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A Methodist preacher said, "Anyone with 'special needs' who wants to be prayed over, please come forward to the front by the altar."

With that, Tyrone got in line. When it was his turn, the Preacher asked, "Tyrone, what do you want me to pray about for you?" 


Tyrone replied, "Preacher, I need you to pray for help with my hearing."   The preacher put one finger of one hand in Tyrone's ear, placed his other hand on top of Tyrone's head, and then prayed and prayed and prayed.  He prayed a "blue streak" for Tyrone, and the whole congregation joined in with great enthusiasm.

After a few minutes, the preacher removed his hands, stood back and asked, "Tyrone, how is your hearing now?"

Tyrone answered, "I don't know, Man.  It ain't 'til next week."

Why is it called "after dark" when it really is "after light"?

Ryan Giggs.what a career.
He's been in seven FA cup finals,five League cup finals,four Champions League finals...and one Big Brother quarter finalist!

Doesn't "expecting the unexpected" make the unexpected expected?

An Ode to English Plural

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
Neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England.
We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes,
We find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square,
And a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and
Get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English
Should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a
Recital?

We ship by truck but send cargo by ship...
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
While a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language
In which your house can burn up as it burns down,
In which you fill in a form by filling it out, and
In which an alarm goes off by going on.

And in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?

Celadon -nice one!
Regards,
NIMROD

From the D.M.
THE grunting of Maria Sharapova is to be protected under the United Nation's world heritage programme. The move means Sharapova's passionate yelps will be excluded from a threatened Wimbledon grunting crackdown.

The UN acted after a deluge of panicked emails from lonely men who stressed the lithe, blonde Russian's intense barking constituted their entire sex life.

A UN spokesman said: "You can't compare a Sharapova grunt to that of some six foot-wide Bulgarian hermaphrodite. That's like comparing Machu Pichu to a shopping centre in Coventry."

Roy Hobbs, a single man from Hatfield, said: "I have a full-sized cardboard cut-out.

"Before a match I close the curtains, light some candles and pour some Pinot Grigio. Maria is impressed with my knowledge of films and then gives me a 'come hither' look. And that's when I switch on the telly.

"We then become one for up to 90 minutes of extremely heavy grunting."

He added: "I hate these early rounds because it tends to be emphatic, straight sets victories that last about half an hour. It makes me feel as if I can't satisfy her."

But a Wimbledon spokesman insisted: "While we have to respect the United Nations we also have to think about Cliff Richard.

"Do we really want him to go to his grave with the grunts of something that looks like a Serbian bodyguard ringing in his gentle ears?"

But he added: "I know what you mean about Sharapova, though. I reckon she's got something up there.

"I believe they are called 'love eggs'."

A farmer stopped by the local mechanics shop to have his truck fixed.
They couldn’t do it while he waited, so he said he didn’t live far and would just walk home.
On the way home he stopped at the hardware store and bought a bucket and a gallon of paint. He then stopped by the feed store and picked up a couple of chickens and a goose. However, struggling outside the store he now had a problem – how to carry his entire purchases home.
While he was scratching his head he was approached by a little old lady who told him she was lost. She asked, ‘Can you tell me how to get to 1603 Mockingbird Lane ?’
The farmer said, ‘Well, as a matter of fact, my farm is very close to that house I would walk you there but I can’t carry this lot.’
The old lady suggested, ‘Why don’t you put the can of paint in the bucket. Carry the bucket in one hand, put a chicken under each arm and carry the goose in your other hand?’
‘Why thank you very much,’ he said and proceeded to walk the old girl home.
On the way he says ‘Let’s take my short cut and go down this alley. We’ll be there in no time.’
The little old lady looked him over cautiously then said, ‘I am a lonely widow without a husband to defend me.
How do I know that when we get in the alley you won’t hold me up against the wall, pull up my skirt, and have your way with me?’
The farmer said, ‘Holy smokes lady! I’m carrying a bucket, a gallon of paint, two chickens, and a goose. How in the world could I possibly hold you up against the wall and do that?’
The old lady replied, ‘Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the paint on top of the bucket, and I’ll hold the chickens.

From the D.M.

ADVANCES in food technology mean that pre-packed sandwiches can now retain their disappointingness for up to 14 days.
Until recently, ready-made sandwiches would degenerate from barely edible to inedible within a week.

Food scientist, Julian Cook, said: "This is a major breakthrough in food mediocrity.

"Whether cheap or expensive, sandwiches from refrigerators all taste like textured air. We fully accept that they'll never be good in any way. But we can make them last longer.

"The process works in an almost supernatural way. Basically, we've identified an invisible aura which is the 'life force' or 'soul' of the sandwich and managed to suck it out.

"The result is a completely spiritually dead foodstuff, a 'ghost sandwich' if you like, that keeps for ages because it's already a void.

"Look at these things, two flaccid white triangles with a thin layer of egg-influenced paste and the barest hint of a hand print. Exactly what people who are too lazy to put their own stuff between bread deserve."

Long distance driver, Stephen Malley, said: "What gets me about pre-packed sandwiches is that however disappointing you expect them to be, they still manage to disappoint.

"There's something almost beautiful about that."

A group of primary school infants, accompanied by two female teachers, went on a field trip to Beverley races to see and learn about thoroughbred horses.

When it was time to take the children to the toilet, it was decided that the girls would go with one teacher and the boys would go with the other.

The teacher assigned to the boys was waiting outside the men's toilet when one of the boys came out and told her that none of them could reach the urinal.

Having no choice, she went inside, helped the boys with their underpants, and began hoisting the boys up, one by one, holding their willies to direct the flow away from their clothes.

As she lifted one, she couldn't help but notice that he was unusually well endowed. Trying not to show that she was staring, the teacher said, 'You must be in year four.'

'No, love,' he replied.

"I'm riding Silver Arrow in the 2.15