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There was a young woman who lived with her grandmother. One night the granddaughter came bouncing down the stairs dressed to go out to a party wearing a see through blouse without a bra. Her grandmother told her to go back up stairs and “dress decent.”

The young woman said, “No, I want to show off my rosebuds” and went out the door.

The next day the granddaughter came outside to find her grandmother on the porch wearing the see through blouse without a bra.

“Grandmother!! What are you doing? My boyfriend and a couple of other friends are coming over any time now!” she cried. “Please go change your blouse, I’m so embarrassed!!”

The older woman replied, “Well if you can show off your rosebuds then I can show off my hanging baskets.”

I had to take my son’s hamster to the vet. Here’s what happened: Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was “something wrong” with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.

“He’s just lying there looking sick,” he told me.

“Oldest trick in the book,” I informed him. “You go in to see what’s wrong with the sick one and the other one sneaks up behind you and bonks you on the head. Then they change into your clothes and escape.”

“I’m serious, Dad. Can you help?”

I put a hamster-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking distressed. I immediately knew what to do. “Honey,” I called, “come look at the hamster!”

“Oh, my gosh,” my wife diagnosed after a minute. “She’s having babies.”

“What?” my son demanded. “But their names are Bert and Ernie!”

I was equally outraged. “Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce,” I accused my wife.

“Well, what did you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?” she inquired sarcastically.

“No, but you were supposed to get two boys!” I reminded her.

“Yeah, Bert and Ernie!” my son agreed.

“Well, it was a little hard to tell,” she informed me.

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. “Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,” I announced. “We’re about to witness the miracle of birth.”

“Gross!” they shrieked.

“Great; what are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?” my wife wanted to know.

“Well, when my parents’ dog had puppies, I took them up to the grocery store in a cardboard box and gave them away,” I recalled.

“So what are you going to do, go up with a pair of tweezers so people can pick out their hamster?” she asked.

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. “We don’t appear to be making much progress,” I noted.

“A breech birth,” my wife whispered, horrified.

“Do something, Dad!” my son urged.

“Okay, okay.” Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried again, with the same results.

“Should I dial 911?” my daughter wanted to know. “Maybe they could talk us through it.”

“Let’s get Ernie to the vet,” I said grimly.

We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. “Breathe, Ernie, breathe,” he urged.

“I don’t think hamsters do Lamaze,” I told him.

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. “What do you think, Doc, an epidural?” I suggested scientifically.

“Oh, very interesting,” he murmured. “Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?”

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside. “Is Ernie going to be okay?” my wife asked.

“Oh, perfectly,” the vet assured us. “This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn’t EVER going to happen….Ernie is a boy.”

“What?”

“You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, male hamsters will, ah…” He blushed, glancing at my wife. “Well, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Cameron.”

We were silent, absorbing this. “So Ernie’s just…just…”

“Excited?” my wife offered.

“Exactly,” the vet replied, relieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my wife started to giggle. “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

Tears were now running down her face. “Just…that…I’m picturing you pulling on its…its…” she gasped.

“That’s enough,” I warned. We thanked the veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

“I know Ernie’s really thankful for what you’ve done, Dad,” he told me.

“Oh, you have no idea,” my wife agreed, collapsing into laughter as I gave her a dirty look.

It was the first day of the school year, and an elementary teacher was trying to get to know her students.

“What did you do this summer?” the teacher asked Suzie.

“Me and my family went to the beach a lot,” Suzie answered.

“That sounds like fun,” said the teacher. “How about you, Emma? What did you do this summer?”

“Me and my family rode our bikes together.”

“That sounds lovely,” said the teacher. She continued with all her pupils until she got to shy Mikey in the corner of the room.

“What did you do this summer, Mikey?”

“Nothing,” the boy responded timidly.

“Did you do anything with your family?” the teacher asked, trying to draw Mikey out.

“Yes.”

“Did you go to the beach?”

“No.”

“Did you ride bikes?”

“No, never!” the boy burst out. “We can never ride bikes together!”

“Why not?” said the shocked teacher.

“I don’t know,” explained Mikey, “but dad always said, when then mom and sis start ‘cycling together’, it’s time to get the hell out of town.”

Coming out of the shower I grab a towel and begin to dry my face. Something smells funny so I pull the towel off to investigate. Staring me in the face is a long, thick brown streak. My heart skips a beat as I realize I’ve just dried my face in somebody’s fecal matter. Further examination reveals brown spots all over the towel.

Completely grossed out I jump back into the shower and scrub three layers of skin off my face.

After I’ve finished I go downstairs, towel in hand, to ask my wife how this could happen. How could she allow the girls the freedom to wipe their asses in the towels?

“Oh,” she said, “that’s not poop. There was a brown crayon in the dryer and it melted all over the towels.”

“What?” I stammer as relief floods over me. But then relief turns to irritation. “Why didn’t you rewash them? Did you want to give me a heart attack? I just scrubbed five pounds of flesh off my face thinking it was shit!”

“No, I just didn’t want to waste a wash cycle washing clean stuff.”

“But, honey,” I say slowly so she could understand, “it ain’t clean!”

“Oh, you big baby, it’s only crayon.”

It’s only crayon… I tell you, I wasn’t even drinking but I nearly got shit faced!

This woman is in labor. Everything is going fine, and suddenly the nurse exclaims, “I can see his head!”

Sure enough, the baby peeks out, but then he sees this nurse, gets scared, and ducks back in.

After a few moments, he pops his head out and looks around the room again. This time, he sees the doctor, gets scared, and ducks back in.

A few more minutes pass, and the baby reluctantly peeks out again. This time, he sees his father.

Suddenly, he reaches out and starts poking the father on his forehead and says, “How do you like that, asshole?!?”



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