The First Text Message
Dear John, this is Alan next door. I am sorry buddy, but I have a confession to make to you. I've been riddled with guilt these past few months and have been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you to your face, but I am at least now telling you in text as I can’t live with myself a moment longer without you knowing. The truth is, I have been sharing your wife, day and night when you're not around. In fact, probably more than you.
I haven’t been getting it at home recently, but that's no excuse I know. The temptation was just too much. I can no longer live with the guilt and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies and forgive me. I promise that it won't happen again. Please come up with a fee for usage, and I'll pay you.
John, feeling insulted and betrayed, grabbed his gun, stomped next door and shot his neighbor dead. He returned home, poured himself a stiff drink and went out into the garden for some fresh air. He took out his phone where he saw he had a subsequent message from his neighbor.
The Second Text Message
This is Alan next door again. Sorry about the slight typo on my last text. I expect you worked it out anyway, but as I’m sure you noticed that my smart phone’s Autocorrect feature changed “Wi-Fi” to ˜Wife”. Technology hey?? Hope you saw the funny side of that.
A woman joins a country club and one day hears the guys talking about their golf round.
She says, "I played on my college's golf team. I was pretty good. Mind if I join you next week?"
No one wants to say 'yes', but they're on the spot.
Finally, one man says, "Okay, but we start at 6:30 am." He figures the early tee-time will discourage her.
The woman says this may be a problem and asks if she can be up to 15 minutes late.
They roll their eyes, but say, "Okay."
She's there at 6:30 am sharp and beats all of them with an eye-opening 2-under par round.
She's fun and pleasant and the guys are impressed.
They congratulate her and invite her back the next week.
She smiles, and says, "I'll be there at 6:30, or 6:45."
The next week she again shows up at 6:30 sharp.
Only this time, she plays left-handed. The three guys are incredulous as she still beats them with an even par round, despite playing with her off-hand.
They're totally amazed. They can't figure her out. She's very pleasant and a gracious winner. They invite her back again, but each man harbors a burning desire to beat her.
The third week, she's 15 minutes late, which irritates the guys. This week she plays right-handed and narrowly beats all three of them. The men grumble that her late arrival is petty gamesmanship on her part. However, she's so charming and complimentary of their strong play, they can't hold a grudge. This woman is a riddle no one can figure out.
After the game they decide to have a couple of beers in the Clubhouse.
Finally, one of the men asks her, "How do you decide if you're going to golf right-handed or left-handed?" The lady blushes, and grins. "Well I'm ambidextrous," she replies. "I like to switch back and forth. When I got married after college, I discovered my husband always sleeps in the nude. Right before I leave in the morning for golf practice, I pull the covers off him. If his willy points to the right, I golf right-handed; if it points to the left, I golf left-handed."
The guys think this is hysterical and burst into laughter. Astonished at this bizarre information, one of the them asks, "What if it's pointing straight up?"
"Then I'm fifteen minutes late."
An arrogant professor boards a plane and gets a seat beside an old man.
Mid-flight, the professor decides to play a game with the old man and prove he’s intellectually superior, so he turns to him and says: “Hey, do you want to play a little game with me?” The old man looks at him and says: “Depends. What type of game?”
The professor goes on to explain the game: “Taking turns, we’ll ask each other one question at a time. If the other knows the answer, the asker gives him one dollar, and if he doesn’t, he gives one dollar to the asker. Want to play?” The professor grins, knowing his general knowledge is vastly superior.
To his dismay, the old man refuses! Determined to make him agree, the professor raises the stakes for him.
“If I lose, I ‘ll give you two dollars instead of one!”
“I told you, no.”
Desperate, the professor makes one final offer: “If I lose, I’ll give you a hundred dollars, and if you lose you’ll only give me one!” The professor pleads. The old man ponders this, then sighs. “Only if I get to start”, and the professor immediately agrees. “Ask away”, the professor says, confident he’ll never lose.
The old man asks: “What has five heads, forty feet, and lives inside of a bucket?”
The professor turns the riddle over in his head, trying to find anything that fits the description. After an hour of intense concentration, the professor gives up. Grumbling, he pulls out his wallet and gives the old man $100. He wastes no time and asks him: “So what has five heads, forty feet, and lives inside of a bucket?”
The old man smiles and says: “I’ve got no idea. Here’s your dollar."
Three men die: A Physicist, a Philosopher and a Local town idiot.
They stand before the gates of heaven. Between them and the gates stands St. Peter. St. Peter tells the three men "Sorry boys, but it seems heaven is getting jam-packed. To let you in, you have to beat me intellectually, either through a form of a question or a challenge."
The first to come forward is the Physicist, and he tells St. Peter with great confidence "Show me the entire mathematical markup of the Higgs Boson." To which St. Peter merely snaps his finger and produces a dozen large whiteboards and proceeds to write up the whole markup from memory. After careful examination, the Physicist reluctantly agrees that he is correct, and with one snap of the finger, St. Peter sends him to the fiery gates of hell.
The next to come forward is the Philosopher. Thinking that the Physicist made a grave mistake of challenging St. Peter with an empirical question, he decides to give a less-than-empirical challenge of his own. He tells St. Peter "Show me all of the works of Socrates." he says with a smirk, knowing Socrates never wrote down his teachings, St. Peter would be hard pressed on producing an answer. But despite this, St. Peter produces a stack of papers, and the Philosopher reads it with great criticism. There are things there he had never even heard of, and questioned the paper's authenticity, to which St. Peter remarked "Me and Socrates have chatted a lot ever since he got here." And with a snap of a finger, the Philosopher was gone.
Last to come forward is the Local town idiot. The idiot asks St. Peter, "Could I give you a riddle instead?" and St. Peter replies "Of course! I love riddles!" and the idiot proceeds. "What comes up a hill with six legs and comes down with four, comes back up with two legs and back down with no more?"
St. Peter ponders it for a good five minutes and arrives at no answer, and tells the idiot "Well, congratulations, you have left me dumbfounded." and with a snap of a finger, the gates of heaven opens up. The idiot proceeds to enter heaven, but right before he does so, he feels St. Peter tapping on his shoulder, he turns around. "So," St. Peter asks "What's the answer to your riddle?"
The Idiot shrugs his shoulders and says "How the heck should I know?"
A professional poker player dies and his spirit passes into the afterlife.
When he gets to the afterlife, he finds himself at the back of a miles-long line to get into Heaven.
Drawing on his experience, the poker player immediately thinks of a way to get ahead of everyone else. He taps the old man ahead of him on the shoulder...
"Want to make a bet while we wait?" The poker player asks. "If I can guess your last words in three tries, you have to let me cut ahead of you."
The old man, having nothing better to do, agrees. Immediately, the poker player begins "reading" him like the pro player he is. He notices the elderly Asian man's shirt is open, exposing a pair of defibrillator marks.
"Don't be silly, it's just indigestion." the poker player remarks. The old man looks a bit surprised, then steps aside, giving up his place in line.
Next, the poker player taps on a redneck's shoulder. He makes the same bet, and the redneck also accepts.
"This one's easy!" the poker player smirks, sizing up the bruised, bloody, grass stained redneck with the caved in skull. "Hold my beer!"
Muttering profanities, the redneck begrudgingly steps aside and gives up his place in line.
Riding the high of a hot streak, the poker player wastes no time tapping the next man ahead of him on the shoulder. He quickly makes the same bet, and is ecstatic when the agreement is made.
"Okay, let's see..." The poker player studies the new mark carefully. He's a large imposing black man riddled with several bullet holes.
The poker player holds his hand out like a gun. "You'll never take me alive!"
The man shakes his head. Wrong. The experienced poker player strokes his chin. The guy is giving him nothing else to work with.
The poker player holds the 'gun' sideways, makes a mean face, and shouts, "F*** the Police!"
Wrong again. The poker player's getting frustrated, now. He's never been unable to read someone before.
Finally, the poker player throws his hands in the air in pure frustration. "I'VE GOT NOTHING!" He shouts. "I GIVE UP!"
The man steps aside.