.: ShaolinTiger - Kung-Fu Geekery :.

A young Indian guy moves to Montreal and goes to a big department store looking for a job. The manager asks, "Do you have any sales experience?"

The kid, "Yeah, I was a salesman back home". Well, the manager liked the young man, so he gave him the job. "You start tomorrow. I'll come down after we close and see how you did, but let me give you a bit of advice. If a customer comes looking, say, for toothpaste, you might suggest for him a toothbrush, or shaving cream etc. you get the idea?" "Of course," the young man said.

His first day on the job was rough but he got through it. After the store was locked up, the manager came down. "How many sales did you make today?

The kid says, "One"

The manager groans, "Just one? Our sales people average 20 or 30 sales a day. How much was the sale for?"

The kid says, "$101, 237.64."

The manager exclaims, "What? $ 101,237.64? What did you sell him?"

The kid, "First I sold him a small fish hook. Then I soldhim a medium fishhook. Then I sold him a larger fishhook. Then I sold him a new fishing rod. Then I asked him where he was going fishing, and he said down at the coast, so I told him he was going to need a boat, so we went down to the boat department, and I sold him that twin engine Chris Craft. Then he said he didn't think his Honda Civic would pull it, so I Took him down to the automotive department and sold him
that 4X4 Pajero."

The manager says "You mean a guy came in here to buy a fish hook and you sold him a boat and truck?!"

The kid, "No, no, no, he came in here to buy a box of Kotex for his wife and I said, "Well, since your weekend's already screwed up,you might as well go fishing."

The waiter at Chili's asked me after I ordered my Mushroom Swiss Burger.

I was dumbfucked, like huh? What?

Wait-ah:"What doneness do you want sir? For your Swiss Burger?"

Moi: "Excuse me? I didn't catch you?

Wait-ah:"What doneness do you want?"

I paused after this, my brain churning for a while as to what he was talking about, it was like a puzzle, or some kind of wordgame in my head..

Doneness...Done?...Did...Done? Ah...Well Done! Medium Done...

He meant how did I want it cooked, 'doneness' there the good fella went and invented a new word.

"Ah, medium-well" I replied...that's the doneness I require!

A lady died this past January, and Citibank billed her for February and March for their annual service charges on her credit card, and then added late fees and interest on the monthly charge. The balance had been $0.00, now is somewhere around $60.00.

A family member placed a call to Citibank:
Family Member: "I am calling to tell you that she died in January."
Citibank: "The account was never closed and the late fees and charges still apply."
Family Member: "Maybe, you should turn it over to collections."
Citibank: "Since it is two months past due, it already has been."
Family Member: So, what will they do when they find out she is dead?"
Citibank: "Either report her account to the frauds division or report her to the credit bureau, maybe both!"
Family Member: "Do you think God will be mad at her?"
Citibank: "Excuse me?"
Family Member: "Did you just get what I was telling you...the part about her being dead?"
Citibank: "Sir, you'll have to speak to my supervisor."

Supervisor gets on the phone:
Family Member: "I'm calling to tell you, she died in January."
Citibank: "The account was never closed and the late fees and charges still apply.
Family Member: "You mean you want to collect from her estate?"
Citibank: (Stammer) "Are you her lawyer?"
Family Member: "No, I'm her great nephew." (Lawyer info given)
Citibank: "Could you fax us a certificate of death?"
Family Member: "Sure." (fax number is given)

After they get the fax:
Citibank: "Our system just isn't setup for death. I don't know what more I can do to help."
Family Member: "Well, if you figure it out, great! If not, you could just keep billing her. I don't think she will care."
Citibank: "Well, the late fees and charges do still apply."
Family Member: "Would you like her new billing address?"
Citibank: "That might help."
Family Member: "Odessa Memorial Cemetery, Highway 129, Plot Number 69."
Citibank: "Sir, that's a cemetery!"
Family Member: "What do you do with dead people on your planet?

It's a crazy world.

(Yes I know this is on Snopes).

I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting.

No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.

Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!

(From various sources online, although I can sympathise with this, once shaving my ass when I was about 16...itchiness straight from hell, I shall never do it again).

When Bill and Hillary first got married Bill said, "I am putting a box under the bed. You must promise never to look in it." In all their 30 years of marriage, Hillary never looked.

On the afternoon of their 30th anniversary, curiosity got the best of her and she lifted the lid and peeked inside. In the box were 3 empty beer cans and $81,874.25 in cash.

She closed the box and put it back undr the bed. Now that she knew what was in the box, she was doubly curious as to why there even was such a box with such contents. That evening, they were out for a special anniversary dinner.

After dinner, Hillary could no longer contain her curiosity and she confessed, saying, "I am so sorry, Bill. For all these years, I kept my promise and never looked into the box under our bed. However, today the temptation was too much and I gave in. But now I need to know, why do you keep the 3 beer cans in the box?"

Bill thought for a while and said, "I guess after all these years you deserve to know the truth. Whenever I was unfaithful to you, I put an empty beer can in the box under the bed to remind myself not to do it again."

Hillary was shocked, but said, "Hmmm, Jennifer, Paula and Monica. I am very disappointed and sadened by your behavior. However, since you are addicted to sex I guess it does happen and I guess 3 times is not that bad considering your problem."

Bill thanked her for being so understanding. They hugged and made their peace. A little while later Hillary asked Bill, "So why do you have all that money in the box?"

Bill answered: "Well, whenever the box filled up with empty cans, I took them to the recycling center and redeemed them for cash."

A man and a woman, who have never met before, but are both Married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a transcontinental train.

Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, They were both very tired and fell asleep quickly, he in the upper bunk And she in the lower.

At 1:00 a.m., the man leaned over and gently woke the woman saying, "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach Into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."

"I have a better idea," she replied. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married. "

"Wow! That's a great idea!" he exclaimed.

"Good," she replied. "Get your own fucking blanket!"

After a moment of silence, he farted.