The first surgeon says, “I like to see accountants on my operating
table, because when you open them up, everything inside is numbered.”

The second responds, “Yeah, but you should try electricians. Everything
inside them is color-coded.”

The third surgeon says, “No, I really think librarians are the best;
everything inside them is in alphabetical order.”

The fourth surgeon chimes in: “You know, I like construction workers.
They always understand when you have a few parts left over at the
end and when the job takes longer than you said it would.”

But the fifth surgeon, Dr. Morris Fishbein, shuts them all up when
he observes: “The French are the easiest to operate on. There’s no
guts, no heart, no balls and no spine. Plus the head and ass are
interchangeable.”

How did it all begin ?
Well you see … there was once a french priest. A slimy french priest. Who smoked. A slimy french priest who smoked cigars. French cigars.
And this slimy french priest who smoked french cigars was called Valentine (Val-ehn-ton!!!). As France was at war, losing, all the young frenchmen were denied the right to get married so they could be recruited without hurting french women (the potential hairy armpit and moustachey wives). French women were a country asset so the government had to protect them as it could.

But the slimy french priest who smoked french cigars called Valentine kept marrying french men and women and french men and men. The french goverment thought this to be too slimy even for a god damn french priest so they killed him. Because he was such a kind frenchman, he reached heaven. Amazingly it wasn’t the French heaven he was expecting, but it was an american heaven version.

There he ate at McDonald’s for 14 days and 14 nights, so he got really fat. Too fat for a french man.
He received a bow and an arrow from God, and as he couldn’t stay anymore in paradise (because he was french), he was sent to earth to be this fat person with a tiny bow that pushes people into having orgies sex. He always watches and masturbates. Amazing.

When will it stop ?
Never. Never ever. As long as women want crap and men want sex, men will buy crap to get laid on the 14th of February.
I believe that there is a small chance that all women are part french.

Why the “French Valentine’s Day Gifts” title ?
Because I was going to talk about French Valentine’s Day Gifts … here I go !
Here’s what you shouldn’t buy :
Gift #1 : A waxing/shaving device for a french woman. You will die a horrible french death. She’ll probably even place her bushy armpits over your face and say “Don’t you like this ??? Ha ??? Fucking american pig.”
Gift #2 : Cigars. You’ll only get smoked and die of lung cancer.
Gift #3 : Soap. French fear that (and you can’t buy it anyway because they don’t sell that shit in France).
Gift #4 : Flowers. French women are too pretty for flowers, right ?
Gift #5 : S&M kit.

Here’s what you should buy :
Gift #1 : A slimy french flag.
Gift #2 : Cheese. Smelly cheese. The french can’t have enough of that. With garlic.
Gift #3 : The iconic french beret.
Gift #4 : Slimy sheepskin condoms. French women love that. Especially if the sheepskin has little hairs.
Gift #5 : A keychain Eiffel Tower. Because even if you live in Paris, smoking and being a french rude asshole (or pussy) takes a lot of time and you don’t get to visit the real thing too often.

Have a wonderful Valentine’s Day everybody ! I’m trying to ignore the horrors I’m about to witness today around Paris. Amazing.

“If we don’t stop Hussein soon, any future conflict with this madman would be a nuclear bloodbath.”

The interpreter couldn’t translate this, however, since there is no word for “bath” in French.

“Bonjour Monsieur, passport sil vous plais”

“Sorry, I didn’t bring a passport.”

(in terrible English now) “What do you mean you didn’t bring a
passport? How do you expect to come to France without a passport?”

Well, I came here 65 years ago. When I hit the beach, I didn’t need a
passport then. Come to think of it, there wasn’t a frenchman around
to show it to.

(submitted by dano)

He then slapped the monkey hard, knocking it across the room, at the same time dropping his pants.
The monkey got up, ran to the Brit, and….well….performed an unnatural act upon him.
The Brit said, “See ole bean? How’d YOU like to have a go at it?”.
“OUI, m’sieu….but you don’t have to SLAP me!”

The French general began ridiculing the Major for wearing “that stupid red tunic.”
The French general said : “Why do you wear that red uniform ? It makes it easy for us to shoot you.”
The British major replied : “If I do get wounded, the blood will not show, and my soldiers will not get scared.”

The French general said : “That is a very good idea”, The Frenchy turned to his orderly and said : “From now on all French officers will wear brown pants.”

The French admiral started complaining that whereas Europeans learned many languages, Americans learned only English. He then asked: “Why is it that we have to speak English in these conferences rather than you speak French ?”

Without hesitating, the American Admiral replied: “Maybe it’s because the Brits, Canadians, Aussies and Americans arranged it so you would not have to speak German”.

The group became silent.

“No way”, said the zoo keeper, “it’s the most ferocious beast in the zoo. Why just an hour ago it dragged a Frenchman into the cage and completely devoured him.”

“Hardly seems possible” said the astonished visitor, “but why is it lying there licking its rear?”

“The poor thing is trying to get the taste out of its mouth.”