Mailing List Archive Mailing List Archive
> > From: Leticia Torres <ltorres@xl*.uc*.ed*>
> > To: ad00zuni@uc*.uc*.ed*
> > Subject: Golf joke
> > Mime-Version: 1.0
> > Content-Type: text/plain
> > Content-Disposition: inline
> >
> > Subject: A golf joke?
> >
> > A couple was golfing one day on a very, very exclusive golf course,
lined
> > with million dollar houses. On the third tee the husband said, "Honey,
> be
> > very
> > careful when you drive the ball- don't knock out any windows. It'll
cost
> us
> > a
> > fortune to fix." The wife teed up and shanked it right through the
window
> > of the
> > biggest house on the course. The husband cringed and said, "I told
you
> to
> > watch out for the houses! Alright, let's go up there, apologize and see
> how
> > much
> > this is going to cost." They walked up, knocked on the door, and heard
a
> > voice
> > say, "Come on in."
> >
> > They opened the door and saw glass all over the floor and a
broken
> > bottle lying on its side in the foyer. A man on the couch said, "Are
you
> the
> > people that broke my window?"
> >
> > "Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." the husband replied.
> >
> > "No, actually I want to thank you- I'm a genie that was trapped
for
> a
> > thousand years in that bottle. You've released me. I'm allowed to
grant
> > three wishes- I'll give you each one wish, and I'll keep the last one
for
> > myself."
> >
> > "OK, great!" the husband said. "I want a million dollars a year
for
> the
> > rest of my life."
> >
> > "No problem-it's the least I could do. And you, what do you want?"
> the
> > genie said, looking at the wife.
> >
> > "I want a house in every country of the world," she said.
> >
> > "Consider it done." the genie replied.
> >
> > "And what's your wish, genie?", the husband said.
> >
> > "Well, since I've been trapped in that bottle, I haven't had sex
> with a
> > woman in a thousand years. My wish is to sleep with your wife."
> >
> > The husband looks at the wife and said, "Well, we did get a lot of
> > money and all those houses, honey. I guess I don't care."
> >
> > The genie took the wife upstairs and ravished her for two hours.
> After
> > it was over, the genie rolled over, looked at the wife, and said, "How
> old
> > is your husband, anyway?"
> >
> > "34." she replied.
> >
> > "And he still believes in genies? That's amazing."
> >
> >
> From: todd_saxe_at_wcti@cc*.fr*.co*
> To: gerianar@wo*.ne*; ruthw@wo*.ne*
> Subject: The accident (
> Date: Wednesday, November 19, 1997 7:52 AM
>
>
>
>
> Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter how
> legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying. On
one
> occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the truth was
too
> humiliating to reveal.
>
> I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I
> would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a
> doozy to explain the bandage on my crown. In this case, the truth
hurt.
> I mean it really hurt in the place men feel the most pain. The
accident
> occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute
> little kitty. As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower
> after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the
> kitchen.
>
> "Ed!" she hearkened, "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it."
>
> "You know where the button is." I protested through the shower
> (pitter-patter). "Reset it yourself!"
>
> "I am scared!" She pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me
in?"
> (Pause) "C'mon, it'll only take a second."
>
> No logical assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm
> the fears of a person who suffers from "Big-ol-scary-machinephobia," a
> condition brought on by watching too many Stephen King movies. It is
> futile to argue or explain, kind of like telling Lloyd Bentsen that
> Americans are over-taxed. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess
> the disposal, and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with
that
> the rest of my life.
>
> So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement
> about how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence but it was
I
> who would suffer. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to
> find the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It
> struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it
> wasn't a hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. it
> was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied
> between my legs. She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been poised
> around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under the sink.
At
> precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I
> unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.
>
> Now when men feel pain or even sense danger anywhere close to their
> masculine region, they lose all rational thought to control orderly
> bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to
> contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed.
Not
> even a well trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting
> the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a
step-by-step
> procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight"
> syndrome; men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option.
>
> Fleeing straight up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is
> alarmed. It was a dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights
> to escape, I never made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly
> impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.
>
> When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been
> fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to
> conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. My
wife
> told me I should be flattered.
>
> At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I
> kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk. "What's the matter,
> cat got your tongue?"
>
> If they had only known.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
--
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