Saturday Humor
Back to charming the ladies, I see.
Humph.
All I have to say about men and bathrooms is, they’re not too specific.
Men are liars. We’ll lie about lying if we have to. I’m an algebra liar. I figure two good lies make a positive.
Men don’t live well by themselves. They don’t even live like people. They live like bears with furniture. I used to go over to my husband’s cave. Nothing on the walls, except some food. The frost was so thick in the freezer you couldn’t close the apartment door. The roaches in his kitchen had stopped eating: They were full. They were on the counter doing aerobic exercise.
Women say they have sexual thoughts, too. They have no idea. It’s the difference between shooting a bullet and throwing it. If they knew what we were really thinking, they’d never stop slapping us.
Men don’t like to cuddle. We only like it if it leads to, you know, lower cuddling.
Men do cry, but only when assembling furniture.
Men and women are a lot alike in certain circumstances. Like when they’re both on fire, they’re exactly alike.
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 06:39 PM
So there.
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 06:40 PM
Phoenix: I can see you really need a good hard thumping, wench. Now bend over and grab your ankles, lass. The Skipper’s gonna teach you a thing or three about respectin’ the “smarter sex”.
I’ll have you know I live alone in a beautiful three-bedroom townhome with elegant furnishings, a clean refrigerator, a spotless bathroom, countless expensive works of art on the walls, clean and well-pressed clothes and .... the “queer eye” fags have never been my place. I am a Renaissence Man, my dear. Bow down and worship.
Yep, struck gold with that post, Skipper.
Wanna come clean my apartment, Phoenix? I’ve only been in it for four years and the roaches have surrendered. For housework I empty the bucket under the leaky ceiling.
Did you ever notice they don’t have year dates on the milk expiration date? With any luck it becomes fresh again. I’m gonna find out.
Hey, I have pictures, they’re on the wall too. Well...they’re leaning against it, anyway.
and there are paths to everywhere I need to go. So there.
O, my most Supreme Capitan.... your digs sound so lovely. It even sounds as if there is nothing there you would have to assemble. That is, unless of course, I were to do your bidding.
I would make you weep and wonder why you couldn’t hang me up as a work of art.
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 07:21 PM
Stink:
The only thing I will clean for a man is his ego.
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 07:22 PM
Phoenix: Hang you up? Never. Tie you up - yes. If you wished. With silken cords.
I dinna weep, lass but I might wonder at all the sounds I could force out of ye. A screamin’ banshee, I kin you be. If tickled in the right g-spot, that is.
Yo-ho-ho ....
Kind sir, your conclusions lead me away from, rather than toward, what you want me to think. I fear for you. As you succumb to mumbling into my cleavage, I will feel your weeping and will soften my beguiling force long enough to pat your back and say:"That’s okay, honey. You’ll last longer than ten seconds next time.”
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 08:12 PM
Amy, dear: you obviously have me confused with certain “impaired” men from your past. The most often quoted remark coming from the female in my encounters is, “Please stop. Just stop for a minute. I need to catch my breath.”
This usually occurs somewhere in the second hour of the aforementioned “encounter”. It takes at least thirty minutes just to get the right rocking motion going, dear.
You have obviously been mistreated. What a pity you had to suffer through the “rest” and never ran across the “best”. (c’est moi, d’accord)
My goodness. Your words have skidded across my keyboard right into my lap. Let me gloss my lymph and reply with deepest sympathy that the only women, if one can refer to them as such, you’ve encountered took so long to turn on. How tiring it must have been for you, my love. I declare the aforementioned ‘rocking motion’ would begin with the entree at dinner and end with moist congress at dessert. Perhaps we’d get out of the parking lot. But probably not.
Posted by Phoenix
05/21/2005 at 10:12 PM
Will you two get a room or something?
Q.Why do husbands die before their wives?
A. Because they want to.Posted by Annoying Little Twerp
05/21/2005 at 10:48 PM
Dammit all! Why do the nicest threads always show up here when I have to be out working??
Grrrrr!
All that’s left for me here is too much whiskey.
OH… Poor Tanny.
There’s more than whiskey left for you. Come hither and allow me to nuzzle the turgid leftovers of your evening out.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 12:55 AM
Fine by me, but suppose we make the Skipper jealous? Keel-hauling is a little ridiculous at my age, m’lady.
Oh I wouldn’t worry about the Skipper, T-berg. But you might want to worry about ME.
Posted by Steel Turman
05/22/2005 at 01:06 AM
Tanny,
What is keel-hauling?
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:09 AM
Man of STEEL,
Allow me: YOU might want to worry about ME.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:10 AM
Honey, ain’t nothin’ you can do that I ain’t had done before. Ain’t nothin’ you can say I ain’t heard before and you damned sure ain’t tough enough to make me worry.
Better YOU worry ‘bout me.
Posted by Steel Turman
05/22/2005 at 01:16 AM
Keel-hauling was a very cruel punishment from the days of sailing ships. A rope was looped completely around the hull of the ship. An offender was tied to this rope, and was thus dragged underwater and beneath the ship. He would be dragged underwater on one side, and dragged out again on the other. The punishment was usually fatal, and if it was not, the victim was badly torn up by all the marine growth on the ship’s hull (barnacles and such).
The only punishment that might be worse was “flogging round the fleet.”
Mr. Steel,
Could you be more specific about just exactly it is that I have to worry about? Graphic detail, if you please. I promise not to swoon.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:20 AM
Goodness, Tanny,
I only wish to nuzzle your leftovers. Hardly worthy of a keel-hauling by anyone’s standards. Perhaps we should forego the nuzzling and just tie each other up.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:22 AM
M’lady, it looks like someone else is ready to do that for us. I don’t mind being a prisoner of love (with respects to Perry Como), but must we take it so literally?
Better you don’t know little lady. Swooning would be the LEAST of yer worries.
Suffice it to say ... I can handle anything and that includes YOU.
Posted by Steel Turman
05/22/2005 at 01:26 AM
Well, then, Mr. Steel,
Perhaps I should ask if you could make me swoon?
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:28 AM
Tanny,
I wouldn’t think twice of that cad. All talk and not action.
Let’s leave Perry Como out of this, put on some Queen, and then you tie ME up. You can feed me bon bons. That’s not too literal, is it? Prisoners of love, silken ties, and sweets.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:37 AM
M’lady, if you can go for Joni James or Sinatra (Capitol years vintage) instead of Queen, and settle for the gossamer ties of an embrace, then I think I could be game.
Well, I shall sign off this Bohemian Rhapsody and become another of Queen’s victims of love: Another One Bites the Dust.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:52 AM
Goodness…
Anyone who speaks of gossamer ties of embrace has won my heart forever.
I shall sleep not as a victim of love but as a precious jewel of love.
I bow to you, Tanny.
Posted by Phoenix
05/22/2005 at 01:54 AM
Then let us bow to each other, lady and gentleman.
If I had a wishing ring,
I would wish for just one thing...--Joni James
Sleep well, m’lady.
