An internet friend of mine who knows we’re planning to move to New Zealand soon sent me a link to New Zealand’s #1 Internet Dating Site. It’s a spoof on Kiwis (New Zealanders) because there are a gazillion sheep and not many people. To an Aussie, a Kiwi is known as a sheep shagger. I don’t need to explain why, do I? Nuff said.
Adultsheepfinder.com is a clone of adultfriendfinder.com and they might not be thrilled about this. I thought it was very funny.

Click on the screen capture to visit the adultsheepfinder.com. Make sure you change the country when you do a search. LOL

I found this on You Tube and if you haven’t seen this funny video before, take a few minutes and watch it. I cracked up. I’ll probably grow up to be just like Gladys!

I assume some of these blogs are translated by a program and not initially written into Englisy by the authors. I prefer to think that a program created most of these. It’s like the funny signs in English that you see around the world. They do their best but leave you laughing.

The funnier ones are translated literally word by word taking no regard for idioms or common phrases. Well I found a corker of a blog this morning about satellite tv on your computer. I’m not sure I want one or not!

Here are a few choicy lines.

I intend how many modern times have got you felt guilty sitting in the sitting room observation television as work hemorrhoid away. I’ll state you that,… a good measurement many.

Now this cat was telling me that I habit have got to travel to the television set. television will happen me in my work at my personal computer and as I work. Too good a trade not to test. If lone to see if it were true. So off I travel into the cyberspace searching for the free cyberspace television on my pc. I seek the free land sites to entree the free online television and male child what a disappointment.

Due to so many petitions for free cyberspace TV, the waiters are not able to procedure the petitions in clip and the consequence is that no 1 acquires to watch free television anymore. Its no longer an option if you inquire me.

What was most interesting is that the sellers website even had a miniscreen that I overcast ticker up-to-the-minute film dawdlers as seen on TV.

How about a different blog about a college course in sexuality. I’m not sure I follow it all that well.

International Royal college of social science in Hong Kong is a social sex think factory that was established in 20 centuries by the harbor English government beginning approval, is from the social problem expert’s soup the Sir of leads long the head at first, drawing on nonprofit research organization that the upper-class society well-known persons, entrepreneur, expert’s scholar participates together.The subject of my hospital is:Have a foothold Hong Kong, take pity on the people live and feel, freedom equal, universal love self-respect.

While all these make me laugh. I know for a fact that I couldn’t post in any language effectively other than English and if I tried, my words would look this silly too. Got any good ones?

The day was normal up until 3pm. That’s when I take my daily stroll to check on the chickens and collect the eggs. I had nearly a dozen in my basket so I thought I’d dash next door with them for the best neighbors in the whole world. I knocked on their door and their daughter answered and said she’d just gotten home but would get her mother. I told her it wasn’t necessary, that I’d only brought some eggs over.

That’s when it happened.

Before I could turn around there was the loudest, most erotic moaning I’ve ever heard. Oh oh OH OH oh oh oh. It didn’t stop. It was as if a horny cow crawled down her throat.

I looked at her daughter.

Her daughter looked at me.

I thought, “jumpin judas on a rock, what do I do now?”

The moaning got louder (and faster!) and it was obviously my friend. I wondered to myself who she was making all that racket with at three o’clock in the afternoon but then Kath told me her father was off all day. Phew. I didn’t want to think of my best pal doing the boogity boogity with anyone but her husband. It’s none of my business, mind you, but it’s better for neighborly relations. They obviously thought they were all alone for a hot afternooner.

I grinned from ear to ear and dashed through the door and back to the sanctity of my office before they started chasing each other around the house. On my way home I thought - here I am working from dawn til dusk and she’s over there getting her brains screwed out. Who’s doing what right? It was like a porn video inside my head but the actors were my neighbors. Now my friend is well over 50 and we all know women over 50 can get a bit dry in the playroom. The way they were going at it I was afraid they were going fuck so fast she’d start the neighborhood on fire!

It was then that I thought, geez, the daughter’s going to tell them that I was there. She’s 27 and not one bit shy. She’s going to tell her mother that I was there. Do I call later and make a joke? Do I pretend that this sort of thing happens all the time? Do I just ignore it?

I’m not one to ignore things, however I do love a good joke. I decided that I should bring them a recovery pack. I dashed to KFC and then whipped up some pudding and made some melon balls. I fixed a tray with chicken BREASTS, melon BALLS, spotted DICK, a roll of duct tape and some ear plugs.

It wasn’t as good as having sex myself but for some of us, perving on the neighbors is as close is all we’ll get today.

I came across this post and had to share it with you. There aren’t tons of blogs that make me chuckle like I did when I read the last paragraph.

Cats and the Single Girl
Blog by Gwen Cooper

When you’re an unmarried woman over the age of 30, there are probably only so many cats you can have before people start referring to you as “the crazy cat lady.” I myself have three. On the occasions when somebody presses me to give a home to a fourth—and it’s always a sore temptation—I tend to respond by saying something such as: “I’m one cat away from being known as Old Widow Cooper….where the neighborhood kids walk by my house and throw rocks at my window, and say things like, That’s where Old Widow Cooper lives. She’s craaaaaazy…”

My best friend, Lisa, puts it more succinctly. “You’d be unfuckable,” she says.

My first two cats came into my home more than 10 years ago. At the time, I was living with the man I planned to marry. The two of us wanted pets, but felt that we didn’t have the time and attention to devote to a dog. So we got cats–and I am now heartily ashamed that I ever considered them a second choice. (Mommy loves you, babies!)

My third cat, Homer, was taken in after my ex-fiancé and I split and I’d ended up with sole custody of our feline offspring. Homer was only four weeks old, and had been abandoned at my vet’s office after a virulent eye infection had necessitated removal of both his eyes. My vet called with a long sad story–perfect for a cable movie, if only there were a station called Lifetime for Cats–about how nobody would take in this blind kitten. Not even the people on her list who had specifically expressed a wish to adopt handicapped cats.

Newly single at the time, I was of the strong opinion that it wasn’t in my best interests to take in a third. But I was practically sobbing by the end of the story. “I’ll come in and meet him,” I told my vet tearfully. “But I’m not promising anything.”

A pillar of fortitude I am…

Read the rest of the article on her blog at wiredberries.com.