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Valentine's Day Story John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She now lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
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Friend: Vern, are you going to take your wife Alice on your next cruise?Vern: Yes, indeed. I just can't leave her behind alone.
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Visiting a lawyer for advice, the wife said, "I want you to help me get a divorce. The Lawyer says OK, what are your grounds. My husband is getting a little queer to sleep with." "What do you mean?" asked the attorney. "Does he force you to indulge in unusual sex practices?" "No," replied the woman, "and neither does the little queer."
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Visual joke.:Stand with both arms outstreached level with your shoulders.Ask: "what's this?" - A really crappy way to spend Easter.
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Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in the voodoo or occult?A: We both do.Q: Voodoo?A: We do.Q: You do?A: Yes, voodoo.
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He said - Since I first laid eyes on you, I've wanted to make love to you really badly.She said - Well, you succeeded.
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If government is going to put health warning labels on beer, wine and liquor, let's at least have a little truthfulness about the matter! WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to wake up with breath that could knock a buzzard off a shit truck at 100 yards. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like an idiot. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell the same boring story over and over again until your friends want to smash your head in. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell the boss what you REALLY THINK while photocopying your butt at the office Christmas party. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell ever happened to your pants (panties) anyway. WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary (whose species and/or name you can't remember). WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, handsomer, and smarter than some really, really huge biker guy named "Big Al".
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"Was your wife a virgin when you married?""I don't know. Some say yes. Some say no."
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A funeral service is being held in a church for a woman who has just passed away. At the end of the service, the pall-bearers are carrying the casket out when they accidentally bump into a wall, jarring the casket. They hear a faint moan.They open the casket and find that the woman is actually still alive. She lives for ten more years and then dies.A ceremony is again held at the same church and at the end of the ceremony, the pall bearers are again carrying outthe casket. As they are walking, the husband cries out, "WATCH OUT FOR THAT WALL!"
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|Top Ten Signs you're Not Watching a Real Baseball Team From Late Show with David Letterman; Monday, February 20, 1995 You recognize batter as the kid who sold you a hot dog a couple minutes earlier. Everytime a player slides into second, he busts his hip. They keep shouting "Do over!" When umpire yells, "Strike 3!" batter looks at him as if the dude's speaking French. Try as they might, they just can't scratch themselves like professionals. First base: Siskel. Second base: Ebert. Game stops when some lady in a house near the stadium shouts "Dinner time!" Players constantly adjusting each other's cups. You overheard the coach yelling, "Run, Forrest, run!" They play like the Mets
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