My son's more successful than yours
Four men got together to play golf one sunny morning. As they were heading out to the course, one of them was detained by a phone call.
The other three were discussing their children while walking to the first tee.
"My son," said one proudly, "has made quite a name for himself in the home building industry. He began as a carpenter, but now owns his own design and construction firm. He's so successful, in fact in the last year he was able to give a good friend a brand new home as a gift."
The second man, not to be outdone, boasts how his son began his career as a car salesman, but now owns a multi-line dealership.
"He's so successful, in fact, in the last six months he gave a friend two brand new cars as a gift."
The third man brags that his son has worked his way up through a stock brokerage firm, and has become so successful that in the last few weeks has given a good friend a large stock portfolio as a gift.
As the fourth man arrives at the tee box, the three smugly tell him that they have been discussing how successful their progeny are, and ask what line of work his son is in.
"To tell the truth, I'm not very pleased how my son has turned out," he replies. "For fifteen years, he's been a hairdresser, and I've just recently discovered he's gay."
As the other three recoil in horror, he continues, "but on the bright side, he must be good at what he does, because his last three boyfriends have given him a brand new house, two new cars, and a big stock portfolio."
Efficiency at the Restaurant
I took some friends out to dinner last week, and I noticed a spoon in the shirt pocket of our waiter as he handed us the menus. It seemed a little odd, but I dismissed it as a random thing. Until our busboy came with water & tableware; he too, sported a spoon in his breast pocket. I looked around the room, and all the waiters, waitresses, busboys, etc. had spoons in their pockets. When our waiter returned to take our order, I just had to ask, "Why the spoons?"
"Well," he explained, "our parent company recently hired some consulting efficiency experts to review all our procedures, and after months of statistical analyses, they concluded that our patrons drop spoons on the floor 73% more often than any other utensil; at a frequency of 3 spoons per hour per workstation. By preparing all our workers for this contingency in advance, we can cut our trips to the kitchen down and save time...nearly 1.5 extra man-hours per shift." Just as he concluded, a "ch-ching" came from the table behind him, and he quickly replaced a fallen spoon with the one from his pocket. "I'll grab another spoon the next time I'm in the kitchen instead of making a special trip," he proudly explained. I was impressed.
"Thanks. I had to ask."
"No problem," he answered, then he continued to take our orders.
As the members of my dinner party took their turns, my eyes darted back & forth from each person ordering and my menu. That's when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a thin, black thread protruding from our waiter's fly. Again, I dismissed it; yet I had to scan the room and, sure enough, there were other waiters and busboys with strings hanging out of their trousers. My curiosity overrode discretion at this point, so before he could leave I had to ask. "Excuse me, but...uh...why, or what...about that string?"
"Oh, yeah" he began in a quieter tone. "Not many people are that observant. That same efficiency group found we could save time in the men's room, too."
"How's that?"
"You see, by tying a string to the end of our, eh, selves, we can pull it out at the urinals literally hands-free and thereby eliminate the need to wash our hands, cutting time spent in the restroom by over 93%!"
"Oh, that makes sense," I said, but then thinking through the process, I asked, "Hey, wait a minute. If the string helps you pull it out, how do you get it back in?"
"Well," he whispered, "I don't know about the other guys; but I use my spoon."
E-Mail Errors..
It's wise to remember how easily this wonderful technology can be misused, sometimes unintentionally, with serious consequences.
Consider the case of the Illinois man who left the snow-filled streets of Chicago for a vacation in Florida. His wife was on a business trip and was planning to meet him there the next day. When he reached his hotel, he decided to send his wife a quicke-mail. Unable to find the scrap of paper on which he had written her e-mail address, he did his best to type it in from memory.
Unfortunately, he missed one letter, and his note was directed instead to an elderly preacher's wife, whose husband had passed away only the day before. When the grieving widow checked her e-mail, she took one look at the monitor, let out a piercing scream, and fell to the floor in a dead faint.
At the sound, her family rushed into the room and saw this note on the screen:
Dearest Wife,
Just got checked in. Everything prepared for your arrival tomorrow.
PS. Sure is hot down here.
The Phone Call
There are several men in the locker room of a private club after exercising. Suddenly, a cell phone that was on one of the benches, rings. A man picks it up and here is the conversation:
"Hello?"
"Honey, it's me."
"Sugar!"
"Are you at the club?"
"Yes,"
"Great! I'm at the mall and I saw a beautiful mink coat. It is absolutely gorgeous! Can I buy it?"
"What's the price?"
"Only $1,500."
"Well, go ahead and get it if you like it that much."
"And I also stopped by the Mercedes dealership and saw the 2001 models. There's one I really liked. I spoke with the salesman and he gave me a great price and since we need to exchange the BMW that we bought last year..."
"What price did he quote you for?"
"Only $60,000."
"OK, but for that price I want all the options."
"Oh, honey, that's wonderful! Before we hang up, there's one more thing."
"What is it?"
"I went to see the real estate agent this morning and saw the house we had looked at last year. It's on sale!. Remember? The one with a pool, English garden, acre of parking area, beachfront property..."
"How much are they asking?"
"Just $450,000. It's a magnificent price and I see that we have just enough money in the bank to buy it."
"Well, then go ahead and buy it, but just bid $420,000. OK?"
"OK, sweetie. Thanks! I'll see you later! I love you!!"
"Bye. I love you, too."
The man hangs up the phone and holds it up asking, "Does anyone know who this phone belongs to?"
Jackass
In case your frustration level rises today, this is for everyone who occasionally has a really bad day when you just need to take it out on someone:
I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a telephone call that I had to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered nicely saying, "Hello?"
I politely said, "This is Patrick Hanifin and may I please speak to Robin Carter?" Suddenly the phone was slammed down on me! I couldn't believe that anyone could be that rude. I tracked down Robin's correct number and called her. She had transposed the last two digits.
After I hung up with Robin, I spotted the wrong number still laying on my desk. I decided to call it again. When the same person once more answered, I yelled, "You're a jackass!" and hung up. Next to his phone number I wrote the word "jackass" and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up. He would answer and I'd yell, "You're a jackass!" It always cheered me up.
Later in the year the phone company introduced caller ID. This was a real disappointment for me. I would have to stop calling the jackass. Then one day I had an idea. I dialed his number and heard his voice. "Hello?"
I made up a name. "Hi. This is the sales office of the telephone company and I'm just calling to see if you're familiar with our new caller ID program." He answered, "No!" and slammed down the receiver. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're a jackass!"
The reason I'm taking the time to tell you this story is to show you how if there's ever anything bothering you, you can do something about it. Just dial 555-1212.
(Keep reading, it gets better.)
One day an old lady at the mall was really taking her time pulling out of her parking space. I didn't think she was ever going to leave. Finally, her car began to move ever so slowly and she began backing out. I backed up a little more to give her plenty of room. Great, I thought, she's finally leaving. All of a sudden this black Camero came flying up the parking aisle in the wrong direction and pulled into her space. I started honking my horn and yelling, "You can't do that, buddy! I was here first!"
The guy got out of his Camero completely ignoring me. He walked toward the mall as if he didn't even hear me. I thought to myself, this guy is a jackass. There sure are a lot of jackasses in this world. I noticed he had a "For Sale" sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number. Then I hunted for another place to park.
The next day I was at home sitting at my desk. I had just gotten off the phone after calling 555-1212 and yelling, "You're a jackass!" (It's really easy to call him now since I have his number on speed dial.) Then I noticed the phone number of the guy with the black Camaro and decided to call him too. After a couple of rings someone answered the phone. I asked, "Are you the man with the black Camaro for sale?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me where I can see it?"
"Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It's a yellow house and the car is parked right out front."
I asked, "What's your name?"
"My name is Don Hansen."
"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"
"I'm home in the evenings."
"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"Don, you're a jackass!" And I slammed the phone down.
After I hung up I added Don's number to my speed dialer. Now I had two jackasses to call whenever I had a bad day. However this wasn't as much fun as it used to be. So I thought about it and came up with a solution.
First, I had my phone dial jackass #1. The man answered nicely and I yelled, "You're a jackass!" But I didn't hang up.
The jackass said, "Are you still there?"
I said, "Yeah."
He said, "Stop calling me."
I said, "No!"
He said, "What's your name, pal?"
I said, "Don Hansen."
He said, "Where do you live?"
"1802 West 34th Street. It's a yellow house and my black Camaro is parked out front."
"I'm coming over right now, Don. You'd better start saying your prayers."
"Yeah, like I'm really scared, Jackass!" And I hung up.
Then I called Jackass #2. He answered, "Hello."
I said, "Hello, jackass!"
He said, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll kick your butt."
"Well, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now, jackass!"
And I hung up. Then I picked up the phone and called the police. I told them I was at 1802 West 34th Street and that I was going to kill my gay lover as soon as he got home. Another quick call to Channel 13 news about the gang war going down on West 34th Street. After that I climbed into my car and headed over to 34th Street to watch the whole thing. Glorious!
I watched two jackasses kicking the crap out of each other in front of 6 squad cars and a police helicopter I also taped it off the evening news!
Two gas company servicemen, a senior training supervisor, and a young trainee, were out checking meters in a suburban neighbourhood. They parked their truck at the end of the alley and worked their way to the other end. At the last house, a woman watched the two men from her kitchen window as they checked her gas meter.
When they had finished the meter check, the senior supervisor challenged his younger co-worker to a foot race back to the truck to prove that an older guy could outrun a younger one. The co-worker accepted the challenge. As they approached the truck in full stride, the two men realized that the lady from the kitchen window was huffing and puffing right behind them. They stopped in their tracks and asked the woman why she was running behind them.
Gasping for breath, she replied, "I'm not stupid... when I see two gas men running that fast, I figure I'd better run too!"
A dentist was getting ready to clean an elderly lady's teeth. He noticed that she was a little nervous, so he began to tell her a story as he was putting on his surgical gloves.
'Do you know how they make these rubber gloves?' he asked.
She said, 'No.'
'Well,' he spoofed, 'down in Mexico they have this big building set up with a large tank of latex and the workers are all picked according to hand size. Each individual walks up to the tank, dips their hands in, and then walk around for a bit while the latex sets up and dries right onto their hands! Then they peel off the gloves and throw them into the big 'Finished Goods Crate' and start the process all over again.'
And she didn't laugh a bit!!! Five minutes later, during the procedure, he had to stop cleaning her teeth because she burst out laughing.
The old woman blushed and exclaimed, 'I just suddenly thought about how they must make condoms!'"
Men are from Mars, and Women are from Venus
Men are from Mars, Women from Venus RECEIVED FROM AN ENGLISH PROFESSOR:
You know the book Men are from Mars, Women from Venus? Well, here's a prime example of that. This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca (last name deleted) and Gary (last name deleted).
English 44A
SMU
Creative Writing
Prof. Miller
In class Assignment for Wednesday:
Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached. And now, the Assignment as submitted by
Rebecca & Gary:
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far...". But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for physically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel", Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?", she pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu-udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu-udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.
Asshole.
Bitch.
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