Hell To Get Old

Two medical students were walking along the street when they saw an old man walking with his legs spread apart. He was stiff-legged and walking slowly.

One student said to his friend, "I'm sure that poor old man has Peltry Syndrome. Those people walk just like that."

The other student says: "No, I don't think so. The old man surely has Zovitzki Syndrome. He walks slowly and his legs are apart, just as we learned in class."

Since they couldn't agree they decided to ask the old man.

They approached him and one of the students said to him, "We're medical students and couldn't help but notice the way you walk, but we couldn't agree on the syndrome you might have. Could you tell us what it is?"

The old man said, "I'll tell you, but first you tell me what you two fine medical students think."

The first student said, "I think it's Peltry Syndrome."

The old man said, "You thought—but you are wrong."

The other student said, "I think you have Zovitzki Syndrome."

The old man said, "You thought—but you are also wrong."

So they asked him, "Well, old timer, what do you have?"

The old man said, "I thought it was GAS—but I was wrong, too!"

Dating in 1960

    

   

It was a hot Saturday evening in the summer of 1960 and Fred had a first date with Peggy Sue. He arrived at her house promptly and rang the bell.

"Oh, come on in!" Peggy Sue's mother gushed as she welcomed Fred in. "Have a seat in the living room. Would you like something to drink? Lemonade? Iced tea?"

"Iced tea, please," Fred said.

Mom brought the iced tea. "So, what are you and Peggy planning to do tonight?" she asked, clasping her hands.

"Oh, probably catch a movie at the drive-in, and then maybe grab a bite to eat at the malt shop, maybe take a walk down by the lake..."

"Peggy likes to screw, you know," Mom informed him with a smile.

"Uh...really?" Fred replied, his eyebrows jumping.

"Oh, yes!" the mother continued. "When she goes out with her friends, that's all they do! Screw."

"Is that so?" asked Fred, incredulous.

"Yes," said the mother happily. "As a matter of fact, she'd screw all night if we'd let her!"

Fred gulped. "Well, thanks for the tip," he said, as he quickly began thinking about alternate plans for the evening.

A moment later, Peggy Sue came down the stairs looking pretty as a picture, wearing a pink blouse and full circle skirt, her blonde hair tied back in a bouncy ponytail. "Hi, Fred!"

"You look beautiful," Fred said, and smiled, trying to avoid a leer.

"Have fun, kids," the mother said as they left.

Half an hour later, a completely disheveled Peggy Sue burst into the

house and slammed the front door behind her. "The Twist, Mom!" she angrily yelled at her mother. "The damned dance is called the TWIST!"

A Little Girl's Curiosity

A mother was driving her little girl to her friend's house for a play date. "Mommy," the little girl asked, "how old are you?"

"Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age," the mother replied.  "It's not polite."

"OK," the little girl said. "Then, how much do you weigh?"

"Now really," the mother said. "Those are personal questions and are none of your business."

Undaunted, the little girl asked, "Why did you and Daddy get a divorce?"

"That's enough questions, young lady!  Honestly!"

The exasperated mother dropped her daughter off at her friend's house, and when the two began to play, the little girl said, "My mom won't tell me anything about herself."

"Well," said the friend, "all you need to do is look at her driver's license. It's like a report card, it has everything on it."

Later that night the little girl said to her mother, "I know how old you are. You are thirty-two."

The mother was surprised and asked, "How did you find that out?"

"I also know that you weigh a hundred thirty pounds."

Now the mother was beyond surprised—she was shocked. "How in heaven's name did you find that out?"

"And," the little girl said triumphantly, "I know why you and daddy got a divorce."

"Oh really? If you think you know so much, tell me why."

"Because you got a F in sex."


The Talking Clock

After closing time at the bar, a drunk was proudly showing off his new 
apartment to a couple of his friends. 

He led the way to his bedroom where there was a big brass gong and a mallet.



"What's that big brass gong?" one of the guests asked.

"It's not a gong. It's a talking clock," the drunk replied.

"A talking clock? Seriously?" asked his astonished friend.

"Yup, it is," replied the drunk.


"How's it work?" the friend asked, squinting at it. "Look like only a gong to me."


      "Watch," the drunk replied. He picked up the mallet, gave the gong a mighty ear-shattering pound and stepped back. The three stood looking at one another for a moment.

Suddenly, someone on the other side of the wall screamed, 

"YOU ASSHOLE!  IT'S THREE-FIFTEEN IN THE MORNING!"

A Woman's Week at the Gym

Dear Diary,

For my birthday this year, my husband purchased for me a week of personal training at the local health club. Although I am still in great shape, being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give personal training a try. Maybe I could spice up our love life a bit.

I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor, also a model for athletic clothing and swim wear. Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started. The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:

Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god—blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!

Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!

Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY:

I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:

The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.

Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other shit too.

THURSDAY:

Asshole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late—it took me that long to tie my shoes. He told me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny bitch to find me. Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine—which I sank.

FRIDAY:

I hate that bastard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobics instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. Christo wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And, Christo, if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY:

           Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice,

wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY:

I'm not talking to my husband. I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun—like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!