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THE ART OF LANGUAGE!A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another mother I knew well, rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with indignation.
"Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. Before I could answer - and I didn't really have one handy - she blurted out the reason for her question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to state her "occupation," Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.
"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have a job, or are you just a ......?" "Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother!"
"We don't list "mother" as an occupation..."housewife" covers it," emphatically said the recorder.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title, like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar." The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in mid-air, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. "Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Cooly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to agree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than just money."
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants---ages 13, 7, and 3. And upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (six months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.  |
WHY? ooooooo, why?
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Oh, No! Lawyer JokesWhat happens to a lawyer who jumps out of a plane at 35,000 feet without a parachute? What's the difference between a lawyer and a vulture? What's the difference between God and a lawyer? Why did God make snakes just before lawyers? Lawyer Jokes were submitted by LTC Charles D. Holley (ummm, thanx, CD, I think) |
OOOOOOOOOOOO!!You have been Cyber Flashed!OHMYGOODNESS.COM |
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| Note from Your WebMADam: This was Odie's first day on the super highway. He suffered an extreme & undue amount of stress, hardship, and complete exhaustion by the time he successfully sent this "one liner" via email. I certainly must give him credit for his sense of humor after all the turmoil of getting connected to his server and for immediately learning that ".com" had something to do with something. :-) |
INTERESTING SIGN OFF1st WOC 66-9 Green Hats Art Cline CW3 Retired Senior Aviator Participant "South East Asia War Games" 2nd Place Purple Heart Medalist 1966 Phouc Vinh 162nd Copperhead28 1967 Tay Ninh 187th RatPack18 1969 Pleiku 1970 An Khe E.co.704th Maint Bn 4th Div. |
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Later, the lion confronts a deer and bellows, "WHO IS MIGHTIEST OF ALL JUNGLE ANIMALS?" The terrified deer stammers, "Oh great lion, you are by far the mightiest animal in the jungle." On a roll now, the lion swaggers up to an elephant and roars, "WHO IS MIGHTIEST OF ALL JUNGLE ANIMALS?" Fast as lightning, the elephant snatches up the lion with his trunk, slams him against a tree half a dozen times. The lion felt like it'd been run over by a safari wagon. The elephant then STOMPED on the lion until the poor Lion looked like a corn tortilla. Trunk in the air, the elephant casually ambled away. "DAMN -- JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW THE ANSWER, YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET SO HACKED OFF!" Submitted by: DeWayne McCarty |
I sign e-mail with the phrase "Keep Outta the Wire." I sent several emails to one particular acquaintance. Finally, the acquaintance (a city slicker) wrote me back and asked what "Keep Outta the Wire" meant. I responded, "When you are working with livestock, the last thing you ever want is for one of them, (especially the horse you happen to be riding) to get caught up, tangled up or just about exposed to in any manner whatsoever any type, style, gauge or brand of wire. This includes, but is not limited to, getting into a barbed wire fence while one or more of, or perhaps an assortment of, any particular cattle, horses, mules, everyday livestock (young bulls being some of the worst) or any mounted steed is attempting to go over it, under it or otherwise escape through it." I continued my brief explanation to my acquaintance. "Especially it means to refrain from getting loose pieces of haywire wrapped around one or more hooves of the horse you happen to be sitting on 'cause that just about guarantees a wreck for both you and your horse.....usually about 20 miles from no where in blazing hot weather with no water, one cigarette and no matches from where YOU walk in - either with or without your horse because you can't take a chance of ruinin' him if you ride/walk him injured from a battle with that demon wire." Submitted by: L. E. New (Holding our breath to get the rest of the story, L.E. - thanx!) |
THE EXPERIENCE! -- I USED TO BE A CAV PILOTI used to be a fully, physically qualified Cavalryman (including that part of my anatomy to which I will refer to as my personal "Cavalry swagger".
It was my habit to "anoint" the back of my skids before climbing into the cockpit. The "anointing" served three purposes: 1) obvious reduction of bladder pressure; 2) a "package" adjustment to accommodate that big step up into the cockpit; and 3) it was my personal good-luck ritual.
About a week before my DEROS (August,72), I was one of four Cobra pilots on 5 minute alert. I'd finished a big morning canteen cup of coffee (poor planning) when we received the alarm. Launch! We ran out to the aircraft. I jumped in and started the sequence, as the crewchief untied the blade and the co-pilot pulled the jettison pins on the pods and the bullet catcher from the minigun. I did not have time for the "anointing ritutal." Once the front seat was in and set, I gave over the controls. The throttle was rolled up to operating RPM and lifted out of the revetment, while I donned my chicken plate, strapped in, put on my helmet and gloves. While speeding toward the target, my bladder became increasingly uncomfortable. The slight beat at 130 KIAS made things worse. It soon reached a point where I had to relieve myself. I called lead and told him that I'd have to slow down for a minute, and I would catch up with him later. I transferred the controls to the front seat and requested a slow down to enable me to open the canopy. This was an emergency! I couldn't wait until the airspeed indicator reached 40 KIAS (or was it 45, can't remember the "G"--Whiskey is 45). Now in a critical personal state, I opened the canopy at around 90 KIAS (violation of Dash-10 maximum airspeed limit for opening the canopy in flight). I rushed to prepare my clothing for acommodation. Aaah, the clouds were going to receive some rain. Without warning (and before final relief) the slip stream caught my personal Cavalry swagger and ripped it from the grip of my hands. (A note of history: This was 1972 and the Cobras had been converted from the standard, left-side tail rotor to the new, more efficient right-side tractor tail rotor.) I was unpleasantly startled to recognize my personal Cavalry swagger entangled in the tractor tail rotor. The tractor tail rotor WHACKED off a portion of my personal Cavalry swagger. There was no harm incurred by the tail rotor. I don't remember too much of what happened after that. I think we finished the mission. Upon my returned from the mission, I was disqualified as an Air Cavalryman (due to shortness of manhood ... not for opening the canopy at 90 KIAS). Submitted by: (He hasn't given us permission to say -- LOL)(Wonder if he sells land in Florida? Just a thought) |
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USED TO BE THE MILKMAN--DON'T MATTER, BOTH START WITH "M"A man took his pregnant wife to the hospital to give birth and the doctor told them that he'd developed a new machine and asked if they'd like to try it out. The machine could take some of the pain of childbirth from the mother and give it to the father to ease the mother's burden. Well, they thought that was a good idea and decided to give it a try, so the doctor set it on 10 percent to begin with, telling the man that even 10 percent was probably more pain than he'd ever experienced. But the man was surprised at how little pain he was feeling and asked the doctor to raise it. So he put it up to 20 percent and when the man still felt fine, he raised it to 50 and finally 100 percent. After it was over, the man stood up, stretched a little. Both he and his wife felt fine. Later, when they took the baby home, they found the MAILMAN dead on their doorstep. Submitted by: DeWayne McCarty :-) |
 INQUIRY BY DAVID'S DAD ;) |
Shave & A Haircut -- 2 bitsA guy sticks his head in a barber shop and asks "How long before I can get a haircut?" The barber looks around the shop and says, "About 2 hours." The guy leaves. A few days later, the same guy sticks his head in the door and asks, "How long before I get a haircut?" The barber looks around the shop full of customers and says, "About 2 hours." The guy leaves. A week later, the same guy sticks his head in the shop and asks, "How long before I can get a haircut?" The barber looks around the shop an says, "About an hour and half." The guy leaves. The barber looks over at a friend in the shop, and says, "Hey Bill, follow that guy and see where he goes." In a little while, Bill comes back into the shop laughing hysterically. The barber asks, "Bill where did he go when he left here?"
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Takes One to Know OneThe Americans and Russians at the height of the arms race realized that if they continued in the usual manner they were going to blow up the whole world. One day they sat down and decided to settle the whole dispute with one dog fight. They would have five years to breed the best fighting dog in the world and which ever side's dog won would be entitled to dominate the world. The losing side would have to lay down its arms. The Russians found the biggest meanest Doberman and Rottweiler females in the world and bred them with the biggest meanest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest and strongest puppy from each litter, killed his siblings, and gave him all the milk. They used steroids and trainers and after five years came up with the biggest meanest dog the world had ever seen. Its cage needed steel bars that were five inches thick and nobody could get near it. When the day came for the dog fight, the Americans showed up with a strange animal. It was a NINE FOOT LONG DACHSHUND. Everyone felt sorry for the Americans because they knew there was no way that this dog could possibly last ten seconds with the Russian dog. When the cages were opened up, the Dachshund came out of it's cage and slowly waddled over towards the Russian dog. The Russian dog snarled and leaped out of it's cage and charged the American dachshund. But, when it got close enough to bite the Dachshund's neck, the Dachshund opened it's mouth and consumed the Russian dog in one bite. There was nothing left at all of the Russian dog. The Russians came up to the Americans shaking their heads in disbelief."We don't understand how this could have happened. We had our best people working for five years with the meanest Doberman and Rottweiler female in the world and the biggest meanest Siberian wolves." "That's nothing", an American replied. "We had our best plastic surgeons working for five years to make an alligator look like a Dachshund!! Submitted by: DeWayne McCarty (keep 'em coming, DeWayne!) |
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