Marlene B wrote a whole bunch of stuff I'd just as soon not repost.
Maybe this should be rated "R"...
They named WHAT after me? Should I be humiliated or impressed? I've had
people tell me they've named ferrets after me, but really! I had a lady
once tell me she named a son after me. She was having a baby and her
husband was out on his UPS rounds, so I <ahem> made the delivery. I was
17 at the time, and it has taken me a long time to get over the trauma of
seeing a baby's head in a place where all my reference "material" only
showed extensive airbrushing. Scared me so much I almost became a V-Bob.
I was deathly afraid to touch anything, so it was a miracle I caught the
little booger as he plopped out. I carefully wrapped the baby in my
jacket, handed him to the poor lady, and as soon as she kissed my cheek
to say thanks, I blushed a deep red. It's been that way since. I recall
that cool evening in Atlanta. People were warming their hands on the
heat from all my blushing. I was so red, every time I looked outside,
cars would stop. That's the reason they did it, you know. Once they
realized I was a blusher, all bets were off. They dragged me everywhere
and all I wanted was a ride home. In California, the Wacky Twins took
me to a restaurant with belly-dancing. Really good professional belly
dancing by a beautiful sprite of a lady. At one point, her belly was
less than a foot from my nose, her hips jiggling like both needed metal
replacements in a hurry, and I couldn't even look! But I did get
applause from the other diners for being so red. The same thing happened
to me in Amsterdam. Here is the really sweet lady, a person for whom I
have tremendous respect so I will not name, and she is trying to drag me
into the Sex Museum. I made a bee-line for the gift shop, so they all
followed me in, and what did someone buy me? A lighter with flashing..
well, you can guess the feminine parts. I was told it was a Bobbie
Lighter. I resolved right then and there to go back to Holland as soon
as possible. Just call me Dutch Bob.
As for sniffin' my booty, well, just remember I love tacos, refried
beans, chilies, and beer. And about in that order. I had all four the
night before I went to visit Lisa in hospital...I had to beg her to let
me leave the room to go buy her a Pepsi...several times. When I was
done, she had a half-dozen sitting on her bedside table "for later."
I'm so old now that I'm at the point of needing to wear Depends before
I risk poofin'. Hey, when you are full of crap, things get loose--it
is simple physics. If you want to get the real poop on the story, when
I was in the Navy, they made me wear a flight deck jersey that said,
"Warning: Blast Zone!" Hey, don't get mad at me for bad puns; what do
you expect from an old fart? I know these jokes stink, but its the best
I can do-do.
Be warned! I'm going to eat a lot of tacos and refried beans on Friday
as I drive easterly on Bob time. Where is North Carolina anyway?
Bob C [log in to unmask]
"You're Bob? I *love* your posts! I save them for reference!" [Do you
like reading them?] "Oh, not really. They are so long and scientific.
But I know they're good so I save them to read later. I really like the
jokes. Well, not the puns."
Told to Bob C at the Ferret Symposium, by someone who knows exactly who
they are and I won't forget. ;-)
[Posted in FML issue 4883]
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