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15) A job interview boom! Matures seem to have gone wild trying to get nice jobs! Or is it the interviews they love so much?

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you’d given up hope of it ever coming true it does. It’s like getting a

Christmas present in February. It’s not anything you expect, but it sure

can make you happy. That’s just what happened to me.

Before I share it with you I’ll give you a little background. I was

introduced to the pleasures of sucking cock at the tender age of 15 by one

of the neighborhood tough guys, who was a couple of years older than me.

He thought he was pretty cool, Mr. BadAss “forcing” another guy to polish

his knob, but he soon discovered that you can’t force the eager. It may

have burst his bubble to learn that I liked it, but it didn’t prevent him

from seeking me out. It was after all the perfect arrangement; he liked

being sucked; I liked sucking.

He gave me lots of practice; by the time I turned 16 I was a fairly adept

pole smoker. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy doing my neighbor, but after

taking his load at least 150 times I wanted to expand out to new (and

hopefully bigger) things. I looked at any good looking guy I saw as someone

who I could suck if the opportunity arose. It was just a matter of time

before something happened.

That summer, having just got my license, I wanted my own car. My dad made

me a deal. He owned a small manufacturing company. He’d front me the

money for my wheels, but I’d have to pay off my loan by working for him

during all school vacations. Who could pass up a deal like that? So that’s

how I met Eric.

Eric was 20 years old and everything I considered a super hunk to be. He

had short-cropped, sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an All-American,

Saturday Evening Post kind of face together with a body that nearly took my

breath away the first time I saw him. He was my definition of

masculine. There’s no denying it, I was in lust at first sight. From the

moment I noticed the bulge protruding from the crotch of his jeans I wanted

to do nothing less than drop to my knees and worship it.

Eric had worked for my dad since his senior year in high school, but we’d

never met. I knew him by reputation only. Dad really liked him, saying he

was a hard and willing worker and dad was never one to hand out compliments

or praise just for the sake of doing so. At the time Eric was sort of a

jack of all trades, learning the entire operation from the ground up. Dad

had great hopes for advancing him as the business grew and prospered. My

summer job was going to be to take over running the outside errands and

office boy duties that he’ been doing while he became more involved in

learning the production end of the business.

Of course this meant that for the first couple of weeks I would be working

with Eric while he trained me. As far as I was concerned this was the

perfect arrangement and I determined to have him before the two weeks were

up. To understand where I was coming from, or at least to put it into

perspective, you need to know that I was an only child with asthma and I’d

become used to getting my own way. Not that I got everything just for the

asking, but if I was willing to work and plot, I usually got what I

wanted. Add to this the fact that I’d led a very sheltered life, despite

the fact that I’d been sucking cock for over a year, and really didn’t know

much about sex in the real world. So it’s somewhat understandable that it

didn’t occur to me that anybody would see anything wrong with one guy

wanting to suck another off, and I certainly didn’t realize that a guy who

enjoyed sex might turn down the offer of a blow job. Not even the fact that

Eric was married with one kid and another on the way deterred me in my

quest.

I certainly didn’t waste any time. We’d been out on the road alone for

about 20 minutes when, not even trying to maneuver the conversation toward

sex I just came out and asked,

“Eric have you ever had a blow job?”

He looked pretty shocked, at least by the abruptness of the question, he

laughed a little nervously and said, “course I’ve had a blow job. I’m

married aren’t I?”

I didn’t know what to say so I blurted out the first thing that came to my

tongue, “your wife blows you?” I’ll admit I felt more than a little stupid.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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forests whose wildlife, I had no doubt, was far more daring and

vigorous than that on campus. It was a conservative school in a

sleepy, often cold environment conducive to huddling and conserving

energy. The academic tone was one of intellectual diffidence,

cultural muting, religious mainstreaming. Students gazed somberly out

library windows, rested their heads on their desks, gathered

in the cafeteria to consume starches. The surrounding roads disappeared

into dense woods, vanished under snowdrifts, and probably didn’t lead

anywhere anyway.

When Jeanine graduated high school at the precocious age of

sixteen and began attending the university, rather than finding it

stimulating she found it insufferably dull. But at least she was

away from her parents, and, after pursuing her studies with such

commendable diligence, she was now determined to spend her time in

pursuit of nearly life-threatening debauchery: to finally cave in to

her roaring lust, to shatter her disciplined mind with a dizzying

variety of controlled substances, to betray friends, to tear couples

apart in torrid trists, to…well, to really live.

This was a lot harder than she imagined; this was the

University of Montana. One of the most popular majors was agriculture,

and Jeanine soon concluded that the future farmers of America had

as much of a capacity for hedonism as the vegetables they harvested.

“You look at these torpid bastards and you get the sense that

all they fantasize about is planting row after row of goddam corn.

These are people whose livelihood depends on fertility, for chrissake,

but do you think that even suggests sexuality to them? Hell, no. I’d

like to run the fuckers over with their goddam tractors.”

Jeanine began buying stacks of pornographic magazines in

convenience stores, tearing out photographs of nude women, then

inserting these in library books in hopes of stimulating a massive

outbreak of libido.

But it didn’t work. In her first semester, Jeanine was asked

out once: to a country music festival benefitting farmers.

“The guy wears nothing but flannel. Imagining him in leather

is like imagining a cow riding a motorcycle.”

“You’re too young,” her friend Peggy assured her. “They’re

afraid of being charged with statutory rape, or something. Once you

get older you’ll get more action.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“How many guys have asked you out this semester?”

Peggy was silent for a moment. “Well, everyone knows that

I’m looking for a husband, not a roll in the hay.”

“Bobby,” she turned to me, “How many girls have you asked

out this semester?”

“I’m too busy planting mental corn to bother with girls,” I

said. She shook her head disgustedly, then grabbed a copy of Penthouse

from her backpack and handed it to me.

I surmised the problem was that Jeanine came off as haughty. She

seemed to disdain all of the guys in school: men destined to spend a

substantial part of their lives shovelling manure, driving tractors.

Her arrogance, partly based on her stellar academic record, came

across as strongly as the Channel perfume she seemed to marinade

herself in. She reminded me of a slab of luminescent flesh yearning

to be ripped apart in someone’s teeth, but which everyone assumed was

lethally poisonous.

* * *

“Ted, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Bob, what’s up?”

I stepped closer to him, turning away discreetly, my gaze

settling on the window. Outside, snow swirled through the cone-shaped

orange beams of the parking lot floodlights.

“You know Jeanine?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

He hesitated, as if somehow puzzled.

“Pretty what?”

“Pretty looking.”

“Well, sure.”

…End of the part1. To be continued..

The weekend after graduation is a particularly dull time for a bottle
shop. Everyone that wants booze has either left town, is still nursing
the worst hangover of their academic life, or is still plowing through
leftover alcohol. Or has to work. Which I was.

The late afternoon sun pounded through the dirty glass of the front,
what little was not covered with signs loudly proclaiming a message of,
in essence, “Get Drunk! Cheap! Here.” The weather in Cambridge had
been particularly lousy, especially for June, our most promising month
until October. But the thunderstorms and rain showers had given way to
a passably nice day. The weather was guaranteed by the owner of the
shore having scheduled me for an all-day shift.

The job sucked, but the alternative was home to Lancaster, PA with my
parents, a fate I would have gladly licked Mass Ave clean with my
tongue to avoid.

I didn’t notice her at first, as all my attention was taken up by
counting out change for a $100 for a young guy who was buying a
newspaper. He had a smile that I’m certain was intended to be
apologetic, and if I had been in a better mood it might have worked,
but I was inconsolable. A line had formed, and she joined the end of
it, not stopping to pick anything up. With each sale, I noticed a
little more of her.

Bottle of wine, $12.95. Short blonde hair.

Two six-packs of Coke, $4.49. About 5′ 8″, blue halter top. Nice
figure.

Bottle of gin, $6.80. Cute, button nose.

She reached the front of the line, and gave me a smile that broke
through my lousy mood. Blue eyes. A little necklace that looked
vaguely Southwestern, all turquoise and silver.

“I’m looking for Cedar Street? Any idea where that is?”

We’re at the corner of Mass Ave. and Cedar. This was going to be a
short encounter. I told her.

“No, no, not that Cedar! Cedar in Somerville. I love Boston, but I
hate driving in Boston.”

We’re in Boston the way New Jersey is in Manhattan, but I wasn’t going
to start that line of conversation.

“Where are you from?”

“California. How about yourself?”

“Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I’m going to Harvard …” I started in, but
I seemed to have said the magic word.

“Lancaster! I have friends in Lancaster.” Reminded me a bit too much
of the Pennsylvania license plates, but she’s gone on. “They’re
members of my sorority, and I just saw them at our June Weekend
reunion. I’m in town for that …”

As she went on, a one-person conversation, I took in her voice (quite
husky, considering her bubbly demeanor) and glanced (with appropriate
discretion, I hoped) up and down her body. She was, well,
well-stacked. Unfortunately, my discretion was insufficient for the
task, and I looked back up to her face to see her smiling at my
regard. As I blushed, she leaned down over the counter.

“Some people get all the fun jobs,” she said, in a low, conspiratorial
voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Witty reply. Clever. That’s right, I thought, wow her
with your intellect.

“Place seems quiet, today” She said, glancing around, stretching
herself. Her elbows sunk slowly onto the countertop. I looked up from
the view thus created by the lowering of the halter-top fabric to see
her looking at me with a smile that had switched from conspiratorial to
something else.

“Think of anything we could do to make the job more fun?” she said.

“Well, it’s cooler in the back.” Shit, I thought, did I say that?

“We could fix that,” she said, turning around and surveying the back of
the store for the door.

“This way,” I managed to gasp out with lungs that didn’t seem
completely under my command. In one fluid motion, I had closed the
register, grabbed a package of condoms from behind the counter, and
locked the front door. No customers in the parking lot, good, just one
car, must be her’s. It looks like there’s someone in it, but nah,
couldn’t be, anyway, who cares?

I led her into the back room. It’s even worse than the typical back
room of a liquor store, whatever that looks like. There are boxes
piled everywhere, both empty and full, the usual collection of posters
proclaiming that all you have to do is drink some terrible brand of bad
American liquor and amazingly women who would scrape you off their shoe
now will fall into bed with you. Not in so many words, of course, but
the message is clear.

She surveyed the scene, with what I assumed was less than complete
enthusiasm. Well, it is a bottle shop, not the Marriott. But when she
turned around, she still has that infectious lovely smile on her face …

“I can cope with this.” She pulled the tank top over her head,
revealing her lovely breasts still in a white bra. The bra came off a
moment later, and she was in my arms, pulling me down to a kiss. And a
very nice kiss it was, very deep and soft. Even with lots of tongue,
there are kisses that are very sharp and angular-feeling, but this was
a lover’s kiss. I still can’t completely explain the difference, but
there you are.

With a plop, the package of condoms dropped to the floor. She somehow
managed to slither out of her shorts while kissing me, and did a
lovely, slow, descent to her knees, running her hands down my chest.
Kissing me through my jeans, she unbuttons them, and applies her mouth
to my already-hard cock with tremendous skill.

“Now …” Lick. “I don’t …” Slurp. “have …” Gulp. “much time
for this,” she finally managed to get out, between licks with her
tongue along my balls, “so let’s be quick!”

Nothing like a little performance anxiety to make an evening special,
but I wasn’t going to turn this down for anything.

She retrieved the packaged of condoms, and (with cardboard and wrappers
flying everywhere) managed to extract one. As she stood up, naked
except for jewelry and shoes, she rolled one onto me with one hand, the
other steadying herself on my shoulder.

“OK, I’ll just bend over like this,” she said, as businesslike as if
she was staging a play. She turned her back to me, and bent over,
steadying herself on a pile of Guinness boxes. She spread her legs,
and one hand spread her lips apart. Amazingly, she was very wet
already, wet enough to…

“Well? C’mon!” she said, always impatient. OK, OK, I was just
enjoying the view. I stepped forward, rubber-clad penis in hand, and
slid it. There was almost no resistance, I was amazed.

I started slowly, with long strokes, but she was having none of it.
She started setting the rhythm, pushing back, in, out, in out. Her
free hand was playing with her clit, and she was starting a lovely
pattern of moans in time with her thrusts. In, out, in out … she
came once, twice as I finally lost control and pounded into her,
grabbing her hips.

She started screaming, loud enough that I was afraid the next door
dry-cleaners would hear. “Yes, yes, YES!” she yelled out as I came,
much faster than I thought I ever would, shaking as my cum poured out
of me.

I staggered back, a bit unsure of my balance, and came out of her with
a pop. She gave a small whimper of displeasure, but was back into her
shorts and tank top (bra in the pocket of the shorts) before I even had
the condom all the way off.

“That was very nice, thanks. I better go, my boyfriend’s waiting.”

“BOYFRIEND!”

“Yeah, he’s in the car. He’ll wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Boyfriend?” OK, I had already said it, but I still wasn’t quite
getting the answer I was looking for.

“Relax, he’s reading a newspaper, and nothing distracts him from that.
Anyway, gotta go! Thank you kindly,” she said, with just a touch of an
affected southern accent. And with a small peck on the cheek, out she
went through the store, unlocking the front door and tearing out of
it.

I staggered into my clothes, cleaned up the condom package debris in
the storage room, and put one condom-package worth of change in the
register (the owner would notice, he’s that kind of guy).

I watched the car pull away, and head down Mass Ave. Even through the
grimy windows, I can see that it was the guy with the $100 driving.

I still don’t understand some relationships.

I’d been mulling over the physical evidence we had… and it
wasn’t much.

My attention had shifted to the booze as it made oily swirls
through the smoky amber, just like it always did. I’d heard the
tap of high-heels, and unconsciously glanced up and smiled as
Janine carried a tray of fresh drinks to the table in the corner.
Somehow, she always drew my attention. It was her long tapered
legs I suppose, or maybe the way she filled out her blouse.

I’d been stopping in to have a drink a few times a week ever
since I moved into the neighborhood. A nice enough place, but
nothing special. I suppose it was a combination of their chili
and Janine’s muscular calves that kept me coming back. It’s
unbelievable when you think how fast a year can pass. One day
blending into the next, on and on. ‘Maybe your booze consumption
has something to do with the way the days run together,’ I
thought, as I sipped my drink.

I was always coming up with brilliant ideas like that. “Stop
smoking. Stop drinking. Start exercising. Win the Lottery.
Write a book about some interesting case and make a million.” I
was a real fountain of great ideas.

So far tonight, Janine had been to my table twice. The first
time to deliver a glass of my usual, and the second when I waved
her over to pay the check. Both times we played eye games, and
flirted, like always.

I’d gathered up my raincoat, from the empty chair across the
table, where I’d tossed it in a sodden heap. I said my goodbyes
and gave Janine a wink, . I was in the process of shrugging on
the soggy coat, and trying to open the front door at the same
time, when it crashed open…. And everything changed.

Like I said, I was leaning forward, shrugging on my beat-up
London Fog, so the door smashed into my forehead, and I fell flat
on my ass. I knew what had happened, so I looked up to see what
kind of ill-mannered son-of-a-bitch had whacked my melon. Little
did I know…

From my vantage point on the floor, my eyes flicked up and saw
what looked like a full acre of firm, tapered, nylon encased
inner thigh that went up and up until it disappeared in the
darkness under a short navy blue skirt.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words she said, as I scrambled to
my feet.

“Forget it,” I growled, as the adrenalin rush started to pass,
and a whole different set of hormones kicked in. I brushed
myself off, with a little help from the lady, and mumbled
something about getting another drink.

“Oh, let me buy,” she said. “It’s all my fault!”

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “That was my table over there,” I
added pointing.

She set out walking toward our objective, and I followed. About
this time it struck me that this lady didn’t walk. She
“moved”… What I had taken for a navy blue skit was really the
bottom half of a knit dress that hugged her body like the skin
fits a grape. And the skirt wasn’t a typical knit. It was split
up the side, nearly to the hip.

I suppose my mouth dropped open, because when I checked out the
guys at the bar, that’s what had happened to them… We all
looked like frogs catching flies.

My attention quickly shifted back to the lady’s back, or rather
her backside that shifted alluringly with every step. Her skirt
ended above mid-thigh, and her trim ankles, sculptured calves,
and trim tapered thighs flashed, as the split displayed nearly
their full length, in the subdued lighting, as that tight knit
bun-hugging, ass-emphasizing skirt showcased her tight, rounded,
undulating butt; that moved like two well-oiled footballs.

She turned, as she reached ‘my table’, pointed at a chair, and
raised her eyebrow, asking if her choice of a seat was
acceptable. I nodded. She sat, as I approached, and crossed her
long thoroughbred legs, as her skirt rode even higher on her
thighs.

I sat, and I guess I stared, because she asked if I was all
right.

All right was hardly the term to describe my condition. If you
placed your emphasis on HARD, it would been much more accurate.

I waved to Janine, who by now was glaring daggers at me, and as
she made her way to ‘our table’, I asked my companion what she
would like.

“Black Jack… And have her bring the bottle.”

As we waited for a now surly Janine to return with our drinks, I
introduced myself… “By the way, I’m Eric… Eric Thornquist.”
I always was real smooth with the ladies.

“Nice to bump into you, Eric,” she laughed. “I’m Candice.”

“I’d enjoy bumping into you too, Candice… repeatedly, but next
time I’d use something other than my head.”

She laughed, at my attempt at humor. Little did she know how
honest I was being. Shit, I’d been checking her out, during our
stroll to the table (which I thoroughly enjoyed), and again as
we faced each other across the expanse of ‘our’ heavy oak table.

She was about 5′-7″ and probably weighed 125-130 soaking wet.
(Was that a Freudian slip?). Her hair was long and blonde,
falling in soft waves until it ended, below her shoulders. Her
complexion was flawless, and her lips were full and friendly.
The top of the dress accentuated the rich fullness of her
breasts, and maybe it was the chill, but just saw a hint of her
nipples, when the light was just right. And her face was as
perfect as the rest. Open, and honest, with sparkling green eyes,
there wasn’t even a hint of pinched meanness. Maybe my luck was
finally changing.

“So, Mr. Eric Thornquist. What are you doing here tonight?” she
queried.

“Just stopped for a drop of the usual,” I answered. “And you?”

“I saw this place written up in the Arts and Entertainment
Section a while ago, and thought I’d give it a try. I thought it
had a cute name…”

“You mean, The Broken Drum?”

“Yes, but that’s not the cute part. The cute part is the
rest..’You Can’t Beat it’. That’s what the article said too.
That you couldn’t beat their steaks.”

“They are pretty good,” I answered lamely, and then plunged on,
with what I thought was a suave segue. “But, by yourself? What
about your significant other?”
…End of the part1. To be continued..

29 Reasons why
Beer is better than men

1a. Beer makes you feel better when you have your period.
2a. Beer stains don’t smell funny the next day.
3a. Beer goes where you want it to.
4a. Your beer will always wait patiently for you in the car while
you try on shoes at the mall.
5a. Your beer never suffers performance anxiety.
5b. When your beer won’t get a head up, you can toss it out.
6a. Beer doesn’t stand there tapping it wristwatch.
6b. No woman ever got stood up by a beer.
7a. A beer doesn’t start a fistfight with an ale.
8a. Puking will rid you of that queasy feeling you get when
you made the wrong choice.
8b. Beer doesn’t get drunk and call you at 3am to beg.
8c. You don’t need a restraining order with bad beer.
8d. I never met a beer with a criminal record.
9a. Beer labels come off when you want them to.
10a. When you go to a bar, you can pick up a beer without worrying
about that tan line on his ring finger.
10b. You can pick up a beer in a bar right in front of your mom
and she won’t mind.
11a. Beer never has a bad temper.
12a. A beer won’t throw you into the back seat of a 76′
Datsun and dry hump you under a mercury vapor lamp.
12b. A beer won’t toss you in the passenger seat of a
Mazda RX7 and show you it can go 100MPH on a flat stretch.
13a. A beer doesn’t bring strange people home with it.
14a. Its easy to give beer good head with minimal shaking up.
15a. You don’t have to worry about a gag reflex with beer.
16a. You can have more than one beer in a night without feeling sore.
17a. You can talk to your girlfriends about your beer without it getting
pissed off.
18. You have a good idea where that beer has been before you got it.
19a. No one ever had to sleep in a beer spot.
20a. Beer doesn’t dis’ you because you are a babe.
21a. A beer won’t shove its hand up your dress at your graduation
party.
22a. You don’t have to fake it for a beer. Beer has no ego.
23a. A cold beer is a good beer.
24a. Beer tastes good.
25a. Beer doesn’t leave you. It snuggles around your hips for
a lifetime.
26. A beer doesn’t hate your cat.
27. You can get six at once without taxing yourself.
28. A beer doesn’t mind if you don’t finish.
29. A beer won’t leave the lid up.

–

** 001
The young girl was having a heart-to-heart talk with her mother on her first
visit home since starting college. “Mom, I have to tell you,” the girl
confessed. “I lost my virginity last weekend.” “I’m not surprised,” said her
mother. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. I just hope it was a romantic
and pleasurable experience.” “Well, yes and no,” the pretty student remarked.
“The first eight guys felt great, but after them my pussy got real sore.”

** 002
“Adam,” the heavenly voice called to the Garden of Eden,
“what did you and Eve do today?”
“We ate some fruit, Lord,” Adam said reverently.
“Did you eat of the forbidden tree?” asked God.
“Yes, Lord, we did,” Adam confessed.
“And then what did you do?” God asked.
“We made mad, passionate love all afternoon.”
“Where is Eve now?” the Lord bellowed.
“She’s down at the brook washing herself out.”
“Oh, no,” the Lord moaned.” Now all the fish are going
to smell like that!”

** 003
Q: How does a Mexican know when it’s time to eat again?

A: His asshole stops burning.

** 004
Two guys wandered into a bar. One of the men shouted to the
barkeeper,”Hiya, Mike. Set ‘em up for me and my pal here.”
Then he turned to his slightly dim partner and boasted,
“This is a great bar. For every two drinks you buy, the
house gives you one. And the pinball machines in the back
are free!”
“That’s not so great,”responded the friend. “There’s a bar
across town That’ll match you drink for drink, and you can
get laid in the back for free.”
“Where is this place?” the first guy exclaimed.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the dim fellow replied, “but my wife
goes there all the time.”

** 005
An Israeli was sitting between two Arabs on a long airplane
flight. He had just removed his shoes and gotten comfortable
when one of the Arabs nudged him and said,”Hey, Jew, go get
us some orange juice.” To avoid any trouble, the Israeli
did so. When he left, both Arabs spit in his shoes.
The Israeli came back with the juice, which the Arabs
gulped down. The rest of the flight was uneventful. The
plane landed, and the Israeli put on his shoes and felt the
squishing inside. He turned to the Arabs and said,”If there
is ever going to be peace in the Middle East, the Arabs will
have to stop spitting in the shoes of Jews, and the Jews
will have to stop pissing in the Arabs’ orange juice.”

** 006
Three doctors were talking about the amazing things being
done in medicine. The first said,”Six weeks ago a man came
in after losing a hand in an accident just as a car crash
victim was brought in dead on arrival. I took a hand from
the dead man and sewed it on the worker’s stump, and today
he’s out looking for a job.”
The second physician said,”That’s not so amazing. Six months
ago I gave a blind man a pair of dead man’s eyes, and today
he’s out looking for a job.”
The third doctor said,”Neither of those cases tops this one.
A year and a half ago we took an asshole out of California,
put it in the White House, and today everybody is out
looking for a job.”

** 007
A well dressed lawyer went into a bar for a martini and
found himself beside a scrungy-looking drunk who kept
mumbling and studying something in his hand. The
attorney leaned closer while the drunk held the tiny object
up to the light,slurring “Well, it looks like plastic.” Then
he rolled it between his fingers,adding,”But it feels like
rubber.” Curious, the lawyer asked, “What do you have
there mister?” The drunk stammered,”Damn if I know, but it
looks like plastic and feels like rubber.”
The lawyer said,”Let me take a look.” And the drunk handed
it over. The attorney rolled it between his thumb and
fingers, then examined it closely. “Yeah, it does look like
plastic and feel like rubber, but I don’t know what it is.
Where did you get it anyway?”
The drunk replied, “Outa my nose.”

** 008
Q: What do you get when you cross a Mexican and a pig?
A: Nothing. There are some things even a pig won’t do.

** 009
Q: How do you know when your girlfriend is too fat?
A: When she sits on your face and you can’t hear the stereo

** 010
Q: What’s the difference between black pussy and a bowling ball?
A: You can eat a bowling ball!

** 011
With the sun beginning to rise, the cabin of the jetliner
was suddenly illuminated. “Who turned on the fucking
lights?” a male passenger, who had been surly since
boarding, snarled at a stewardess.
The girl had had enough of this particular character.”These
are the breakfast lights, sir,” she answered with forced
sweetness. “The fucking lights are much dimmer, and you
snored right through them.”

** 012
“Brace yourself, Mr. Cassidy,” the physician told the
patient on whom he had performed a battery of costly tests.
“You have approximately six months to live.”
“But I don’t have insurance, doctor,” said Cassidy, “and I
can’t skimp and save enough to pay you in that time!”
“All right, all right,” soothed the medical man. “Let’s say
nine months, then.”

** 013
Three women – a German, a Jew and a Polack – all gave birth
to seven-pound baby boys at the same time. The nurses got
the babies mixed up somehow and couldn’t tell which baby
belonged to which mother. After an hour of mass confusion
the father of the German baby decided he’d settle the
problem. He walked into the nursery and lined up the three
infants in a row. He clicked his heels, raised his arm and
shouted, “Heil Hitler!” The German baby snapped to
attention, the Jewish baby shit, and the Polack baby played
in it.

** 014
Even though a fellow was late for his flight, he dashed into
the airport men’s room, pissed,and quickly headed for the
door. At one of the sinks a Marine sergeant was washing his
hands. The Leatherneck called to the man, “Hey, buddy,
in the Marine Corps they teach us to wash our hands after
going to the bathroom.”
The fellow stepped back into the men’s room and looked at
the Marine. “Well, I was in the Navy, Sarge, and they taught
us not to piss on our hands!”

** 015
A man was walking down the street with a baby ape in his
arms when a friend stopped him and asked what he was doing
with the chimp. “I just bought this ape as a pet. We have no
children; so he’s going to live with us just like one of
…End of the part1. To be continued..

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