Friday, May 17, 2013
A retired man went into the Job Center in Downtown Denver, and saw a card advertising for a Gynecologist's Assistant.
Interested, he went in and asked the clerk for details.
The clerk pulled up the file and read;
"The job entails getting the ladies ready for the gynecologist.
You have to help the women out of their underwear,
lay them down and carefully wash their private regions, then
apply shaving foam and gently shave off the hair,
then rub in soothing oils so they're ready
for the gynecologist's examination.
The annual salary is $65,000, and you'll have to go to Billings, Montana."
"Good grief", the man asked, "Is that where the job is?"
"No sir . . . that's where the end of the line is right now.
Monday, May 13, 2013
I am off on my next holiday in about 11 hours. Almost ready for bed and tomorrow after breakfast our DS is taking us to the airport and we fly to Istanbul via Brunei and Dubai.
We are having 2 days in Istanbul before the cruise.
It's a 33 day cruise around the Mediterranean visiting Mykonos, Rhodes, Crete, Athens, Santorini, Corfu and Katakolon in Greece, Kusadasi in Turkey, Port Said and Alexandria in Egypt, Venice, Rome, Naples, Livorno and Palermo in Italy, Tunis in Tunisia, Calvi and Marseille in France, Monte Carlo and finish in Barcelona, Spain!
We then stay an extra 4 days to really get to know Barcelona.
I know it's gonna be very busy, we are at port 26 days and only 7 days at sea.
I won't get much gym time but at least lots of walking around and sightseeing!
Not sure whether I'll get much internet time while cruising to log on to SP but I'll be taking lots of photos.
See you all in 6 weeks, my friends.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
When I was a child in the 1950s, the bathing suit for the mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice, she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.
I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
Thursday, April 04, 2013
While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old farmer, whose hand was caught in the squeeze gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man.
Eventually the topic got around to Politicians and their role as our leaders.
The old rancher said, "Well, you know, most Politicians are 'Post Turtles'.''
Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him, what a 'post turtle' was.
The old rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a
fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle."
The old rancher saw the puzzled look on the doctor's face so he continued to explain. "You know he didn't get up there by himself, he doesn't belong up there, he doesn't know what to do while he's up there, he's elevated beyond his ability to function, and you just wonder what kind of dumb *ss put him up there to begin with."
Best explanation I've heard yet!
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