Nepali: 2010-05-30

EAGLES IN A STORM

Did you know that an eagle knows when a storm is approaching long before it breaks?

The eagle will fly to some high spot and wait for the winds to come. When the storm hits, it sets its wings so that the wind will pick it up and lift it above the storm. While the storm rages below, the eagle is soaring above it.

The eagle does not escape the storm. It simply uses the storm to lift it higher. It rises on the winds that bring the storm.

When the storms of life come upon us - and all of us will experience them - we can rise above them by setting our minds and our belief toward God. The storms do not have to overcome us. We can allow God's power to lift us above them.

God enables us to ride the winds of the storm that bring sickness, tragedy, failure and disappointment in our lives. We can soar above the storm.

Remember, it is not the burdens of life that weigh us down, it is how we handle them.

The most difficult golf course in

The most difficult golf course in
the world is… “Women puti Hole” any
style you play… as many shots
you try… & as much perfection
you have… you
can never get your balls in…!!!
Hahaha

The Making Of A Mother - inspiring mother stories

By the time the Lord made mothers, He was into the sixth day working overtime. An Angel appeared and said "Why are you spending so much time on this one?"

And the Lord answered and said, "Have you read the spec sheet on her? She has to be completely washable, but not elastic; have 200 movable parts, all replaceable; run on black coffee and leftovers; have a lap that can hold three children at one time and that disappears when she stands up; have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken heart; and have six pairs of hands."

The Angel was astounded at the requirements for this one. "Six pairs of hands! No way!" said the Angel.

The Lord replied, "Oh, it's not the hands that are the problem. It's the three pairs of eyes that mothers must have!"

"And that's on the standard model?" the Angel asked.

The Lord nodded in agreement, "Yep, one pair of eyes are to see through the closed door as she asks her children what they are doing even though she already knows. Another pair in the back of her head are to see what she needs to know even though no one thinks she can. And the third pair are here in the front of her head. They are for looking at an errant child and saying that she understands and loves him or her without even saying a single word."

The Angel tried to stop the Lord "This is too much work for one day. Wait until tomorrow to finish."

"But I can't!" The Lord protested, "I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart. She already heals herself when she is sick AND can feed a family of six on a pound of hamburger and can get a nine year old to stand in the shower."

The Angel moved closer and touched the woman, "But you have made her so soft, Lord."

"She is soft," the Lord agreed, "but I have also made her tough. You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish."

"Will she be able to think?" asked the Angel.

The Lord replied, "Not only will she be able to think, she will be able to reason, and negotiate."

The Angel then noticed something and reached out and touched the woman's cheek. "Oops, it looks like You have a leak with this model. I told You that You were trying to put too much into this one."

"That's not a leak." the Lord objected. "That's a tear!"

"What's the tear for?" the Angel asked.

The Lord said, "The tear is her way of expressing her joy, her sorrow, her disappointment, her pain, her loneliness, her grief, and her pride."

The Angel was impressed. "You are a genius, Lord. You thought of everything for this one. You even created the tear!"

The Lord looked at the Angel and smiled and said, "I'm afraid you are wrong again. I created the woman, but she created the tear!

Wait For The Brick

A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared. Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door! He slammed on the brakes and drove the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown. The angry driver then jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car, shouting, "What was that all about and who are you?
Just what the heck are you doing?
That's a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money.
Why did you do it?"
The young boy was apologetic. "Please mister ... please, I'm sorry... I didn't know what else to do," he pleaded.
"I threw the brick because no one else would stop..."
With tears dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car.
"It's my brother," he said.
"He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up."

Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."
Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out his fancy handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay.

"Thank you and may God bless you," the grateful child told the stranger.
Too shook up for words, the man simply watched the little boy push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was very noticeable, but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the dent there to remind him of this message: Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!

Boy Goes To A Chemist & Said:

Boy Goes To A Chemist & Said:
Give Me A Condom, I’m Going To
My Gfs House For Dinner. Actually
Give Me 2 More. Her Sis Is A
Bomb!! & Her Mom Is Still
Hot ? ;P
During Dinner..
Girl’s Father Came To Home.. Boy
Lowers His Head Immediately &
Start Praying..
Girl: I Never Knew You Are So
Religious ;P
Boy: I Never Knew Your Father Is
A CHEMIST! ;@ ;P

dj tantrik marera narka pugechha

dj tantrik marera narka pugechha. . .yamraj le uslai sajaya dinu vanda pahila narka ko bivinna thau ma ghumayechha.

ghumdai jada uni haru sigan nai sigan ma dubeka paapi haru vayeko thau ma pugechhan.

yamraj - talai pani yestai sajaya diu?
dj tantrik - naai.

feri uni haru gu nai gu ma dubeka paapi haru vayeko thau ma pugechhan.

yamraj - talai pani yestai sajaya diu?
dj tantrik - naai.

feri uni haru ghumdai jada yesto thau ma pugechhan jaha namrata shrestha auta habsi ko l*do chusdai rahichha.

yamraj - talai pani yestai sajaya diu?
dj tantrik - (khusi hudai) hunchha pravu, hunchha.
yamraj - namrata ta jaa! aba tero kaam yo dj tantrik le garchha.

What is the perfect example

What is the perfect example
of both Good & Bad Luck?
The naughty wind blows the
girl's skirt high (Good luck)
but at the same time
Dust falls into the boy's eyes
(Bad luck)

Men are born between the

‎^^Men are born between the
legs of women and yett they
try their enitre life to go back
between the legs .
>>THIS IS HOMESICKESS<<

Cruising Altitude

Somewhere north-northeast above Los Angeles, I’m getting sore, so I ask Tracy if she
will let up for a minute. This is another lifetime ago.

With a big hank of white spit looped between my knob and her lower lip, her whole face hot and flushed from choking, still holding my sore dog in her fist, Tracy settles my back on her heels and says how in the Kama Sutra it tells you to make your lips really red by wiping them with sweat from the testicles of a white stallion.
“For real,” she says.
Now there’s a weird taste in my mouth and I look hard at her lips, her lips and
my dog the same purple color. I say, “You don’t do that stuff, do you?”
The door handle rattles and we both look, fast, to make sure it’s locked.

Nothing’s worse than when a little kid opens the door. What’s next worse is when some man throws open the door and doesn’t understand. Even if you’re alone, when a kid opens the door, you have to, fast, cross your legs. Pretend it’s an accident. An adult guy might slam the door, might yell, “Lock it next time, ya moron,” but he’s still the only one blushing.
After that, what’s worse, Tracy says, is being a woman the Kama Sutra would
call an elephant woman. Especially if you’re with what they call a hare man.
The she says, “I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.”
Let’s just say that even if somebody didn’t believe the accident story, I would

never get convicted of more than a lousy misdemeanor.
The wrong person opens the door, and you are in their nightmares all week.
Your best defense is, unless somebody is on the make, no matter who opens the
door and sees you sitting there, they always assume it’s their mistake. Their fault.

I always did. I used to walk in on women or men riding the toilet on airplanes, trains or Greyhound buses or in those little single-seat unisex restaurant bathrooms. I’d open the door to see some stranger sitting there, some blonde all blue eyes and teeth with a ring through her navel and wearing high heels, with her G-string stretched down between her knees and the rest of her clothes and bra folded on the little counter next to the sink. Every time this happens I would always wonder, why the hell don’t people bother to lock the door?
As if this ever happens by accident.

Now I Remember

Item: Twenty-seven boxes of Valentines candy, cost $298. Item: Fourteen talking ro-
botic birds, cost $112.
As April 15 gets closer and closer, my tax preparer, Mary, keeps calling, asking,
“What isthis all about?”
Item: Two nights at the Carson Hilton in Carson, California, February 21, 2001.
Mary asks, why was I in Carson? The twenty-first is my birthday. What about this
trip makes it a business deduction?

The Valentines candy, the talking birds, the nights in the Carson Hilton, they make me so glad I keep receipts. Otherwise, I’d have no idea. A year later, I have no memory about what these items represent
That’s why, the moment I saw Guy Pearce inMemento, I knew finally someone
was telling my story. Here was a movie about the predominant art form of our time:
Note taking.

All my friends with Palm Pilots and cell phones, they’re always calling them- selves and leaving reminders to themselves about what’s about to happen. We leave Post-It notes for ourselves. We go to that shop in the mall, the one where they en- grave whatever shit you want on a silver-plated box or a fountain pen, and we get a reminder for every special event that life goes by too fast for us to remember. We buy those picture frames where you record your message on a sound chip. We videotape everything! Oh, and now there’s those digital cameras so we can all e-mail around our photos—this century’s equivalent of the boring vacation slide show. We organize and reorganize. We record and archive.

I’m not surprised that people likeM emento, I’m surprised it didn’t win every Academy Award and then destroy the entire consumer market for recordable compact discs, blank-page books, Dictaphones, DayTimers, and every other prop we use to keep track of our lives.

My filing system is my fetish. Before I left the Freightliner Corporation, I bought a wall of black steel, four-drawer filing cabinets at the office-surplus price of five bucks each. Now, when the receipts pile up, the letters and contracts and what- not, I close the binds and put on a compact disc of rain sounds, and file, file, file. I use hanging file folders and special color-coded plastic file labels. I am Guy Pearce without the low body fat and good looks. I’m organizing by date and nature of ex- pense. I’m organizing story ideas and odd facts.

This summer, a woman in Palouse, Washington told me how rapeseed can be grown as a food or a lubricant. There are two different varieties of the seed. Unfortu- nately, the lubricant type is poisonous. Because of this, every county in the nation must choose whether it will allow farmers to grow either the food or the lubricant variety of rapeseed. A few of the wrong type seeds in a county, and people could die.

She also told me how the people bankrolling the seeming-grassroots movement to tear down dams are really the American coal industry—not environmentalist fish huggers and white-water rafters, but coal miners who resent hydro-electric power. She knows because she designs their websites.
Like the robotic birds, these are interesting facts, but what can I do with them?

I can file them. Someday, there will come a use for them. The way my father and grandfather lugged home lumber and wrecked cars, anything free or cheap with a potential future use, I now scribble down facts and figures and file them away for a future project.
Picture Andy Warhol’s townhouse, crowded and stacked with kitsch, cookie
jars, and old magazines, and that’s my mind. The files are an annex to my head.

Books are another annex. The books I write are my overflow retention system for stories I can no longer keep in my recent memory. The books I read are to gather facts for more stories. Right now, I’m looking at a copy ofPhaedrus, a fictional con- versation between Socrates and a young Athenian named Phaedrus

The View from Smalltown, USA

The problem is I don’t have a television so I have to visit people. I listen to the radio. Plus, there’s always the phone and e-mails. I had to call a lot of folks. The other prob- lem is that this is Oregon, 2000 miles from the attack.

My friend Mike shrugs and says, “So? If people want to live in New York they need to accept the risks.” Another friend, Dan, who clerks at the farmers’ market, says, “It serves us right. How long can we continue to consume the majority of the Earth’s resources?” A farmer comes by, and Dan stops talking. There’s a sign outside in the parking lot. Dan’s rearranged the plastic letters to read: “Pray for peace.”

A relative calls to say it’s the Jews trying to make Palestine look bad. My sister calls to say it’s the Bush political machine. “Every time we’re in a depression,” she goes, “what gets us out? A war.”
The local mayor comes on the radio every 10 minutes to say no-one has at-
tacked Portland, Oregon, yet.

At the park where I walk my dog, a 55-year-old Vietnam veteran tells a group of young men, “It’s war. Yeah, it’s war all right. And we’re going to go over there and kick some camel-jockey butt.”

All these young men, all registered for the draft, they try to change the sub- ject. The sun is warm. Our dogs play. The veteran talks about all the women he’s slept with. He tells us he’s a plant expert and gets paid $60 an hour to tell people their gar- dens suck. He says the government has already dispatched the military to destroy tar- gets. He says we’ll all have to fight in this one, but it will be a glorious war. He says he sleeps with his four dogs and every morning he has to wipe a layer of shed dog hair off his face.
After an hour he’s the only one left talking, and it’s all war, war, war. Everyone
else has left.

On the radio the conservative presenter Rush Limbaugh says Americans need to forget their differences of race, income, sex, religion. “We just need to be happy with what we have,” he says. We need to unite against our common enemy.

I ask my neighbor, Linda, if she’s worried about going to war and she says, “Wo- men don’t have to fight in wars.” She says, “We don’t have equal rights so why should we support this country?”

My friend Monica says, “I want to go to Mass, but isn’t religion what got us in this mess in the first place?” My mom calls to say, “Well, we could use that federal budget surplus right about now.”
There are a lot more American flags around, but not on the majority of houses.

On television, when I visit friends, we watch the World Trade Center towers crumble again and again. My friend Anuj in New York says, “It wasn’t surreal. It was hyper-real.”

Brinksmanship

In this one bar, you couldn’t set your beer bottle on the table or cockroaches would
climb up the label and drown themselves.

Anytime you set down a beer, you’d have a dead cockroach in your next mouth- ful. There were Filipino strippers who came out between their sets to shoot pool in string bikinis. For five dollars, they’d pull a plastic chair into the shadows between stacked cases of beer and lap dance you.
We used to go there because it was near Good Samaritan Hospital.

We’d visit Alan until his pain medication put him to sleep, then Geoff and I would go drink beer. Geoff, grinding his beer bottle on roach after roach as they ran across our table.

We’d talk to the strippers. We talked to guys at other tables. We were young, young-ish, late twenties, and one night a waitress asked us, “If you’re already watch- ing dancers in a dive like this, what will you be doing when you’re old men?”

At the next table was a doctor, an older man who explained a lot of things. He said how the stage was spotlighted with red and black lights because they hid the bruises and needle marks on the dancers. He showed how their fingernails, their hair and eyes told their childhood diseases. Their teeth and skin showed how well they ate. Their breath in your face, the smell of their sweat could tell you how they’d probably die.

Every medicine has side effect ...

Every medicine has side effect ...
Only vigera has front side effect..
What u say?

Origami Lips

It was Ina who first told me about Brad’s lips, and what he does with them. We’d met Brad this last summer, near Los Angeles, in San Pedro, on six acres of barren concrete with gang-warfare Crip and Blood territory, staked out all around us. It was the set for a movie based on a book I’d written and could barely remember. Just before we ar- rived, a neighborhood man had been tied to a bus-stop bench there. The set crew found him tied up, shot to death. The crew was building a rotting Victorian mansion for a million dollars.
All this build-up, this scene-setting, is so I don’t look too stupid. This will only
look like it’s about Brad Pitt.

It was one or two in the morning when Ina and I got there. At the production base camp, movie extras slept in dark lumps, curled up inside their cars. Waiting for their call. When we parked, a security guard explained how we’d have to walk unpro- tected for the last two blocks to the actual movie-shooting location.
A pop, then another pop came from the dark neighborhood nearby.
Drive-by shootings, the guard told us. To get to the set, he said, we needed to
keep our heads down and run. Just run, he said. Now. So we ran.
According to Ina, what Brad does is lick his lips. A lot. According to Ina, this is
probably not accidental. According to Ina, Brad has great lips.

Somewhere along the line my sister sent me a video tape of Oprah Winfrey in- terviewing Brad, and Ina was pretty much right all over. The first day we met Brad, he ran up with his shirt open, tanned and smiling, and said, “Thank you for the best fuck- ing part of my whole fucking career!”

That’s about all I remember.
That, and I wanted to have lips.
Big lips are everywhere. Fashion models, movie stars. Where I live in Oregon, in
a house in the woods, you can ignore a lot of the world, but one day we got a mail-or-
der catalogue and there inside was the Lip Enhancer.

For this movie, Brad had the caps knocked off his front teeth and chipped, snaggle-toothed caps glued on. He shaved his head. Between takes, the wardrobe people rubbed his clothes in the dust on the ground. And he still looked so good Ina couldn’t put two words together. Girls from the ’hood stood five deep at the barri- cades two blocks away and chanted his name.
I had to get me some of those lips.

According to the people at International Facial Sculpting, you can get collagen lip injections, but they don’t last. Full collagen lips will run you around $6,880 per year. Plus, collagen tends to move around inside, giving you lumpy lips. Plus, the in- jection process causes dark bruising and swelling that can last up to a week, with new collagen injections needed every month.

To be fair, I called five local cosmetic surgeons in Oregon, all of whom do lips, all of whom refused to even discuss the Lip Enhancer. Even when I agreed to pay a $100 consultation fee. Even when I got down and begged.
Oh, Dr. Linda Mueller, you know who you are.

The Lip Enhancer cost me $25, plus a couple bucks for shipping, plus the snide tone of the man who took my order. It’s not really marketed to men. We’re supposed to be above all that. Still, the Lip Enhancer is similar to a huge number of penis-en- largement systems you can purchase

Very soon women will pay men

Very soon women will pay men
to suck their breasts! ! BBC
Homepage Top News Story -
Doctors recommend that women
reduce the risk of breast
cancer, by having their breasts
sucked. It is said that regular
sucking of the breast lowers the
risk level. The breasts must be
sucked as often as possible, to
help women fight breast cancer.
Men please do your part, and
women please save yourselves. !
This message is from the
Ministry of Health. 'IN THE FIGHT
AGAINST BREAST CANCER. I
honestly think we should comply.
Help save a life today, Suck a
breast today !

Goru Laade - (Fashion TV herdai) babu, yesto channel chahi naher hai. bigre laas.

Goru Laade - (Fashion TV herdai) babu, yesto channel chahi naher hai. bigre laas.
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Chhora - tehi vayera ta baau, ma ta REN TV herchhu ni raati raati.

Herda ramro

Herda ramro ,, sughda ganaune ,, chalaa ko lauro le manche banaune k ho**

An Indian girl married a French

An Indian girl married a French
man & went to Paris. She didn't
know
French....
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.
She went to buy leg piece of
chicken.
She did lift her skirt & show her
leg.
This went on for some days.
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...
Once she went to buy banana.
She took her husband along
with her.
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...
Y0u know why ?
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Are yaar Because.............
He knew french !!.
...
God bless ur mind....lol

ऐश्वर्या राय र जया भादुडीको बिचमा के समानता होला ?

ऐश्वर्या राय र जया भादुडीको बिचमा के समानता होला ?
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दुबैको बुबु अभिषेक बच्चनले चुसेको छ ।

सुखद संयोग >

सुखद संयोग >

हावाले केटीको मिनिस्कर्ट माथी फर्काउनु ।

दुःखद संयोग >

त्यही बेलामा केटाको आँखामा धुलो पस्नु ।

बोके साँहिलाको नयाँ गीत >

बोके साँहिलाको नयाँ गीत >
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मैले पनि चि¥नलाई सिकेसी
थाहा पाउलिस् तँलाई नि चि¥सी

अमेरिकाको समुन्द्री

अमेरिकाको समुन्द्री तटमा बोके साँहिला नग्न अवस्थामा हिडदै थियो । उसको भेट अचानक लेडी गागासँग भएछ।

बोके साँहिला > प्लिज्ड टु मीट यु।

लेडी गागा > (मुनि हेर्दै) त्यो त तिम्रो ला* ले बताईरहेको छ नी।

हस्तमान लाहुरे

हस्तमान लाहुरे हुने उद्देश्यले चौरमा 'पुस अप' गर्दै रहेछ।

त्यत्तिकैमा 'तितो सत्य'को ट्वाकेन्द्र आएर भनेछ :
हि हा आऽऽऽऽ....के गरि'राको भाइ तिमीले यो? तिम्रो तल सुतेकी केटी त अगि नै उठेर भागिसकी।

"Ladies first" is just a polite

"Ladies first" is just a polite
way of saying "Girl walk
infront of me so that I can
have a look at your ass"

Monkey Think, Monkey Do

This summer a young man pulled aside in a bookstore and said he loved how inFight
Club I wrote about waiters tainting food. He asked me to sign a book and said he
worked in a five-star restaurant where they monkey with celebrities’ food all the
time.
“Margaret Thatcher,” he said, “has eaten my sperm.” He held up one hand, fin-
gers spread, and said, “At least five times.”

Writing that book, I knew a movie projectionist who collected single frames from porno movies and made them into slides. When I talked to people about cutting these frames into G-rated family movies, one friend said, “Don’t. People will read that, and they’ll start doing it.”

Later, when they were shooting the Fight Club movie, some Hollywood big names told me the book hit home because they, themselves, had spliced porno into movies as angry teenage projectionists. People told me about blowing their noses into hamburgers. They told me about changing the bottles of hair dye from box to box in the drug store, blonde into black et cetera, and coming back to see angry wild-dyed people screaming at the store manager. This was the decade of “transgressional nov- els,” starting early with American Psycho and continuing withTrainspo tting andFight
Club. These were novels about bored bad boys who’d try anything to feel alive.
Everything people told me, I could sell.

On every book tour, people told me how each time they sat in the emergency exit row on an airplane, the whole flight was a struggle not to pop that door open. The air sucked out of the plane, the oxygen masks falling, the screaming chaos and “Mayday, Mayday!” emergency landing, it was all so clear. The door, so begging to be opened.

A condom said 2 a pad:fck

A condom said 2 a pad:fck
you every month
you stop my work 4 abowt
a week!
Pad replies:you big fcker if
you make 1 mistake i løose my job 4 9month

चिकौरी कान्छीले

चिकौरी कान्छीले आफ्नो हात होटेल म्यानेजरको ओठमा राख्दिईछ। म्यानेजरले मख्ख पर्दै उसका सबै औलाहरु चुमेछ।

त्यसपछि,

चिकौरी कान्छीः (रिसाउदैँ) म्यानेजर! तिम्रो बोसलाई भन्देउ कि चर्पीमा एउटा पनि TOILET PAPER छैन भनेर।

पारसले बेस्सरी ठोके।

पारसले बेस्सरी ठोके।
हिमानी फेरि गर्भवती भईन्।
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आश्चर्य नमान्नुस् । यी दुई फरक फरक समाचार हुन्, एउटा क्रिकेट सम्बन्धी र अर्को पुर्व-राजपरिवार सम्बन्धी।

बुझ्ने आ-आफ्नो तरिका हुन्छ।

बुझ्ने आ-आफ्नो तरिका हुन्छ।
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एकजना पन्ध्र बर्षिय स्कुले केटीले हतारिदै आएर चाटवाला भैयालाई भनिन् - भैया, मेरेको चाट देदो ना! मेरो पिरियड शुरु हुन लागिसक्यो।

जेठी छोरीः बाबा, म त लेस्बियन (महिला समलिँगी) हुँ नि।

जेठी छोरीः बाबा, म त लेस्बियन (महिला समलिँगी) हुँ नि।

बाबाः ठिकै छ त नि।

कान्छी छोरीः बाबा, म पनि लेस्बियन हुँ।

बाबाः हैन यो घरमा ला[ ] मन पराउने कोही छैनन्?

छोराः म छु नि बाबा।

You read this wrong.

I have a dig bick.
You read this wrong.

Lady- Doctor my hole has

Lady- Doctor my hole has
became so big !!
Doctor(After seeing the hole): Yo
ta gufa ho....
.
Yo to gufa ho,
.
Yo to gufa ho!!!
Lady(Risaudai)- Yasma 3 patak
vanna kina parcha ra??
Doctor: Ma ekpatak nai boleko
thiye.. Tapai ko gufa bata awaz
gunji raako cha...

Why do woman rub their

Why do woman rub their
eyes when they woke up??
..
..
..
.. ..
.
.
..
.
. .
.
.
.
.
because they do not have balls to scratch.

बच्चा र आमा

बच्चा:: आमा मैले स्कुलको कापी मा तेल लगाको फेरी पनि छिटो लेख्नै मिल्दैन्
आमा ::: पगल तलाई कस्ले सिकाको एस्तो काम ? ? ?
बच्चा :: तपाईंले खुद हिजो राती बुवा सँग भन्नु भको होईन अलि कती तेल लगायो भने काम छिटो हुन्छ भनेर ? ? ? ?

यस्तो चिजको नाम भन

शिक्षिका : यस्तो चिजको नाम भन जुन तिमि देख्न सक्छौ तर छुन सक्दैनौविद्यार्थी : मिस तपाईको वुवु ।

बिहेपछि त जीन्दगी कुकुरको जस्तो भैराछ

श्रीमान : बिहेपछि त जीन्दगी कुकुरको जस्तो भैराछ ।श्रीमती : के को कुकुरको जस्तो हुनु नि कुकुरभन्दा पनि विजोग भने सुहाउँछ ।श्रीमान : किननी ?श्रीमती : अब कुकुरले १ घण्टासम्म नन्स्टप चिक्छ तिमि भने एक मिनेट पनि तग्न सक्दैनौ ।

एक युवती प्लाष्टिक र्सजनसँग

युवती : डाक्टरसाब मेरो पुतीनेर अर्को प्वाल थप्नु पर्‍योडाक्टर : (छक्क पर्दै) किननि ?युवती : धन्दा एकदम राम्रो चल्दैछ । त्यसैले नि ।

यहाँ चिक्न पाईन्छ

ठन्केको लाडो र फुकेको पुत्ति बिच् मिलन गराइन्छ्।ओठमा ओठ श्वास मा श्वासको एहेसास गराइन्छ।छाती मा छात्ती टासेर न्यानो माया टुसाइन्छ ।नसोच मलाई बेस्या भनेर पैसा त यहाँ सिधै जलाइन्छ।चोखो मन भित्र देखी माया गर मलाई, यहाँ चिक्न पाईन्छ।

बिर्सौ संसार, पसौ एक अर्कामा

म त मान्छेनै कालो, लजाएर छि: कस्तो कालो भन्यौकालो मान्छेको पनि रातो तुरी भनी किन मख्ख पर्‍यौलौ चुस न त भन्दा दिन डर लाग्छ भनी स्वाङ पार्‍यौमन भित्र भित्र लड्डु फुराउदै समालेर राख्नु किन भन्यौआज त लजाएर छि: भन्छेउ,भोली तेही चुसी चुसी निकाल्छु बाबुसाहेब भन्छेउतिम्रो नखरालाई मैले बुझेको छुतिम्रो बुब्सको टुप्पो ठाडो भएको बाहिर बाटै चाल पाएको छुअब धेरै भयो तिम्रो नखरा.....लौ आउ अब मेरो अङालोमा,बिर्सौ संसार, पसौ एक अर्कामा!!!!!

Kathmandu-Nepali film industry will soon

Kathmandu-Nepali film industry will soon to have Suresh Adhikari as a film producer who has already established his name as a popular musician. The shooting of the movie 'Timi Mero Ma Timro' has begun with the an inaugural ceremony held on Wednesday in Kathmandu. Nikhil Upreti, Rubi Bhattarai, Shusma Karki are acting in major role in this film whereas Ramraja Dahal has taken the responsibility of director and writer. The movie based on musical love story will be filmed in the naturally enchanting places like Pokhara, Kathmandu and Narayanghat. According to the shooting unit, it will begin from Second week of Jesth