Digest for Sunday, May 20, 2001

There are 8 messages totalling 399 lines in this issue.

Topics of the day:

  1. Just wait a few days... [Adultish]
  2. Assorted Smiles
  3. Relative Differences
  5. Military Insurance
  6. Where Have You Gone, Casey Jones?
  7. The Hunter


Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 06:27:52 -0500
From:    Les Pourciau <Pourciau@MEMPHIS.EDU>
Subject: Just wait a few days... [Adultish]

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A man spent the evening in a Japanese house of ill-repute and contracts
a strange disease, causing his member to display colors ranging from
red, to green, to purple and several other hues. In a state of panick,
he contacts his family doctor, and is informed that his member must be
amputated immediately. After two or three opinions from other family
practitioners, he decides to try a Japanese doctor. A Japanese
prostitute, probably a Japanese disease... why not a Japanese doctor?

After finding a suitable physician in the Yellow Pages, he visits the
Japanese doctor's office, knocks on the fringe, and hesitantly
approaches the medical man.

"What can I do for you?" asks the doctor.

"Look at this..." replies the man, and drops his undies, revealing his
sickly little friend.

"Not for too long...", replies the doctor, "What happened?"

The man explains the circumstances, then asks the doctor, "Will you have
to amputate?"

"No" replied the doctor, and he explained to the relieved man, "two..
three days.. that thing gonna fall off all by itself."


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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 08:48:44 -0400
From:    Terry Galan <galante@MCMAIL.CIS.MCMASTER.CA>
Subject: Assorted Smiles

 Thought For The Day:

 A careful study of economics usually reveals that the best time to buy
 anything was last year.


 John walks into a pharmacy and asks for a bottle of Viagra. The
 pharmacist says "Do you have a prescription?" John says, "No, but here's
 a picture of my wife."

 What's the difference between women at the ages of  8, 18, 28, 38, 48 and

 08 - You take her to bed and tell her a story.
 18 - You tell her a story and take her to bed.
 28 - You don't need to tell her any story and take her to bed.
 38 - She tells you a story and takes you to bed.
 48 - You tell her a story to avoid going to bed.
 58 - You stay in bed all day to avoid her story.

 A couple was having a discussion about family finances. Finally the
 husband exploded, "If it weren't for my money, the house wouldn't be
 here!" The wife replied, "My dear, if it weren't for your money, I
 wouldn't be here either."

 Jack Benny and George Burns became friends when both were young
 performers working their way up through the vaudeville circuit and they
 remained friends until Benny died. One day, they were lunching at a
 Hollywood restaurant, and Benny was wrestling with the problem of whether
 or not to butter his bread. "I like butter on my bread," he said. "But my
 diet strictly forbids butter. Maybe I should call Mary and ask her what
 to do."
 "Jack," Burns said, "don't be ridiculous. You're a grown man. You should
  be able to decide, without your wife's help, whether or not to butter
  your own bread."
 "You're right," Benny said. "I'll just have the butter, that's all."
 When the waiter arrived with the check, Burns pointed to Benny and said,
 "He's paying."
 "What?" Benny said. "Why should I have to pay the whole bill?"
 "Because if you don't," Burns said, "I'll tell Mary about the butter."

 A soldier was given the job of hunting for buffalo. To help him, he hired
 an Indian Scout. The two of them set off on their journey to find
 buffalo. After riding awhile, the Indian gets off his horse, puts his ear
 to the ground and says "Humm, buffalo come". The soldier scans the area
 with his binoculars but sees nothing. He is confused and says to the
 Indian, "I do not see anything, how do you know buffalo come"? The Indian
 replies, "ear sticky".

 Ethel and Mabel, two elderly widows, were watching the folks go by from
 their park bench. Ethel said, "You know, Mabel, I've been reading this
 'Sex and Marriage' book and all they talk about is 'mutual orgasm.'
 'Mutual orgasm' here and 'mutual orgasm' there -- that's all they talk
  about. Tell me, Mabel, when your husband was alive, did you two ever
  have mutual orgasm?" Mabel thought for a long while. Finally, she shook
  her head and said, "No, I think we had Liberty Mutual."

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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 09:06:18 -0400
From:    Bill Stebbins <bs16@CORNELL.EDU>
Subject: Relative Differences

About a year ago my sister, who lives in Virginia, was talking
with her four year old son, Brent. He was asking her why all their
relatives from Wisconsin talk funny and sound like their noses
are plugged up.

"They think we have an accent," she replied.

"But they have an accent, right?" Brent asked. "They talk funny?"

"Everybody talks in different ways" she tried to explain. "To
them, we sound like we talk very slow and all our words are
d-r-a-w-n out."

His eyes got big, and he whispered seriously, "Oh, no. You mean
they hear funny too?"


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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 08:30:02 -0500
From:    Randall Woodman <rwoodman@HOME.COM>

An avid duck hunter was in the market for a new bird dog. His search
ended when he found a dog that could actually walk on water to
retrieve a duck. Shocked by his find, he was sure none of his friends
would ever believe him.

He decided to try to break the news to a friend of his, a pessimist
by nature, and invited him to hunt with him and his new dog.

As they waited by the shore, a flock of ducks flew by. They fired,
and a duck fell. The dog responded and jumped into the water. The
dog, however, did not sink but instead walked across the water to
retrieve the bird, never getting more than his paws wet.

The friend saw everything but did not say a single word.

On the drive home the hunter asked his friend, "Did you notice
anything unusual about my new dog?"

"I sure did," responded his friend. "He can't swim."

-=} Randall {=-   I can levitate birds, but no one cares.

Need a tagline?  Visit http://www.taglinesgalore.com/

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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 09:11:39 -0600
From:    Emko Witteveen <emko@MAC.COM>
Subject: Military Insurance

Airman Jones was assigned to the induction center, where he
advised new recruits about their government benefits,
especially their GI insurance.

It wasn't long before Captain Smith noticed that Airman
Jones was having a staggeringly high success-rate, selling
insurance to nearly 100% of the recruits he advised.

Rather than ask about this, the Captain stood in the back of
the room and listened to Jones' sales pitch.

Jones explained the basics of GI Insurance to the new
recruits, and then said, "If you have GI Insurance and go
into battle and are killed, the government has to pay
$200,000 to your beneficiaries. If you don't have GI
insurance, and you go into battle and get killed, the
government only has to pay a maximum of $6000."

"Now," he concluded, "which group do you think they are
going to send into battle first?"

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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 17:55:29 -0400
From:    The Punk With The Stutter <the-punk-with-the-stutter@HOME.COM>
Subject: Where Have You Gone, Casey Jones?

By Tony Kornheiser, The Washington Post
Sunday, May 20, 2001

     It's bad enough I'm afraid to fly, and I have to take the train
everywhere.  Now the trains aren't safe.  Now we have runaway trains!  (How
am I ever going to go anywhere from now on?  I get my taxes done in New
York.  Will I have to get in bubble wrap and ship myself to my accountant?)
     It turns out there was a two-man crew running this 47-car train in
Ohio, the conductor and the engineer.  The conductor was already off the
train.  Then the engineer wanted to step off for a second, and instead of
applying the brake, HE OPENED UP THE THROTTLE.
     Lucy, you got some 'splaining to do!
     Excuse me, you don't turn the engine off when you leave the train?
     Okay, I'll guess: "Because you want to keep the AC going?"  Bzzzt! I'm
sorry.  It's a train, dummy, not a Honda Civic parked in front of the Wawa
with two kids and a dog in the back seat while you run in to get cigarettes.
     I'm assuming the engineer got off to go to the loo -- there's a sign in
every train lavatory: "Do Not Flush Toilet While Train Is in the Station."
     So when he got back from the bathroom, then what?

A: "Dude, where's my train?"

B: "Hmmm, I could have sworn I left it right here. Oh, wow, this is the 'C'
lot. Maybe I left it in 'E.' "

C: "Well, it'll turn up. I mean, it's not like I was so stupid that I left
it in gear with the motor . . . Uh-oh!"

     (At this point I believe it's Sandra Bullock's turn to say, "Ohmigod, I
thought this was going to be a quiet vacation.")
     Come on, this isn't a set of car keys we're talking about.  It's a
train, 47 freakin' cars long.  Nobody's going to believe you've misplaced
it.  The only people who could misplace something that big and important are
FBI agents.
     Now add the fact it was carrying hazardous liquid -- which turned out
to be a concentrated form of stuff they put in mouthwash.  If it's not
diluted, it will "burn the skin on contact."  Doesn't it make you feel good
to know the active ingredient in Scope is some kind of flesh-eating
chemical?  By all means, swirl it around your mouth.  ("Funny," my friend
Nancy said, "but I thought it was hazardous if you didn't use mouthwash.")
     So I guess I've taken my last train ride.  I'll remember it fondly.  It
was on Sunday, from New York to Washington, and I came upon a piece in the
New York Times about jargon specific to medical residents, a sort of
     I was shocked to discover that, when no civilians were around, doctors
exhibited the same innate sensitivity to the suffering of others you'd find
at a Soprano family outing.
     It turns out doctors use terms like "beans," which are kidneys, as in,
"Better watch that gentamicin level.  You don't want to fry her beans."  And
"CTD": circling the drain -- a description of a patient who's likely to die.
To do a "wallet biopsy": Checking a patient's financial status before
performing expensive procedures.  And my personal favorite (because I am
nothing if not a class act), "code brown," which laughingly refers to bowel
incontinence that is obvious even to non-docs anywhere in a two-block
     (Tony, this column is becomingone big bathroom joke.  Stop it.)
     Let me then deftly switch gears.  Remember last week when I wrote about
that guy who didn't leave his key with the parking lot attendant, and as a
result I had to wait 50 minutes to get my car off the lot?  (See
1May11.html --Punk)  I don't want you to think that I'm stuck in a rut.  But
I had another "car rage" incident this week.
     I was driving to work through Adams Morgan.  Even with two lanes,
rush-hour traffic crawls.  So there are big signs along the curb: "No
Parking. No Standing. 7-9:30 a.m."  Because if the curb lane is blocked, you
can sit there long enough for the Wizards to three-peat.
     Sometimes the curb lane is blocked by a garbage truck.  You gotta live
with that.  And there are those beer trucks so huge that Rudy Giuliani, his
wife and his girlfriend could live in them and not get in each other's way.
But beer trucks are doing God's work, so they get a pass, too.
     Here's what doesn't get a pass: The other morning during rush hour
there was an old gray Toyota parked in the curb lane, its flashers on.  I
counted four different light changes before I budged.  To say I was fuming
would be a serious understatement.  You could have supplied California with
energy for a decade by dunking my head in the Grand Coulee reservoir.
     Then, out of the coffee joint on the corner, comes this fat babe,
fortyish, carrying a cup of coffee.  She heads lah-dee-dah for the Toyota
(D.C. plates; I took the numbers and plan to base all future lottery
purchases on them), opens the driver's side, starts the car, shuts off the
flashers and saunters off with the subtle nuance of, um, a 47-car train.
     This was far worse than that cluck who blocked my car in the parking
lot last week.  That wasn't intentional.  Without intent, incivility is only
a second-degree felony.
     But this woman deliberately blocked a full lane of cars SO SHE COULD
GET A CUP OF JOE!  And it wasn't even truck stop joe, which you might be
able to forgive her for.  It was that yuppie half-caf mocha latte
machupicchu four bucks a cup crap.  (My friend Tom said, "Wouldn't it be
great if she went back because they didn't sprinkle cinnamon on it?")  This
babe hosed everybody on that street for 10 minutes while she bought her
designer coffee.
     That truly stinks.
     That's a code brown.

 2001 The Washington Post Company

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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 13:08:23 -1000
From:    Mickey&Karen <mhenn@GTE.NET>
Subject: <No subject given>

  My Face In The Mirror
  Isn't Wrinkled or Drawn
  My house Isn't Dirty
  The Cobwebs are Gone
  My Garden Looks Lovely
  And So Does My Lawn--

  I think I might Never
  Put My Glasses Back On!

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Date:    Sun, 20 May 2001 20:37:37 -0500
From:    Les Pourciau <Pourciau@MEMPHIS.EDU>
Subject: The Hunter

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 The big-game hunter walked into the bar and bragged to everyone
 about his skills as a hunter. The man was undoubtedly a good shot
 and no one could dispute that. But then he said that he could
 recognize any animal's skin by feeling it, and he could tell what
 caliber rifle was used to shoot it by locating the bullet hole.

 This was a bit too much for the other customers, and soon a heated
 argument started. The hunter said that he was willing to prove it if
 they would put up the drinks, and the bet was on. They blindfolded
 him and took him to his first animal skin. After feeling it for a few
 moments, he announced, "Springbok." Then he felt for the bullet hole
 and declared, "And it was shot with a .22 rifle."

 He was right! The others could not believe it and the argument was
 even hotter than before. When someone suggested that he must have
 peeped, he said that he was prepared to do it again for another
 round. So they blindfolded him again, very thoroughly this time, and
 they brought a skin that someone happened to have in the trunk of his

 He took a bit longer this time and then said, "Kalahari Lion."
 Fingering the bullet hole, he added, "The rifle was a .308."

 He was right again! This only made the crowd more curious, and he
 had to prove his skills over and over again, every time winning a
 of drinks. Finally he staggered home, bombed out of his mind, and
 went to sleep. The next morning he got up and saw in the mirror that
 he had one hell of a shiner. So he said to his wife, "Listen, I know
 I was drunk last night, but not too drunk to know that I didn't get
 into a fight. So where did I get this black eye?"

 His wife replied angrily, "From me!"

 "What did I do?" he asked.

 She replied, "You got into bed and put your hand inside my panties.
 Then you fiddled around a bit and announced, 'Skunk, killed with an
 ax!' "


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