Today's stories [10.16.09]

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Some time ago I was hosting a State Dinner, when at the last minute my 
regular cook took ill and they had to get a replacement on short 
notice. The fellow arrived and turned out to be a very grubby looking 
man named John. I voiced my concerns to my Chief of Staff but was told 
that this was the best they could do at such short notice, according 
to the Head of the Household Staff.

Unbeknown to me, but later reported, the following events occurred. 
Just before the meal, the Chief of Staff noticed the cook sticking his 
fingers  in the soup to taste it and again he complained to the Head 
of the Household Staff about the cook, but he was told that this man 
was supposed to be a very good chef.

The meal went okay but I was sure that the soup tasted a little off, 
and by the time dessert came, I was starting to have stomach cramps 
and nausea. It was getting worse and worse, until finally I had to 
excuse myself from the State Dinner to look for the bathroom. Passing 
through the kitchen, I caught sight of the cook, John, scratching his 
rear end and this made me feel even worse. By now I was desperately 
ill with violent cramps and was so disoriented that I couldn't 
remember which door led to the bathroom.

I was on the verge of passing out from the pain when I finally found a 
door that opened and as I undid my trousers and ran in, I realized to 
my horror that I had stumbled into Monica Lewinsky's office with my 
trousers around my knees.

As I was just about to pass out, Monica bent over me and heard her 
President whisper in a barely audible voice, "Sack my cook."

And that your Honor, is how the whole misunderstanding started.

I work as a flight attendant and once as we waited just off the runway 
for another airliner to cross in front of us, some of the passengers were 
beginning to retrieve luggage from the overhead bins. The head attendant 
announced on the intercom, "This aircraft is equipped with a video 
surveillance system that monitors the cabin during taxiing. Any 
passengers not remaining in their seats until the aircraft comes to a 
full and complete stop at the gate will be strip-searched as they leave 
the aircraft."

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable.  No matter how legitimate
my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying.

On one occasion, I had a valid reason, but lied anyway because the truth
was too humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury
and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could
think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown.

The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to
adopt a cute little kitty.  Initially the new acquisition was no problem, 
but one morning I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my 
wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.  "Ed!  The garbage disposal is 
dead.  Come reset it."

"You know where the button is." I protested through the shower (pitter-
patter). "Reset it yourself!"

"I am scared!" She pleaded.  "What if it starts going and sucks me in?"
(Pause) "C'mon, it'll only take a second."

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement
about how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence. I crouched 
down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last 
action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it
wasn't a hexed disposal drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was 
our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between 
my legs.  She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took 
the bait under the sink.  At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, 
she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her 
needle-like claws.

I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, while
rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a 
kitten hanging from my masculine region. Wild animals are sometimes faced 
with a "fight or flight" syndrome.  Men, in this predicament, choose only 
the "flight" option.  Fleeing straight up, the sink and cabinet bluntly 
impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully
briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their
work while suppressing hysterical laughter.

At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept 
silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" If they had only known.

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