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Eric

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12 minutes ago, Eric said:

Russians don’t freeze. Too much vodka onboard. 

Have mercy.  I had a Russian fling in college and she was a astonishing the way she could drink.  With grace but much like a velvet sledgehammer.  She had blonde hair and lovely blue eyes.  Should have stopped a rail road train she was so pretty.

She said one of the most astonishing things any woman ever said to me.    As she looked longingly into my eyes...with anticipation of great romance she said, "You know...i will be very terrible for your security clearance."

I...gave not one care.

And if anyone ever answered i would have shown a picture of her...and all strait males would have...nodded in understanding.

I called it detente.

She's now a capitalist lawyer in Chicago.

Edited by Historian
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Shamelessly stolen from a strine humour site:

So this townie gets an invite to a bush wedding from one of his cousins. He's never been to one of these do's, so he says, “Yeah, I'll be in that.” Chucks together some good casual clobber to attend the actual ceremony in, jumps in his four wheel drive, and heads on out.

When he gets there, the pre-wedding bash is in full swing, but he needs to have a slash, so he finds his cousin and says, “Mate, where's the dunny?”

So it turns out they dug a long deep trench a little way away, and slung a tent over it. Then they split a log, planed down the flat surfaces, and laid them side by side. The idea was to stand sideways if you're having a leak, or squat and aim between the logs if you're having a number two.

He also discovers that the party's been going on for some time, as there's quite a depth of crap in the trench already.

So anyway, he makes his way out onto the logs, unzips, and relieves the tension a little. He's just shaking it and putting it away when this old drover comes in and strolls out onto the logs. He ignores the townie, drops his strides, and squats down to have a nice leisurely crap. As an afterthought, he pulls out tobacco and rollies to have a smoke to pass the time.

But as he does so, a fifty cent piece falls out of his pocket and goes plop in the muck below.

The old drover looks down, lets go a few potent swearwords, then gets out his wallet and drops a rock lobster (twenty dollar note) on top of the fifty cent piece.

“Jesus Christ!” blurts the townie. “What'd you do that for?”

The drover looks him dead in the eye. “Well, I'm not goin’ in there for fifty fuckin' cents.”

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There’s a train travelling through the mountains and in one carriage there sits an old lady, a beautiful young blonde backpacker, a New Zealand guy and an Aussie guy. The train goes through a dark tunnel and all the lights go out. Suddenly there’s a loud ‘smack’ and when the lights come on the kiwi guy is nursing a large red hand print on his cheek. The old lady thinks to herself ‘that dirty kiwi groped that young lady and she smacked him, good on her’. The young girl thinks ‘that dirty kiwi must have gone to grope me but grabbed the old lady instead so she smacked him, good on her’. The Kiwi thinks ‘That bloody Aussie must have groped that young girl and she’s gone to smack him but got me instead’. The Aussie sits there thinking ‘I can’t wait for another tunnel so I can smack that bloody Kiwi again’.

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An Australian ventriloquist is on holiday in New Zealand. While strolling through a small town in the South Island he sees an old bloke sitting at the side of the road patting his dog. Behind him are a horse and a sheep.

'G'day mate', says the ventriloquist. 'That's a great-looking dog. Mind if I have a chat with him?'

The New Zealander replies: 'The dog doesn't talk, ya stupid Aussie twit.'

The ventriloquist ignores him and says: 'Hey dog, how's it going?'

The dog "replies": 'Doing all right.'

The New Zealander is astonished.

The ventriloquist continues: 'Is this Kiwi your owner?'

'Yep', the dog appears to say.

'How does he treat you?"

'Really well', the dog seems to say. 'He feeds me well and takes me for two walks a day.'

The ventriloquist then says to the New Zealander: 'Do you mind if I talk to your horse?'

By now the New Zealander is utterly confused about what is going on, but he manages to reply: 'HE certainly doesn't talk!'

Again ignoring this advice, the Australian says: 'G'day horse, how's it going?'

'Fine, fine', the horse appears to reply.

'How does your owner treat you?'

'Pretty good, thanks. He exercises me regularly, gives me a brush-down whenever I need one, and feeds me oats in winter when there isn't much grass around.'

By now the New Zealander is flabbergasted at what is happening.

The ventriloquist says to him: 'Do you mind if I talk to your sheep?'

The New Zealander replies: 'The sheep's a bloody liar!'

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