The X(mas) Files

Mulder: We're too late. It's already been here.

Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.

Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir,
truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine halls
decked with boughs of holly stockings hung by the chimney,
with care.

Scully: You really think someone's been here?

Mulder: Someone or some THING.

Scully: Mulder, over here -- it's fruitcake.

Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

Scully: It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out
who's naughty and nice."

Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Scully: Who? What are you talking about?

Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity
who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by
antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice,
this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward
its followers and punish its disbelievers with jagged chunks of
anthracite.

Scully: But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents
to frighten children. Surely, you don't believe it?

Mulder: Something was here tonite, Scully. Check out the bite
marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate
of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry.

Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk
glass has been completely drained.

Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop
its wilding.

Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The
doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Scully: Wait a minute, Mulder. If you are saying some huge
creature landed on the roof and came down the chimney, you're
crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get
through there.

Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions.

Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Mulder: Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I
was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long
white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its
bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I
turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the
facial features of my father.

Scully: Impossible.

Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It
brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A
MR. POTATO HEAD.

Scully: I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the
laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being
who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls
and boys. Listen to what you are saying. Do you understand the
repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.

Mulder: Scully, listen to me: It knows when you are sleeping. It
knows when you're awake.

Scully: But we have no proof.

Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes
detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The
White House ordered a Condition Red.

Scully: But that was a meteor shower.

Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer
vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not
even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want
people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing
is proved to exist, then the public would stop spending half its
annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will
collapse. Scully,they cannot let the world believe this creature
lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to
insure another silent night.

Scully: Mulder, I --

Mulder: Sh-h-h! Do you hear what I hear?

Scully: On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.

Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.

LOL. :D

Is There A Santa Claus?
Finally one of humanity's longest standing questions is answered, and now with absolute scientific proof. This will explain piece by piece the scientific possibilities of the jolly red man.

1) No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.

2) There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each.

3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1 /100 0th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc.

This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.

4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship).

5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecrafts re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy. Per second. Each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.

In conclusion - If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now

I posted this last week and Honeybee jumped all over me and called me the worst Mom in the world....just thought I'd warn you. I thought it was very funny!

Here's another one...also in poor taste for a Mom but....funny nevertheless!

Santa’s Check ride

Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits from the
Federal Aviation Administration, and it was shortly before Christmas when the FAA examiner arrived.

In preparation, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe all the reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his paperwork was in order.

The examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the
reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolf’s nose. He painstakingly reviewed Santa’s weight and balance calculations for the sled’s enormous payload.

Finally, they were ready for the checkride. Santa got in and fastened his seatbelt and shoulder harness and checked the compass. Then the examiner hopped in carrying, to Santa’s
surprise, a shotgun.

“What’s that for?” asked Santa incredulously.

The examiner winked and said, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you’re gonna lose an engine on takeoff.”

I like them both!!!

Errr.... Another post just arrived - make that all three!

I'm gonna eMail all three of my friends with these in the morning!

Oh, I remember that now...

I forgot all about it.... I got it off of zaphod's page(http://www.olemac.com/~hutch)

Chief Executive Officer
Mattel, Inc.
El Segundo, CA
Dear Sir,


Listen you little troll, I've been helping you out every year, playing at being the perfect Christmas present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in frigidweather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and I hate to break it to ya, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this year, or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't wanna be around to smell it).
So, here's my 1997 resolution/wish list:


1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt. I'm sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller are these bathing suitsgonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and velcro crawling up your butt?
2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to my skin?!? It looks like cellulite!

3. A REAL man...maybe GI Joe. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me Elmo over that wimped-out excuse for a boyfriend, Ken. And what's with that earring anyway? If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me) anatomically correct.

4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.

5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist, just get it done.

6. A sports bra. To wear until I get the surgery.

7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How about a systems analyst? Or better yet, an advertising account exec!

8. A new, more 90s persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a miniaturecontainer of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a bag of chips;"Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun, outfitted with a fake fur coat and handcuffs; or "Stop Smoking Barbie", sporting a removable Nicotrol patch and equipped with several packs of gum.

9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years--I think I deserve it.

Ok, Mr CEO, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, Idon't think these requests are out of line. If you disagree, then you can find yourself a new bimbo doll for next Christmas. It's that simple.

Yours truly,

Barbie
Dreamhouse
Malibu, CA

LOL

John, woke up after the annual office Christmas party with a pounding headache, cotton-mouthed and utterly unable to recall the events of the preceding evening. After a trip to the bathroom, he made his way downstairs, where his wife put some coffee in front of him. "Louise," he moaned, "tell me what happened last night. Was it as bad as I think?"

"Even worse," she said, her voice oozing scorn. "You made a complete ass of yourself. You succeeded in antagonising the entire board of directors and you insulted the president of the company, right to his face."

"He's an *******," John said. "Piss on him."
"You did," came the reply. "And he fired you."
"Well, screw him!" said John.
"I did. You're back at work on Monday."

------------------------------------------------------------

A few days before Christmas, a man enters a pet store looking for a unique gift for his wife. The store manager tells him he has just what he's looking for! A beautiful parrot named Chet that sings Christmas carols.

He brings the husband over to a colorful but quiet bird. The man agrees that Chet certainly is pretty, but he doesn't seem to be much for singing. The manager tells him to watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. The manager then clicks the lighter and holds it under Chet's left foot. Immediately Chet starts singing; "Silent Night, Holy Night."

The husband is very impressed with Chet's singing abilities and watches as the manager moves the lighter underneath Chet's right foot. Chet now starts to sing "Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way." The husband says Chet is perfect and that he'll take him.

The husband rushes home to his wife and insists upon giving her this wonderful gift immediately. He presents Chet and starts to explain the parrot's special talent.

Demonstrating, he holds a lighter under Chet's left foot and the bird sings "Silent Night." He then moves the lighter under the right foot and Chet lets loose a round of "Jingle Bells." The wife is absolutely impressed, and with a mischievous grin asks her husband what happens if he holds the lighter between Chet's legs instead. Curious the husband moves the lighter between the bird's legs, and the bird begins to sing - Chet's nuts Roasting on an Open Fire!

------------------------------------------------------------

Dec. 23, 1994
Northpole Standoff



A fierce battle ended in a stand-off today as a multi-jurisdictional task force of federal law enforcement agents tried to arrest the leader of a militant doomsday cult, who call themselves "Elves," living in a heavily fortified compound at the Northpole. According to witnesses, federal agents hid in livestock trailers as they drove up to the compound.
The approach was difficult in the snow using wheeled vehicles. Several agents were reportedly thrown from the trailer when it hit a snowbank. The agents were unable to use dogteams and sleds because the ATF agents shot all the dogs during training at a nearby recreational facility where agents had practiced for weeks on a mock-up of the compound in preparation for the raid.

As three National Guard helicopters approached, over 100 law officers stormed the main compound, a heavily fortified gingerbread structure, throwing concussion grenades and screaming "Come out!" Cult members and law officers negotiated a cease-fire about 45 minutes after the incident began.

For the next several hours, ambulances and helicopters swarmed the premises. The area was cordoned off and ATF agents with machine guns were posted in the roadways to keep reporters at least two miles from the main battle area.

In a lengthy report on the group Saturday, The Northpole Tribune-Herald said that the cult was known to have a large arsenal of high-powered weapons, probably produced in a workshop disguised as a "toy factory." This toy factory is also believed to be the sight of a mephamphetamine laboratory, according to sources inside the ATF.

The article quoted investigators as saying the crazed cult leader, who uses several aliases, "Santa Claus," "Saint Nick," "Sinterclaas," and "Saint Nicholas," age unknown, has abused children and claims to have at least 15 wives. Santa Claus denies these accusations of abuse and said he has had only one wife, Mrs. Santa Claus.

Authorities had a warrant to search the Northpole compound for guns and explosive devices and an arrest warrant for its leader, Santa Claus, said Mess Stanford of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms in Washington, D.C. Mr. Stanford added it would be useless to attempt to get a copy of this warrant, however, because it had been sealed, "for national security reasons."

The assault came one day after the Northpole Tribune-Herald began publishing a series on the cult, quoting former members as saying the deranged cult leader, Santa Claus, abused children and had at least 15 wives.

ATF spokesman Jack Killchildren in Washington said the assault had been planned for several weeks, although he added, "I think the newspaper's investigation set up heightened tension." The cult's fortress, called "The Toy Factory," is dominated by a tower with lookout windows facing in all directions. Guards reportedly patrol the 77-acre grounds at night.

Attorney General Janet Reno ordered the raid after cult members refused to surrender documents relating to national security. A source inside the Justice Department said that the documents were lists of cabinet members and highly placed government officials who were naughty or nice. Despite preliminary, secret negotiations to obtain the list, the Elves refused to surrender the document to the Justice Department.

The raid was scheduled for December 23, because December 25 is believed to be a traditional cult holiday and all the militant elves would be engaged in cult rituals in preparation for the event.

At a press conference this afternoon, Attorney General Reno said, "These militants abuse children in the most vile manner, by teaching them to expect charity. They have even distributed free, working replicas of 'assault weapons' and 'handguns.' It is a matter of dire importance to our future and the future of all our children, that this peril be ended by every means at our disposal."

She went on to say that "I do not want to surround the compound and shoot everyone and then burn it to the ground in order to prevent this child abuse from occurring again, but that appears to be our only alternative."

According to Reno, the "Toy Factory" itself is a sweatshop and conditions inside were horrendous. The Department of Justice is also looking into allegations of animal cruelty. Former members of the cult have claimed that Santa Claus frequently uses leather restraints on at least eight reindeer, housed in sordid conditions on the compound. Witnesses reported seeing a reindeer with a protruding red nose, which Janet Reno said was further indication of the abusive conditions inside the compound.

Several of the elves were reported by the BATF to have been carrying automatic weapons. However, independant sources dispute this, claiming that the "automatic weapons" were nothing more than large candy canes.

ATF leader Ted Oyster, shaken after the ordeal, spoke to reporters as hundreds of agents, many of them in tears, were taken away from the Northpole in military airlifts, ambulances, and private vehicles.

"We had our plan down, we had our diversion down, and they were waiting..." Oyster said resignedly, shaking his head.

A hospital spokesman said that most of the wounded ATF agents appeared to be suffering from shrapnel wounds from broken candy canes, as well as frostbite, apparently suffered from wearing forest-green camoflage in the wintery terrain.

Attorney General Reno offered no comment on these reports.

Mack "the knife" McWarty was seen strolling across the White House lawn, chuckling to himself as he read what inside sources say was a copy of the naughty/nice list.

One highly placed government official was found dead in Marcy Park. His name and the cause of death are unknown at this time, however, the White House immediately issued a statement claiming the official had committed suicide after learning his name was not on the nice list.

Patsy Thomahawk refused to comment on the advice of her attorney on whether she had any part in removing copies of the naughty/nice list from a safe in the White House.

A spokesman from the MJTF said that it was indeed a tragedy that Santa Claus had caused this confrontation, but this should be a lesson to anyone who tries to give to everyone without permission from the welfare department, and that gathering sensitive data without a permit from official sources will be stopped by any means.

FBI spokesman Bob *****s, the former national Abortion Poster Child of 1944, relayed that "We are dealing with a madman. We have cut off all electricity, water, and communications to the compound. Santa Claus has demanded that we relay a message to the world. It reads, 'Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.' FBI psychological experts are presently analyzing the message, however, preliminary reports indicate this is an encrypted threat to invade the neighboring towns near the Northpole. It may also be a doomsday message that the cult intends to commit suicide, like Jonestown."

Shortly after the raid, a smiling Reno was seen strolling through the pile of rubbish looking for anatomically correct Barbie dolls. She claimed that she was going to confiscate any that she found as "evidence" and that they were for a personal investigation that she was conducting.

Attorney General Reno also disclosed some information about plans to raid Mr. E. Ster Bunny sometime next spring. According to the FBI's report on Mr. Bunny, he has been hording food all year. This is in direct violation of a secret Presidential Directive. "This ingratitude for everything that we have done will stop, even if it means raiding every house in the USA to enforce these new laws that were made to insure your freedom...." Reno said.

This, boys and girls, should make us all sleep just a little bit better tonight. The government will protect us from overindulging in freedom. If they didn't step in and take control of that "naughty/nice" list, just think what shape we might be in.....

1. Psycho Barbie with carving knife.

2. Drunken Barbie.

3. Drug Slut Barbie.

4. Gang Buster Barbie.

5. Teenage Pregnant Barbie.

6. Kovan Barbie <- sorry they already have this one in Canada.

Dennis

If Katie was a bad mom for posting that, does this make you a bad son for also posting it?

Dennis post obviously means that he (and Katie) is unaware of the Christmas Time Loop - By flying in a large arc, time is relatively slowed down for Santa. This quantum effect explains why we never see him - he is just moving too fast.

Incidentally, a school head teacher and governors, here in the UK, have had to publicly apologise (seriously) for telling a reception class that Santa does not exist.

Luckily we know better, don't we...

P.

I'm fully aware of the Christmas Time-Loop...it works like this....The closer it gets to Christmas the more things that I need to get done. The more I need to get done the faster time goes by...the more I try to hurry through what I need to get done before Christmas, the less I'm able to accomplish....by the time Christmas gets here I'm totally loopy and need to get looped to survive my guests! It's one of those amazing things that happens every year but there has never been a good explanation for this phenonema.

Passing through a small Southern town one evening last
December, I was impressed to see a "Nativity Scene"
that showed great skill and talent had gone into
creating it. It was so beautiful that I got out of my
car for a closer look.

One small feature did bother me, though: The three
Wise Men seemed to be wearing firemen's helmets.
Totally unable to come up with a reason or
explanation, I left, pondering.

At a "Quick Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady
behind the counter about the helmets. She exploded
into
a rage, yelling at me, "Y'all Yankees never do read
the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but simply
couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible.
She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and
ruffled through some pages, and finally jabbed her
finger at a passage. Sticking it in my face, she
announced triumphantly, "See, it says right here: The
three wise men came from afar".

Ba boom, tish

So a guy walks into a bar with a steering wheel down his pants. When he walks up to the bar and orders a drink, the bar tender says: "Gee that must be a bit annoying mate" and the guy replies: "Yeah, its driving me nutts!"

Just what I needed on a day like today!

Thanks...I think

Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,

Merry Christmas to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother.

I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies.

Thank you so much for the birthday flowers, dear boy. I put
them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Berta and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she?

Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain.

Now don't you even think about sending any more money,
because I know you need it for those expensive family
vacations you take every year. Give my love to my darling
grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is --the one who stole you screaming from my bosom.

Merry Christmas,

Love, Mom

To a darling son?!?!?!?!

Is there something you're not telling us? ;)

In this case I'm What's-her-name...that person who married her son!

Quote:

---

Originally posted by barrk
In this case I'm What's-her-name...that person who married her son!

---

So your mother-in-law is the one they make all the jokes about:)

Mine is ok if you don't mind not getting a word in, being reminded that you have taken her daughter away from the true faith, and like chicken soup. I always thought that was like a weird urban myth, but the soup thing is for real. Must be part of the world she came from l guess.

Aging Mildred was a 93 year-old woman who was particularly despondent over the recent death of her husband, Earl. She decided that she would just kill herself and join him in death. Thinking it would be best to get it over with quickly, she took out Earl's old Army pistol and decided to shoot herself in the heart, since it was so badly broken in the first place. Not wanting to miss the vital organ and chance becoming a vegetable, and therefore a burden on her family, she called her doctor's office to inquire where her heart would be. "On a woman," the doctor said, "your heart would be just below your left breast." Later that night, Mildred was admitted to the hospital with a gunshot wound to her knee.

LOL. Love the Mother-in-Law joke as well Ka.. Bar.. (Whats her name?).

Works the other way for me. I am convinced my Mother feels sorry for my wife and relieved for herself!

Cheers,

P.

Once upon a time there were a horse and a chicken who were good friends.They lived on a farmyard with lots of other animals and were very happy.One day, while they were playing near the farm's pond, the horse stepped into a hole of quicksand. The horse rapidly sank and was yelling for his friend, the chicken, to save him.The chicken thought for a minute, then ran away. The chicken ran back to the farmhouse, and jumped into the farmer's BMW. Luckily, the keys were in the ignition, and the chicken managed to start the car, and put it in gear. It raced over to the sinkhole, where the horse had almostdisappeared by now.
The smart chicken tied a rope around the back of the BMW and threw the other end around the front legs of the horse. The chicken hopped back in the driver's seat and stepped on the gas. Ever so slowly,the horse eased out of the quicksand and jumped to safety. The horse, still on shaky legs, stuttered: "You just saved my life. Thank you!" The chicken just said,
"Don't mention it -That's what friends are for!!" They returned the BMW and went out to dinner together in the barnyard.
A few days later, the horse got up from a good night's rest, and heard some muffled cries for help coming from the barnyard. The horse followed the sounds and came upon a terriblescene. there was his best friend, the chicken, stuck in a hole of quicksand! The sand was alread up it's neck-feathers and the cries for help had almost stopped.
The horse took a quick look around: No rope in sight and the farmer had gone to town with his BMW. What to do? The horse took a deep breath and spread his body and legs out over the hole. His member was dangling down right above the poor chicken.
"Here, my friend, grab my thingie and I will pull you to safety!" With its last bit of energy, the chicken grabbed a hold of the big horse-thingy and the horse straightened its body, pulling the chicken from its trap.
With one big step, both were on solid ground and safe.
The chicken slumped down on the ground, exhausted:
"Now You saved my life, my friend!!" The horse just smiled.

And what is the moral of this story?











Wait for it



















it's good

















nearly there


















If you're hung like a horse, you don't need a BMW to pick up chicks

Bob, a lawyer, was driving home over the Golden Gate Bridge after spending a great day out on the ocean fishing. His catch, cleaned and filleted, was wrapped in newspaper on the passenger side floor. He was late getting home
and was speeding... Wouldn't you know it, a cop jumped out, radar gun in hand, motioned him to the side of the bridge.

Bob pulled over like a good citizen, recalling Rodney King and recent illegal alien incidents. The cop walked up to the window and said, "You know how fast you were going, BOY?"

Bob thought for a second and said, "Uhh, 60?"

"67 mph, son! 67 mph in a 55 zone!" said the cop.

"But if you already knew, officer" replied Bob, "Why did you ask me?"

Fuming over Bob's answer, the officer growled, in his normal sarcastic fashion, "That's speeding, and you're getting a ticket and a fine!" The cop took a good close look at Bob, in his stained fishing attire and said, "You
don't even look like you have a job! Why, I've never seen anyone so scruffy in my entire life!"

Bob answered, "I've got a job! I have a good, well-paying job!"

The cop leaned in the window, smelling Bob's fish catch, said, "What kind of a job would a bum like you have?"

"I'm a rectum stretcher!" replied Bob.

"What you say, BOY?" asked the patrolman.

"I'm a rectum stretcher!"

The cop, scratching his head, asked, "What does a rectum stretcher do?"

Bob explained, "People call me up and say they need to be stretched, so I go over to their house. I start with a couple of fingers, then a couple more, and then one whole hand, then two. Then I slowly pull them farther
and farther apart until it's a full six feet across."

The cop, absorbed with these bizarre images in his mind, asked, "What the hell do you do with a six foot *******?"

Bob nonchalantly answered, "You give it a radar gun and stick it at the end of a bridge!"