<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600</id><updated>2011-12-13T19:55:02.276-08:00</updated><title type='text'>GoodOne !</title><subtitle type='html'>Wit, via Inbox</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>71</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-111874349567942008</id><published>2005-06-14T03:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-14T03:04:55.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Think of...</title><summary type='text'>Speech by Thomas Friedman of The New York Times.... "When we were young kids growing up in America, we were told to eat our vegetables at dinner and not leave them. Mothers said, 'think of the starving children in India and finish the dinner.' And now I tell my children: 'Finish your maths homework. Think of the children in India who would make you starve, if you don't.'"</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/111874349567942008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=111874349567942008' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111874349567942008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111874349567942008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2005/06/think-of.html' title='Think of...'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-111874321958144412</id><published>2005-06-14T02:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-06-14T03:00:19.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Woh kya hai?</title><summary type='text'>woh kya hai****jo ISHQ me hai*.:***DIL me hai****MANN me hai*aurDHADKAN menahe hai?*GUESS:..******sochta kya haiwohAMIR KHAN hai*</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/111874321958144412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=111874321958144412' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111874321958144412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111874321958144412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2005/06/woh-kya-hai.html' title='Woh kya hai?'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-111657103840674658</id><published>2005-05-19T23:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-19T23:37:18.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS ALL ABOUT</title><summary type='text'>It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.I took his vital signs and had him take a seat,knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/111657103840674658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=111657103840674658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111657103840674658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/111657103840674658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2005/05/this-is-what-love-is-all-about.html' title='THIS IS WHAT LOVE IS ALL ABOUT'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-110489592357177098</id><published>2005-01-04T19:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-04T19:32:03.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>make it up</title><summary type='text'>A blonde guy had a major argument with his girlfriend. After storming away, and then cooling off, he had time to think. He was clearly in the wrong and felt pretty guilty about all the trauma he had caused. So to make it up to his girlfriend, he decided to buy her a gift."Anything at all, my love," he said, overcome with remorse."Oh, I don't know," replied his sweetheart, excited at the idea </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/110489592357177098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=110489592357177098' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110489592357177098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110489592357177098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2005/01/make-it-up.html' title='make it up'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-110489579540211335</id><published>2005-01-04T19:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-01-04T19:29:55.403-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Billy and his momma</title><summary type='text'>One day, a hitch hiker gets a ride from Billy Bob. They come to an intersection with a stoplight. The light showed red. Billy Bob went right through the red light. The passenger looked at Billy Bob and screamed,"What the heck are you doing? You're going to get us killed!"Billy Bob responded, "Don't worry, my momma always drives like this."So later on, the two guys came to another stoplight </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/110489579540211335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=110489579540211335' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110489579540211335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110489579540211335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2005/01/billy-and-his-momma.html' title='Billy and his momma'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-110138056597573581</id><published>2004-11-25T03:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T03:02:45.976-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The club duffer</title><summary type='text'>Once the club duffer challenged the local golf pro to a match, with a $100 bet on the side."But," said the duffer, "since you're obviously much better than I, to even it up a bit you have to spot me two 'gotchas.'"The golf pro didn't know what a 'gotcha' was, but he went along with it.And off they went. Coming back to the 19th hole, the rest of the club members were amazed to see the golf </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/110138056597573581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=110138056597573581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110138056597573581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110138056597573581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/11/club-duffer.html' title='The club duffer'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-110136458332912071</id><published>2004-11-24T22:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-24T22:36:23.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trivia</title><summary type='text'>Officials rejected a candidate for a news broadcasters postsince his voice was not fit for a news broadcaster.He was also told that with his obnoxiously long name, he would never be famous. He is Amitabh Bachchan.-------------------------------------------In 1962, four nervous young musicians played their first record audition for the executives of the Decca Recording Company.The </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/110136458332912071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=110136458332912071' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110136458332912071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/110136458332912071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/11/trivia.html' title='Trivia'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109887118191762083</id><published>2004-10-27T02:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-27T02:59:41.916-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Need a promotion ?</title><summary type='text'>After 2 years of selfless service, a man realized that he has not been promoted, no transfer, no salary increase no commendation and that the company is not doing any thing about it. So he decided to walk up to his manager one morning and after exchanging greetings, he told his manager his observation.The boss looked at him, laughed and asked him to sit down saying; My friend, you have not </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109887118191762083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109887118191762083' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109887118191762083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109887118191762083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/need-promotion.html' title='Need a promotion ?'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109869298267554167</id><published>2004-10-25T01:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-25T01:29:42.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making'em happy</title><summary type='text'>Rabri Devi, Sonia Gandhi and Jayalalitha were flying together in a  plane.They were just talking among themselves when Rabri said, "I have this 100 rupee note. If I drop this from the plane then it will fall on the   ground and one Indian will pick it up and so I can make one Indian happy".Then Sonia pulled out two 50 rupee notes and said,"If I drop these two 50  rupee notes, I can make two </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109869298267554167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109869298267554167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109869298267554167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109869298267554167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/makingem-happy.html' title='Making&apos;em happy'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109843484501385474</id><published>2004-10-22T01:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T01:47:25.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men are like.....</title><summary type='text'>Men are like..... Placemats. They only show up when there's food on the table.Men are like..... Mascara. They usually run at the first sign of emotion.Men are like..... Bike helmets. Handy in an emergency, but otherwise they just look silly.Men are like..... Government bonds. They take so long to mature.Men are like..... Copiers. You need them for reproduction, but that's about it.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109843484501385474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109843484501385474' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109843484501385474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109843484501385474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/men-are-like.html' title='Men are like.....'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109843449432915165</id><published>2004-10-22T01:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T01:41:34.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you know...</title><summary type='text'>A small town prosecuting attorney called his first witness to the stand in a trial - a grand motherly, elderly woman.He approached the woman and asked, "Mrs. Brown, do you know me?"She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you Billy Williams. I've known you since you were a young boy. And frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, youmanipulate people and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109843449432915165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109843449432915165' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109843449432915165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109843449432915165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/do-you-know.html' title='Do you know...'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109814694538063095</id><published>2004-10-18T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-18T17:49:05.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The hand and the car</title><summary type='text'>A real horror story. I dont know where to put it !This happened about a month or two ago near Lonavala, and even though it sounds like something out of the X Files or from Alfred Hitchcock...This guy drives from Mumbai to Pune and decides not to take the new expressway as he wants to see the scenery. The inevitable happens and when he reaches the ghats his car breaks down - he's stranded </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109814694538063095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109814694538063095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109814694538063095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109814694538063095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/hand-and-car.html' title='The hand and the car'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109814650105608132</id><published>2004-10-18T17:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-18T17:41:41.056-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Top 10 reasons to go to work in birthDress</title><summary type='text'>(Okay, 11!)11. No one ever steals your chair.10. Gives "bad hair day" a whole new meaning.9. Diverts attention from the fact that you also came to work drunk.8. People stop stealing your pens after they've seen where you keep them.7. So that -with a little help from Muzak- you can add "Exotic Dancer" to your exaggerated resume.6. You want to see if it's like the dream.5. To stop </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109814650105608132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109814650105608132' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109814650105608132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109814650105608132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/top-10-reasons-to-go-to-work-in.html' title='Top 10 reasons to go to work in birthDress'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109782288859266887</id><published>2004-10-14T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-14T23:51:21.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sand</title><summary type='text'>A fellow tries to cross the Mexican border on a bicycle with two big bags balanced on his shoulders. The border guard asks, "What's in the bags?" The fellow says, "Sand!"The guard wants to examine them. The fellow gets off the bike, places the bags on the ground, opens them up, and the guard inspects...only to find sand. The fellow packs the sand into the bags, places them on his shoulders, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109782288859266887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109782288859266887' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109782288859266887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109782288859266887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/sand.html' title='Sand'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109782212910394528</id><published>2004-10-14T23:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-14T23:35:29.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello, Dean</title><summary type='text'>I was in the VIP lounge last week en route to Seattle. Whilst in the lounge, I noticed Bill Gates sitting on the Chesterfield enjoying a cognac. I was meeting with a very important client who was also flying to Seattle with me but she was running a bit late. Being a forward type of guy, I approached Mr. Gates and introduced myself. I explained to him that I was conducting some very important </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109782212910394528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109782212910394528' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109782212910394528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109782212910394528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/hello-dean.html' title='Hello, Dean'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109773237407665315</id><published>2004-10-13T22:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-13T22:39:34.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Statistically proved to be - </title><summary type='text'>The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British or the Americans. On the other hand, the French eat a lot of fat and also suffer fewer heart attacks than the British or the Americans. The Japanese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than the British or the Americans. The Italians drink excessive amounts of red wine and also suffer </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109773237407665315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109773237407665315' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109773237407665315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109773237407665315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/statistically-proved-to-be.html' title='Statistically proved to be - '/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109764560846864126</id><published>2004-10-12T22:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-12T22:33:28.470-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Soooooooooooooo Blonde</title><summary type='text'>She Was Soooooooooooooo Blonde: · -she took a ruler to bed to see how long she slept. · -she sent me a fax with a stamp on it. · -she thought a quarterback was a refund. · -she tried to put M&amp;M's in alphabetical order. · -she thought Boyz II Men was a day care center. She Was Soooooooooooooo Blonde:· -she thought Eartha Kitt was a set of garden tools. · -she thought General Motors was in</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109764560846864126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109764560846864126' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109764560846864126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109764560846864126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/soooooooooooooo-blonde.html' title='Soooooooooooooo Blonde'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109756878579231052</id><published>2004-10-12T01:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-12T01:13:05.793-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Three questions</title><summary type='text'>George Bush goes to a primary school to talk about the war. After his talk he offers question time. One little boy puts up his hand and George asks him what his name is. "Bob". "And what is your question, Bob?" "I have 3 questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? And third, what happened to Osama Bin </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109756878579231052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109756878579231052' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109756878579231052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109756878579231052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/three-questions.html' title='Three questions'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109755205228696941</id><published>2004-10-11T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-11T20:34:12.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cricket team kidnapped</title><summary type='text'>As the aftermath of Indian defeat in the first test match between India and Australia, here is a PJ.A man is caught in a traffic jam, when suddenly someone taps on the window of his car. He lowers the window and asks what he wants. The man says, "The Indian Cricket Team has been Kidnapped and the ransom is 50 million dollars. If the ransom is not paid, the Kidnappers have threatened to douse </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109755205228696941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109755205228696941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109755205228696941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109755205228696941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/cricket-team-kidnapped.html' title='Cricket team kidnapped'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109754046506828679</id><published>2004-10-11T17:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-11T17:21:05.066-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hatrick !!!</title><summary type='text'>Who is the first Indian bowler to claim a hatrick?.......Answer is :Mr. Kachra  from Team ChampanerPS: For those who don't know what that means, Kachra is a character in the oscar-nominated movie from India, Bollywood - Lagaan who claims a hatrick against the british in that movie.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109754046506828679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109754046506828679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109754046506828679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109754046506828679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/hatrick.html' title='Hatrick !!!'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109746958025596552</id><published>2004-10-10T21:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-10T21:39:40.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pigeon communication</title><summary type='text'>Banta Singh and Santa Singh  were tired with the mobile communication and decided to use the conventional method of communication.That is, to use pigeons to send messages.One day Santa sends his pigeon. When the pigeon reaches to Banta it is without a message.  Banta picked his mobile and asked Santa  "What is this? The pigeon is without message".Then Santa says "Oye khotey.....that was a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109746958025596552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109746958025596552' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746958025596552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746958025596552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/pigeon-communication.html' title='Pigeon communication'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109746940649771730</id><published>2004-10-10T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-10T21:36:46.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Morris, smart</title><summary type='text'>A customer at Morris' Gourmet Grocery marveled at the proprietor's quick wit and intelligence. "Tell me, Morris, what makes you so smart?" "I wouldn't share my secret with just anyone," Morris replies, lowering his voice so the other shoppers won't hear, "But since you're a good and faithful customer, I'll let you in on it. Fish heads. You eat enough of them, you'll be positively brilliant."</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109746940649771730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109746940649771730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746940649771730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746940649771730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/morris-smart.html' title='Morris, smart'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109746919919509955</id><published>2004-10-10T21:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-10T21:33:19.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>For people over 40</title><summary type='text'>A computer was something on TV From a science-fiction show of note A window was something you hated to clean And ram was the cousin of a goat Meg was the name of my girlfriend And gig was a job for the nights Now they all mean different things And that really mega bytes. An application was for employment A program was a TV show A cursor used profanity A keyboard was a piano. Memory</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109746919919509955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109746919919509955' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746919919509955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109746919919509955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/for-people-over-40.html' title='For people over 40'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109712070231605710</id><published>2004-10-06T20:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-06T20:45:30.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lalloo jokes</title><summary type='text'>When Lalloo completed 25 years of his rule over  Bihar, he wanted a special postage stamp with his picture on it. He asked Rabri, stressing that it should be worldclass. The stamps were released, and Lalloo was pleased. But within a couple of days, he began hearing complaints that the stamp was not sticking properly, and became furious. He called Rabri and ordered her to investigate the matter. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109712070231605710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109712070231605710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109712070231605710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109712070231605710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/10/lalloo-jokes.html' title='Lalloo jokes'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109635905101800822</id><published>2004-09-28T01:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-28T01:10:51.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who wins the Egg?</title><summary type='text'>There was once a Irishman and an Englishman who lived next door to each other. The Irishman owned a hen and each morning would look in his garden and pick up one of his hen's eggs for breakfast. One day he looked into his garden and saw that the hen had laid an egg in the Englishman's garden. He was about to go next door when he saw the Englishman pick up the egg. The Irishman ran up to the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109635905101800822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109635905101800822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109635905101800822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109635905101800822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/who-wins-egg.html' title='Who wins the Egg?'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109633809092281046</id><published>2004-09-27T19:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-27T19:21:30.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The disppointment</title><summary type='text'>A teacher was reviewing her class's homework assignment. She asked Susie to stand up and tell the class what part of the human body enlarges to seven times its original size when stimulated. Susie stood up, shuffled her feet and said, "Well, I think I know, but I'm too embarrassed to tell you." The teacher said, "Sit down, Susie. Johnny, tell the class what part of the human body enlarges to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109633809092281046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109633809092281046' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109633809092281046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109633809092281046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/disppointment.html' title='The disppointment'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109574941332976561</id><published>2004-09-20T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-20T23:50:13.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The weather report</title><summary type='text'>It was autumn, and the Red Indians on the remote reservation asked their new Chief if the winter was going to be cold or mild. Since he was a Red Indian Chief in a modern society, he had never been taught the old secrets, and when he looked at the sky, he couldn't tell what the weather was going to be. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he replied to his tribe that the winter was indeed going </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109574941332976561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109574941332976561' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109574941332976561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109574941332976561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/weather-report.html' title='The weather report'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109566385582527131</id><published>2004-09-20T01:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-20T00:04:15.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Killed</title><summary type='text'>A local man was found dead in his home in Brooklyn, NY, this weekend. Detectives at the scene, found the man face down in his bath tub. The tub had been filled with milk and corn flakes and the deceased had a banana protruding from his butt. Police suspect a cereal killer. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109566385582527131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109566385582527131' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566385582527131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566385582527131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/killed.html' title='Killed'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109566249615367969</id><published>2004-09-19T23:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T23:41:36.153-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stray cats....</title><summary type='text'>· Stray cats will not be fed. · Stray cats will not be fed anything except dry cat food moistened with a little milk. · Stray cats will not be fed anything except dry cat food moistened with warm milk, yummy treats and leftover fish scraps. · Stray cats will not be petted, played with or picked up and cuddled unnecessarily. · Stray cats that are petted, played with, picked up and cuddled </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109566249615367969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109566249615367969' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566249615367969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566249615367969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/stray-cats.html' title='Stray cats....'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109566209933795297</id><published>2004-09-19T23:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T23:34:59.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>10 Identical pieces of fruit</title><summary type='text'>Three ecologists are exploring the deep jungles of the Amazon searching for new plant life when they are captured by a tribe of cannibals. They are taken back to the village to be tried by the chief. The chief stares at the white men and is about to give the usual 'let's boil them alive' orders, when he gets an idea. "I shall let each of you go," he says, "if you can go out into the jungle and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109566209933795297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109566209933795297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566209933795297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566209933795297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/10-identical-pieces-of-fruit.html' title='10 Identical pieces of fruit'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109566129975311848</id><published>2004-09-19T23:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T23:21:39.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The drunkard</title><summary type='text'>An Irishman's been at the pub all night drinking. The bartender finally says that the bar is closed. So the guy stands up to leave and falls flat on his face. He figures he'll crawl outside and get some fresh air and maybe that will sober him up. Once outside he stands up and falls flat on his face. So he crawls all the way home and at the door stands up and again falls flat on his face. He</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109566129975311848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109566129975311848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566129975311848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109566129975311848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/drunkard.html' title='The drunkard'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109565843102556540</id><published>2004-09-19T22:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T22:33:51.026-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cute matrimony ads - Part II</title><summary type='text'> You are gonna die laughing at these!!!    Warning- Grammar and spell errors have no place in a profile description  as everything is straight from the heart!  - iam very simpel and hanest. i have three sister one brother and parent.  i am doing postal sarvice and tailor master my original resdence at  kalahandi diste naw iam staing at rayagada dist.  - my name is farhan and i am </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109565843102556540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109565843102556540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109565843102556540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109565843102556540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/cute-matrimony-ads-part-ii.html' title='Cute matrimony ads - Part II'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109565817594584127</id><published>2004-09-19T22:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-19T22:29:35.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cute matrimony ads - Part I</title><summary type='text'>You are gonna die laughing at these!!!    Warning - Grammar and spell errors have no place in a profile description as everything is straight from the heart!  - Hello To Viewvers My Name is Somesha , I am single i dont have Famale,  If any one whant to marrie to me u can visite to my home. I am not a good  education but i working all field in bangalroe.. if u like me u welcome to  my heart</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109565817594584127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109565817594584127' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109565817594584127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109565817594584127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/cute-matrimony-ads-part-i.html' title='Cute matrimony ads - Part I'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109477235821603263</id><published>2004-09-09T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-09T16:25:58.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leave without notice</title><summary type='text'>Suddenly one of the employees in an organisation took 10 days leave without any notice. When he returned his PL(project leader) asked for explanation..The employee said "sir, my mom died unexpectedly"... The PL let it go at that!!!.. After 3 months the same pattern repeated, and this time he said his father died.... Then the PL got changed..After 3 months the same pattern repeated.. And the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109477235821603263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109477235821603263' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109477235821603263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109477235821603263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/leave-without-notice.html' title='Leave without notice'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109470723003886104</id><published>2004-09-08T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-08T22:20:30.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kanta Ben</title><summary type='text'>After a long night of making love, he notices a photo of another man on her nightstand by the bed. He begins to worry.... "Is this your husband?" he nervously asks. "No, silly," she replies, snuggling up to him. "Your boyfriend, then?" he continues. "No, not at all," she says, nibbling away at his ears. "Is it your dad or your brother?" he inquires, hoping to be reassured. "No, no, no!!!" </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109470723003886104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109470723003886104' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109470723003886104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109470723003886104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/kanta-ben.html' title='Kanta Ben'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109454129671992296</id><published>2004-09-07T01:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-07T00:14:56.720-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Magic Beer</title><summary type='text'>A lady walks into a fancy bar on top of a thirty story building and sees a really good-looking guy sitting at the bar by himself. She goes over and asks him what he is drinking. "Magic Beer", he says. She thinks he's a little crazy, so shewalks around the bar, but after realizing that thereis no one else worth talking to, goes back to the mansitting at the bar and says, "That isn't really </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109454129671992296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109454129671992296' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109454129671992296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109454129671992296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/magic-beer.html' title='Magic Beer'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109451567853043430</id><published>2004-09-06T17:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-06T17:07:58.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PRICELESS</title><summary type='text'>Martin wakes up at home with a huge hangover. He forces himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins and a glass of water on the side table. He sits down and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed. Martin looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotless, clean. So is the rest of the house.He takes the aspirins and notices a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109451567853043430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109451567853043430' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109451567853043430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109451567853043430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/priceless.html' title='PRICELESS'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109419423795606659</id><published>2004-09-02T23:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T23:50:37.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mallu Networking Power at its best</title><summary type='text'>Good old one.. Good nevertheless.Mallu's are known to be everywhere and are known to know everything and everyone (to survive).....Kuttappan is a mallu...!Kuttappan was bragging to his boss one day, "You know, I know everyone there is to know. Just name someone, anyone, and I know them."Tired of his boasting, his boss called his bluff, "OK, Kuttappan how about Tom Cruise?" "Sure, yes, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109419423795606659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109419423795606659' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109419423795606659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109419423795606659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/mallu-networking-power-at-its-best.html' title='Mallu Networking Power at its best'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109416880599568814</id><published>2004-09-02T16:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T16:46:45.996-07:00</updated><title type='text'>learn to pay attention...</title><summary type='text'>First-year students at Med School were receiving their first anatomy class with a real dead human body.   They all gathered around the surgery table with the body covered with a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, "In medicine, it is necessary to have 2 important qualities as a doctor: The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the human body."  For</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109416880599568814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109416880599568814' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109416880599568814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109416880599568814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/09/learn-to-pay-attention.html' title='learn to pay attention...'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109399451182705904</id><published>2004-08-31T16:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-31T16:21:51.826-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lovely quotes</title><summary type='text'>Read Each One Carefully and Think About It a Second or Two   1. I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.   2. No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won't make you cry.   3. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.  4. A true friend is someone who reaches</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109399451182705904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109399451182705904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109399451182705904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109399451182705904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/lovely-quotes.html' title='Lovely quotes'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109356237056723148</id><published>2004-08-26T16:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-26T16:19:30.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll Be Happy When...</title><summary type='text'>People are always looking for something that they don't have. I'll be happy when I have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I'll be happy when I get married. I'll be happy when I get divorced. I'll be happy when I have kids. I'll be happy when they get old enough to go to school. I'll be happy when I get that job. I'll be happy when I get that promotion. I'll be happy when my kids are grown and</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109356237056723148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109356237056723148' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109356237056723148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109356237056723148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/ill-be-happy-when.html' title='I&apos;ll Be Happy When...'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109342428086302406</id><published>2004-08-25T01:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-25T01:58:00.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shaving beard</title><summary type='text'>A married man was visiting his "girlfriend" when she requested that he shave his beard."Oh James, I like your beard, but I would really love to see your handsome face."James replied, "My wife loves this beard, I couldn't possibly do it, she would kill me!!""Oh please?" the girlfriend asked again, in a ***y little voice..."Oh really, I can't," he replies..."My wife loves this beard!!"The </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109342428086302406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109342428086302406' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109342428086302406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109342428086302406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/shaving-beard.html' title='Shaving beard'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109270046914716821</id><published>2004-08-16T16:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-16T16:54:29.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The great writer !</title><summary type='text'>There was once a young man who, in his youth, professed his desire to become a great writer. When asked to define "great" he said, "I want to write stuff that the whole world will read, stuff that people will react to on a truly emotional level, stuff that will make them scream, cry, howl in  pain and anger!"He now works for Microsoft, writing error messages.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109270046914716821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109270046914716821' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109270046914716821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109270046914716821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/great-writer.html' title='The great writer !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109264430874197225</id><published>2004-08-16T01:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-16T01:18:28.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>S/w engineers on the chat session</title><summary type='text'>Our hero chatting with chat GF (heroin). Both are s/w engrs by the way and both work for real big MNC's :) Hero : Hey..GM.. hows u doing today? Heroin : VGM...Day is going good and it got better having found u on chat Hero : wow...am honoured, u know wat, my day starts only when i find you on chat Heroin : Yep...me too feel the same..brb (be right back) 'll get some coffee. Hero : OK </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109264430874197225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109264430874197225' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109264430874197225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109264430874197225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/sw-engineers-on-chat-session.html' title='S/w engineers on the chat session'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109264394470986100</id><published>2004-08-16T01:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-08-16T01:12:24.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The conductor</title><summary type='text'>A little old lady is on a bus, buying a ticket from the bus conductor, fumbling in a voluminous bag for the correct change. After 15 minutes the conductor becomes so enraged that he hits her on the head with the ticket-dispenser, and the poor old dear dies instantly. Not surprisingly, he is convicted and put on death row. Just before he is to be electrocuted, his last request is for 12 </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109264394470986100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109264394470986100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109264394470986100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109264394470986100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/08/conductor.html' title='The conductor'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109118926024195598</id><published>2004-07-30T05:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-30T05:10:01.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Are you a pro*titu*e or a programmer? </title><summary type='text'>1)   You work very odd hours.  2)   You are paid a lot of money to keep your client happy.  3)   You are paid well, but your pimp gets most of the money.  4)   You spend a majority of your time in an air-conditioned room.  5)   You charge by the hour but your time can be extended for the right price.6)   You are not proud of what you do.  7)   Creating fantasies for your clients is </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109118926024195598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109118926024195598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109118926024195598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109118926024195598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/are-you-protitue-or-programmer.html' title='Are you a pro*titu*e or a programmer? '/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109084374694172326</id><published>2004-07-26T05:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-26T05:09:06.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Victim of spamming</title><summary type='text'>Mail from a frustrated victim of spamming;-)...........I wanted to thank all my friends and family who have forwarded chain letters to me in 2003 &amp; 2004. Because of your kindness:* I stopped drinking Coca Cola after I found out that it's good for removing toilet stains.* I stopped going to the movies for fear of sitting on a needle infected with AIDS.* I smell like a wet dog since I </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109084374694172326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109084374694172326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109084374694172326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109084374694172326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/victim-of-spamming.html' title='Victim of spamming'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109081890938455542</id><published>2004-07-25T22:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-25T22:15:09.383-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Laws so true !</title><summary type='text'>Lorenz's Law of Mechanical Repair:After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch.Anthony's Law of the Workshop:Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.Kovac's Conundrum:When you dial a wrong number,you never get an engaged one.Cannon's Karmic Law:If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the next morning </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109081890938455542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109081890938455542' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109081890938455542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109081890938455542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/laws-so-true.html' title='Laws so true !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109049682335394292</id><published>2004-07-22T04:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-22T04:47:03.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sardarji as English teacher</title><summary type='text'>Sardar Santa Singhji is the english teacher in a school. He is very well renowned for all his students do very well in exams. The school is having aninspection and the inspector decided to visit the english class. This is what transpires :Santa Singh : " Bolo bachon GADHA "Students (in chorous) : "GADHA "Santa Singh : " Bolo bachon GADHA , GADHE KE PECHE GADHA "Students (in chorous) : "</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109049682335394292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109049682335394292' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109049682335394292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109049682335394292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/sardarji-as-english-teacher.html' title='Sardarji as English teacher'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109040131785684565</id><published>2004-07-21T02:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-21T02:15:17.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quotable quotes - Marriage</title><summary type='text'>My wife dresses to kill. She also cooks the same way.-Henny YoungmanMy wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met.-Rodney DangerfieldA good wife always forgives her husband when she's wrong.-Milton Berle-I bought my wife a new car. She called and said, "There was water in the carburetor."I asked her , "Where's the car?" She replied,"In the lake."-Henny YoungmanThe secret of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109040131785684565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109040131785684565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109040131785684565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109040131785684565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/quotable-quotes-marriage.html' title='Quotable quotes - Marriage'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109030823617727491</id><published>2004-07-20T00:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-20T00:23:56.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One question</title><summary type='text'>Interviewer said "I shall either ask you ten easy questions or one really difficult question. Think well before you make up your mind!" A boy thought for a while and said,"my choice is one really difficult question." "Well, good luck to you, you have made your own choice! Now tell me this. "What comes first, Day or Night?" The boy was jolted into reality as his admission depends on the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109030823617727491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109030823617727491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109030823617727491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109030823617727491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/one-question.html' title='One question'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109030809295526166</id><published>2004-07-20T00:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-20T00:22:38.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Interesting facts and comments</title><summary type='text'>If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.(Hardly seems worth it.)  If you farted consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.(Now that's more like it!)  The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out to the body to squirt blood 30 feet.(O.M.G.!)</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109030809295526166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109030809295526166' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109030809295526166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109030809295526166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/interesting-facts-and-comments.html' title='Interesting facts and comments'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-109024143841518646</id><published>2004-07-19T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-19T05:50:38.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So difficult to understand women !</title><summary type='text'>A man was walking along a California beach was deep in prayer. All of a sudden, he said out loud, "Lord grant me one wish." Suddenly the sky clouded above his head and in a booming voice the Lord said, "Because you have TRIED to be faithful to me in all ways, I will grant you one wish." The man said, "Build a bridge to Hawaii so I can drive over anytime I want." The Lord said, "Your request is</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/109024143841518646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=109024143841518646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109024143841518646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/109024143841518646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/so-difficult-to-understand-women.html' title='So difficult to understand women !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108962799241915798</id><published>2004-07-12T03:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-07-12T03:26:32.420-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Proud Indian !</title><summary type='text'>A first grade teacher explains to her class that she is an American. She asks her students to raise their hands if they were American too. Not really knowing why but wanting to be like their teacher, their hands explode into the air like flashy fireworks.There is, however, one exception.A girl named Gita has not gone along with the crowd. The teacher asks her why she has decided to be </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108962799241915798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108962799241915798' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108962799241915798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108962799241915798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/07/proud-indian.html' title='A Proud Indian !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108695564373297601</id><published>2004-06-11T05:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-06-11T05:07:23.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Few moralistic stories</title><summary type='text'>One of the most memorable case studies I came across on Japanese management was the case of the empty soap box, which happened in one of Japan's biggest cosmetics companies. The company received a complaint that a consumer had bought a soap box that was empty. Immediately the authorities isolated the problem to the assembly line, which transported all the packaged boxes of soap to the delivery </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108695564373297601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108695564373297601' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108695564373297601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108695564373297601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/06/few-moralistic-stories.html' title='Few moralistic stories'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108616281327221137</id><published>2004-06-02T00:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-06-02T00:53:33.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog and the nice moral</title><summary type='text'>A butcher watching over his shop is really surprised when he sees a dog coming inside the shop. He shoos him away. But later, the dog is back again. So, he goes over to the dog and notices it has a note in its mouth. He takes the note and it reads "Can I have 12 sausages and a leg of lamb, please". The dog has money in its mouth, as well. The butcher looks inside and, lo and behold, there is a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108616281327221137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108616281327221137' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108616281327221137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108616281327221137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/06/dog-and-nice-moral.html' title='Dog and the nice moral'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108598262051868621</id><published>2004-05-30T22:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-30T22:53:30.380-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Want to be an office boy?</title><summary type='text'>A  jobless  man applied for the post of "office boy" at Microsoft. The HR  manager  interviewed  him,  and gave him a test: clean the floor.  "You are hired", he  said,  "give me your E-mail address and  I'll send you the application to fill,  so that you can let us know when you can start." The man replied, "  I don't  have  a  computer,  neither  an email address""I'm sorry", said the HR </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108598262051868621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108598262051868621' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108598262051868621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108598262051868621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/want-to-be-office-boy.html' title='Want to be an office boy?'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108597152227909545</id><published>2004-05-30T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-30T19:57:59.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>About Good1 !</title><summary type='text'>We get all those mails forwarded with a subject - "Good one !". we read it, we delete it. Some we don't read, just delete. That depends on your time and interest, whether you opt to read it or not before you send it to the trash. Any which way either you have a good laugh or two, feel good about something, feel amused, think of pondering over something or is it simply something very informative. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108597152227909545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108597152227909545' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108597152227909545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108597152227909545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/about-good1.html' title='About Good1 !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108596313152213243</id><published>2004-05-30T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-30T18:46:49.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Five things to improve your credibility at work</title><summary type='text'>Let's face it. We spend most of our lives (when we're not sleeping) at our jobs. We do more with less, work longer hours and watch scarce resources dwindle. Not a pretty picture.For most of us, it's important that our work is taken seriously and our contributions to the organization respected. We want to be viewed as credible. And with all that hard work, this would seem to be a no-brainer.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108596313152213243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108596313152213243' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108596313152213243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108596313152213243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/five-things-to-improve-your.html' title='Five things to improve your credibility at work'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108596304796927563</id><published>2004-05-30T17:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-30T17:24:07.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>7 habits of highly effective managers</title><summary type='text'>Exceptional managers have that "special something" that sets them apart from the crowd -- sheer determination to maintain positive habits of successDo you want to join the ranks of highly effective managers an article written by Kathy Simmons, claims and administration director at Canada Life Assurance Company in Atlanta1. Increase your self-discipline If you are like most people, you find </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108596304796927563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108596304796927563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108596304796927563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108596304796927563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/7-habits-of-highly-effective-managers.html' title='7 habits of highly effective managers'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108573046032961916</id><published>2004-05-28T00:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-28T00:47:40.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Beggars in Mexico</title><summary type='text'>From Queen PottymouthThere were two beggars sitting side by side on a street in Mexico City.One had a cross in front of him, the other one the Star of David. Many people went by, looked at both beggars, but only put money into the hat of the one sitting behind the cross.A priest came by, stopped, and watched many, many people give money to the beggar behind the cross, but none to the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108573046032961916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108573046032961916' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108573046032961916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108573046032961916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/beggars-in-mexico.html' title='Beggars in Mexico'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108563506816063585</id><published>2004-05-26T22:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-26T22:17:48.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Laws and Principles</title><summary type='text'>The Peter Principle: In a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence. Work is accomplished by those employees who have not reached their level of incompetence.H.L.Mencken's Law: Those who can, do. Those who cannot teach Belani's Extrapolation: Those who cannot even administer, become consultants. The Lippman Lemma: People specialize in their area of greatest </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108563506816063585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108563506816063585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108563506816063585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108563506816063585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/laws-and-principles.html' title='Laws and Principles'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108563359526861653</id><published>2004-05-26T21:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-26T21:55:02.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Prescription</title><summary type='text'>A man goes to chemist : I need to buy poison Chemist : I can't sell u that... Man shows his wife's photo Chemist : Sorry! I din know u had a prescription!!! </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108563359526861653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108563359526861653' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108563359526861653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108563359526861653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/prescription.html' title='Prescription'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108552924557811252</id><published>2004-05-25T16:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-25T16:54:05.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things Could Be Worse</title><summary type='text'>A mother enters her daughter's bedroom and sees a letter on the wall over the bed. With the worst premonition, she reads it, with trembling hands: It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm telling you that I eloped with my new boyfriend. I found real passion and he is so nice, with all his piercings and tattoos and his big motorcycle. But is not only that Mum, I'm pregnant and Ahmed said that </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108552924557811252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108552924557811252' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108552924557811252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108552924557811252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/things-could-be-worse.html' title='Things Could Be Worse'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108545449387649036</id><published>2004-05-24T20:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-24T20:08:13.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Code</title><summary type='text'>A wealthy man was having an affair with an Italian woman for several years. One night, during one of their rendezvous, she confided in him that she was pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his reputation or his marriage, he paid a large sum of money if she would go to Italy to secretly have the child. If she stayed in Italy to raise the child, he would also provide child support until the child turned</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108545449387649036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108545449387649036' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108545449387649036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108545449387649036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/code.html' title='Code'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108545391857159849</id><published>2004-05-24T19:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-24T19:58:38.583-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Head bangers !</title><summary type='text'>Q.How can you drop a raw egg onto a concrete floor without cracking it?A.Concrete floors are very hard to crack!Q.If it took eight men ten hours to build a wall,how long would it take four men to build it?A. No time at all it is already built.Q.If you had three apples and four oranges in one hand and four apples and three oranges in the other hand, what would you have?A. Very large hands.(</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108545391857159849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108545391857159849' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108545391857159849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108545391857159849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/head-bangers.html' title='Head bangers !'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108538140126124573</id><published>2004-05-23T23:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-23T23:50:01.263-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blood type</title><summary type='text'>An Arab needed heart transplant, but prior to the surgery the doctors needed to store his blood in case need arises. Because the gentleman had rare type of blood, it couldn't be found locally.So the call went out to a number of countries. Finally a Gujarati named Kanjibhai was located with a matching blood type. The Gujarati willingly donated his blood for the Arab.After the surgery, the Arab</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108538140126124573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108538140126124573' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108538140126124573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108538140126124573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/blood-type.html' title='Blood type'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108451554732399327</id><published>2004-05-13T23:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-13T23:19:07.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women's Choice</title><summary type='text'>A store that sells husbands has just opened in Minnesota where a woman may go to choose a husband from among many men. The store  is comprised of 6 floors, and the men increase in positive attributes as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch. As you open  the door to any floor you may choose a man from that floor, but if you go  up a floor, you cannot go back down except to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108451554732399327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108451554732399327' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451554732399327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451554732399327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/womens-choice.html' title='Women&apos;s Choice'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108451442444750687</id><published>2004-05-13T22:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-13T23:00:24.446-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Airline Announcements  /-&gt;</title><summary type='text'>Lufthansa AirlinesPassengers on a Lufthansa flight heard this announcement from the captain :"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sorry to inform you that we have lost power to all of our engines and will shortly crash into the  ocean". The passengers were obviously very worried about this situation but  were somewhat comforted by the captain's next announcement."Ladies and Gentlemen, we at Lufthansa </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108451442444750687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108451442444750687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451442444750687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451442444750687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/airline-announcements.html' title='Airline Announcements  /-&gt;'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108451408077824889</id><published>2004-05-13T22:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-13T22:54:40.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Machhar aur khoon</title><summary type='text'>Category : Hindi - Indian audienceek baar ek Sardar ko ek macchar kuch 10 min se pareshaan kar raha tha uske saath jo dost baitha hua tha usse poochtha hai "bhai tum us macchar ko kyon nahi maar rahe ho" Sardar kahta hai "yaar kya karu ismein to mera khoon daud raha hai"</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108451408077824889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108451408077824889' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451408077824889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451408077824889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/machhar-aur-khoon.html' title='Machhar aur khoon'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6986600.post-108451351783101321</id><published>2004-05-13T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-05-13T23:21:48.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A SalesMan's Love Letter</title><summary type='text'>Old one but interesting to read again!Category : Indian audienceA SalesMan's Love Letter My dear FAIR and LOVELY (ek chand ka tukda), You aremy TVS SCOOTY(first love) and my AIWA (pure passion ).I always BPL (believe in the best) and you are SANSUI(better than the best ). You are DOMINO'S PIZZA(delivering a million smiles ) for me.This is a COLGATE ENERGY GEL (seriously fresh ) feeling </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/feeds/108451351783101321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6986600&amp;postID=108451351783101321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451351783101321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6986600/posts/default/108451351783101321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://good1.blogspot.com/2004/05/salesmans-love-letter.html' title='A SalesMan&apos;s Love Letter'/><author><name>Vin</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://www.flickr.com/photos/524051_78d20bfa50_m.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
