Intruder

As I stepped out of the shower, I heard someone in my kitchen downstairs. Knowing that my wife was out, I grabbed my 1903 heirloom rifle—which no longer works—and crept downstairs, forgetting the fact that I was in my birthday suit. I came around the corner with the gun raised, only to find my wife loading the dishwasher. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought I heard an intruder. 
I came down to scare him.” Scanning the contours of my doughy, naked body, she mumbled, “You didn’t need the gun.”

Money

We use Google Adsense which uses cookies to personalize the ads on this page. By using our services, you agree to the use of cookies. Click here for more information on Google's use of data on partner sites