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]