Ole and Lena

Vell, Ole and Lena went to the same Lutheran Church. Lena went every Sunday and taught Sunday School. Ole went on Christmas and Easter and, once in a while, he went on one of the other Sundays.

On one of those Sundays, he was in the pew right behind Lena and he noticed what a fine looking woman she was. While they were taking up the collection, Ole leaned forward and said, "Hey, Lena, how about you and me go to dinner in New Ulm next Friday?"

"Yah, Ole, dot vould be nice," said Lena.

Well, Ole couldn't believe his luck. All week long he polished up his old Ford, and on Friday he picked Lena up and took her to the finest restaurant in New Ulm. When they sat down, Ole looked over at Lena and said, "Hey, Lena, vould you like a cocktail before dinner?"

"Oh, no, Ole," said Lena. "Vat vould I tell my Sunday School class?"

Vell, Ole was set back a bit, so he didn't say much until after dinner. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Hey, Lena," said Ole, "vould you like a smoke?"

"Oh, no, Ole," said Lena. "Vat vould I tell my Sunday School class?"

Well, Ole was feeling pretty low after that, so he just got in his Ford and was driving Lena home when they passed the Hot Springs Motel. He'd struck out twice already, so he figured he had nothing to lose. "Hey, Lena," said Ole, "how vould you like to stop at that motel with me?"

"Yah, Ole, dot vould be nice," said Lena.

Vell, Ole couldn't believe his luck. He did a U-turn right then and there across the median and everything, and drove back to the motel and checked in vith Lena.

The next morning Ole got up first. He looked at Lena lying there in the bed, her hair all spread out on her pillow. "Vat have I done? Vat have I done?" thought Ole.

He shook Lena and she woke up. "Lena, I've got to ask you von ting," said Ole. "Vat are you going to tell your Sunday School class?"

"Lena said, "The same ting I alvays tell dem. You don't have to smoke and drink to have a good time!"

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Later on, Ole and Lena got married. On their honeymoon trip, they were nearing Minneapolis when Ole put his hand on Lena's knee.

Giggling, Lena said, "Ole, you can go farther than that if you vant to."

So Ole drove to Duluth.

Selecting a Stripper Name

Becoming an erotic dancer is a dream for many girls, but is rarely actualized in fact. However, for those who have the stamina, vision and dedication for the long hours and practice with pole-dancing and disrobing routines, there may be a lot of loose fives and tens in your future.

The first step to becoming an erotic dancer is choosing a good stage name. Your nom-de-strip should be exciting alluring, and exotic; and as any professional dancer will tell you, classy. It may help you to understand by remembering that those types of names include those of fruit, cars and precious stones.

The Fruit Category: Not all fruits make good names for dancer. For instance, who wants to see some woman named Bananas or Apricot grinding on stage? Are you kidding? Only in Jersey, maybe. Select a cute name like Cherry or Peaches, and watch the money accumulate in your G-string.

The Car Category: A man’s two favorite hobbies -- fast cars and faster women -- provide you with great choices, if you do it right. The best car names are the really expensive ones like Porsche or Mercedes. Remember to stay away from American brands such as Mini Cooper or Dodge Aries K or Chevrolet. As stage names go, those suck.

The Precious stones Category: As a general rule the more expensive the stone, the better the stage name. No one will every get sick of names like Diamond, Sapphire, Ruby or Opal. Zircon or Mica: not so much.

If you really want to get creative, then try combining your real name with a defining characteristic. If your name starts with a B you have plenty of choices from Busty Brenda to Belinda Big Boobs. If your name starts with an M, try Mandy Mountains or Misty Mammaries.

Future Pole Dancer in Training

It is nice that some women do not let little bumps on the road such as child care get in the way of their desired career goals. Even though you might reside in Fargo, and have two children, you can still train for a lucrative career as a pole dancer.

How Many Christians Does It Take to Change a Light Bulb?

Charismatics: Only one. Hands already in the air.

Pentecostals: Ten. One to change the bulb, and nine to pray against the spirit of darkness.

Presbyterians: None. Lights will go on and off at predestined times.

Roman Catholic: None. Candles only.

Baptists: At least 15. One to change the light bulb, and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad.

Episcopalians: Three. One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks and one to talk about how much better the old one was.

Methodists: Undetermined. Whether your light is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or tulip bulb. Church wide lighting service is planned for Sunday. Bring bulb of your choice and a covered dish.

Nazarene: Six. One woman to replace the bulb while five men review church lighting policy.

Lutherans: None. Lutherans don't believe in change.

Jehovah's Witnesses: Three. One to screw in the bulb, and two to knock on your door and ask you if you've seen the light!

Mormons: Just one, after his wives have gotten on the school bus.

Amish: What's a light bulb?

The Location of the Farm

Government surveyors came to Ole’s farm in the fall and asked if they could do some surveying. Ole agreed and Lena even served them a nice meal at noon time. The next spring, the two surveyors stopped by and told Ole, “Because you were so kind to us, we wanted to give you this bad news in person instead of by letter.”

Ole asked, “What is the bad news?”

The surveyors said, “Well, after our work we discovered your farm is not in Minnesota , but is actually in North Dakota !”

Ole looked at Lena and said, “That’s the best news I have heard in a long time! Why I just told Lena this morning, I don’t think I can take another winter in Minnesota.”

Romance Novel: Circa 2011

He grasped me firmly, but gently, just above my elbow and guided me into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone. He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear.

"Just relax."

Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving upward along my calves, slowly but steadily. My breath caught in my throat.

I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care. His touch was so experienced, so sure. When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding.

I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply. Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine and into my panties.

Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used to taking 'No' for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say . . . ..

"Okay ma'am, you can board your flight now."