One day a guy dies and finds himself in hell. As he is wallowing in despair, he has his first meeting with the devil ...

Satan: 'Why so glum?'

Guy: 'What do you think? I'm in hell!'

Satan: 'Hell's not so bad. We actually have a lot of fun down here.
You a drinking man?'

Guy: 'Sure, I love to drink.'

Satan: 'Well, you're gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays, that's all we do is drink. Whiskey, tequila, Guinness, wine coolers, Tab and Fresca. We drink 'til we throw up and then we drink some more! And you don't have to worry about getting a hangover, because you're dead
anyway.'

Guy: 'Gee that sounds great!'

Satan: 'You a smoker?'

Guy: 'You better believe it'

Satan: 'All right! You're gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the world and smoke our lungs out. If you get cancer - no biggie, you're already dead, remember?'

Guy: 'Wow ... that's awesome!'

Satan: 'I bet you like to gamble.'

Guy: 'Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do.'

Satan: 'Good, 'cause Wednesdays you can gamble all you want. Craps, blackjack, roulette, poker, slots, whatever. If you go bankrupt, it doesn't matter, you're dead anyhow.'

Guy: 'Cool!'

Satan: 'What about drugs?'

Guy: 'Are you kidding? Love drugs! You don't mean ...?'

Satan: 'That's right! Thursday is drug day. Help yourself to a great big bowl of crack or smack. Smoke a doobie the size of a submarine. You can do all the drugs you want. You're dead so who
cares.'

Guy: 'Wow! I never realized Hell was such a cool place!'

Satan: 'You gay?'

Guy: 'No...'

Satan: 'Oooo, Fridays are gonna be tough ...

A letter of resignation from an employee to her boss, who apparently resigned very soon afterwards!

Dear Mr. Baker,

As a graduate of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of my co-workers and me during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time.

Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know how to network computer systems, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time.

You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your
shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will.

You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.

Since this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.

1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal for you to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.

2. I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration.

3. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your Mother's birthday," you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a sauce bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please; I hate having to
correct your mistakes.)

Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public.

Never **** with your systems administrator. Why? Because they know what you do with all that free time!

Wishing you a grand and glorious day,

Yours faithfully

################

Gatiep goes into a bar to have himself a cold one.

Twenty minutes later, a policeman entered the bar and asked," Who owns the dog tied under that tree outside?"

Gatiep said it was his.

"Your dog seems to be in heat" the officer said.

Gatiep replied, "No way... She's cool 'cause she's tied up under that shady tree."

The policeman said, "No! You don't understand. Your dog needs to bebred."

"No way," said Gatiep. "That dog doesn't need bread. She isn't hungry 'cause I fed her this morning'."

The exasperated policeman said, "NO! You don't understand; your dog wants to have sex!"

Gatiep looked at the cop and said, "Well, go ahead. I always wanted a police dog."

A husband walks into Victoria's Secret to purchase a sheer negligee for his wife. He is shown several possibilities that range from $250 to $500 in price -- the more sheer, the higher the price. Naturally, he opts for the most sheer item, pays the $500, and takes it home. He presents it to his wife and asks her to go upstairs, put it on, and model it for him.

Upstairs the wife thinks (she's no dummy), 'I have an idea. It's so sheer that it might as well be nothing. I won't put it on, but I'll do the modelling without my clothes on (he'll never know the difference), and I'll return it tomorrow, and keep the $500 refund for myself.'

She appears naked on the balcony and strikes a pose. The husband says, 'Good Grief! You'd think for $500, they'd at least iron it!'

He never heard the shot.

Funeral on Thursday at Noon. Closed coffin.

I just remembered why.

Why it's important to read the fine print in your contract