Todays Lame Joke

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reckedracing

TTIWWOP
VIP
BEER AND SWEET TEA

A woman goes to the doctor all black and blue .
Doctor: "What happened?"

Woman: "Doctor, I don't know what to do. Every time my husband comes
home drunk on Bud Light he beats me up."

Doctor: "I have a real good medicine for that. When your husband comes
home drunk on Bud Light, just take a glass of sweet tea and start
swishing it in your mouth but don't swallow. Just keep swishing and
swishing until he goes to bed in his Bud Light stupor."
Two weeks later the woman comes back to the doctor looking fresh and
reborn.

Woman: "Doctor, that was a brilliant idea. Every time my husband came
home drunk on Bud Light, I swished with sweet tea. I swished and
swished, and he didn't touch me!"

Doctor: "You see how much keeping your mouth shut helps?"
 
Long read, but I found this yesterday. Pretty entertaining.

An "actual" letter sent to Miller Brewing Company and
their response:
_____________________________________________________

Miller Brewing Company
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53201

Dear Sir or Madam,

I have been a drinker of Miller beers for many years
(actually, ever since that other company donated a big
chunk of change to Handgun Control Inc. back in the
mid 80's). Initially, my beer of choice was Miller
Lite, but some time in mid-1990 while in Honduras I
switched to MGD smuggled up from Panama. Now, for
nearly six years, I have been a faithful drinker of
MGD. For these past years, I have come to expect
certain things from Genuine Draft. I expect that
whenever I see that gold can of MGD, I am about ready
to enjoy a great, smooth brew. But wait! Sometime
around the first of the year, my beloved MGD changed colors,
so to speak. That familiar gold can was no longer
gold! Knowing that I am, by nature, somewhat
resistant to change, I forced myself to reserve
judgment on the new can design. Gradually, I grew to
appreciate the new label. That was until about May of
this year.

That was when I discovered (empirically) that I really
didn't like the new design. Further investigation of
the cause of my distress resulted in the following
observations:

1. Your cans are made of aluminum.

2. Aluminum is a great conductor of energy.

3. Your beer is commonly consumed outside, and thus,
the container may be exposed to sunlight.

4. Sunlight striking the can causes radiant warming of
the surface of the can.

5. The resultant heat (energy) is transferred through
the aluminum, by conduction, to the contents of the
can (the beer).

6. Warm beer sucks.

This is a process that can be observed in just about
any beer. However, this process is significantly
accelerated in MGD because you painted the damn can
. . . black!!! Who was the rocket scientist that designed
the new graphic for the can and implemented the change
right before summer? Granted, this process may not be
real evident up there in Wisconsin, but down here in
Oklahoma where the summers are both sunny and hot,
this effect is quite a problem. There's no telling
what the folks in Texas and Arizona are having to put
up with. Knowing that you would probably not address
this issue unless you had firm evidence of a problem,
I and several other subjects conducted extensive
experimentation. The results of these experiments are
listed below.

The experiments were conducted over two days on the
deck next to my pool. The study included seven
different types of beer (leftovers from a party the
previous weekend) that were initially chilled to 38
(and then left exposed to sunlight for different
lengths of time). These beers were sampled by the
test subjects at different intervals.

The subjects, all normally MGD drinkers, were asked at
each sampling interval their impressions of the
different beers. The length of time between the
initial exposure to sunlight and the point where the
subject determined the sample undrinkable (the
Suck-point) was determined. The average ambient
temperature for the trials was 95 degrees F.

Beer Type Average Suck-point (minutes)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Miller Lite (white can) 6.2
Bud (white can) 5.5
Bud Lite (silver can) 5.2
Ice House (blue and silver can) 4.4
Coors Lite (silver can) 4.1
Miller Genuine Draft (black can) 2.8
Coors (gold can) 0.1

It was evident that the color of the can directly
correlates to the average suck point, except for Coors
which was pretty much determined to suck at any
point. It is to be hoped that you will consider
re-designing your MGD cans. All beer drinkers that
are not smart enough to keep their beer in the shade
will thank you.

Sincerely,
Bradley Lee Beer-drinker

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The Miller response appears below. They have had a
lot of fun with this guy's letter.

Enjoy. . .

Dear Bradley Lee,

Thank you for your letter and your concern about the
MGD can color as it relates to premature warming of
the contents. Like you, we at Miller Beer take beer
drinking very seriously. To that end, we have taken
your letter and subsequent experiment under serious
consideration. Outlined below are our findings and
solution to your problem. May we add that we have had
similar letters from other loyal beer drinkers, mostly
from the Southern United States.

First, let us congratulate you on your findings. Our
analysis tends to agree with yours regarding Coors.
It certainly does suck at about any temperature. Now,
it was our intentions when redesigning the MGD can to
create better brand identity and brand loyalty.
Someone in marketing did some kind of research and
determined we needed to redesign the can. You will be
pleased to know, we have fired that idiot and he is
now reeking havoc at a pro-gun control beer
manufacturer. The design staff working in cahoots
with the marketing idiot was also down-sized.

However, once we realized this mistake, to undo it
would have been even a bigger mistake. So, we took
some other actions. From our market research, we
found a difference between Northern beer drinker and
Southern beer drinkers. Beer drinkers in the South
tend to drink slower than beer drinkers in the North.
We are still researching why that is.

Anyway, at Miller Beer, it was never our intentions to
have someone take more than 2.5 minutes to enjoy one
of our beers. We pride ourselves in creating fine,
smooth, quick drinking beers and leave the making of
sissy, slow sipping beers to that Sam guy in Boston.
However, it is good to know that you feel our Miller
Lite can last as long as 6 minutes. However, may we
suggest in the future you try consuming at least two
in that time frame.

From your letter, we had our design staff work 'round the clock to
come up with a solution that would help not just MGD
but all our fine Miller products. We hope you have
recently noticed our solution to your problem. We
found that the hole in the top of the can was not big
enough for quick consumption. So, we have now
introduced the new "Wide Mouth" cans. We hope this
will solve all your problems. Might I also suggest
that if you want to get the beer out of the can even
faster, you can poke a hole on the side near the
bottom, hold your finger over it, open the can, tip it
to your mouth and then pull your finger off the hole.
This is a common way to drink beer at parties and
impress your friends. This technique is known as
"shot-gunning". You should like the name.

Again, thank you for your letter and bringing to our
attention that there might be other beer drinkers
taking more that 2.5 minutes to drink our beers. Let
me assure you that I am having our advertising
department work on campaign to solve this problem,
too.

Sincerely,

Tom B. Miller
Public Relations
Miller Brewing Co.
 
that couldn't be any more fake.

a company would never slander another like that in a letter.
and miller is short for milluakke, not some guys last name.
 
I guess that's why actual is in quotations. Still funny though. As long as you realize it's all swill to begin with.
 
and miller is short for milluakke, not some guys last name.

MillerCoors: Age Verification

MillerCoors grew from the dreams of two German entrepreneurs who came to America in the mid-19th Century

Frederick J. Miller was a determined young brewer who settled in Milwaukee and purchased the Plank Road Brewery where he founded Miller Brewing Company in 1855. He brewed his delicious beer using yeast that he carried in his pocket from Europe....


:rolleyes:
 
There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them "What's the Purple Wombat?" "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the children shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!" The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally. The students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?" "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin moustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy" he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?" "Mr Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff".
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-PAL, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?" "It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is". "What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended!"
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing "I was so worried about you! What happened?" "Mummy!" cried Billy "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy" his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?" "Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!" "You... don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!" Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way - lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy". Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy".
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat". Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy".
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy".
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy". Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy".
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy".
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy".
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
The moral of the story? Don't stand up in a boat.
 
the purple wombat was an imaginary penis that showed itself to little kids at night time.
and, like puberty, if it didnt happen by a certain age, you were an outcast.
nobody liked you.

then, it drowns you by pushing you out of a fucking boat if you cant handle the girth.
 
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