firedragon
04-07-2005, 12:18 AM
one of my hick frineds sent me this today, and some i found VERY funny so i though i would share
Truck Jokes:
Oil Changing Instructions For Men and Women
WOMEN:
Pull up to Jiffy Lube when the mileage reaches 3000 since the last oil change.
Drink a cup of coffee.
15 minutes later, write a check and leave with a properly maintained vehicle.
MEN:
Go to O'Reilly auto parts and write a check for 50 dollars for oil, filter, oil lift (AKA kitty litter), hand cleaner and scented tree.
Discover that the used oil container is full. Instead of taking back to O'Reilly to recycle, dump in hole in back yard.
Open a beer and drink it.
Jack car up. Spend 30 minutes looking for jack stands.
Find jack stands under kid's pedal car.
In frustration, open another beer and drink it.
Place drain pan under engine.
Look for 9/16 box end wrench.
Give up and use crescent wrench.
Unscrew drain plug.
Drop drain plug in pan of hot oil; get hot oil on you in process.
Clean up.
Have another beer while oil is draining.
Look for oil filter wrench.
Give up; poke oil filter with Phillips screwdriver and twist it off.
Beer.
Buddy shows up; finish case with him. Decide to finish oil change tomorrow.
Next day, drag pan full of old oil out from underneath car.
Throw oil lift (AKA kitty litter) on oil spilled during step 18.
Beer. No, drank it all yesterday.
Walk to 7-11; buy beer.
Install new oil filter making sure to apply thin coat of clean oil to gasket first.
Dump first quart of fresh oil into engine.
Remember drain plug from step 11.
Hurry to find drain plug in drain pan.
Hurry to replace drain plug before the whole quart of fresh oil drains onto floor.
Slip with wrench and bang knuckles on frame.
Bang head on floor board in reaction.
Begin cussing fit.
Throw wrench.
Cuss for additional 10 minutes because wrench hit Miss December 1992.
Clean up; apply Band-Aid to knuckle.
Beer.
Beer.
Dump in additional 4 quarts of oil.
Beer.
Lower car from jack stands.
Accidentally crush one of the jack stands.
Move car back to apply more oil lift (AKA kitty litter) to fresh oil spilled during step 23.
Drive car
Me AND MY ROD
By: Gary Savage
saveagegary@netscape.net
I was driving my Geo Metro last night. Three cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on fourteen-inch rims. It's stock, alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely washed car around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by surprise...
I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte cappuccino blast "No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK", when I stopped at a streetlight. As the Geo throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip.
I was minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane. I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition. A late model Ford Festiva, could be trouble, I thought. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and school bus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure.
The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast, and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of three screaming cylinders...Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole; my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my rear tires... my differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by me, rear wheels juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs.
I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth... He was running a custom exhaust! Probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust... maybe even cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction... Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping cylinders singing a heady high-pitched song wound fully out though only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the intersection and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his shift to second and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift!
I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us batted an eye. He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five-foot circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next corner. I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in carpet.
Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Geo roll slowly to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel slowly leave the ground -
no matter, though, because my drive wheels, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ... The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my Geo eased past him on the outside, my 185/80R14's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right.
Chevy superiority reigns!!! I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a S-10.
Why dont you drive with your wife?
A man who is driving a car is stopped by a police officer. The following exchange takes place .....
The man says: What's the problem officer?
Officer: You were going at least 75 in a 55 zone.
Man: No sir. I was going 65.
Wife: Oh, Harry. Your were going 80!
(Man gives his wife a dirty look)
Officer: I'm also going to give you a ticket for your broken tail light.
Man: Broken tail light? I didn't know about a broken tail Light!
Wife: Oh, Harry, you've known about that tail light for weeks.
[Man gives his wife a dirty look.]
Officer: I'm also going to give you a citation for not wearing your seat belt.
Man: Oh, I just took it off when you were walking up to the car.
Wife: Oh, Harry, you never wear your seat belt.
Man: turns to his wife and yells - "Shut your damn mouth!"
Officer turns to the woman and asks: "Ma'am, does your husband talk to you this way all the time?"
Wife: No, only when he's been drinking."
Truck Jokes:
Oil Changing Instructions For Men and Women
WOMEN:
Pull up to Jiffy Lube when the mileage reaches 3000 since the last oil change.
Drink a cup of coffee.
15 minutes later, write a check and leave with a properly maintained vehicle.
MEN:
Go to O'Reilly auto parts and write a check for 50 dollars for oil, filter, oil lift (AKA kitty litter), hand cleaner and scented tree.
Discover that the used oil container is full. Instead of taking back to O'Reilly to recycle, dump in hole in back yard.
Open a beer and drink it.
Jack car up. Spend 30 minutes looking for jack stands.
Find jack stands under kid's pedal car.
In frustration, open another beer and drink it.
Place drain pan under engine.
Look for 9/16 box end wrench.
Give up and use crescent wrench.
Unscrew drain plug.
Drop drain plug in pan of hot oil; get hot oil on you in process.
Clean up.
Have another beer while oil is draining.
Look for oil filter wrench.
Give up; poke oil filter with Phillips screwdriver and twist it off.
Beer.
Buddy shows up; finish case with him. Decide to finish oil change tomorrow.
Next day, drag pan full of old oil out from underneath car.
Throw oil lift (AKA kitty litter) on oil spilled during step 18.
Beer. No, drank it all yesterday.
Walk to 7-11; buy beer.
Install new oil filter making sure to apply thin coat of clean oil to gasket first.
Dump first quart of fresh oil into engine.
Remember drain plug from step 11.
Hurry to find drain plug in drain pan.
Hurry to replace drain plug before the whole quart of fresh oil drains onto floor.
Slip with wrench and bang knuckles on frame.
Bang head on floor board in reaction.
Begin cussing fit.
Throw wrench.
Cuss for additional 10 minutes because wrench hit Miss December 1992.
Clean up; apply Band-Aid to knuckle.
Beer.
Beer.
Dump in additional 4 quarts of oil.
Beer.
Lower car from jack stands.
Accidentally crush one of the jack stands.
Move car back to apply more oil lift (AKA kitty litter) to fresh oil spilled during step 23.
Drive car
Me AND MY ROD
By: Gary Savage
saveagegary@netscape.net
I was driving my Geo Metro last night. Three cylinders of asphalt-tearing terror on fourteen-inch rims. It's stock, alright, nothing done to it, but it pushes the barely washed car around with AUTHORITY. I'm always catching mopeds and 18-wheelers by surprise...
I was headed back from Baskin Robbins with my manly triple-latte cappuccino blast "No Cinnamon, ma'am, I take it BLACK", when I stopped at a streetlight. As the Geo throbbed its throaty idle around me, I sipped my bold beverage and wiped the white froth my stiff upper lip.
I was minding my own business, but then I heard a rev from the next lane. I turned, made eye contact, then let my eyes trace over the competition. A late model Ford Festiva, could be trouble, I thought. Low profile tires, curb feelers, and school bus-yellow paint. Yep, a hot rod, for sure.
The howl of his motor snapped my reverie, and I looked back into the driver's eyes, nodded, then blipped my own throttle. As I tugged on my driving gloves and slipped on my sunglasses (gotta look cool to be fast, and I am *damn* cool, hence...), the night was split with the sound of three screaming cylinders...Then the light turned... I almost had him out of the hole; my three pounding cylinders thrusting me at least a millimeter back into my seat, as smoke pouring from my rear tires... my differential was letting me down! I saw in the corner of my eyes, a yellow snout gaining, and I heard the roar of his four cylinders. He slung by me, rear wheels juddering against the pavement, and he flashed me a smile as his .7 extra liters of motor stretched its legs.
I kept my foot gamely in it, though, waiting for the CHECK ENGINE light to blink on in the one-gauge (no tachometer here!) instrument panel. I saw a glimpse of chrome under his bumper, and knew the ugly truth... He was running a custom exhaust! Probably a 2-into-1 dual exhaust... maybe even cutouts! Damn his hot-rod soul! The old lady passing us on the crosswalk cast a dirty look in our boy-racer direction... Yet still I persisted, with my three pumping cylinders singing a heady high-pitched song wound fully out though only a few handfuls of seconds had passed, we were nearing the crosswalk at the other side of the intersection and I heard the note of his engine change as he made his shift to second and I saw his grin in his rearview mirror fade as he missed the shift!
I rocketed by, shifting, and nursed the clutch gently in to keep from bogging, keeping my motor spinning hot and pulling me ahead, now trailing a cloud of stinking clutch smoke. Not ready to give up so easily, he left his foot in it, revving, and I heard one wheel *almost* chirp as he finally found second and dropped the clutch. We careened over the crosswalk, now going at least 15 miles per hour. A bicyclist passed us, but intent on the race as we were, neither of us batted an eye. He pulled slowly abreast of me, and neck and neck, we made the shift to third, the scream of motors deafening all pedestrians within a five-foot circle. He nosed ahead as we passed 30 miles an hour, then eased in front of me, taunting, as we shifted into fourth. I was staring up the dual 6" chrome tips of his exhaust, snarling, my cappuccino forgotten, as he lifted a little to take the next corner. I saw my opportunity, and counting on the innate agility of my trusty steed, I pulled wide into the number two lane and kept my foot buried in carpet.
Slowly, I inched around him, feeling my Geo roll slowly to the left as I came abreast in the midst of this gradual sweeping turn. I felt the Geo ease onto its suspension stops, and felt the right rear wheel slowly leave the ground -
no matter, though, because my drive wheels, were pulling me through the corner, and around the Festiva ... The Ford driver beat his wheel in rage as my Geo eased past him on the outside, my 185/80R14's screaming in protest, as we raced to the next light. We coasted down, neck-and neck, to the red light. I tightened my driving gloves, ready for another round, when this WIMP in the next car meekly flipped his turn signal and made a right.
Chevy superiority reigns!!! I drove off sipping my masculine drink, awash in my sheer virility, looking for other unwitting targets.... Perhaps a Yugo, or maybe even a S-10.
Why dont you drive with your wife?
A man who is driving a car is stopped by a police officer. The following exchange takes place .....
The man says: What's the problem officer?
Officer: You were going at least 75 in a 55 zone.
Man: No sir. I was going 65.
Wife: Oh, Harry. Your were going 80!
(Man gives his wife a dirty look)
Officer: I'm also going to give you a ticket for your broken tail light.
Man: Broken tail light? I didn't know about a broken tail Light!
Wife: Oh, Harry, you've known about that tail light for weeks.
[Man gives his wife a dirty look.]
Officer: I'm also going to give you a citation for not wearing your seat belt.
Man: Oh, I just took it off when you were walking up to the car.
Wife: Oh, Harry, you never wear your seat belt.
Man: turns to his wife and yells - "Shut your damn mouth!"
Officer turns to the woman and asks: "Ma'am, does your husband talk to you this way all the time?"
Wife: No, only when he's been drinking."