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   I saw in the paper the other day that there's a serious shortage of
   men in Washington DC. I commented on this fact to my wife and told her
   I might just go there. I added that the article said that men could
   earn $50 a nite easily as a gigolo.
   She smiled and said, "And exactly how do you intend to live on $200 a
   month ?"

Email Friend
A whole bunch of us were sitting around my house talking and we 
were trying to remember a guy's name. None of us could remember 
his name at all when all of a sudden my friend yells, "Dick!". 
We said yes that's it. Then she said "Boy, I pulled that one 
out of my ass". No one said anything until I burst out laughing 
and she said "You had to go there didn't you?"

Email Friend
Scrotum Self-Repair

                                 Medical Aspects of Human Sexuality
                                      by William A. Morton, Jr.

One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse.  She
directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other
than to say that he "needed a doctor who took care of men's troubles."
The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and
had little to say as he gingerly opened histrousers to expose a bit of
angry red and black-and-blue scrotal skin.  After I asked the nurse to
leave us, the patient permitted me to remove his trousers, shorts, and two
or three yards of foul-smelling stained gauze wrapped about his scrotum,
which was swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and extremely tender.
A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing pus and blood, extended down the left
scrotum.  Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw
somehalf-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they
were.  Several days earlier, he said, he had injured himself in
the machine shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself
with a heavy-duty stapling gun.  The dark objects were one-inch staples of
the type used in putting up wallboard.

We x-rayed the patient's scrotum to locate the staples; admitted him to the
hospital; and gave him tetanus antitoxin, broad-spectrum antibacterial
therapy, and hexachlorophene sitz baths prior to surgery the next morning.
The procedure consisted of exploration and debridement of the left side of
the scrotal pouch.  Eight rusty staples were retrieved, and the skin edges
were trimmed and freshened.  The left testis had been avulsed and was missing.
The stump of thespermatic cord was recovered at the inguinal canal, debrided,
and the vessels ligated properly, though not much of a hematoma was present.
Through-and-through Penrose drains were sutured loosely in site, and the
skin was loosely closed.  Convalescence was uneventful, and before his
release from the hospital less than a week later, the patient confided
the rest of his story to me.

An unmarried loner, he usually didn't leave the machine shop at lunch time
with his coworkers.  Finding himself alone, he had begun the regular practice
of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large
floor-based piece of machinery.  One day, as he approached orgasm, he lost
his concentration and leaned too close to the belt.  When his scrotum became
caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the
air and landed a few feet away.  Unaware that he had lost his left testis,
and perhaps too stunned to feel much pain, he stapled the wound closed and
resumed work.  I can only assume he abandoned this method of self-

[William A. Morton is a retired urologist residing in West Chester,

Email Friend
The two butchers were brought into the emergency room.
They both had their left hands bandaged.  "What happened?"  I 
asked the first one.  "I was cutting some meat when the cleaver 
slipped and cut my hand."  I asked the other one how he had
been injured.  "Oh, I was showing the other guys what *this*
guy was doing and I did the same thing."

Email Friend
Swedish business consultant Ulf af Trolle labored 13 years
          on a book about Swedish economic solutions. He took the
          250-page manuscript to be copied, only to have it reduced to
          50,000 strips of paper in seconds when a worker confused the
          copier with the shredder.

Email Friend
I was about 12, and I was riding my bike in my neighborhood.
It was a little dark outside so I looked up, and in the sky
was a little white light, I thought it was the first star in
the sky, so I stared at it and made a wish, well as I was
making the wish I ran right into a parked car! I flew off my
bike onto the car, half way, and before the people could come
out and see who I was I ran with my bike crying the whole way
home, just to look up in the sky as I got to my door and
realized that the star was not a star after all it was a plane,
I failed to see the little red light too.

sent by Kristina

Email Friend
Derrick L. Richards, 28, was charged in April in Minneapolis
with third-degree murder in the death of his beloved cousin,
Kenneth E. Richards. According to police, Derrick suggested
a game of Russian roulette and put a semiautomatic pistol to
Ken's head instead of a revolver. 

Email Friend
Sylvester Briddell, Jr., 26, was killed in February in
Selbyville, Del., as he won a bet with friends who said
he would not put a revolver loaded with four bullets into
his mouth and pull the trigger. 

Email Friend
In February, according to police in Windsor, Ont., Daniel Kolta, 27,
and Randy Taylor, 33, died in a head-on collision, thus earning
a tie in the game of chicken they were playing with their snowmobiles. 

Email Friend
A 49-year-old San Francisco stockbroker, who "totally
zoned when he ran," according to his wife,
accidentally jogged off of a 200-foot-high cliff on his
daily run. 

Email Friend
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.

Email Friend
The average cost of rehabilitating a seal after the Exxon Valdez oil 
spill in Alaska was $80,000. At a special ceremony, two of the most 
expensively saved animals were being released back into the wild amid 
cheers and applause from onlookers. A minute later, in full view, a 
killer whale ate them both.

Email Friend
A woman came home to find her husband in the kitchen shaking frantically, 
almost in a dancing frenzy, with some kind of wire running from his waist 
towards the electric kettle. Intending to jolt him away from the deadly 
current, she whacked him with a handy plank of wood, breaking his arm in 
two places. Up to that moment, he had been happily listening to his 

Email Friend
Two animal rights protesters were protesting at the cruelty of sending 
pigs to a slaughterhouse in Bonn, Germany. Suddenly, all two thousand 
pigs broke loose and escaped through a broken fence, stampeding madly. 
The two hopeless protesters were trampled to death. 

Email Friend
Iraqi terrorist Khay Rahnajet didn't pay enough postage on a letter bomb. 
It came back with "return to sender" stamped on it. Forgetting it was the 
bomb, he opened it and was blown to bits.

The stories continue below


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This had most of the state of Michigan laughing for 2 days and a very 
embarrassed female news anchor who will, in the future, likely think 
before she speaks. 

True story...we had a female news anchor who, the day after it was 
supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked
"So Bob, where's that 8 inches you promised me last night?"
Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too they 
were laughing so hard!

Email Friend
Think of this guy the next time you think you are having a bad day! 

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He 
performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. 

Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to Laughline, 
who was sponsoring a "worst job experience" contest.  Needless to say, 
she won. 

Hi Sue, 

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.  Last week I had 
bad day at the office.  I know you've been feeling down lately at work, 
so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's 
not so bad after all. 

Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with 
a few technicalities of my job.  As you know, my office lies at the 
bottom of the sea.  I wear a suit to the office.  It's a wetsuit. 

This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm 
is this:  We have a diesel powered industrial water heater.  This 
$20,000 piece of shit sucks the water out of the sea.  It heats it to a 
delightful temperature.  It then pumps it down to the diver through a 
garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a damn 
good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, 
when I get to the bottom and start working is, I take the hose and stuff 
it down the back of my wetsuit.  This floods my whole suit with warm 
water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. 

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my ass started to 
itch.  So, of course, I scratched it.  This only made things worse. 
Within a few seconds my ass started to burn. I pulled the hose out from 
back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened.  
The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my 

Now since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't 
stick to it.  However, the crack of my ass was not as fortunate. When I 
scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the 
jellyfish into my ass. 

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator.  
His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with 5 
other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted 
the dive. 

I was instructed to make 3 agonizing in-water decompression stops 
totaling 35 minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber 
dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing 
but my brass helmet. 

As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter 
running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub 
it on my ass as soon as I get in the chamber. 

The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't shit for 2 days because my 
asshole was swollen shut. 

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much 
worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your ass! 

Tight lines and calm seas, 

Email Friend
This had most of the state of Michigan laughing for 2 days and a very 
embarrassed female news anchor who will, in the future, likely think 
before she speaks. What happens when you predict snow but don't get
any.....a true story... We had a female news anchor who, the day after  it
was supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked:
"So Bob, where's that 8 inches you promised me last night?" Not  only did
HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too they were laughing so hard!

Email Friend
Once inside the bank shortly after midnight, robbers' efforts at disabling
the security system got underway immediately. The robbers, who expected to
find one or two large safes filled with cash & valuables, were  surprised
to see hundreds of smaller safes throughout the bank. The robbers cracked
the first safe's combination, and inside they found only a small bowl of
vanilla pudding. As recorded on the bank's audio tape system, one robber
said, "At least we'll have a bit to eat." The robbers opened up a second
safe, and it also contained nothing but vanilla pudding. The process
continued until all safes were opened. They did not find one pound
sterling, a diamond, or an ounce of gold. Instead, all the safes contained
covered bowls of pudding.
Disappointed, the robbers made a quiet exit, each leaving with nothing more
than a queasy, uncomfortably full stomach. The newspaper headline read:


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