It's Friday--- Smile

I got this in an email this morning--thought I would share... 

KILLER BISCUITS WANTED FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER (actual AP headline)

                                              

Jeanette Burnett, 23, a resident of San Diego, was visiting her in-laws and while there went to a nearby supermarket to pick up some groceries.
Several people noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up and with her eyes closed, with both hands behind the back of her head.

One customer who had been at the store for a while became concerned and walked over to the car. He noticed that Jeanette's eyes were now open, and she looked very strange. He asked her if she was okay, and Jeanette replied that she'd been shot in the back of the head, and had been holding her brains in for over an hour.

The man called the paramedics, who broke into the car because the doors were locked and Jeanette refused to remove her hands from her head. When they finally got in, they found that Jeanette had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head.

A Pillsbury biscuit canister had exploded from the heat, making a loud noise that sounded like a gunshot, and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When she reached back to find out what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brains. She initially passed out, but quickly recovered and tried to hold her brains in for over an hour until someone noticed and came to her aid.

Jeanette is a blonde, but I'm certain that's irrelevant.

Here's another..

WATCH OUT FOR THOSE POLISH WOMEN!

 

An elderly Polish man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite  pierogi with fried onions wafting up the stairs.

He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.

Downstairs, he leaned against the do or frame, gazing into the kitchen, where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favorite pierogi.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the pierogi was already in his mouth. With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.

 

"Back off!" she said. "Those are for the funeral."

 

(If the wife was Portuguese, she would have let her husband eat, and the husband would have choked to death.)