The Fugitive

Two work-related e-mails received today


First one:

"Attention everyone,

We have a hamster who broke out of his cage and is on the loose. He was in his cage at bed check last night and must have escaped sometime overnight. A hamster traveling on foot with a time frame of approximately 8 hours travel time could be anywhere in the building by now, but will probably be seen at his favorite haunts, either behind a refrigerator or in a cupboard somewhere. Please use caution in trapping or detaining him, he may poop on you if spooked. This is not a joke. If you see said hamster, please notify the vet tech department immediately for recapture."



Which was followed by the following a couple of hour later:



"This is not a joke - the hamster is still on the loose.

After close observation of the pocket pets room, some droppings were discovered by the dirty laundry. We thought for a minute that we were on hot on the unidentified hamster's trail until one of the vet techs pointed out that the droppings were that of a rabbit and too large to come from a hamster. All the same, we searched the nearby laundry to make sure he wasn't trying to escape in the laundry basket (I've seen other escapees do this in movies).

Additional information regarding the hamster whereabouts is still needed. He is described as being small and brown. Again I would caution you that any sudden movements may cause him to poop unnecessarily so caution is recommended. We want to take him alive, so please watch where you step."



Many Many hours later and there has been no further updates.

Run, Sprinkles, RUN!!!

T

Your Chum TIP's Recent Adventure in BorderingonSexualHarassmentville
An actual conversation at work

Woman #1 (addressing Woman #2 with myself standing nearby): I'm having a Sex Toy party on Saturday! Some of the items (giggle) are even BATTERY-OPERATED!

Woman#2 (delighted look on her face): Oh my God! I would totally love to come!

Me (naughty-esque response immediately leaps to my lips and I fail to squelch it...to Hell with the consequences): Which is exactly why you want to attend, eh?

Woman #1 and #2 (frowning in unison)

Me: Er.



Heh.

Brings to mind a Sexual Harassment Seminar I attended many years ago (mandatory attendance for all employees...I hadn't been singled out or anything at THAT point). The folk running the show had just completed playing a video tape and asked the crowd if we had any questions. My hand shot up quickly and, after being acknowledged to go ahead and ask my question, inquired:

"Is it Sexual Harassment if it makes you tingle?"

The cacophany of laughter that followed must have encouraged my subsequent (see above) behavior.

Oops.

T

Drumsticking Out in a Crowd

I've been real shy about eating out lately. See, there was an...er...Incident a couple of months ago at a KFC. I mean, I could have avoided the whole deal if ONLY I had gone through the drive-thru (which I'm doing exclusively now)...but that particular day I was in the mood to take in the local flavor (heh) by dining in the always ambient restaurant area (y'know there's always colorful characters to look at and listen to). Little did I know that it would be one of these very denizens that would prove my...my undoing when I sidled up to the counter to order the KFC Special #7 (3 pieces of Original Recipe with Cole Slaw and a side of drippings). All I thought I was in for was a deliciously greasy meal and an earful of area gossip and chatter; one comment changed everything and revealed to me a prowess I, up to this point, had no idea I possessed.

I brought my platter to an open table and settled in for some serious nourishment. Per the norm, I indulge in the Cole Slaw first to adequately pad my stomach for the forthcoming fried chicken extravaganza. The breast went down without incident. Delicious. It was when I moved onto my first of two drumsticks and started in on it that something changed. Conversations stopped. Eyes turned my way. I looked outside (over my left shoulder) thinking perhaps there'd been some odd person/thing/event occuring behind me on the street. Nothing there. When I looked back to the assembled noshers they collectively averted their gaze from me (were they ALL staring at me?) and went back to their respective cups of beans, chicken sandwiches, corn muffins, et cetera. Shrugging their behavior off I moved on to drumstick number two. Chew, Chew, Chew...and the whole room gasps in unison.

Was there food on my face? Utterly confused and again noting all the stares I ask, "What?" to no one in particular. An older woman, appearing to be mustering the determination to respond, finally does so with, "Boy, you sure do know your way around a drumstick. You got some skills we ain't never seen 'round these parts nigh since the 'reign' of Charles "Meat Manipulator" Johanson. In fact, if I may say so, you're adeptness 'bout the chicken leg woulda put him on a run for his money (if'n poultry bits could be considered currency, know what I mean?). You train to be so good or are these God's natural Gift to you? Does it run in the family? Do all your kin eat drumsticks so well?"

Well, I certainly had no response to this. I never suspected that the manner in which I ate drumsticks was noteworthy...maybe there was a bit of a grand flourish in the way I spun them between my thumb and index finger...but that couldn't be, as some might say, "all that and a bucket o' fried chicken, " could it?

With an indifferent grunt I pushed myself away from my table and headed to the door, while the patrons AND staff all stood and applauded me as I exited (I also seem to recall flashbulbs going off...nothing has appeared in the local press...so those must of been shots for personal photo albums/on-line blogs and NOT for a feature article). I even left the cup of drippings behind...which, in my case is unheard of.

A gift or a curse? Am I a mutant? Is this my particular superpower? Can it be used for the good of all mankind? Until I can come to a reasonable answer to all of these questions I'm way-too-shy to eat out (as you might now understand) and spend quiet evenings in my Coop of Solitude...idly pecking away at my poultry with a knife and fork.

Yours peckishly,

Anonymous




T
(poor guy)

Today's Lesson from the Bible

In light of the Cards being squirrelled away (Conclaved) working on their selection for the next Holy Pappy, I thought it'd be appropos if we delved into the Bible and share some (humorous) learnin' with y'all.

So, to begin, I give you Deuteronomy 23:1 (via the King James version)

"He that is wounded in the stones, or hath his privy member cut off, shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord."

Translated:

Genitals crushed?
Sans John Thomas?

No Heaven for you!

Who knew that one's naughty bits were actual keys to the Pearly Gates (ooo...euphemistic!!!)?
Warn your castrati pals!

T

Ulterior/Interior Motives?

Y'see, Vic keeps talkin' up all the damn organs and appendages a person can live without; their bleedin' gall bladder, spleen, appendix, a smattering of toes and fingers--usually, for some reason, the little ones...something about evolution's gettin' rid of 'em anyways so what's the use--so much so that all this chatter's starting to make me nervous (and nauseous) that...that he's UP to something. Some nefarious plot. Some underhanded (heh) scheme to--I don't know--harvest some of these self-same fleshy bits from my person. That's right; I think he's aiming to pilch my parts. I don't have the slightest clue what his motive is...unless he's gone all macabre on us and is creating some kind o' monster in one of his two sheds out on his back 40 and has deemed portions of MY anatomy as suitable for his ghastly abomination. I mean, COME ON, what's he know about what we Can or Cannot live without? One failed year in a Vet Tech program ain't coronating him no Doctor-King, Man o' the Humours, y'know what I'm saying? Come to think of it, he keeps telling me I could live without my wife, too...

T

A Translation Guide as to what your Friend actually means when he/she responds to you with lyrics from Moody Blues Songs: Part One

Example

You: Say, Todd, what's the deal with the peasant blouses you've taken to wearing to work; you moon-lighting at the Renaissance Festival or have you gone full-on Gypsy?

Moody Blues Fanatic (Todd): Well, RIDE MY SEE-SAW!!!



Two Possible Translations for this example.


One: Yes, (your name here), it is in fact true that my current attire is tied to some of my extracurricular activities; I salute your astute perception.


Or


Two: Wanna plook till yer blue in the pants?

Physical Cues will denote the latter of these two examples (knowing wink, tongue dart, a loosening of his gauzey belt and/or blouse).


T

PETA's Next Member or a Fume-Addled Boob?

Smedley, ya ever read that Ebbie White book, Charles Otto's Web?

E.B.?

Charlotte?

Whatever, 'Pig Book Expert Man.' So, obviously, you've read it? Okay.

Just finished it last night waiting for the ol' battle-ass to pick me up at the depot. My bus from Poughkeepsie got in early, y'see, and the wife was probably still backcombing that ratnest on the top of her neck while I was sitting there reading. Wha? Yeah, for whatever reason she wants to look her 'best' whenever she picks me up at the bus station...I'm beginning to suspect she's delighted by the leers launched her way from the staff; whatever gets her poodle moistened, if you catch my drench. Anyhoo, back to that book I mentioned, the one about the talking pig and them other ant-trough-pour-more-fick animals really got me thinking about things like animal rights and shit like that. And after thinking about 'Some Pig' for a spell (and perhaps influenced by the exhaust fumes from all buses coming and going) came up with a way with saving swine and other beasts without trying to write words out with my ass (like that Charlie Otto in the story); an animal sanctuary. I'm gonna open one up. And here's the kicker...the animal sanctuary's going to be my stomach. Gonna have move into my belly to live safely ever after.

Hmm?

Well, sure, I'll have to eat 'em first or, really, swallow them whole...how else are they gonna get in there? Ya want me to install a doggie-door in my paunch--which is kinda a neat idea, come to think of it-- but I ain't got the right tools for the job...ever plumb a door in your gut? Didn't think so? Sure, I'm going to have to learn how to unhinge my jaw like a snake engorging itself on an ocelot but, as you know, I'm not to shabby in the Inhaling Things Larger than my Head department, y'know? Maybe put in some stables, cages, some pillows or that cast-off futon with the Rainbow Brite sheets I found behind Squeezin's Bar so their comfy in their new refuge and all. I might need to invest in a Medical Crowbar or something to pry some of the larger game in there...don't know if I could get my lips around a tapir without one...

T

One Response to the Question 'Why can't the Pope administer Last Rites on himself' that I came across recently (pun intended in a moment)

"If he did it to himself it'd be like masturbation."

T
(nod to AAlgar for this spit-take-worthy quote)