ONE GOOD REASON WHY NOT TO FLIRT!!!!!

A couple was invited to a swanky family masked fancy dress Halloween party. The wife got a terrible headache and told her husband to go to the party alone. He, being a devoted husband, protested, but she argued and said she was going to take some aspirin and go to bed and there was no need for his good time to be spoiled by not going. So he took his costume and away he went.

The wife, after sleeping soundly for about an hour, woke without pain and as it was still early, decided to go to the party. As her husband didn't know what her costume was, she thought she would have some fun by watching her husband to see how he acted when she was not with him.

So she joined the party and soon spotted her husband in his costume, cavorting around on the dance floor, dancing with every nice "chick" he could and copping a little feel here and a little kiss there. His wife went up to him and being a rather seductive babe herself, he left his new partner high and dry and devoted his time to her. She let him go as far as he wished, naturally, since he was her husband.

After more drinks he finally whispered a little proposition in her ear and she agreed, so off they went to one of the cars and had passionate intercourse in the back seat. Just before unmasking at midnight, she slipped away and went home and put the costume away and got into bed, wondering what kind of explanation he would make up for his
outrageous behaviour.

She was sitting up reading when he came in, so she asked what kind of time he had. "Oh, the same old thing. You know I never have a good time when you're not there." Then she asked, "Did you dance much?" He replied, "I'll tell you, I never even danced one dance. When I got there, I met Pete, Bill Brown and some other guys, so we went
into the spare room and played poker all evening." "You must have looked really silly wearing that costume playing poker all night!" she said with unashamed sarcasm. To which the husband replied, "Actually, I gave my costume to your Dad, apparently he had the time of his life!!

Bruce the translator
Copyright 2004 W. Bruce Cameron www.wbrucecameron.com

From time to time my publisher sends me on book tour, apparently
believing we'd break some sales records if I could only experience a
bit more sleep deprivation. I fly from town to town, baffling news
announcers with my presence. They all seem amazed that anyone as
inarticulate as am I can claim to be a writer.

The schedule in a typical city starts with morning TV and ends with a
signing in the evening. I'll sit for several hours at a table piled
high with my books, cheerfully greeting people as they slide past me,
averting their eyes as if one of us is doing something shameful. At
closing time, the manager often comes up and counts the books,
sometimes astounded by the fact that not only have I not sold any, but
that apparently a few of his customers slipped in with their own
copies and left them on the table when I wasn't looking.

By the time I get back to the hotel, the kitchen is often closed.
Thus I found myself not long ago in a bar in Portland, ordering
dinner. (Portland is a city in both Maine and Oregon. Driving across
town must be brutal.) Some other men were sitting there with me,
trying to have an argument but encountering difficulties because one
of them spoke only Spanish, while the other spoke only German. I
offered to help translate, though I don't speak either of these two
languages.

The Spanish-speaking guy turned to me and gesticulated, pouring out a
torrent of words at such a rapid clip I had trouble keeping up with
him. When he was done, I nodded and turned to the German. "His name
is Mr. Rica."

The German drew himself up. "Klaus," he responded stiffly.

"Costa Rica," the Spanish guy corrected.

"His name is Costa Rica," I duly reported.

The Spanish guy vigorously shook his head. "No. Costa Rica...home."

"Then what is your name?" I asked, shouting so he'd understand. I
pounded on my chest. "I am Bruce. What is your name?"

"I am...German," the Spanish guy responded.

"I am German," the German guy interjected.

Well, we had really gotten off track. "Your name is Costa Rica," I
declared to the Spanish guy. I pointed to Klaus. "He is German."

The Spanish guy appeared delighted. "You? German?"

"Yes. I am German."

"His name is Klaus," I explained.

"Yes. I am Klaus," the German guy agreed.

This mystified Mr. Rica. He pulled out a business card for each of
us. I examined it in wonder. His first name was, in fact, "German."

"Your name is 'German'!" I cried.

"Si," German responded.

"I am German," the German guy reminded us.

"No, you're not German the way he is German," I clarified.

"I am German," Klaus insisted.

The bartender wandered over. "Hey buddy, would you quit yelling?" he
asked me.

"This man is German," I told him, pointing to Klaus. Klaus nodded
vigorously. "And this man is from Costa Rica, but his name is
'German'. Isn't that interesting?"

"Why would he have a German name if he is from Costa Rica?" the
bartender demanded.

I shook my head. "Not a German name, his name is 'German'."

"I am 'German'," the man from Costa Rica agreed.

"I am German," Klaus stated.

The bartender looked at us blankly.

"You're thinking of it wrong," I told him. "Like me, my name is
Bruce, but I am a Scot."

"Your name is Scott," he responded stupidly.

"Exactly wrong!" I hooted. "See? So I am not Scott, but I am a
Scot. He," I continued, pointing to the man from Costa Rica, "is
German, but he is not German, his name is 'German'."

"Oh, his name is German," the bartender said.

"Right!"

"But he's not German."

"Exactly!"

"He has a German name, though."

"No, that's the thing, his name is not German at all. Well, unless
it is. A 'German' could even be a Scot, for all I know."

For some reason, this last statement apparently enraged the
bartender, which is why I found myself sitting in a hotel lobby,
trying to explain to German and Klaus why we were ejected from the
bar.

I got the feeling a few things were lost in the translation.

A very weird thing has happened! A strange old lady has moved into my house. I have no idea who she is, where she has come from or how she got there. All I know is that one day she wasn’t there, and the next she was.

She is a clever old lady, and manages to keep out of sight for the most part, but whenever I pass a mirror, I catch a glimpse of her. And whenever I look in the mirror to check my appearance, there she is, hogging the whole thing, completely obliterating my gorgeous face and body, this is very rude. I have tried screaming at her but she just screams back.

If she insists on hanging around, the least she could do is offer to pay part of the rent, but no. Every once in a while I find a fiver stuck in a coat pocket or some loose change under a cushion, but it is not nearly enough.

I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I think she is stealing money from me. I go to the Post Office and draw £50 and a couple of days later its all gone. I certainly don’t spend money THAT fast, so I can only conclude that the old lady is stealing from me.

You’d think she would spend some of that money to buy wrinkle cream. Lord knows she needs it.

And money isn’t the only thing she is stealing. Food seems to disappear at an alarming rate – especially ice-cream. She must have a really sweet tooth, but she’d better watch it, because she’s really piling on the pounds. I suspect she realises this, and to make herself feel better, she is tampering with my scales to make me think I am putting on weight too.

For an old lady, she is quite childish. She likes to play nasty games, like going into my cupboards when I’m not at home and altering my clothes so they don’t fit.

She gets into my mail, newspaper and magazines before I do, and blurs the print so I can’t read it. And she does something really sinister to the volume controls on my television, radio and telephone. Now all I hear are mutters and whispers.

She’s done other things – like make my stairs steeper, my vacuum cleaner heavier and all my knobs and taps harder to turn. She even make my bed higher so that getting in and out if it is a real challenge.

She has taken all the fun out of clothes shopping. When I try something on she stands in front of the changing room mirror and monopolises it. She looks totally ridiculous in some of those outfits, plus she keeps me from seeing how great they look on me.

Just when I thought she couldn’t get any meaner, she proved me wrong. She came with me to get my passport photo taken, and as the camera shutter clicked she jumped in front of me!

Now NO-ONE is going to believe that the picture if that old lady is me.

Blamestorming - Sitting around in a group discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed and who was responsible.

Seagull Manager - A manager, who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps over everything, and then leaves.

Adminisphere - The rarefied organizational layers beginning just above the rank and file. Decisions that fall from the adminisphere are often profoundly inappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were designed to solve.

Flight Risk - Used to describe employees who are suspected of planning to leave the company or department soon.

Percussive Maintenance - The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.

Starter Marriage - A short-lived first marriage that ends in divorce with no kids, no property and no regrets.

G.O.O.D. Job - A "Get-Out-Of-Debt" job. A well-paying job people take in order to pay off their debts, one that they will quit as soon as they are solvent again.

1. If you're too open-minded, your brains will fall out.


2. Don't worry about what people think; they don't do it very often.


3. Going to a church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.


4. It isn't the jeans that make your butt look fat.


5. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.


6. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.


7. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.


8. It is easier to get forgiveness than permission.


9. For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program.


10. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.


11. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.


12. A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feel good.


13. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway. (Just remember how lucky you were to get a free trip around the sun.)


14. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.


15. No man has ever been shot while doing the dishes.


16. A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.


17. Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist change places.


18. Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.


19. Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks before you need it.


20. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.


21. Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.


22. By the time you can make the ends meet, they move the ends.


23. Thou shall not weigh more than thy refrigerator.


24. Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.


25. If you must choose between two evils, choose the one that you've never tried before.

ROFL!!! ouch!!

LOL thanks Cole, I know its long but it had me laughing! I just posted one at HOME as well, check that one out!

<Life in Hypochandria
Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron http://www.wbrucecameron.com/

====> Please do NOT remove the copyright from this essay! ====

I am one of those people for whom the mention of a disease is the
same as a diagnosis. This is particularly true when those public
service messages come on the radio, listing the 14 signs of
edema--invariably, I have all 14 symptoms. Like this:

Public Service Announcer: "Do you have skull apathy? Skull apathy
afflicts one out of ten men who were present during atomic bomb tests
and then later fell into the Love Canal. Listen closely to these
symptoms:

"Has there recently been an obvious change in a wart or mole, such as
pulsating colors or bird whistles?"

(Ohmygosh, yes! I have a mole I've been calling Bullwinkle, because
that is sort of who it looks like, and lately he seems to have
developed a funny bend in one of his legs.)

"Do you sometimes believe you can see Al Gore talking without moving
his lips?"

(Yes!)

"Do you think you are like everyone else?"

(Doesn't everybody?)

"Do you have trouble booting Windows 98?"

(Yes!)

"Do flames shoot out of your eyes when you are driving at night?"

(Yes! Well, sort of.)

"Are you troubled by cold sheets, swooping bats, percussion
grenades?"

(Yes Yes Yes!)

"Did you cry at the movie Titanic, even though there were other guys
in the theater?"

(Yes! Hey wait, I didn't say that.)

"If you answered yes to any of these questions, it is probably too
late to see a doctor. In fact, you probably lapsed into a coma
somewhere after the third question. Have a nice day."

Just great, now I've got skull apathy and I'm about to go coma. I
zoom home and breathlessly dial my doctor's telephone number, assuring
the receptionist that this is a life and death emergency and yes, I
have insurance.

"This is Doctor Spleensplitter."

"Doctor Spleensplitter! This is Bruce Cameron! Thank God you
answered the phone."

"Oh, I'm... I believe I picked up the wrong line."

"Dr. Spleensplitter, I've got the top ten reasons to have skull
apathy, plus I can feel a coma coming on. You have to help me!"

"Skull apathy?"

"Yes."

"What sort of symptoms are you experiencing, Mr. Cameron?"

"Well, I have this mole shaped like a moose, only lately it looks
like it has developed a limp."

"Well then. Maybe you should see a veterinarian."

"Plus, I sometimes see Al Gore using Windows 98 without moving his
lips!"

"Mr. Cameron..."

"I need some of those same pills you gave me last time."

"Mr. Cameron, those were placeboes."

"Yes, that's what I need, more placeboes! Only more powerful ones."

"More powerful placeboes."

"Yes!"

"Mr. Cameron, may I ask you a very important question?"

"Yes, I have insurance."

"No, not that. I was reviewing your file the other day..."

"You were? Why, do you suspect I've got something even more serious
than skull apathy?"

"No, actually, it's because our staff requested a whole new filing
cabinet to put it in, and I wanted to see if there was anything in
there we could throw out. Mr. Cameron, do you realize you've
complained of nearly every malady known to man?"

"I have?"

"Plus some I'd never heard of before. Wake Apnea. Sudden Shower
Syndrome. Reverse Appendicitis. And now this new one..."

"Skull apathy?"

"Precisely. Mr. Cameron, has anyone ever suggested to you that you
might be suffering a bit of hypochondria?"

"Hypochondria? Is it serious? What are the symptoms? Tell me
straight, doc, how much time have I got?"

"No, it isn't serious at all. In fact, a lot of people have it, in
some form or another."

"So I caught it from somebody else?"

"Mr. Cameron, hypochondria is merely a term for people who worry
obsessively that they may have some disease or affliction."

"Well, I am worried! I'm worried I might have hypochondria! Are
there any placeboes that can be used to cure it?"

"You're not understanding me, Mr. Cameron. It isn't a real disease."

"You mean I'm sick with something FAKE?" This opens up a whole new
realm of doom that I hadn't even contemplated before. I swallow,
feeling the first trickle of a whole host of phony symptoms. "What's
next, a CAT scan? An MRI? Should I have my internal organs removed?
Doc, I'm too young to have hypochondria. I was just beginning to live
life to the fullest!" Well, maybe not to the fullest, but I had just
purchased fresh batteries for the TV remote and was looking forward to
a night of crisp channel changes. Now it seems pointless, somehow.

"Mr. Cameron, I'm afraid I'm not making myself clear, here. There's
nothing really wrong with you. You just have a morbid obsession."

He thinks he is fooling me, with his medical jargon, but I know what
morbidity is. From the Greek word "Mortimer," which means death.
Mortician. Post Mortem. Today I mort, yesterday I morted, tomorrow I
will have mortalized. Tomorrow.

"24 hours." I whisper.

"Mr. Cameron?"

"I appreciate you calling me, Doc."

"Well, I didn't call you."

"Whatever. I just... having one more day to at least put my life in
order, maybe catch one last episode of Baywatch..."

"Mr. Cameron."

"Yes?"

He sighs heavily. "I'll call in a prescription for some placeboes
right away. Treated aggressively, you should be well on your way to
recovery by the end of the week."

Well I handed MY resignation in!! (But I'm keeping the car keys... it comes in handy! LOL)

Andersp, I bet Aragon will like that one... if he ever gets out of the bar!! ROFL!

Yeah but as you stand up we double clothes-line you!! ROFL!!

LOL Rogue!! (I'm still looking for a clean joke!!)