A couple funnies...........
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Joined: Aug 2003
Posts: 7,012
From: bornefreestyle.com
A couple funnies...........
Gotta be a blonde...............
Last summer down on Lake Isabella, in the high desert east of Bakersfield, a woman was having trouble with her boat.
No matter how she tried, she just couldn't get her new 22-foot Bayliner to perform. It was sluggish in every maneuver, regardless of the power applied. She tried for an hour to make her boat go, but finally gave up and putted over to a nearby Marina for help.
A topside check revealed that everything was in perfect working order. The engine ran fine, the outboard motor pivoted up and down, and the prop was the correct size and pitch.
One of the Marina guys jumped in the water to check beneath the boat. He came up almost choking on water, he was laughing so hard.
Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the trailer.
One more, I think Dan can relate with this one..............
A 27-year-old white male resident of Wimbledon was arrested in a pumpkin patch on Friday, and charged with lewd behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication.
The suspect stated that he was driving past a pumpkin patch when he was overcome with an insatiable desire. "You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a jailhouse interview.
He pulled over, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged need. "I guess I was just really into it," he commented with evident embarrassment.
The man failed to notice the approach of a Wimbledon Municipal police car, and was unaware of his audience until Officer Brenda Taylor approached him.
"It was an unusual situation, that's for sure." said the officer. "I walked up and he's just working away at this pumpkin. I went up and said, 'Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?' He was startled at first, then he looked me straight in the face and said, 'A pumpkin? Damn, is it midnight already?'"
Last summer down on Lake Isabella, in the high desert east of Bakersfield, a woman was having trouble with her boat.
No matter how she tried, she just couldn't get her new 22-foot Bayliner to perform. It was sluggish in every maneuver, regardless of the power applied. She tried for an hour to make her boat go, but finally gave up and putted over to a nearby Marina for help.
A topside check revealed that everything was in perfect working order. The engine ran fine, the outboard motor pivoted up and down, and the prop was the correct size and pitch.
One of the Marina guys jumped in the water to check beneath the boat. He came up almost choking on water, he was laughing so hard.
Under the boat, still strapped securely in place, was the trailer.
One more, I think Dan can relate with this one..............
A 27-year-old white male resident of Wimbledon was arrested in a pumpkin patch on Friday, and charged with lewd behavior, public indecency, and public intoxication.
The suspect stated that he was driving past a pumpkin patch when he was overcome with an insatiable desire. "You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around here for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a jailhouse interview.
He pulled over, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged need. "I guess I was just really into it," he commented with evident embarrassment.
The man failed to notice the approach of a Wimbledon Municipal police car, and was unaware of his audience until Officer Brenda Taylor approached him.
"It was an unusual situation, that's for sure." said the officer. "I walked up and he's just working away at this pumpkin. I went up and said, 'Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?' He was startled at first, then he looked me straight in the face and said, 'A pumpkin? Damn, is it midnight already?'"
Lacks self-control
Joined: Aug 2003
Posts: 7,584
From: Birch Run, MI
Re: A couple funnies...........
Riding below budget
Christopher Baird 7/6/2004
Motocross seemed so easy when we were kids. Mom and Dad would cover any expenses, all we had to do was ride. But as I steeped into adulthood, I had the bright idea that if I wanted to keep riding I would have to master the art of improvision. This means less runs to the bike shop for every little broken part, instead I would have to use my noggin to come up with creative ways of saving a buck or two. Age 19 to 21 was the worst. Paying for food and rent on my own for the first time while also supporting my riding habit.
I was replacing my bikes top-end right in my apartment's livingroom. It's common knowledge when replacing the piston and rings to lube the cylinder, piston and rod bearings during reassembly. I knew that much but what I didn't know yet was that I used up all my premix oil on the 3 gallons of fuel sitting in my gas can. "What am I gonna do now?" I thought as I realized I had no premix for my fresh top-end. Then it hit me! Oil is oil right? So (without even getting up) I reached right into my ridiculously small kitchen (fit for a smurf) and grabbed a bottle of Crisco cooking oil. Slowly tilting the bottle so I could drop just a drip or two directly on the rod bearing, my kitten runs up behind me (feeling frisky I guess) and leaps with his claws out right into my arm holding the bottle of Crisco oil so gently tilted. SLASH! a half bottle of Crisco is now smoothered all over my crank. But Hey, oil is oil right?! No problem, it'll burn up.
Next day at the track my bike smoked out the exhaust for a full 2 hours, I must have totally under estimated the strength of Crisco . It smelled like I was frying a batch of french fries right on the track. One guy poked a joke on me and called me "meals on wheels", that name stuck for quit a while. My jersey and gear was drinched with the aroma, you would have thought I just pulled a long double shift at McDonalds. I wouldn't doubt if the odor sparked an appetite for fries that evening, call me crazy but the line for concession's was quite a bit longer than normal.
The next morning I needed to re-pack my silencer with fresh packing to fully remove the smell of Crisco cooking oil. Again faced with another financial dilemma, I didn't have the extra cash for packing, all of a sudden I had a great idea to use the fiberglass insulation from my apartment's attic. While filling my silencer with that orange fiberglass insulation I couldn't help but to laugh while thinking about all them suckers paying money for high- temp silencer packing when I had a lifetime supply of fiberglass insulation right over my head. When installing the silencer I couldn't find my loctite, no problem I'll just crank the bolt down a little tighter than normal.
Few days later I went out to do some laps and the bike sounded great. That is until the exhaust note went from a zinging sound to an extremely loud screaming Woooooooohhhh! My silencer's bolt must have backed out completely because the silencer made a leap of faith right into the dirt. People were waving and pointing back to were the silencer fell, as if I didn't realize my bike's volume had just increased by about 95%. I thought about riding away pretending it wasn't mine but I needed my silencer so I went back.
Thanks to the insulation of gloves I was able to carry the hot silencer back. Suddenly I noticed the silencer was smoking. What the heck, it must be on fire. I quicky removed the end cap and found the fiberglass insulation inflamed! It had a big red smoking cherry like a cuban cigar. I grabbed the end of the silencer and shook it hoping to remove the hot fiberglass. Oh yeah it came out all right, landed right on top of my goggles (hanging on my grips) burning off the foam in a matter of a second.
The following day my brother and I headed over to a small motocross shop. Walking into the shop I glanced at the used gear section in the corner, couldn't help but notice a pair of used gloves that were so beat that the fingers were curled - "My God they could ride by themselves".
The store owner quickly assisted me in finding some silencer packing. Then I asked "I see you have a large used section, any used goggles for sale". Being the store owner, I was expecting a professional response instead he said something that my brother still mentions today when he wants to make fun of me. He said - "what are you? some kind of tight wod!". I felt so stupied that I forked up the extra bucks and bought new goggles. Between the names "tight wod" and "meals on wheels" things didn't look too good.
Its the weekend again, silencers packed with real high-temp packing now. I cleaned my air filter, changed the transmission's oil, have some new goggles but still haven't found my loctite so I once again cranked the bolts extra tight. I was ready to go practice again. Pushing my bike across the complex's grass heading towards my trailer I must have rolled across some dog droppings. Not sure but all I know was after the first lap I had doggie dung all under my front fender, it also splatted on my exhaust pipe and was sizzling the smell of cooking kah kah. My bike smelled like pure poop, no lie. Back at the trailer my riding buddys asked me to move my bike further away. It was that bad!
I'm 28 now. I can't help but to laugh at the things I've been through being a single man, broke, trying to keep up with the sport! As for the names "tight wod" and "meals on wheels", well... I'm still working that one off.
Christopher Baird 7/6/2004
Motocross seemed so easy when we were kids. Mom and Dad would cover any expenses, all we had to do was ride. But as I steeped into adulthood, I had the bright idea that if I wanted to keep riding I would have to master the art of improvision. This means less runs to the bike shop for every little broken part, instead I would have to use my noggin to come up with creative ways of saving a buck or two. Age 19 to 21 was the worst. Paying for food and rent on my own for the first time while also supporting my riding habit.
I was replacing my bikes top-end right in my apartment's livingroom. It's common knowledge when replacing the piston and rings to lube the cylinder, piston and rod bearings during reassembly. I knew that much but what I didn't know yet was that I used up all my premix oil on the 3 gallons of fuel sitting in my gas can. "What am I gonna do now?" I thought as I realized I had no premix for my fresh top-end. Then it hit me! Oil is oil right? So (without even getting up) I reached right into my ridiculously small kitchen (fit for a smurf) and grabbed a bottle of Crisco cooking oil. Slowly tilting the bottle so I could drop just a drip or two directly on the rod bearing, my kitten runs up behind me (feeling frisky I guess) and leaps with his claws out right into my arm holding the bottle of Crisco oil so gently tilted. SLASH! a half bottle of Crisco is now smoothered all over my crank. But Hey, oil is oil right?! No problem, it'll burn up.
Next day at the track my bike smoked out the exhaust for a full 2 hours, I must have totally under estimated the strength of Crisco . It smelled like I was frying a batch of french fries right on the track. One guy poked a joke on me and called me "meals on wheels", that name stuck for quit a while. My jersey and gear was drinched with the aroma, you would have thought I just pulled a long double shift at McDonalds. I wouldn't doubt if the odor sparked an appetite for fries that evening, call me crazy but the line for concession's was quite a bit longer than normal.
The next morning I needed to re-pack my silencer with fresh packing to fully remove the smell of Crisco cooking oil. Again faced with another financial dilemma, I didn't have the extra cash for packing, all of a sudden I had a great idea to use the fiberglass insulation from my apartment's attic. While filling my silencer with that orange fiberglass insulation I couldn't help but to laugh while thinking about all them suckers paying money for high- temp silencer packing when I had a lifetime supply of fiberglass insulation right over my head. When installing the silencer I couldn't find my loctite, no problem I'll just crank the bolt down a little tighter than normal.
Few days later I went out to do some laps and the bike sounded great. That is until the exhaust note went from a zinging sound to an extremely loud screaming Woooooooohhhh! My silencer's bolt must have backed out completely because the silencer made a leap of faith right into the dirt. People were waving and pointing back to were the silencer fell, as if I didn't realize my bike's volume had just increased by about 95%. I thought about riding away pretending it wasn't mine but I needed my silencer so I went back.
Thanks to the insulation of gloves I was able to carry the hot silencer back. Suddenly I noticed the silencer was smoking. What the heck, it must be on fire. I quicky removed the end cap and found the fiberglass insulation inflamed! It had a big red smoking cherry like a cuban cigar. I grabbed the end of the silencer and shook it hoping to remove the hot fiberglass. Oh yeah it came out all right, landed right on top of my goggles (hanging on my grips) burning off the foam in a matter of a second.
The following day my brother and I headed over to a small motocross shop. Walking into the shop I glanced at the used gear section in the corner, couldn't help but notice a pair of used gloves that were so beat that the fingers were curled - "My God they could ride by themselves".
The store owner quickly assisted me in finding some silencer packing. Then I asked "I see you have a large used section, any used goggles for sale". Being the store owner, I was expecting a professional response instead he said something that my brother still mentions today when he wants to make fun of me. He said - "what are you? some kind of tight wod!". I felt so stupied that I forked up the extra bucks and bought new goggles. Between the names "tight wod" and "meals on wheels" things didn't look too good.
Its the weekend again, silencers packed with real high-temp packing now. I cleaned my air filter, changed the transmission's oil, have some new goggles but still haven't found my loctite so I once again cranked the bolts extra tight. I was ready to go practice again. Pushing my bike across the complex's grass heading towards my trailer I must have rolled across some dog droppings. Not sure but all I know was after the first lap I had doggie dung all under my front fender, it also splatted on my exhaust pipe and was sizzling the smell of cooking kah kah. My bike smelled like pure poop, no lie. Back at the trailer my riding buddys asked me to move my bike further away. It was that bad!
I'm 28 now. I can't help but to laugh at the things I've been through being a single man, broke, trying to keep up with the sport! As for the names "tight wod" and "meals on wheels", well... I'm still working that one off.
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