Tomato Potato … from Ramesh Kantaria
Each Friday night after work, Sardar ji would fire up his outdoor grill and cook a tandoori chicken and some meat kebabs. But, all of his neighbors were strict Catholics … and since it was Lent, they were forbidden from eating chicken and meat on a Friday.

The aroma from the grilled meats was causing such a problem for the Catholic faithful that they finally talked to their Priest. The Priest came to visit Sardar ji and suggested that he become a Catholic. After several classes and much study, Sardar ji attended Mass… and as the priest sprinkled holy water over him, he said, You were born a Sikh, and raised as a Sikh, but from now, you are a Catholic.”

Sardar ji’s neighbors were greatly relieved, until Friday night arrived. The wonderful aroma of tandoori chicken and meat kebabs filled the neighborhood. The Priest was called immediately by the neighbors and, as he rushed into Sardar ji’s backyard, clutching a rosary and prepared to scold him, he stopped and watched in amazement.

There stood Sardar ji, holding a small bottle of holy water which he carefully sprinkled over the grilling meats and chanted: “Oye, you were born a chicken, and you were born a lamb, you were raised as a chicken and you were raised as a lamb but now onwards you are a potato and you are a tomato.

Company Organogram … from Reens
I’ve never seen an Organogram described so clearly.

When top level guys look down, they see only shit;
When bottom level guys look up, they see only assholes.

From RANDOMS

Blonde Mortician … from Reens
A man who just died is delivered to a local mortuary wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit.
The female blonde mortician asks the deceased’s wife how she would like the body dressed.

She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.

The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit.

She gives the Blonde mortician a blank check and says, ‘I don’t care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.’

The woman returns the next day for the wake.

To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly …

She says to the mortician, ‘Whatever this cost, I’m very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I’m very grateful. How much did you spend?’

To her astonishment, the blonde mortician presents her with the blank check.

‘There’s no charge,’ she says.

‘No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!’ she says.

‘Honestly, ma’am,’ the blonde says, ‘it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband’s size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice. . . . . . . …

So I just switched the heads.’
(BET YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING!!!)