I used to work on a carnival, of all things, back when I was young~n~dumb. I actually made 40K a year running games on a percentage. The circuit they ran was Taxachusetts, Cow Hampshire and other stops in the Northeast. Anyway, we had this one woman who worked on the show as a ride jock, building, tearing down and running a ride called the Sky Diver. She was known as Diver Linda, for more that ONE reason, from what I heard.
She was caught one evening running her ride late at night. And using the big control arm that acted as a brake / throttle on the appropriate portion of her anatomy to receive physical pleasure. I heard the story the next morning, and then ran into her a few minutes later.
All I said was: “There must be fifty ways to love your lever”.
O
I was in a Shoney’s with my friend Rob on thanksgiving Day (a day obviously not too important to either of us.) Rob decided to order the Thanksgiving Special, but asked the waitress not to include the peas.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “They’re really good.”
Rob agreed that he peas were probably very good, but he didn’t want them.
“I could put them on the side,” she said. I think she was flirting with him.
“No, no, thank you,” he said. “I’d really prefer not to have them.”
“You should at least try them,” she said. At this point I joined in, asking him what was wrong with him for not wanting the peas.
Rob got all flustered and said, “Look, I just don’t want the peas, okay!? Leave me alone!”
At which point I said, “Rob. All we are saying is ‘give peas a chance.’” He and I laughed and laughed but I don’t think the waitress got it. He didn’t get the peas.
In Rob’s defense, back in High School sex ed, during a test on the male reproductive system, he asked the teacher, “For the question, ‘Name three reasons the penis becomes erect…’”
“Yes?” asked the teacher.
“Do you want names?”
OK, I am gonna give an example of my daily cleverness, and historical cleverness. Yesterday, I received an email from my little sister. She is QUITE religious, and knows that I am not a Christian. She sent me yet another pious email forward entitled “Have You found God Yet?” To which I replied “Yes. He’s licking himself under the couch. Oh, wait, that’s the DOG.” OK, so it’s not the greatest, but made me feel better.
Historical: I decided that it would be a good story to tell at parties to try out to be an extra for Me, Myself and Irene, which was shot partially in Burlington. So I stand in line, with annoying people who are NOT doing it for the story, but because they feel getting paid $40 a day and standing around is somehow achieving fame. By the time I got in the audition room, I was cranky. They handed me the form, and under “special skills,” I listed “Chameleon-like ability to blend into the background.” I was pleased with myself. Didn’t get a call, though.
Recent:
I was visiting my little sister at her college. She was talking about how her roommates Abercrombie and Fitch bag kept migrating under my sister’s bed. My sister has a strong dislike for A&F.
I started talking about how it was part of a plot to bring her over to A&F. First the bag moves under her bed. Then some of the jeans migrate to her closet. “You will be assimilated. It’s aBORGcrombie and Fitch.”
Vintage:
I am talking to female friend of a friend that I just met:
Her: He’s not my boyfriend, anymore. He’s my good friend. I asked him to help me drive out here. (note: ~2500 miles and five days on the road) We’re friends. I’m just…
Me: …using him?
(Regardless of how she rationalized it, anyone who doesn’t think the ex-boyfriend thought “Wow! I can spend five days alone with her and do this really big favor for her. We’ll get back together for sure.” is fooling themselves)