D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
February
2008
Blondes and Cannibals, Husbands and Wives
Plus a job worse than yours and when airline crews crack wise.
Persons of the blonde persuasion. . . We begin this month with our usual caveat that the easily offended and blonde of locks may feel free to substitute "brunette" or "redhead" in the yarn that follows, submitted by Toni in the Vet's Office. Whatever your hair color, it's a hoot:
"Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with that expensive double-pane, energy-efficient kind. Yesterday, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was complaining that the windows had been installed a whole year ago and I had never paid for them yet. Hellloooo? Now just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So I told him just exactly what his fast-talking sales guy had told ME last year: Namely, that in just ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves! 'It's been a year!' I told him.
"There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up. He hasn't called back, probably too embarrassed about forgetting the guarantee they made me. Bet he won't underestimate a blonde anymore.
What color is your golden parachute? When you have one of those "I hate my job" days, suggests Braveheart, try this:
"On your way home from work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the thermometer section and purchase a rectal thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson. Be very sure you get this brand. When you get home, lock your doors, close the curtains and disconnect the phone, so you will not be disturbed. Change into very comfortable clothing and sit in your favorite chair. Open the package and remove the thermometer. Now, carefully place it on a table or a surface so that it will not become chipped or broken. Take out the accompanying literature and read it carefully. You will notice that in small print there is a statement: 'Every Rectal Thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson is personally tested.'
"Now, close your eyes and repeat out loud five times: 'I am so glad I do not work in thermometer quality control at Johnson & Johnson.'
"Remember, there is always someone else with a job that is more of a pain in the butt than yours!"
Speaking of the world of work, Tigger of Oz sends along some more helpful tips — "10 Best Things to Say When Caught Sleeping at Your Desk":
"They told me at the Blood Bank this might happen.
"This is just the 15-minute power nap they raved about in the time-management course you sent me to.
"Whew! Guess I left the top off the Wite-Out. You probably got here just in time.
"I wasn't sleeping! I was meditating on the Mission Statement and envisioning a new business strategy.
"It's true what they say about all that harmful radiation that these monitors put out. My eyes started stinging and I got real dizzy.
"I was doing a highly specific Yoga exercise to relieve work-related stress. Are you discriminating against people who practice Yoga?
"Darn! Why did you interrupt me? I had almost figured out how to handle that big accounting problem."
"I was getting in touch with my spirit world.
"Did you ever notice sound coming out of these keyboards when you put your ear down real close?
"Raise your head slowly and say, '. . . in Jesus' name, amen.'"
Got career advice or just a favorite joke to share? Send it to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, email diary@desertexposure.com or fax 534-4134.
Annals of medicine. . . As the following concerns certain, er, anatomical issues, we suggest the easily offended skip ahead. Heck, given the way this month's Diary seems to be going, the easily offended might just want to skip to the next section of the paper! For the rest of us, JM RealOne sends this tale:
"A duck hunter was out enjoying a nice morning on the marsh when he decided to take a leak. He walked over to a tree and propped up his gun. Just then a gust of wind blew, the gun fell over and discharged — shooting him in the genitals. Several hours later, lying in a hospital bed, the hunter was approached by his doctor, who said, 'Well, sir, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you are going to be OK, the damage was local to your groin, there was very little internal damage, and we were able to remove all of the buckshot. The bad news is that there was some pretty extensive damage done to your penis. I'm going to have to refer you to my brother.'
"'Oh, well I guess that isn't too bad,' the hunter replied. 'Is your brother a a plastic surgeon?'
"'Not exactly,' answered the doctor. 'He's a flute player in the local symphony. He's going to teach you where to put your fingers so you don't pee in your eye.'"
Losing the battle of the sexes. . . Two yarns from the front lines of the gender wars, the first from Old Grumps:
"A husband is at home watching a football game when his wife interrupts: 'Honey, could you fix the light in the hallway? It's been flickering for weeks now.'
"He looks at her and says angrily, 'Fix the lights now? Does it look like I have "GE" written on my forehead? I don't think so.'
"'Fine, then,' the wife says, 'but could you fix the fridge door? It won't close right.'
"To which he replies, 'Fix the fridge door? Does it look like I have "Westinghouse" written on my forehead? I don't think so.'
"'Fine,' she says, 'then you could at least fix the steps to the front door. They are about to break.'
"'I'm not a carpenter and I don't want to fix steps,' the husband says. 'Does it look like I have "Ace Hardware" written on my forehead? I don't think so! I've had enough of you. I'm going to the bar!'
"So he goes to the bar and drinks for a couple of hours. He starts to feel guilty about how he treated his wife, and decides to go home. As he walks into the house, he notices that the steps are already fixed. As he enters the house, he sees the hall light is working. As he goes to get a beer, he notices the fridge door is fixed. 'Honey,' he asks, 'how'd all this get fixed?'
"She replies, 'Well, when you left I sat outside and cried. Just then a nice young man asked me what was wrong, and I told him. He offered to do all the repairs, and all I had to do was either go to bed with him or bake a cake.
"The husband says, 'So what kind of cake did you bake?'
"The wife replies, "Do you see "Sara Lee" written on my forehead? I don't think so!'"
And this second tale, courtesy of Geerichard:
"She was in the kitchen preparing to boil eggs for breakfast. He walked in. She turned and said, 'You've got to make love to me this very moment.' His eyes lit up and he thought, 'This is my lucky day!' Not wanting to lose the moment, he embraced her and then gave it his all, right there on the kitchen table.
"Afterwards she said, 'Thanks,' and returned to the stove.
"More than a little puzzled, he asked, 'What was that all about?'
"She explained, 'The egg timer's broken.'"
Send your best shots in the gender war to Desert Diary, PO Box 191, Silver City, NM 88062, email diary@desertexposure.com or fax 534-4134.
This month's Diary continues. . . head
for page 2.