<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQER3cyeSp7ImA9WhVVFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566</id><updated>2012-05-08T15:31:46.991-07:00</updated><category term="200710" /><category term="200802" /><category term="200708" /><category term="200812" /><category term="200712" /><category term="200709" /><category term="200803" /><title>* Crazy Jokes</title><subtitle type="html">Humor - Jokes</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>69</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/hvXdm" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/hvxdm" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>blogspot/hvXdm</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQEQ38-eyp7ImA9WhVRFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-4643271751425235914</id><published>2012-03-24T22:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2012-03-24T22:28:22.153-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-03-24T22:28:22.153-07:00</app:edited><title>Hotel bills?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/4643271751425235914/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=4643271751425235914" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4643271751425235914?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4643271751425235914?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/mKrJ75-lpqo/hotel-bills.html" title="Hotel bills?" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

Hotel bills?An older lady decided to give herself a big treat for her significant  70th birthday by staying overnight in an expensive hotel.When she checked out next morning, the desk clerk handed her a bill for  $250.00.She exploded and demanded to know why the charge was so high. "It's a nice hotel but the rooms certainly aren't worth $250.00 for just an  overnight stay! I didn't even have 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ouz0am1YcjNqQZWpVSjLsTUgn6U/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ouz0am1YcjNqQZWpVSjLsTUgn6U/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ouz0am1YcjNqQZWpVSjLsTUgn6U/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Ouz0am1YcjNqQZWpVSjLsTUgn6U/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/mKrJ75-lpqo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2012/03/hotel-bills.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UMQXw6cCp7ImA9WhRVEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-78092607832972628</id><published>2012-01-09T18:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T18:08:00.218-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-09T18:08:00.218-08:00</app:edited><title>IT consultant</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/78092607832972628/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=78092607832972628" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/78092607832972628?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/78092607832972628?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/DJazPhNNi-M/it-consultant.html" title="IT consultant" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.


  

    
&amp;lt;!--
google_ad_client = "pub-2198258712032778";
/* 468x15, creado 22/04/10 */
google_ad_slot = "2739811203";
google_ad_width = 468;
google_ad_height = 15;
//--&amp;gt;



  

.


 
IT consultant

Once upon a time there was a shepherd looking after his sheep on the side of a deserted road. Suddenly a brand new Porsche screeches to a halt. 

The driver, a man dressed in an Armani suit, 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q1pSWEsJ8dPHPy8eLK0wcVaNObY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q1pSWEsJ8dPHPy8eLK0wcVaNObY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q1pSWEsJ8dPHPy8eLK0wcVaNObY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q1pSWEsJ8dPHPy8eLK0wcVaNObY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/DJazPhNNi-M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2012/01/it-consultant.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQER3czeSp7ImA9WhRRFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-4910553258734730847</id><published>2011-11-28T22:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-28T22:31:46.981-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-28T22:31:46.981-08:00</app:edited><title>How To Become A Dad</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/4910553258734730847/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=4910553258734730847" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4910553258734730847?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4910553258734730847?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/73sbHT4c9_k/how-to-become-dad.html" title="How To Become A Dad" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">

How To Become A Dad I was out walking with my 4 year old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from her and I asked her not to do that.'Why?' my daughter asked. 'Because it's been on the ground, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty, and probably has germs' I replied.At this point, my daughter looked at me with total 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HUfQwlzwCGiPe1vkrLA2A6AYMoE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HUfQwlzwCGiPe1vkrLA2A6AYMoE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HUfQwlzwCGiPe1vkrLA2A6AYMoE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HUfQwlzwCGiPe1vkrLA2A6AYMoE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/73sbHT4c9_k" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/11/how-to-become-dad.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IASX8-cSp7ImA9WhdbGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-3111254353800670279</id><published>2011-10-16T16:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-16T16:59:08.159-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-16T16:59:08.159-07:00</app:edited><title>Member of Parliament (humor)</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/3111254353800670279/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=3111254353800670279" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3111254353800670279?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3111254353800670279?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/YJPumvUOops/member-of-parliament-humor.html" title="Member of Parliament (humor)" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.


  

    
&amp;lt;!--
google_ad_client = "pub-2198258712032778";
/* 468x15, creado 22/04/10 */
google_ad_slot = "2739811203";
google_ad_width = 468;
google_ad_height = 15;
//--&amp;gt;



  

.
   
Member of Parliament (Joke)

While walking down the street one day a 'Member of Parliament' is tragically hit by a truck and dies.

His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

'Welcome to
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DZ-QxXjE1iy_vL-fxMtmWI5nFHo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DZ-QxXjE1iy_vL-fxMtmWI5nFHo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DZ-QxXjE1iy_vL-fxMtmWI5nFHo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DZ-QxXjE1iy_vL-fxMtmWI5nFHo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/YJPumvUOops" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/10/member-of-parliament-humor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AMQXwzfCp7ImA9WhdVEko.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-112338096695267252</id><published>2011-09-17T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-17T08:03:00.284-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-17T08:03:00.284-07:00</app:edited><title>Eyesight</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Eyesight" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/112338096695267252/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=112338096695267252" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338096695267252?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338096695267252?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/lmSY3RSznqY/eyesight.html" title="Eyesight" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Eyesight
.

A husband and wife are getting ready for bed. The wife is standing in front of a full-length mirror taking a hard look at herself. "You know, dear," she says, "I look in the mirror, and I see an old woman.

My face is all wrinkled, my boobs are barely above my waist, and my butt is hanging out a mile. I've got fat legs, and my arms are all flabby."

She turns to her husband and says,
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-0bwPKFvX4pGLngzJDEKZRWIgUI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-0bwPKFvX4pGLngzJDEKZRWIgUI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-0bwPKFvX4pGLngzJDEKZRWIgUI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-0bwPKFvX4pGLngzJDEKZRWIgUI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/lmSY3RSznqY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2005/08/eyesight.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4ERHw6fCp7ImA9WhdWFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-3893942061468823938</id><published>2011-09-10T08:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-10T08:01:45.214-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-09-10T08:01:45.214-07:00</app:edited><title>Ears</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Ears" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/3893942061468823938/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=3893942061468823938" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3893942061468823938?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3893942061468823938?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/yEa1Na62GV4/ears.html" title="Ears" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Ears

A guy walks into work, and both of his ears are all bandaged up. The boss says, "What happened to your ears?"

He says, "Yesterday I was ironing a shirt when the phone rang and shhh! I accidentally answered the iron."

The boss says, "Well, that explains one ear, but what happened to your other ear?"

He says, "Well, jeez, I had to call the doctor!"



Tips &amp;amp; Tricks - Home. 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JFb59muwTLKc1Aj1gSkw9ofNtJY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JFb59muwTLKc1Aj1gSkw9ofNtJY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JFb59muwTLKc1Aj1gSkw9ofNtJY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/JFb59muwTLKc1Aj1gSkw9ofNtJY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/yEa1Na62GV4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/09/ears.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQARHoyeSp7ImA9WhdRGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-5507974135184576340</id><published>2011-08-10T10:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-10T10:12:25.491-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-10T10:12:25.491-07:00</app:edited><title>Sick Leave</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Sick Leave" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/5507974135184576340/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=5507974135184576340" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5507974135184576340?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5507974135184576340?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/KC3ZrIHjeaY/sick-leave.html" title="Sick Leave" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Sick Leave 

I urgently needed a few days off work, but, I knew the Boss would not allow me to take leave.

I thought that maybe if I acted 'Crazy' then he would tell me to take a few days off.

So I hung upside-down on the ceiling and made funny noises.

My co-worker (who's blonde) asked me what I was doing.

I told her that I was pretending to be a light bulb so that the Boss might think I was
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v8ewpz4JPghklm4O8anQyiICO2o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v8ewpz4JPghklm4O8anQyiICO2o/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v8ewpz4JPghklm4O8anQyiICO2o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/v8ewpz4JPghklm4O8anQyiICO2o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/KC3ZrIHjeaY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/08/sick-leave.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQARHg9eyp7ImA9WhZaGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-8789419434049795696</id><published>2011-07-04T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T11:32:25.663-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-04T11:32:25.663-07:00</app:edited><title>Labor pain</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Labor pain" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/8789419434049795696/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=8789419434049795696" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8789419434049795696?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8789419434049795696?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/DTbiRYMXAIM/labor-pain.html" title="Labor pain" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.

     
&amp;lt;!--
google_ad_client = "pub-2198258712032778";
/* 468x15, creado 22/04/10 */
google_ad_slot = "2739811203";
google_ad_width = 468;
google_ad_height = 15;
//--&amp;gt;


   
.
 Labor pain 

A married couple went to the hospital to have their baby delivered. Upon their arrival, the doctor said he had invented a new machine that would transfer a portion of the mother's labor pain to the baby's 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vs9-m4GLTw2fF9xU2bPv2iNKnwc/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vs9-m4GLTw2fF9xU2bPv2iNKnwc/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vs9-m4GLTw2fF9xU2bPv2iNKnwc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vs9-m4GLTw2fF9xU2bPv2iNKnwc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/DTbiRYMXAIM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/07/labor-pain.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YDSXk7eCp7ImA9WhZVEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-5906392348651890472</id><published>2011-05-24T13:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-24T13:32:58.700-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-24T13:32:58.700-07:00</app:edited><title>Kashmir belongs To INDIA</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Kashmir belongs To INDIA" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/5906392348651890472/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=5906392348651890472" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5906392348651890472?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5906392348651890472?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/OwSwJSEczHw/kashmir-belongs-to-india.html" title="Kashmir belongs To INDIA" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Kashmir belongs To INDIA 

An ingenious example of speech and politics occurred recently in the United Nations Assembly that made the world community smile.

A representative from India began: 'Before beginning my talk I want to tellyou something about Rishi Kashyap of Kashmir, after whom Kashmir is named.

When he struck a rock and it brought forth water, he thought, 'What a good opportunity to
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmqaraHnrieAeYDnSaeILb-OMTo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmqaraHnrieAeYDnSaeILb-OMTo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmqaraHnrieAeYDnSaeILb-OMTo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hmqaraHnrieAeYDnSaeILb-OMTo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/OwSwJSEczHw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/05/kashmir-belongs-to-india.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMGQXg-fyp7ImA9WhZSGE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-112338049342297358</id><published>2011-04-03T06:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T06:47:00.657-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-03T06:47:00.657-07:00</app:edited><title>The Army of the Lord</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="The Army of the Lord" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/112338049342297358/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=112338049342297358" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338049342297358?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338049342297358?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/6pA2gjdJX5A/army-of-lord.html" title="The Army of the Lord" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.
The Army of the Lord
.
A friend was in front of me coming out of church one day, and the preacher was standing at the door as he always is to shake hands. He grabbed my friend by the hand and pulled him aside.

The Pastor said to him, "You need to join the Army of the Lord!"

My friend replied, "I'm already in the Army of the Lord, Pastor." Pastor questioned, "How come I don't see you except at
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K6h3fhn5b9_lfoXzCBnzDZl6-H4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K6h3fhn5b9_lfoXzCBnzDZl6-H4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K6h3fhn5b9_lfoXzCBnzDZl6-H4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/K6h3fhn5b9_lfoXzCBnzDZl6-H4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/6pA2gjdJX5A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2005/08/army-of-lord.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQBQX8-cCp7ImA9WhZSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-2522546450220246092</id><published>2011-03-29T06:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-29T06:45:50.158-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-29T06:45:50.158-07:00</app:edited><title>Letter from Father</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Letter from Father" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/2522546450220246092/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=2522546450220246092" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2522546450220246092?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2522546450220246092?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/AwPoZhrAe2s/letter-from-father.html" title="Letter from Father" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Letter from Father  

I'm writing this slow because I know you can't read real fast. We don't live where we did when you left home. Your mom read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home, so we decided to move 30 miles down the road. I won't be able to send you the address because the last West Virginia family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ypqKlzgk9SX8CsTXbb7p9v_kF5o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ypqKlzgk9SX8CsTXbb7p9v_kF5o/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ypqKlzgk9SX8CsTXbb7p9v_kF5o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ypqKlzgk9SX8CsTXbb7p9v_kF5o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/AwPoZhrAe2s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/03/letter-from-father.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8AQXo4eyp7ImA9Wx9bFUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-112338032047443503</id><published>2011-02-24T06:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-24T06:14:00.433-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-24T06:14:00.433-08:00</app:edited><title>Ole and Lena</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Ole and Lena" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/112338032047443503/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=112338032047443503" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338032047443503?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338032047443503?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/YelUvyI6WXE/ole-and-lena.html" title="Ole and Lena" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Ole and Lena 
.
Ole and Lena was at the kitchen table for the usual morning cup of coffee and listening to a weather report coming from the radio.

"There will be 3 to 5 inches of snow today and a snow emergency has been declared. All vehicles should be parked on the odd-numbered side of the streets today to facilitate snowplows," the radio voice declared.

"Oh, gosh, OK," said Ole, getting up
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lIZfHGtCwle4_gWo4JZA-ZjxHGY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lIZfHGtCwle4_gWo4JZA-ZjxHGY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lIZfHGtCwle4_gWo4JZA-ZjxHGY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lIZfHGtCwle4_gWo4JZA-ZjxHGY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/YelUvyI6WXE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2005/08/ole-and-lena.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEESH84fip7ImA9Wx9bEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-2786521587484649354</id><published>2011-02-21T06:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T06:13:29.136-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-21T06:13:29.136-08:00</app:edited><title>Spelling</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Spelling" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/2786521587484649354/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=2786521587484649354" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2786521587484649354?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2786521587484649354?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/lRJHCo_Up1g/spelling.html" title="Spelling" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Spelling

My son, Mihir, a kindergartener, practices spelling with magnetic letters on the refrigerator: "cat," "dog," "dad," and "mom" have been proudly displayed for all to see. 

One morning while getting ready for the day, Mihir bounded into the room with his arms outstretched. 

In his hands were three magnetic letters: G-O-D. "Look what I spelled, 

Mom!" Mihir exclaimed, a proud smile 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9f8BHj2XC9lGpzPBYae1VFAjDmE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9f8BHj2XC9lGpzPBYae1VFAjDmE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9f8BHj2XC9lGpzPBYae1VFAjDmE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9f8BHj2XC9lGpzPBYae1VFAjDmE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/lRJHCo_Up1g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/02/spelling.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QCQXw6fCp7ImA9Wx9VFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-112338019096037052</id><published>2011-02-01T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-01T18:56:00.214-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-01T18:56:00.214-08:00</app:edited><title>Smart Sailor</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Smart Sailor" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/112338019096037052/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=112338019096037052" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338019096037052?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/112338019096037052?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/F90DzXwT-Aw/smart-sailor.html" title="Smart Sailor" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Smart Sailor

By the time the sailor pulled into a little town every hotel room was taken. "You've got to have a room somewhere," he pleaded. "Or just a bed, I don't care where."

"Well, I do have a double room with one occupant - an Air Force guy," admitted the manager, "and he might be glad to split the cost. But to tell you the truth, he snores so loudly that people in adjoining rooms have 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QTQRtm7hbT_J2BvQ0_8SEu6xR_Y/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QTQRtm7hbT_J2BvQ0_8SEu6xR_Y/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QTQRtm7hbT_J2BvQ0_8SEu6xR_Y/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QTQRtm7hbT_J2BvQ0_8SEu6xR_Y/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/F90DzXwT-Aw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2005/08/smart-sailor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMHRXw5fCp7ImA9Wx9VEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-9072685580562640657</id><published>2011-01-27T05:53:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-27T05:53:54.224-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-27T05:53:54.224-08:00</app:edited><title>Taking It With You</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Taking It With You" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/9072685580562640657/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=9072685580562640657" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/9072685580562640657?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/9072685580562640657?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/KAzGiDtki4A/taking-it-with-you.html" title="Taking It With You" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Taking It With You

Lying on his deathbed, the rich, miserly old man calls to his long-suffering wife. "I want to take all my money with me," he tells her. "So promise me you'll put it in the casket." 

After the man dies, his widow attends the memorial service with her best friend. Just before the undertaker closes the coffin, she places a small metal box inside. 

Her friend looks at her in 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6VkjGjhmXTl6g-Sc9Xg4JvP4bMs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6VkjGjhmXTl6g-Sc9Xg4JvP4bMs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6VkjGjhmXTl6g-Sc9Xg4JvP4bMs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/6VkjGjhmXTl6g-Sc9Xg4JvP4bMs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/KAzGiDtki4A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/01/taking-it-with-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQCQXw-eSp7ImA9Wx9WGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-41341857918966251</id><published>2011-01-23T14:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-23T14:56:00.251-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-23T14:56:00.251-08:00</app:edited><title>WAL-MART SENIOR GREETER</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="WAL-MART SENIOR GREETER" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/41341857918966251/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=41341857918966251" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/41341857918966251?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/41341857918966251?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/VP_95GHdlik/wal-mart-senior-greeter.html" title="WAL-MART SENIOR GREETER" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
WAL-MART SENIOR GREETER

Charley, a new retiree-greeter at Wal-Mart, just couldn't seem to get to work on time.

Every day he was 5, 10, 15 minutes late. But he was a good worker, really tidy, clean-shaven, sharp minded and a real credit to the company and obviously demonstrating their "Older Person Friendly" policies.

One day the boss called him into the office for a talk. "Charley, I have 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PgnFYUwK0vDdNIi1gLhwn9vxVxw/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PgnFYUwK0vDdNIi1gLhwn9vxVxw/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PgnFYUwK0vDdNIi1gLhwn9vxVxw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/PgnFYUwK0vDdNIi1gLhwn9vxVxw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/VP_95GHdlik" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/01/wal-mart-senior-greeter.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkUBQXs9cCp7ImA9Wx9WE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-2285996988315163232</id><published>2011-01-18T09:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-18T09:04:10.568-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-01-18T09:04:10.568-08:00</app:edited><title>Second Marriage</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Second Marriage" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/2285996988315163232/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=2285996988315163232" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2285996988315163232?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2285996988315163232?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/iwb0KzwC75A/second-marriage.html" title="Second Marriage" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">. 
Second Marriage

'If I were to die first, would you remarry?" the wife asks. 

"Well," says the husband, "I'm in good health, so why not?" 

"Would she live in my house?" 

"It's all paid up, so yes." 

"Would she drive my car?" 

"It's new, so yes." 

"Would she use my golf clubs?" 

"No. She's left-handed." 



Maxine.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFUIR-ELpgZDGhY3yzT9oUQGa24/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFUIR-ELpgZDGhY3yzT9oUQGa24/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFUIR-ELpgZDGhY3yzT9oUQGa24/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/SFUIR-ELpgZDGhY3yzT9oUQGa24/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/iwb0KzwC75A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2011/01/second-marriage.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQGR3w9eyp7ImA9Wx9TFkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-2486628120509406528</id><published>2010-11-24T19:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-24T19:55:26.263-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-11-24T19:55:26.263-08:00</app:edited><title>Computer trouble!</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Computer trouble!" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/2486628120509406528/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=2486628120509406528" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2486628120509406528?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/2486628120509406528?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/8AdkuihUhV0/computer-trouble.html" title="Computer trouble!" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Computer trouble!

I was having trouble with my computer. So I called John, the 11 year old next door whose bedroom looks like Mission Control, and asked him to come over.

John clicked a couple of buttons and solved the problem. As he was walking away, I called after him, 'So, what was wrong?’

He replied, 'It was an ID ten T error.'

I didn't want to appear too stupid, but nonetheless inquired
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-ZmxZJ5xcgb-bg_xIMaK3J8g98g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-ZmxZJ5xcgb-bg_xIMaK3J8g98g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-ZmxZJ5xcgb-bg_xIMaK3J8g98g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/-ZmxZJ5xcgb-bg_xIMaK3J8g98g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/8AdkuihUhV0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/11/computer-trouble.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cFQX4_cSp7ImA9Wx5UEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-4092705465785034452</id><published>2010-10-15T01:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-15T01:23:30.049-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-15T01:23:30.049-07:00</app:edited><title>Irish Confessional</title><link rel="related" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/" title="Irish Confessional" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/4092705465785034452/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=4092705465785034452" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4092705465785034452?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/4092705465785034452?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/E9Nnqx5u7e8/irish-confessional.html" title="Irish Confessional" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Irish ConfessionalAn Irishman goes into the confessional box after years of being away from the Church.There's a fully equipped bar with Guinness on tap. On the other wall is a dazzling array of the finest cigars and chocolates.Then the priest comes in. "Father, forgive me, for it's been a very long time since I've been to confession, but I must first admit that the confessional box is much more
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lFo-SIB45g4FCSWJMtOyaSec9lM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lFo-SIB45g4FCSWJMtOyaSec9lM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lFo-SIB45g4FCSWJMtOyaSec9lM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lFo-SIB45g4FCSWJMtOyaSec9lM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/E9Nnqx5u7e8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/10/irish-confessional.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkEFR3c_fSp7ImA9Wx5QEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-6884493182874194732</id><published>2010-08-28T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-28T08:16:56.945-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-08-28T08:16:56.945-07:00</app:edited><title>Copper wire</title><link rel="related" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/imagenes-7/BhcQ" title="Copper wire" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/6884493182874194732/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=6884493182874194732" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/6884493182874194732?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/6884493182874194732?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/Zahj14v0BII/copper-wire.html" title="Copper wire" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.Copper wireAfter having dug to a depth of 10 feet last year, New York Scientists found traces of copper wire dating back 100 years and came to the conclusion, that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 100 years ago.Not to be outdone by the New Yorkers, in the weeks that followed, a California archaeologist dug to a depth of 20 feet, and shortly after, a story in the LA Times
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c421pvmayrBGvjMigSrrHkgHUis/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c421pvmayrBGvjMigSrrHkgHUis/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c421pvmayrBGvjMigSrrHkgHUis/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c421pvmayrBGvjMigSrrHkgHUis/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/Zahj14v0BII" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/08/copper-wire.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEcHQXw9fip7ImA9WxFWE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-8548675222244342436</id><published>2010-05-31T10:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T10:13:50.266-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-31T10:13:50.266-07:00</app:edited><title>Graphic Humor 31-05-10</title><link rel="related" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/mexican7/diJj" title="Graphic Humor 31-05-10" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/8548675222244342436/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=8548675222244342436" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8548675222244342436?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8548675222244342436?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/UbyE2PCfMy0/graphic-humor-31-05-10.html" title="Graphic Humor 31-05-10" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RllDNkUS020/TAPuJ8crrUI/AAAAAAAAALI/1RaxpR0pnps/s72-c/_funny.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GWN2vOYekX57MotkUUB-u6mPsQQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GWN2vOYekX57MotkUUB-u6mPsQQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GWN2vOYekX57MotkUUB-u6mPsQQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GWN2vOYekX57MotkUUB-u6mPsQQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/UbyE2PCfMy0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/05/graphic-humor-31-05-10.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UCSHw9eyp7ImA9WxFTEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-8367780248460986573</id><published>2010-04-01T19:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T19:27:49.263-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-01T19:27:49.263-07:00</app:edited><title>New Posts</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.jokes7.info/" title="New Posts" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/8367780248460986573/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=8367780248460986573" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8367780248460986573?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/8367780248460986573?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/JLW6eEDO8do/new-posts.html" title="New Posts" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">.To see new posts visit http://www.jokes7.info/.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/svOBbGSvok8ECpGmNYlPwv356aI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/svOBbGSvok8ECpGmNYlPwv356aI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/svOBbGSvok8ECpGmNYlPwv356aI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/svOBbGSvok8ECpGmNYlPwv356aI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/JLW6eEDO8do" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/04/new-posts.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UDQ3w5eSp7ImA9WxBWE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-3135220192352278932</id><published>2010-02-04T09:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T09:41:12.221-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-04T09:41:12.221-08:00</app:edited><title>Cup of Tea</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.shopherbalife.com/catalog/catalog.jsp?dsext=herbal7&amp;cid=620972&amp;LocaleSelect=en_US&amp;_requestid=377387" title="Cup of Tea" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/3135220192352278932/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=3135220192352278932" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3135220192352278932?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/3135220192352278932?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/x34-HUw5xQQ/cup-of-tea.html" title="Cup of Tea" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">One day my mother was out and my dad was in charge of me.I was maybe 2 1/2 years old. Someone had given me a little 'tea set' as a gift and it was one of my favorite toys.Daddy was in the living room engrossed in the evening news when I brought Daddy a little cup of 'tea', which was just water. After several cups of tea and lots of praise for such yummy tea, my Mom came home.My Dad made her wait 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rsCZ0hj0hjT7BhqekJL9loI3AxU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rsCZ0hj0hjT7BhqekJL9loI3AxU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rsCZ0hj0hjT7BhqekJL9loI3AxU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/rsCZ0hj0hjT7BhqekJL9loI3AxU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/x34-HUw5xQQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2010/02/cup-of-tea.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUGR3o4eSp7ImA9WxBSEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-6609782714489266855</id><published>2009-12-20T00:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-20T00:20:26.431-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-20T00:20:26.431-08:00</app:edited><title>Bill and Sam</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.herbal7.com/herbal_usa/english/cell_u_loss.htm" title="Bill and Sam" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/6609782714489266855/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=6609782714489266855" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/6609782714489266855?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/6609782714489266855?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/LUz4WghyPNA/bill-and-sam.html" title="Bill and Sam" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Bill and Sam, two elderly friends, met in the park every day to feed the pigeons, watch the squirrels and discuss world problems.One day Bill didn't show up. Sam didn't think much about it and figured maybe he had a cold or something. But after Bill hadn't shown up for a week or so, Sam really got worried. However, since the only time they ever got together was at the park, Sam didn't know where 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xQWz8l_OGnNA1SeogVLV0f7qZY0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xQWz8l_OGnNA1SeogVLV0f7qZY0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xQWz8l_OGnNA1SeogVLV0f7qZY0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xQWz8l_OGnNA1SeogVLV0f7qZY0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/LUz4WghyPNA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2009/12/bill-and-sam.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8FR3o8cCp7ImA9WxNXFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15179566.post-5918214610029865955</id><published>2009-10-01T06:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T06:13:36.478-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-01T06:13:36.478-07:00</app:edited><title>Wedding</title><link rel="related" href="http://www.jokes7.info/" title="Wedding" /><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/feeds/5918214610029865955/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=15179566&amp;postID=5918214610029865955" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5918214610029865955?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/15179566/posts/default/5918214610029865955?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~3/rIulLw70dOg/wedding.html" title="Wedding" /><author><name>Klip7</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Attending a wedding for the first time, a little girl whispered to her mother,'Why is the bride dressed in white?''The mother replied,'Because white is the color of happiness, and today is the happiest day of her life.'The child thought about this for a moment then said,'So why is the groom wearing black?'Personal Care
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fIhSAZR7eoYiREp2RkS1WpcFIc8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fIhSAZR7eoYiREp2RkS1WpcFIc8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fIhSAZR7eoYiREp2RkS1WpcFIc8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fIhSAZR7eoYiREp2RkS1WpcFIc8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/hvXdm/~4/rIulLw70dOg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><feedburner:origLink>http://jokes-7.blogspot.com/2009/10/wedding.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

