Store launches underpants for left-handed men . . . on the fly


Left Handers' Day, August 13 2002

The neglected appendage or when left means right

Metaphorically speaking, a left-handed man has a longer hike down the same path than a right-handed man does when it comes to adjusting his underwear.

History has not been kind to the left-handed man and his briefs until one British manufacturer defied the laws of right-handed logic, and the vertically inclined, by changing the opening in the front to a left-handed horizontal “hallelujah.” A bold yet daring move that will possibly overshadow the creation of men’s underwear itself.

“. . . Y-fronted underpants have traditionally had a right-handed opening from the time they were invented in 1935.

“As a result,” Debenhams said, “left-handed men have to reach much further into their pants, performing a Z shaped maneuver through two 180 degree angles before achieving the result that right handed men perform with ease.”

A Z shaped maneuver that Zorro would have likely performed at ye olde urinal while holding his sword.

Gunning for a Job? Face off at High Noon. Pistols or Pencils?

Julio Corral, Madero's Lt. (LOC)

Hint: When your opponent yells, “Draw,” don’t grab a pencil

The job market should be modeled after the Wild West. Instead of  eliminating applicants with the delete key, have the top tier fight it out among themselves in a gun duel in the lobby. A win-win situation. Whoever lives, gets the job. Whoever loses is off the unemployment roll. They are still dead weights although in the literal, not figurative sense. The beauty of attrition. More messes, more custodian jobs posted on Craigslist.

Guns and Moses

The gun lobby (oh! that’s why it’s called a lobby) would be ecstatic. It would bring a blush to Charleston Heston’s rather pallid cheeks. However, a gun duel would create a new set of problems. What if the person who is the better shot is not necessarily the best suited for the position? Answer: Put them on double-secret probation. After two months, if they under-perform, thirty lashes. In another month, if they are still not up to par, off with their head.

In a job interview, the applicant would have to know if the HR person was speaking metaphorically or candidly.

“What happened to the person who previously held the position?”
“Couldn’t handle it. Lost their head.”
Other red flag responses:
  • “Had to cut them loose.”
  • “Just didn’t have the head for the job.”
  • “Their head wasn’t in it.”
What’s your solution for the job crisis?


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Food Prompt Du Jour: Shrimp – The Prince Scampi APB

Fried flour shrimps

You don’t have to be small to be a shrimp

Everything went along swimmingly for Prince Scampi, heir to the Jumbo Shrimp Empire, until the day he was caught in a dragnet by the Fish Interpol of the Caribbean Sea.

It all began with an APB on a criminal crustacean named Crab Legs Louie. A known master of disguise, Louie played a different shell game that day, donning the exact attire of Prince Scampi’s royal armor, albeit more garlicky.

While Prince Scampi vacationed in the Virgin Islands, Louie made an anonymous call to the Interpol tip line. From the neighboring kingdom of Shrimp Creole, he spewed out his lie. “Crab Legs Louie,” he said, “will be trawling Caribbean waters wearing a Prince Scampi disguise.”

Louie had heard about Prince Scampi’s travel plans from an ex con pal, Bing the Sting Ray, who had sneaked inside the Jumbo Shrimp Empire earlier in the week and blended in with the wall décor in the palace dining hall.

The Fish Interpol netted poor Prince Scampi while he enjoyed a tangy lemon rum swill at the Coral Reef Bar and Grille. Scampi was hauled off to jail, held without bail, and denied his one conch call. The arresting Officer, Lobster McGee, an old crusty cop, became suspicious when he couldn’t remove what he thought was a disguise hiding the mug of the notorious salty thug Crab Legs Louie.

Meanwhile Louie, who had entered the Jumbo Shrimp Kingdom disguised as the much beloved Prince Scampi, had slipped into the linguini library to steal the royal heirloom, a necklace of pearls strung with a weave of Samoan seaweed, a gift from Esther Escargot, a distant cousin in the Mediterranean.

However, Louie overlooked one important detail, a hook tattoo on the tip of Prince Scampi’s tail, which was known to Officer Lobster McGee, a shrimp connoisseur and part time historian extraordinaire who never tired of facts about the Jumbo Shrimp Empire.

Crab Legs Louie now sits on death row in a Caribbean jail where he is first in line to be breaded and deep-fried.

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The Interview Smell Test: Eve Saint Laurent or Eau de Bull Ca-Ca?

Interview Warning Signs
You know there is a problem if . . .
•    A Pekingese carrying a chew toy greets you in the reception area then pees on your leg.
•    The interviewer picks his teeth with a hunting knife.
•    The interview desk has a wee-wee pad instead of a desk pad.
•    When you ask, “Where is the bathroom?” the interviewer hands you a box of Depends.
•    The interviewer is dressed in a straight jacket; he questions himself, objects to the answers, and then asks security to toss him from the building. The interview ends abruptly.
•    Body bags line the back wall.
•    Several days after your interview, a Photoshopped version of it with your head on a naked body goes viral on YouTube.
•    An Invisible Fence sign hangs on the front door, and the employees wear electric collars.
•    A department store mannequin seated at the reception desk offers bad advice.
•    The conference room has padded walls and pill dispensers.
•    The interviewer is an ex-shrink and questions you about your relationship with your parents instead of previous employers.
Do you have an interesting interview anecdote?
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Hello Dearest E-mail from Rwanda – Bad Investment /Grammar


Map of Rwanda
Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam

Hello Dearest,
(We’re not even on speaking terms.)
Permit me to inform you of my desire of going into business relationship with you.
My name is Julet Desmond  the only daughter of late  Mr.and Mrs.Desmond.
(How late?)
MY FATHER ( Dr PHILIP DESMOND THE CHAIRMAN MANAGING DIRECTOR OF DESMOND & SONS INDUSTRIALS COMPANY IN THE CAPITAL CITY OF MY COUNTRY ( KIGALI ), Also the PERSONAL ADVISER to the former HEAD OF STATE my father was poisoned to death by his business associates on one of their outings on a business trip.
(Could have been the bad shrimp.)
While my mother died when I was a baby and since then my father took me so special. (WTF?) Before his death on october 2007 in a private hospital in  Rwanda . he secretly called me on his bedside
(Strange nickname.)
and told me that he has some amount of money in a leading bank which he used my name as the nest of kin the amount in question is $6.5M (Six Million Five Hundred Thousand USDollars) that he used my name as his only daughter for the next of Kin in depositing of the fund.
(It’s amazing he had the energy to utter the entire amount of U.S. dollars in addition to providing details of the transaction before croaking.)
He also explained to me that it was because of this wealth that he was poisoned by his business associates.
That incase he die I should move out of the country down to senegal,   to seek for a foreign partner in a country of my choice where i will transfer this money and use it for investment purpose after my education such as real estate management or hotel management
(That way you can continue to serve up the BS.).

I am living in senegal now.

(Don’t call me dear.)


I am honourably seeking your assistance in the following ways, to provide a bank account into which this money would be transferred to,
(Sure. No problem.)

To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am only 22years and To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education (in a career in crime) and to secure a resident permit in your country while you will be take care of investing this money.
(Of course. wink. wink)



Moreover, Dear,
(I told you. Don’t call me dear.)



I am willing to offer you 15% of the total sum as compensation for your effort/ input after the successful transfer of this fund into your nominated account overseas
(Wow 15%. What a deal!)


Furthermore, you indicate your options towards assisting me as I believe that this transaction would be concluded within a sort posille
(WTF?) time.if you are interested .


pls email me with my email address
(You should know your e-mail address.)



so that i can give you more details and and my pic for you to know me i will stop here for now  waiting hear from you soon.
(Are you familiar with a chap called Godot?)



Thanks and God bless.
I didn’t sneeze.)


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Ask Your Doctor About the Pharma Collection: A Pill Pack Gift for Any Occasion


You’ve got the symptom! We’ve got the cure!


The Pharma Pack


  • Got the blues? – We’ve got a pill for that.
  • Mother-in-law in town? – We’ve got a pill for that.
  • Mad at a spouse? – We’ve got several pills for that – from our Anniversary Collection.


Every beautifully designed Pharma Pill Pack comes with a Symptom Check List, also available in your TV Guide. Just match your symptom against our comprehensive list of meds, and then ask your doctor which pharmaceutical solution is right for you.

Don’t Have a Symptom Check List?

Call your doctor if you experience one or more of the following symptoms:

  • Do you have trouble hearing when you have cotton in your ears?
  • Do you suffer from amnesia when your husband reminds you of the credit card balance?
  • Does sugar and caffeine make your heart race?
  • Do you get depressed at funerals?
  • Do you have difficulty swallowing during dental surgery?
  • Do you get anxious when your teenager borrows the car?
  • Do you suffer from a loss of appetite from the stench of a garbage can?
  • Do your fingers become stiff and arthritic when typing for 24 hours straight?
  • Are you afraid of insurance sales men?
  • Does your breath stink in the morning when you first wake up?
  • Does your butt fall asleep after sitting on a wooden chair for eights hours?
  • Do you suffer from split ends?
  • Do you get calluses on your feet after walking several miles?
  • Do you have trouble breathing when you place a plastic bag over your head?
  • Do your fingers turn blue when you stand outside without gloves in sub zero temperatures?
  • Do you trip over your children’s toys when they’re scattered across the floor?
  • Does your head hurt when you accidentally slam it against a wall?


We’ve got the right drug for you when every thing else goes wrong.
Get happy with Pharma!
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The Sun is the Flame – I am the Lobster – Coo-Coo-Ca-Choo

mock lobster 3


Self Portrait (after baking in the sun)

Wednesday’s child is full of woe, as is lobster night if you’re a lobster or happen to look like one.

After mistaking the green tube of shampoo for after sun aloe, my arms were oh so clean but still blazing red hot from the sun.

That’s when I realized it was lobster night. Luckily, I was appropriately attired and tired from getting up when the night was darkest before the dawn and my stomach attempted to secede from my body after absorbing too many rum creams, while a group of adventurous blokes finished the night with shots of Bob Marleys. A chorus of “Dear God” echoed beneath the hut where the staggering stragglers chug-a-lugged until they lowered their empty glasses to the bar with one collective thud.

Skin burnt. Head hurt. Well-done, Jamaican sun.
Drinks free. It seemed. Well-done, Jamaican Club.
Fine food. Strong booze. Paid for inclusively.
Who needs water when you have rum cream?
After too many I soon believed, it was a fashion faux pas to wear sun screen.
Well-done, Jamaican sun. Skin hot. Sunburn pain. I so needed some Lanocaine.
Store closed. Nurse? No. Went to the front desk to complain.
Was handed a used tube of Lanocaine. Had to give her my room number and name.
Then she said, “Oh, and hon. Bring back the tube, as soon as you’re done.”


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The Bombastic Mr. Hoss: Escape from Glum Street

Electric bulb from Neolux (max.

A Story About a Club Soda, a Light Bulb, and a Psychotic Bartender

It was Mr. Hoss’ bad luck to stop by the Glum Street Bar on his way home from the light bulb store, after getting a tan at the Salon Du Jour. If only he didn’t have a hang over from the night before that prevented him from ordering a Glenfiddich Scotch, which he always asked for on the rocks.

Perhaps if he had known that the most senior member of the Cult of Bartenders, Globular Bob, a proponent of procreation and booze, was serving drinks that night to potential recruits, a childless Hoss would have instead requested a refreshing Southern Screw. But, alas, Mr. Hoss erred unaware of the cost, when he ordered a club soda, asking for “a twist” as an afterthought.

Bob stared at Hoss for five minutes or more, quite certain he was a fundamentalist from Kuala Lumpur, where club soda was discovered in 1904 when a tourist sighted an effervescent river flowing on the rain forest floor.

Bob, a xenophobia sufferer, declined to offer Hoss a chance to order something stronger. Instead, he shouted to his compatriot waiters in arms,”Grab him! Don’t let him out the door.” The waiters knew the purpose, of course, was to slice his head off, toss it into the kitchen sink, open the flap, and send it rolling down the chute to the trash bin in the back.

Off he ran the typically formal Mr. Hoss was happy he wore a tee shirt and shorts to show off his tan. With his arms and legs slathered San Trope slick, he easily escaped the waiters’ grip when they tried to grab him. A fast thinking Hoss jumped into the sink, slid down the head ramp into the bin. But after vaulting over the side, he fell when he slipped on a lemon rind.

Not even a minute had passed before the door burst open and the waiters started chasing him, sort of, albeit, their legs a bit wobbly and their thoughts quite foggy. It seems in a quest to forget, they spent the previous night drinking leftover anisette from abandoned glasses on tables simply labeled “Neglect!”

Mr. Hoss easily got away with his San Trope tan and 60 watt light bulbs cradled in his hands.

Of one thing, Hoss could be sure. He would never take a walk down Glum Street any more whenever heading home from the light bulb store.



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