Jokes for the day.

[prasanna]

Jokes

The Bachelor's Diet

Monday

Breakfast - Who can eat Breakfast on a Monday? Swallow some toothpaste while brushing your teeth. Lunch - Send your secretary out for six "gutbombers" - those little hamburgers that used to cost a dime but now cost sixty five cents. Also order French fries, a bowl of chili, a soft drink and have her stop on the way back for a family size bottle of Maalox. Afternoon Snack - Drink the Maalox. Dinner - Six pack of beer and Kentucky fried chicken three-piece Dinner, don't eat the coleslaw.

Tuesday

Breakfast - Eat the coleslaw. Lunch - Go to the office vending machine and put ninety five cents in and close your eyes, push a button and eat whatever comes out swallowing it whole to prevent nausea. Dinner - Four tacos and a pitcher of Sangria at El Flasho's.

Wednesday

Breakfast - Stomach couldn't handle breakfast after a night at El Flasho's. Lunch - Rolaids and a coke. Dinner - Drop in at a married friends house and beg for scraps.

Thursday Breakfast - Order out for pizza. Lunch - Your secretary is out sick, check Mondays gutbomber sack for leftovers. Dinner - Go to a bar. Ask the bartender for extra olives.

Friday

Breakfast - Eggs, sausage and an English muffin at McDonalds. Eat the Styrofoam plate and leave the food. It tastes better and it's better for you. Lunch - Skip Lunch, Fridays are murder. Dinner - Steak, medium-rare, baked potato and asparagus. Don't eat the asparagus, nobody really likes asparagus.

Saturday

Breakfast - Sleep through it. Lunch - Ditto. Dinner - Steak, well done, baked potato, and brussel sprouts. Don't eat the Brussel Sprouts. Take them home and plant them in a hanging basket.

Sunday

Breakfast - Three Bloody Mary's and a Twinkie. Lunch - Eat Lunch? And waste a good buzz? Dinner - Chicken noodle soup. Call home and ask about renting your old room.



Flight Museum

At the Boeing Museum of Flight in Seattle, there is a full size mockup of an F/A-18 fighter. A ramp allows visitors to climb into the cockpit and get a sense of what the pilot sees and feels.

A guide at the top of the ramp points out the various controls and gauges in the cockpit and gives information about the aircraft's capabilities to each visitor who gets in.

When my two-year-old son sat down in the plane, he seemed fascinated by all he saw and heard. Then, he looked out at us and said, "Gramma, could I have a quarter?"



Mother Reclassification

We at ArcaMax Publishing hope all mothers had a nice Mother's Day Sunday...

A woman renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a .....?"

"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."

"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high - sounding title like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out.

"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of- the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model (6 months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."

Motherhood...what a glorious career. Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the Field of Child Development and Human Relations", and great - grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!

I also think it makes aunts "Associate Research Assistants!"

[ChiefOren]

And I am on a RAW FOOD Diet.