Two Priests on a Beach

Two priests decided to go to Hawaii on a Christmas vacation.

They were determined to make this a real vacation by not

wearing anything that would identify them as clergy. As soon as the

plane landed they, headed for a store and bought really outrageous

shorts, shirts, sandals, and sunglasses.

The next morning they went to the beach dressed in their

tourist garb. They were sitting on beach chairs, enjoying a drink, the

sunshine and the scenery, when a drop-dead gorgeous blonde in a

topless bikini came walking straight towards them.

They couldn't help but stare.

As the blonde approached them she smiled and said, "Good

morning, Father. Good morning, Father," nodding and addressing each

of them individually. Then she passed strutted on by.

The priests looked at each other, stunned.

How in the world did she know they were priests?

The next day, they went back to the store and bought even more outrageous outfits that were so loud you could practically hear them before you even saw them!

Once again, in their new attire, they settled down in their chairs on the beach to enjoy the sunshine and the view.

After a little while, the same gorgeous blonde, wearing a different colored topless bikini, taking her sweet time, came strolling toward them. Again she nodded at each of them and said, "Good morning, Father. Good morning, Father."

As prance away, one of the priests couldn't stand it any longer and blurted, "Just a minute, young lady...!

"Yes, Father? What is it?"

"We are priests and proud of it, but I have to know, how in the world do you know we are priests, dressed as we are?"

Smiling, the beautiful topless blonde replied, "Father, it's me—Sister Mary Agnes."

Vern's Funeral

Vern works hard at the Phone Company, putting in a lot of overtime, but he also spends two nights each week bowling and plays golf every Saturday. 

Still, his wife thinks he's pushing himself too hard, and she's eager to spice up their sex life. So for his birthday she totally surprises him by driving him to a local strip club.

Vern doesn't realize what's happening, and once his wife parks in the parking lot, it's too late for him to back down. While entering the front door with his wife, he tries to turn his face aside, but the doorman at the club recognizes him and says, "Hey, Vern! How ya doin', man?"

His wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before. 

"Oh no," says Vern quickly. "He's in my bowling league."

When they're seated, a waitress asks Vern if he'd like his usual and brings over a Budweiser.

His wife is becoming increasingly uncomfortable and says, "How did she know that you drink Budweiser?"

"I recognize her—she's the waitress from the golf club. I always have a Bud at the end of the first nine, honey."

A stripper then comes over to their table, throws her arms around Vern, starts to rub herself all over him, and says, "Hi, Vern. Want your usual lap dance, big boy?"

Vern's wife, now furious grabs her purse and storms out of the club. Vern follows and spots her getting into a cab—she refuses to drive home with him. Before she can slam the door, he jumps in beside her. He tries desperately to explain how the stripper must have mistaken him for someone else. But his wife is having none of it. She is screaming at him at the top of her lungs, calling him every four-letter word in the book.

The cabby turns around and says "Geez, Vern, you picked up a real bitch this time."

Vern's funeral is next week.

Old Fart Football

An old married couple no sooner hit the pillows when the old man

passes gas and says, "Seven  Points."

His wife rolls over and says, "What in the world was that?"

The old man replies, "It's fart football."

A few minutes later his wife lets one go and says, "Touchdown. Score tied."

After about five minutes, the old man lets another one go and says, "I'm ahead fourteen to seven."

Not to be outdone the wife rips out another one and says, "Touchdown. Score tied." Five seconds go by. She lets out a little squeaker and says, "Field goal. I lead seventeen to fourteen."

 Now the pressure is on the old man.

Refusing to get beaten by a woman, especially his wife, he strains hard.

Defeat is totally unacceptable.

He gives it everything he's got—and accidentally messes in the bed. His wife says, "What the hell was that?"

The old man says, "Half time, my dear. Switch sides."

A Kiss Is Never Just a Kiss

When the mood strikes, a kiss can catch us in a mix of tastes, textures, mysteries—and scents. We kiss nervously, flirtingly, angrily, or excitedly.  And a kiss is not just all about sex: Hollywood celebs throw us air kisses; mobsters impart the kiss of death, and an astronaut kisses the soil after a safe return home. 

So why, then, are we so taken with kissing?

Scientists agree our lips evolved first for eating—and then later for speech. Yet, with a kiss, a different kind of hunger applies. Did you know that kisses set off a whirlwind of neuro-chemical messages yielding anything from sensations of touch to sexual arousal; feelings of closeness to even a wave of euphoria? That's right. I'll bet you've felt all of that in your lifetime.



But everyone knows kissing is not a solo affair, and kissing transmits external messages as well. The bringing together of two bodies sets off messages just as powerful with your partner, but whether they are precisely the same feelings or not is another matter altogether.  Kisses pack quite a punch. Even one kiss can transmit much information about the potential of a relationship. Researchers say that kisses are so powerful that a first kiss gone badly can derail even the most promising of relationships. Scientists believe that lip-locking evolved as a means to promote mate-selection—I'll go along with that thought. Kisses transmit olfactory, tactile and postural types of information tapping into both the conscious and unconscious mind that drives decisions, including a genetically-compatible mate!  Some researchers believe that a kiss can even disclose the extent to which a partner might commit to raising children—central to our specie’s survival.

Nearly 50 years ago, British zoologist and author Desmond Morris theorizied that kissing probably evolved from primates: mothers chew food for their young, and then feed them mouth-to-mouth. And since chimps still feed this way, early man probably did so, as well. This press of outturned lips against lips may have later progressed as a way to comfort children in times of hunger—and eventually becoming a general expression of affection. (Leave it to us humans to take these first parental kisses down the myriad of paths we have today!)

It is believed that unseen chemical messengers named pheromones helped along the evolution of the intimate kiss.  Both animals and plants use pheromones to communicate: insects, for example, emit pheromones to signal alarms, point out a food trail or announce sexual attraction. In 1995, a Swiss researcher showed why pheromones are so important in humans, too.  He had women sniff t-shirts worn by men, and asked which smelled best. The results were startling: the women did not choose randomly, which was discovered by comparing the DNA of the women and men.  Instead, women overwhelmingly picked the scent of man whose histocompatibility complex (MHC)—the genes that forge our immune systems—differed from their own.  (Different MHC’s mean less immune overlap, and the increased likelihood of healthy, disease-resistant kids.) Thus, kissing may be a woman’s way of assessing a potential mate’s immune compatibility—without investing an excessive amount of time, energy in (and not to mention sexual activity with) a man. 

But these scientists aren’t telling the average person anything new: when it comes time to close your eyes and lean in, we all know that a kiss is never just a kiss.
 

Little Old Ladies in Florida

Two elderly ladies are sitting on the front porch in Daytona, doing nothing. One lady turns and asks, "Do you still get horny?"

The other replies, "Oh sure I do. All the time."

The first old lady asks, "What do you do about it?"

The second old lady replies, "I suck a lifesaver."

After a few moments, the first old lady asks, "Who drives you to the beach?"

Three old ladies were sitting side by side in their retirement home in Jacksonville reminiscing. The first lady recalled shopping at the green grocers and demonstrated with her hands, the length and thickness of a cucumber she could buy for a penny.

The second old lady nodded, adding that onions used to be much bigger and cheaper also, and demonstrated the size of two big onions she could buy for a penny a piece.

The third old lady smiled and said, "I can't hear a word you're saying, but I remember the guy you're talking about."

A little old lady is sitting on a park bench in The Sun Lakes, a Florida Adult community. A man walks over and sits down on the other end of the bench. After a few moments, the woman asks,  "Are you a stranger here?"

He replies, "I lived here years ago."

"So, where were you all these years?'"

'In prison,' he says.

"Why did they put you in prison?"

He looks at her, and very quietly says, "I killed my wife."

"Oh!" says the woman. "So you're single...?!"

Potentially and Realistically

A young boy went up to his father and asked him, "Dad, what is the difference between potentially and realistically?"

The father thought for a moment, then answered, "Go ask your mother if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Then ask your sister if she would sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars. Come back and tell me what you learn from that."

So the boy went to his mother and asked, "Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?"

The mother replied, "Of course I would! We could really use that money to fix up the house and send you to a great university!"

The boy then went to his sister and asked, "Would you sleep with Brad Pitt for a million dollars?"

The girl replied, "Oh my Gawd! I LOVE Brad Pitt. I would sleep with him in a heartbeat! Are you nuts?"

The boy pondered the answers for a few days and then went back to his dad. His dad asked him, "Did you find out the difference between 'potentially' and 'realistically'?"

The boy replied, "Yes, Dad, I did.  Potentially, you and I are sitting on two million dollars. But realistically we're just living with two hookers."

Her and His Divorce Letters

Dear Husband,

I’m writing you this letter to tell you that I’m leaving you forever. I’ve been a good wife to you for seven years, but I have nothing to show for it. These last two weeks have been hell. Your boss called to tell me that you quit your job today—that was the last straw. Last week, you came home and didn’t even notice I had done my nails and toes, had cooked your favorite meal and even wore a brand new pair of silk panties. You ate in two minutes and went straight to sleep after watching Monday Night Football. You don’t tell me you love me anymore; you don’t want sex or anything that connects us as husband and wife. Either you’re cheating on me or you don’t love me anymore. Whatever the case, I’m gone.

Your EX-Wife

P.S., Darling: Don’t try to find me. Your Brother and I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life!

Dear Ex-Wife,

Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter. It’s true you and I have been married for seven years, although a good woman is a far cry from what you’ve been. I watch my sports so much because they drown out your constant whining and bitching. Too bad that doesn’t work. I DID notice when you did your nails last week, but the first thing that came to mind was "You look just like Boy George!" Since my mother raised me not to say anything if you can’t say something nice, I didn’t comment. And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with MY Brother, because I stopped eating fish seven years ago. About those new silk panties: I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still on them, and I prayed it was a coincidence that my brother had just borrowed $50.00 from me that morning stating it was for his phone bill. After all of this, I still loved you and felt we could work it out. So when I hit the lotto for 10 million dollars, I quit my job and bought us two tickets to Hawaii. But when I got home you were gone. Everything happens for a reason, I guess. I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted. My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won’t get a dime from me. So take care.

Your Ex-Husband, Rich as Hell and Free!

P.S., Sweetie: I don’t know if I ever told you this—my brother Frank was born Francine. I hope that’s not a problem

A Stranger's Hands

He grasped me firmly, but gently, just above my elbow and guided me

into the room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone. I blinked. I hadn't expected the room to be so small, the lights to be so bright. He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear. "Just relax."

I swallowed and said, "I'm trying to."

"This won't take long." His voice sounded husky.

Warmth flooded my cheeks.

Without warning, he reached down, his strong, calloused hands starting at my ankles, gently probing and moving upward along my calves, slowly but steadily—a stranger's hands.

My breath caught in my throat.

I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care what happened. I had to go through with this; there was no other way. None.

His touch was so experienced, so sure, at first I tried to do what he asked—relax. But when his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a shudder, and closed my eyes. My pulse suddenly began pounding like mad, my heart a hammer in my chest. Then his knowing fingers caressed my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply, and my stomach flipped.

Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine. Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used to taking 'No' for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who had done this before—many, many times. A man who would look into my soul and say, "Okay ma'am, you can board your flight now."

Learn from the Soaps

One soap opera has left the air: All My Children. Another his disappearing this week: One Life to Live. No matter how much folks malign soap operas—events too melodramatic—characters are always coming back from the dead—the writers have been doing something right all these years to keep millions of viewers interested for decades.

The main characters in the soaps are never wimps; they are strong characters with clear-cut goals, and the goals are always clearly stated in every scene so the viewer can root for the character or hope that she fails. The writers always hurl their characters into the worst trouble ever and let the beleaguered characters fight their way out of impossible situations. The writers always allow viewers to get into the characters' heads and know what those characters are thinking, thus making the characters' motivations clear. The writers always follow the principles of good scene writing: A character knows exactly what she wants, is met with opposing forces—which produce a tense conflict—a fierce struggle—and generally meets with defeat, a turning of the tables that makes things worse for the character. Next follows a sequel in which the character discusses her defeat with friends, sometimes, opponents, and decides on a new course of action. The soap opera writers also use dramatic irony very well: a situation in which the audience knows the truth but the characters in the story are unaware or believe the opposite is true. For example: John is holding Martha's baby in his arms, not realizing the baby is actually his, not Martha's husband's. And lastly, the soap opera writers are great at producing cliffhangers before every commercial break and at the end of every episode, especially on Friday—just as a fiction writer should try to end most of her chapters with a cliffhanger to keep the reader turning pages.

Yes, two soap operas are disappearing, but as a fiction writer, you would do well to utilize the proven story-telling techniques soap opera writers use to keep viewers glued to the TV screen.

The Birth of an Idea

Readers always wonder where writers get their ideas. The answer is simple, I think. Ideas come from events writers are involved in, hear about, read about, or are witnesses to. In the case of Summer and Lilacs most of the above are true. In the late '70s, I was teaching overseas and was also working as a counselor when I met a brilliant, beautiful, blonde student—I'll call her Audrey—arrived in my classroom, and later I became her counselor.

Her father was an officer on the military base where I taught. He was known to be a strict disciplinarian with his men and somewhat of a drinker. When Audrey came to class sometimes with bruises on her arms, even her face occasionally, all of us teachers thought perhaps she was being abused. Audrey always explained the bruises away, and, truth be told, they didn't seem serious enough for any of us to file a report with the base commander. As her counselor, I questioned Audrey about her home life many times, but she always maintained everything was perfectly fine.

Then a scandal rocked our base and school. An officer's wife reported that seventeen-year-old Audrey was having an affair with her husband. Rumors grew rampant, but none of us knew the exact details of the affair. Audrey left my class in tears, saying she and her mother were returning to the States; her father would remain on base until his tour of duty was up. The officer in question and his family were transferred; the officer wasn't charged with anything. The incident was swept under the rug.

But the image of brilliant, beautiful, blonde Audrey has always haunted me throughout the years—nagged me, honestly. Why hadn't I reported Audrey's possible abuse to anyone? What prompted her to have an affair with an officer—such a young child? What eventually happened to her? I finally reached the point where I felt I had to tell at least a fictional account of Audrey's life to rid myself of her image in my mind. The result is Summer and Lilacs.