Saturday, June 28, 2008

THE HORMONE HOSTAGE


 
 
                                  THE HORMONE HOSTAGE

THE HORMONE HOSTAGE KNOWS THAT THERE ARE DAYS IN THE MONTH WHEN ALL A MAN HAS TO DO IS OPEN HIS MOUTH & HE TAKES HIS LIFE INTO HIS OWN HANDS!  THIS IS A HANDY GUIDE THAT SHOULD BE AS COMMON AS A DRIVER'S LICENSE IN THE WALLET OF EVERY HUSBAND, BOYFRIEND, CO-WORKER, OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER!

 

DANGEROUS:

SAFER:

SAFEST:

ULTRA SAFE:

WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

CAN I HELP YOU WITH DINNER?

WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO FOR DINNER?

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

ARE YOU

WEARING THAT?

WOW, YOU SURE LOOK GOOD IN BROWN!

WOW!

LOOK AT YOU!

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

WHAT ARE YOU

SO WORKED UP ABOUT?

COULD WE BE OVERREACTING?

HERE'S MY PAYCHECK.

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

 

SHOULD YOU BE EATING THAT?

YOU KNOW, THERE ARE A LOT OF APPLES LEFT.

CAN I GET YOU A PIECE OF CHOCOLATE WITH THAT?

 

HERE, HAVE

SOME WINE.

WHAT DID

YOU DO

ALL DAY?

I HOPE YOU DIDN'T OVER-DO IT TODAY.

I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU IN THAT ROBE!

HERE, HAVE

SOME MORE

WINE.

13 THINGS PMS STANDS FOR:

1. PASS MY SHOTGUN

2. PSYCHOTIC MOOD SWING

3. PERPETUAL MUNCHING SPREE

4. PUFFY MID-SECTION

5. PEOPLE MAKE me SICK

6. PROVIDE ME with SWEETS

7. PARDON MY SOBBING

8.. PIMPLES MAY SURFACE

9. PASS MY SWEATS

10. PISSY MOOD SYNDROME

 11. POOR MEN SUCK

 12. PACK MY STUFF

& MY FAVORITE ONE

 13. POTENTIAL MURDER SUSPECT

 

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

CRABBY OLD MAN

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Missouri . The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the New s Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses?....What do you see?
What are you thinking.....when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man, ....not very wise,
Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .....the things that you do.
And forever is losing ....A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not.......lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding ....The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? ....Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse......you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am .....As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding......as I eat at your will
I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .......who love one another

A young boy of Sixteen....with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now....a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty....my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows......that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now ....I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide ....And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty ....My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other .......With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons....have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me.......to see
I
don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ....Babies play ' round my knee,
Again, we know children .......My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me .....My wife is now dead.
I look at the future .......I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing......young of their own.
And I think of the years....... And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age....look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles......grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass .....A young guy still dwells,
And now and again .......my battered heart swells
I remember the joys.....I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living....life over again.

I think of the years all too few......gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact.....that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people ....open and see..
Not a crabby old man. Look closer....see........ME!!

Thursday, June 12, 2008

THEFT PROBLEM....IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR WOMEN OVER 50

 

 Theft Problem - IMPORTANT MESSAGE:
( Author Unknown)

 You've heard about people who have been abducted and had
 their kidneys removed by black-market organ thieves.

 
WELL

 My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. I went to
 sleep and woke up with someone else's thighs. It was just that quick.
 The replacements had the texture of cooked oatmeal. 
I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs.
 Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans.

 And then the thieves struck again.

 My butt was next.  But,  these thieves are cruel. they attached 
my new butt  three inches lower than my original!  I realized I'd have to give up my jeans in favor of long skirts.

 Two years ago I realized my arms had been switched. One morning I was
 fixing my hair and was horrified to see the flesh of my upper arm swing to
  and fro,
 This was really getting scary -. What could they do to me next?

 When my poor neck suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a turkey
 neck, I decided to tell my story.

 Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee! Those 'plastic' surgeons
 are using REAL replacement body parts - stolen from you and me!

 The next time someone you know has something 'lifted', look again - was it
 lifted from you?

 THIS IS NOT A HOAX.
 
This is happening to women everywhere every night.

 WARN YOUR FRIENDS!

 P. S.
Last year I thought someone had stolen my Boobs. I was lying in bed
 and they were gone! But when I jumped out of bed, I was relieved to see 
that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept.
 
Now, I keep them hidden in my waistband.

 Thought this was too 'important' not to pass on.


A ROUTINE COLONOSCOPY...TOOOO FUNNY!!!

Dave Barry's Colonoscopy
(Dave Barry was a nationally syndicated humor columnist) 


A Routine Colonoscopy
I went in for a routine colonoscopy to check for the possible dreaded
diagnosis: cancer.  I was told that if it's early there is a good
prognosis that they can get it
all out, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course
they told me to tell my
siblings to get screened. I imagine they both have.

Um. Well. First I called my brother, Sam.  He was hopeful, but scared.
We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy
Sable, a gastroenterologist, to
make an appointment for a colonoscopy.  A few days later, in his office,
Andy showed me a color
diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the
place, at one point
passing briefly through
Minneapolis.  Then Andy explained the
colonoscopy procedure to me in a
thorough, reassuring and patient manner.  I nodded thoughtfully, but I
didn't really hear
anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, "HE'S GOING TO STICK A
TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!" I
left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called "MoviPrep," which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave
oven. 

I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that
we must never
allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation.  In
accordance with my
instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was
chicken broth, which is basically water,
only with less flavor.  Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep  You
mix two packets of powder
together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water.  (For those unfamiliar with
the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.)  Then you have to drink
the whole jug.  This takes
about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind --
like a mixture of goat
spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.  The instructions
for MoviPrep, clearly
written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you
drink it, "a loose watery bowel
movement may result."  This is kind of like saying that after you jump
off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative.  I
don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space
shuttle launch?  This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle.  There are times when you wish the commode had a
seat belt.  You spend several
hours pretty much confined to the bathroom.  You eliminate everything.
And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep,
at which point, as far as I
can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food
that you have not even
eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.  The next
morning my wife drove me to the
clinic.  I was very nervous.  Not only was I worried about the
procedure, but I had been
experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was
thinking, "What if I spurt on
Andy?"  How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with
whatever the hell the forms said.  Then they led me to a room full of
other colonoscopy people,
where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and
put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you
put it on, makes you feel
even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand
Ordinarily I would have
fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down.  Eddie
also told me that some
people put vodka in their MoviPrep.  At first I was ticked off that I
hadn't thought of this, but
then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make
it to the bath room, so you
were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode.  You would have no choice
but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a
nurse and an anesthesiologist.  I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but
I knew Andy had it hidden
around there somewhere.  I was seriously nervous at this point.  Andy
had me roll over on my left
side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle
in my hand.  There was
music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was "Dancing
Queen" by Abba.  I remarked to
Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, "Dancing Queen"
has to be the least appropriate.  "You want me to turn it up?" said
Andy, from somewhere behind me. "Ha
ha," I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a decade.  If you are squeamish,
prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail,
exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. 

Really.  I slept through it. 

One moment, Abba was shrieking "Dancing Queen!  Feel the beat from the
tambourine . . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room,
waking up in a very mellow mood.  Andy was looking down at me and asking
me how I
felt.  I felt excellent.  I felt even more excellent when Andy told me
that it was all over, and
that my colon had passed with flying colors. 

I have never been prouder of an internal organ.