An old Italian guy lived alone in his house in New Jersey.
He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden like the one in the picture from the previous year.
However, it was very difficult work because the ground was very hard.
His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison.
The old man wrote a letter to him and described his predicament:

Dear Vincent,
I am feeling pretty sad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year.
I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot.
I know if you were here my troubles would be over.
I know you would be happy to dig it up for me -- like in the old days.
Love,
Papa
-----
A few days later he received a letter from his son.

Dear Papa,
Don't dig up that garden.
That's where the bodies are buried.
Love,
Vinnie
-----
At 4 a.m. the next morning,
FBI agents arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies.
They apologized to the old man and left.
The next day the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Papa,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love you,
Vinnie
-----
The moral of the story:
See, the FBI is good for something after all!

Yes now NN has a Couples option.

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one.
You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented
'You're definitely going to Shit yourself' chili.
Tasty stuff,
albeit hot to the point of being painful,
which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.
Here's the thing.
I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's Movement 2'.
Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract,
I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as thunder and lightning.
Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come,
yet not sure of just when,
I bravely set off for the market,
a local Walmart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal.
I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase.
It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about.
I'm referring to that 'Uh oh, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time.
The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt.
In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines,
forcing their way into the large intestines,
and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief,
it happened.
The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle,
suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded.
I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me.
Slowly,
oh so slowly,
the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body,
and I began to move up the aisle and out of it,
just as an elderly woman turned into it.
I don't know what made me do it,
but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate,
as she walked into it unsuspecting.
Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally?
Here's what I mean,
and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor woman but didn't.
I simply watched as she walked into an invisible,
and apparently indestructible,
wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running,
was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees.
This, of course, made me feel terrible,
but then made me laugh.
Mistake.
Here's the thing.
When you laugh,
it's hard to keep things 'clamped down',
if you know what I mean.
With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region.
Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked,
fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny.
It was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms,
laying down a cloud the whole way,
praying that I'd make it before the grand mass explosion took place.
Luck was on my side.
Just in the nick of time I got to the john,
began the inevitable
'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging.
One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe'.
He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, 'Sonavabitch' and quickly left.
Once finished I left the restroom,
reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said,
'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes.
It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.'
That of course set me off again,
causing residual gases to escape me.
The employee took one sniff,
jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted,
'IT'S YOU!',
then ran off returning moments later with the manager.
I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.
Home again without having shopped,
I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili,
so I consumed two more bowls.
The next day I went to shop at Albertson's.
I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter.
Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store.

Hot and cold Sex

After his examination,
the doctor said to the elderly man:
'You appear to be in good health.
Do you have any medical concerns you would like to ask me about?'

'In fact, I do.' said the old man..
"After I have sex with the wife,
I'am usually cold and chilly;
and then after I have sex with her the second time,
I am usually hot and sweaty."

The doctor could not find any explanation for this.

After examining his elderly wife,
the doctor said:
'Everything appears to be fine.
Do you have any medical concerns that you would like to discuss with me?'

The lady replied that she had no questions or concerns.

The doctor then said to her:
'Your husband had an unusual concern.
He claims that he is usually cold and chilly after having sex with you the first time;
and then hot and sweaty after the second time.
Do you know why?'

"Oh, that crazy old bastard'' she replied.
That's because...

The first time is usually in Dcember and
The second time is in June.

JOHNNY IN THE CLASSROOM
- johnny,are you upset?
-teacher, my mother is in the hospital and my father is at the police station.
-oh, i'm sorry about that.do you want to go home?
-yes.
After Johnny leaves, the teacher asked a question to every students:
-Does anybody know what happened to Johnny's parents?
-just nothing teacher.
His mother is a nurse and the father is a policeman,
some student replied.
-blast it!
Call that boy to come back right now! The teacher said.

BEER BY SEVEN YEAR OLD'S
A handful of 7 year old children were asked 'What they thought of beer'.
Some interesting responses, but the last one is especially good .
'I think beer must be good. My dad says the more beer he drinks the prettier my mum gets.'
--Tim, 7 years old
'Beer makes my dad sleepy and we get to watch what we want on television when he is asleep, so beer is nice. '
--Mellanie, 7 years old
'My Mum and Dad both like beer. My Mum gets funny when she drinks it and takes her top off at parties, but Dad doesn't think this is very funny.'
--Grady, 7 years old
''My Mum and Dad talk funny when they drink beer and the more they drink the more they give kisses to each other, which is a good thing.'
--Toby, 7 years old
'My Dad gets funny on beer. He is funny. He also wets his pants sometimes, so he shouldn't have too much.
--Sarah, 7 years old
'My Dad loves beer. The more he drinks, the better he dances. One time he danced right into the pool.'
--Lilly, 7 years old
'I don't like beer very much. Every time Dad drinks it, he burns the sausages on the barbecue and they taste disgusting.'
--Ethan, 7 years old
'I give Dad's beer to the dog and he goes to sleep.'
--Shirley, 7 years old

AND THE BEST RESPONSE
'My Mum drinks beer and she says silly things and picks on my father. Whenever she drinks beer she tells him to go bury his bone down the street again, but that doesn't make any sense.'
--Jack, 7 years

I hate to run over animals...
and I really hate it on a motorcycle,
but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.
I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers,
never fear.
Squirrels can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact,
the squirrel flipped to his feet.
He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes.
His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.
Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street...and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.
I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristine kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.
This was an evil attack squirrel of death!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!
The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.
I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in...well...I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street...on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was xxxxxx to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle...my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.
The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.
Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand...l managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked...sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.
Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams. They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.
I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.
So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger...
That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car...
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.
As for my easy and slow drive home? Bag it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll take my chances with the freeway.

Wonder how many others have printed the NN birthday sign out and used it.
Done a few photos today with it.

The Blonde & the Golfer...
A circus owner runs an ad for a lion tamer and two people show up. One is
a good looking, older retired golfer and the other is a gorgeous blonde in
her mid-twenties.
The circus owner tells them, "I'm not going to sugar coat it. This is
one ferocious lion. He ate my last tamer so you two had better be good or
you're history. Here's your equipment -- chair, whip and a gun. Who wants
to try out first?"
The girl says, "I'll go first." She walks past the chair, the whip
and the gun and steps right into the lion's cage. The lion starts to snarl
and pant and begins to charge her. About halfway there, she throws open
her coat revealing her beautiful naked body.
The lion stops dead in his tracks, sheepishly crawls up to her and
starts licking her feet and ankles. He continues to lick and kiss her
entire body for several minutes and then rests his head at her feet.
The circus owner's jaw is on the floor. He says, "I've never seen a
display like that in my life." He then turns to the retired golfer and
asks,
"Can you top that?"
The tough old golfer replies, "No problem, just get that lion out of
the way."

Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with those expensive,
double-pane,
energy-efficient kind.
Today,
I got a call from Home Depot who installed them.
He complained that the work had been completed a year ago and I still hadn't paid for them.
Helloooo............ just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid.
So,
I told him just what his fast-talking sales guy told me last year... that these windows would pay for themselves in a year.
Hellooooo?
It's been a year,
so they're paid for,
I told him.
There was only silence at the other end of the line,
so I finally hung up.
He never called back.
I bet he felt like an idiot!