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Always tell your wife the truth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Grace404

4/30/2008 10:08 am

A lady tells her husband to go to the store to buy some cigarettes.
He walks down to the store only to find it closed. So he goes into a nearby bar to use the vending machine.
At the bar he sees a beautiful woman and starts talking to her.
They have a couple of beers and one thing leads to another and they end up in her apartment.
After they've had their fun, he realizes its 3AM and says, "Oh no, its so late, my wife's going to kill me. Have you got any talcum powder?"
She gives him some talcum powder, which he proceeds to rub on his hands and then he goes home.
His wife is waiting for him in the doorway and she is pretty angry. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Well, honey, it's like this. I went to the store like you asked, but they were closed. So I went to the bar to use the vending machine. I saw this great looking girl there and we had a few drinks and one thing led to another and I ended up in bed with her."
"Oh yeah? Let me see your hands!" She sees his hands are covered with powder and... "You God damn liar!!! You were playing pool again!!!"

Moral of the story : Always tell your wife the truth. She won't believe you anyway.

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Cheers
Grace

Loewenbaendiger

28 posts

4/30/2008 10:49 pm

grace

it´s great

Aoifen

7 posts

5/3/2008 9:37 am

It's really true, Wifey. I never told my ex-mistress a lie but in any case, she almost never believed me.

Aoifen

7 posts

5/3/2008 12:31 pm

Here's a little story for you...

A man and his wife are sitting watching television as usual in the evening when, ever so calmly, the man raises one half of his arse and lets off a thunderous fart, absolutely stinking. The wife turns around sharply and glares at him but he continues happily watching his program oblivious to what he has just done. She’s absolutely disgusted with him but says nothing. A little while later, he lets off another huge fart, absolutely rotten. Again, she turns around and gives him a bitter look but again, as before, not one word of acknowledgement from him. The air is barely breathable but she stays there silent hoping for something, anything from him but no, nothing. He just sits there glued to the television laughing; it’s his favourite show – a comedy. She sits there looking at him a while, thinking to herself, distressed, a tear welling in her eye. He lets off another unholy fart. She bolts up and storms out of the sitting room, muttering and cursing to herself. She plumps down at the kitchen table, buries her head in her hands and weeps. She can hear him laughing away inside. He didn’t even notice she was gone. A little later, it’s time for bed. She goes to the bathroom only to find him already there, taking a bath and buried deep in a book he’s been reading, a glass of wine beside him. He doesn’t look up. She crosses over in silence and starts to brush her teeth. He lets off a squirting, squeaking fart, the bubbles rising and frothing to the surface. She turns at once in his direction, her hands clutching her toothbrush as if it were a dagger, her eyes burning into the back of his head. The smell is like that from the sulphurous bowels of hell and the bath water turns a cloudy, sickly colour. She stands there waiting in vain for any word from him but he simply wets his finger on his tongue and turns another page. And then farts again – a horrific aftershock to his first. She flings her toothbrush into the sink and dashes out of the bathroom in utter disbelief of this man. About an hour later, he slips quietly into bed. She pretends to be asleep though it’s little sleep she actually gets; he farts through the night without pause. It’s been like this for weeks; she’s cracking up. It’s been merciless. Her friends and family don’t come to visit anymore and the cat seems to have disappeared. Some of the wall-paper is starting to peel off the wall. The next morning though, he’s already at the breakfast table reading his newspaper when she comes shuffling in, her hands trembling, dark bags hanging beneath her bloodshot eyes. He continues to read some interesting article without so much as a greeting to her. The dreaded first of the new day: a stomach-turning, reeking fart. She snaps and runs screaming up the stairs. He sits there, his eyes wide opened, looking around in utter bewilderment as to what had just happened. A few minutes later, she comes thumping down the stairs with her suitcases in her hands. “I’m leaving you, you bastard”, she shouts at him at last, “I cannot take it anymore! I’m going to stay at my Mother’s”. “Jesus, love,” he exclaims, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you leaving me?” “BECAUSE,” she screams, “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME ANYMORE.”

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