Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of
falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something
is wrong with them, when in reality, they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb
all the way to the top of the tree. Now men . . . men are like a fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

1 cup water
1 cup of sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups dried fruit
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup brown sugar
lemon juice
nuts
1 gallon whiskey

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.
Take a large bowl.
Check the whiskey again to be sure it is
of the highest quality.
Pour one level cup and drink.
Repeat.
Turn on the electric mixer; beat 1 cup butter
in a large, fluffy bowl.
Add 1 teaspoon sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whiskey is still OK.
Cry another tup. Turn off mixer.
Break 2 legs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit.
Mix on the turner.
If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers,
pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity.
Next, sift 2 cups of salt. Or something, Who cares.
Check the whiskey.
Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something.
Whatever you can find.
Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees.
Don't forget to beat off the turner.
Throw the bowl out of the window.
Check the whiskey again.
Go to bed.
Who the hell likes fruitcake anyway?

Brenda and Steve took their six-year-old son to the doctor. With some
hesitation, they explained that although their little angel appeared to
be
in good health, they were concerned about his rather small penis.

After examining the child, the doctor confidently declared, "Just feed
him pancakes. That should solve the problem."

The next morning when the boy arrived at breakfast, there was a large
stack of warm pancakes in the middle of the table.

"Gee, Mom," he exclaimed. "For me?"

"Just take two," Brenda replied. "The rest are for your father."

A bakery owner hires a young female clerk who likes to wear very
short skirts and thong panties.
 
One day a young man enters the store, glances at the clerk and
glances at the loaves of bread behind the counter. Noticing the
length of her skirt (or lack thereof) and the location of the raisin
bread, he has a brilliant idea.
 
"I'd like some raisin bread please," the man says politely.
 

The female clerk nods and climbs up a ladder to reach the raisin
bread, which is located on the very top shelf. The young man
standing almost directly beneath her is provided with an excellent
view, just as he surmised he would.
 
Once she descends the ladder he muses that he really should get two
loaves, as he is having company for dinner.
 
As the clerk retrieves the second loaf of bread, one of the other
male customers notices what was going on. Thinking quickly, he
requests his own loaf of raisin bread so he can continue to enjoy
the view.
 
 With each trip up the ladder, the young lady seems to catch the eye
of another male customer. Pretty soon, each male customer is asking
for raisin bread, just to see the clerk climb up and down.
 
After many trips she is tired, irritated and thinking hat she is really going to have to try the bread herself.
 
Finally, once again atop the ladder, she stops and fumes, glaring at
the men standing below.
She notices an elderly man standing amongst the crowd, staring up at
her.
 
Thinking to save herself a trip, she yells at the elderly man,
 
"Is it raisin for you too?
 
"No," stammers the old man, "but it's a quiverin'