PLAY Funny Stuff Found on the Internet!

Laurane

Canadian Loonie
My friend called and asked me if I could loan her $500 to help her pay her rent... And you know me always willing to help my friends and family out... I told her..."give me a minute let me check my account and I'll call u right back." Before I could check my account her dad calls and says, "Don’t give her any money because she's lying.” her dad proceeds to tell me that she wants to use that $500 to get her man out of jail because she wants to be under the same roof with him for her birthday!!!
So I thought about it for a minute, and decided to go ahead and give her the $500 cuz we all need help at times... So I called her back and said, "I got you."
A couple hours later, I got a call from the County Jail, and it was her. I say hello and she starts screaming and asking, “Why did you give me counterfeit money?!"
I replied: " so you and your man would be under the same roof for your birthday!!!"

You’re welcome
 
Uganda Coronavirus: 40,199 Cases and 333 Deaths - Worldometer

OK, I did the lazy meme repost. But, the actual death rate according to worldometers is 337 is still very low.
A few facts about Uganda...

  • The current population of Uganda is 46,653,100 as of Sunday, February 21, 2021, based on Worldometer elaboration of the latest United Nations data.
  • Uganda 2020 population is estimated at 45,741,007 people at mid year according to UN data.
  • Uganda population is equivalent to 0.59% of the total world population.
  • Uganda ranks number 31 in the list of countries (and dependencies) by population.
  • The population density in Uganda is 229 per Km2 (593 people per mi2).
  • The total land area is 199,810 Km2 (77,147 sq. miles)
  • 25.7 % of the population is urban (11,775,012 people in 2020)
  • The median age in Uganda is 16.7 years.
Uganda Top 10 Causes of Death

  • Neonatal disorders
  • HIV/AIDS
  • Malaria
  • Lower respiratory infections
  • Tuberculosis
  • Diarrheal diseases
  • lschemic heart disease
  • Congenital defects
  • Stroke
  • Road injuries
More info. Pack a lunch.
 

medic38572

Has No Life - Lives on TB
A friend of mine posted this this morning else where.

The Fart That (Almost) Altered My Destiny
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).

It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.

He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.

We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?

That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.

On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.

“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”

How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?

Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.

People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.

However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.

Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).

“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.

“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.

“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.

It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.

Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.

We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.

He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.

Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.

“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.

“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*

“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”

“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”

This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!

Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.

But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.

Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.

girl.jpg
 

MinnesotaSmith

Has No Life - Lives on TB
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
That's the way it works. Like how a hiring manager traditionally picks between two female finalist candidates for a position that have radically different but comparable-quality backgrounds. :dvl1:
 
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