad because you went through this all by yourself.”

“The second rose is from my nurse. She assisted me in the surgery and empathized because she had the same procedure done some time ago.”

“And what about the third rose?” she asked.

“That’s from a man upstairs in the burn unit. He wanted to thank you for his new ears.”

An Irishman goes to the Doctor with bottom problems . . .

“Dactor, it’s me ahrse. I’d loik ya ta teyhk a look, if ya woot”.

So the doctor gets him to drop his pants and takes a look.

“Incredible” he says, “there is a £20 note lodged up here.”

Tentatively he eases the twenty out of the man’s bottom, and then a £10 pound note appears.

“This is amazing!” exclaims the Doctor. `’What do you want me to do?”

“Well fur gadness sake teyhk it out, man!” shrieks the patient.

The doctor pulls out the tenner and another twenty appears, and another and another and another, etc.

Finally the last note comes out and no more appear.

“Ah Dactor, tank ya koindly, dat’s moch batter. Just out of interest, How moch was in dare den?”

The Doctor counts the pile of cash . . . “£1,990 exactly.”

“Ah, dat’d be roit,” says the Irishman
 

(Wait for it . . . scroll down)
 

I knew I wasn’t feeling two grand!”