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Tuesday, May 06, 2003

And now for something completely different...


= The Magician & the Proctologist =

Having toured the country for months now, performing at county fairs and the occasional business convention, the magician had been short-tempered and irritable for days.

Finally, his female assistant told him, "I don't know what's up your ass, but if your attitude doesn't improve - and quick - you'd better see a specialist."

The assistant was half-kidding, of course, but the magician - being as irritable and short-tempered as he was at the time - didn't realize it.

So, during a stopover in the next small town, the magician went to see an old country doctor.

After hearing about the symptoms, the doctor had the magician drop his pants and bend over.

"Let's have ourselves a little look-see," the doctor said.

He pulled on rubber gloves, with a snap, and dabbed a little Vaseline on his forefinger.

The magician's ass was thoroughly inspected.

"I think I see the problem."

With a firm grip, the doctor pulled a glass coca-cola bottle out of the magician's ass.

"If I had five-cents for every bottle I returned, after pulling it out of somebody's ass, I'd be a rich man indeed," he commented.

The magician started to reach for his pants, but the doctor stopped him.

"Keep bending over," he said, "I think I see something else." He got out his penlight and probed a little deeper.

He began pulling a red scarf out of that ass, but soon found it was tied to an orange scarf.

He kept pulling.

Soon, he had pulled about eight feet worth of scarves, all tied end to end, out of the magician's ass.

It was like a magic trick gone horribly wrong. All the colors of the rainbow were there.

The magician, for his part, sheepishly grinned.

"I better make a closer inspection," the doctor said, as eight feet of scarves lay about his feet.

"Oh Lord," he added, "I think something's moving up there!"

He held the penlight in his mouth. This job was going to take both hands.

He dug deep and, soon, gingerly worked a small white rabbit out of the magician's ass.

"I guess you just tumbled onto a magic trade secret," the magician said. "Now you know where we keep the rabbit before pulling it out of the hat. I hope you can keep a secret, doc."

"Hippocratic Oath, and all that, my boy. Your secret is safe with me. As long as you pay your bill on the way out."

The doctor placed the rabbit on the floor. It gently hopped to and fro.

The rabbit, for its part, was quite bewildered. It was expecting to find itself in a hat and, now, this had happened.

It liked the hat. The hat was comfortable and roomy. Much more so than that ass.

But this room it now found itself in was, quite frankly, a bit much. Too roomy, in fact. It made the rabbit nervous and confused which, as far as hare behavior goes, is pretty much the norm. But this particular rabbit was more so than is usual.

"And that," the doctor muttered, "is that."

He took off his rubber gloves and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his front shirt pocket. It was against the rules to smoke in a doctor's office but, the old country doctor figured, it was his office and he could do as he damn well pleased.

As the magician started to pull up his pants again, the doctor was looking around for the lighter. It wasn't in his shirt pocket, nor his pants.

"Wait one cotton-pickin' minute," the doctor ordered, placing his hand squarely on the magician's back and pushing him back down.

The doctor reached his hand back up the magician's ass, and soon produced the lighter.

"Dadgummit," the doctor said, "I'm always leaving that thing lying around and end up losing it."

He then hung a cigarette from his lip, lit that "bad boy" up, and took a cool drag.

= One-Fisted Tales of Love =

Late night at a bar, close to final call, the men mused and mumbled about all the women they'd known and loved. Reminiscing about those few brief moments of attraction, and comfort, in their otherwise lonely lives.

"That last dame I nailed was my neighbor, Karlotta, down the hall," Carl started. "I had just polished off two bottles of whiskey. I was feeling pretty good. She came in, without knocking, and began strutting around my room. She pulled up her skirt past her thighs, sat on my lap, and asked me what I had to drink. She wasn't the best-looking woman I'd ever seen, but not bad either. Mostly it was her deformed left ear. It looked like the ear of a boxer on a really awful losing streak. Cauliflowered and jagged....

...We downed another bottle of the hooch between us. She started to look real fine. Hell, *I* started to look good too. The next thing I knew, she's literally ripping the clothes off of me. I'm returning the favor. Soon we're on the bed, going at it like a pack of hungry wolves. She's screaming, "Do me, daddy! I've been a very bad girl!" Quite frankly, boys, although I'm ashamed to admit it, it kept me hard a lot longer than usual....

...Later that night, while we were smoking some Lucky Strikes, I pushed her hair back and gave her ears another gander. The right one was pierced multiple times, and an assortment of brightly colored beads and loops were in it. The left one was unadorned. So, while gently stroking her cheek I said to her, "You should put those beautiful earrings in your other ear, instead. It needs all the help it can get, sweetie.""

Kenny interrupted, "Dude, I met this one chick at the bus stop, if you can believe that shit. Mona was her name. She gave me her phone number and asked for mine. I told her I'd call her the next day. She called me that night; you know what I'm saying? Three times. The last time was at 1AM. We talked until the sun came up. At some point, what we liked in bed came up. I was honest, for once; it must've been the late hour and total lack of sleep. I don't know what the hell I was thinking; you know what I'm saying? I told her I liked handcuffs and a blindfold. As soon as that came out of my mouth, I figured she'd just hang up. Did I mention it was really, really late? Anyway, she replied, 'I prefer ropes.' That was the moment I fell for her. It was true love, you know what I'm saying..?

...The next thing I knew, I was banging her all the time, dude. I was calling in sick to work, just so I could bang her. I lost my job. I didn't care, cuz I was getting laid, you know what I'm saying? But before too long the relationship was suffocating me. After only two months, Mona wanted to get hitched. I didn't want to be tied down. No pun intended, guys."

Well," Tom interjected, "I was married once. To my high school sweetheart, in fact. Her name was Kelly. I used to call her my "little kelly bean." Her eyes would light up when I'd say that....

...Somewhere along the way, things went horribly wrong. Maybe I was working too hard. Maybe it was having kids. Maybe I don't know what the heck it was, but it sure was something. One day, out of the blue, Kelly asked me to move out of the house. It hit me like a ton of bricks; I don't mind telling you that. We tried counseling, it didn't work. We separated. I sent her gift after gift, trying to win her heart again. Flowers. Chocolates. Even a puppy at Christmas. She always liked dogs, you know. I pretty much threw everything I could think of against that wall, just hoping to heck something would stick and she'd take me back....

...Then I heard she had a new boyfriend. I went over to the house. Boy, was I pissed. Her living in my house, with my kids, and some snot-nosed punk. I probably shouldn't have broken the front door down. Looking back now, I realize that was my first mistake. My screaming at her didn't help either. That was probably a mistake too. I remember Kelly standing there, her eyes wide and her body shaking. Then she turned tail and ran into the bedroom. I chased after her. That was mistake number three...

...When I awoke in the hospital, I was told by the doctors that I had been shot four times at point-blank range. I didn't even know she had bought a gun. I don't remember being shot. The divorce was final a week later."

All three men looked up as the perky, young waitress came by.

"Last call, boys," she said, leaning over the table and smiling. All three men simultaneously eyed her ample breasts.

"We're ok, thanks," Carl muttered.

After she left, the men played a game of Roshambo ('paper - scissors - rock') to see which one of them would get to ask her for her phone number. It was best two out of three.

Those were the best odds any of them had seen in quite some time.


posted by Pete 12:16 AM
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