Date: Wed, 1 Dec 1999 10:11:40 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  scavenger hunt

A woman answered her front door and found two little boys holding a list.

"Lady," one of them explained, "we're on a scavenger hunt, and we still
need three grains of wheat, a pork-chop bone and a piece of used carbon
paper to earn a dollar."

"Wow," the woman replied. "Who sent you on such a challenging hunt?"

"Our baby-sitter's boyfriend."

Date: Thu, 2 Dec 1999 10:42:26 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  anger

  A congregation honors a rabbi for twenty-five years of service by
sending him to Hawaii for a week, all expenses paid.  When he walks into
his room, there's a nude girl lying on the bed. He picks up the phone,
calls his temple, and says, "Where is your respect? As your rabbi, I am
very, very angry with you."
  The girl gets up and start to get dressed.  He says, "Where are you
going? I'm not angry at you."

Date: Fri, 3 Dec 1999 10:37:47 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Campaign Slogan

  Letter to the editor of the Elmira (N.Y.) Star-Gazette from voter Lou 
Cicconi:
  "To whoever coined the phrase, 'Scrape the bottom and Vote for Rodham,'
I will donate money to have bumper stickers made. I figure that if my tax 
dollars can help fund her travels, I may as well spend some extra for 
something I believe in."

Date: Mon, 6 Dec 1999 10:40:51 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Bridge joke

  A cleaning woman was applying for a new position and when asked why she
left her last employment, she replied:  "Yessir, they paid good wages, but
it was the most ridiculous place I ever worked.  They played a game called
Bridge and last night a lot of folks were there.  As I was about to bring
in the refreshments, I heard a man say:  "Lay down and let's see what
you've got."  Another man says,  "I got strength and no length."  And
another man says to the lady:  "Take your hands off my trick."  I pretty 
near dropped dead just then when the lady answered: "You forced me.  You
jumped me twice when you didn't have the strength for one raise.  Another
lady was talking about protecting her honor, and two lades were talking
and saying, "Now it's time for me to play with your husband and you can
play with mine.  Well, I just got my hat and coat and as I was leaving, I
hope to die, if one of them didn't say:  "Well, I guess we'll go home now.
That was the last rubber!!"

Date: Tue, 7 Dec 1999 10:36:01 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Germans

Germans
By Tolsun Waddle

  Those silly Germans. Every time they try to take over the world, they do 
a little better.

  Think about it: First there were the Vikings (a few Germans participated 
in this madness); they were followed by the Angles, who took over England.
Then, the Saxons beat up the Angles. Also, Germanic tribes helped with the
fall of the Roman Empire in the fifth century AD. Then, some years of
relative quiet, until you run into Kaiser Wilhelm raising hell in Poland
and making Germany into a big-ass European power. Then World War 1, then
Hitler.

  If the world were truly run like a game of "Risk," the Germans would be 
your 13-year-old cousin that just discovered girls and who's learning how 
to play for the first time. He'd spread out his armies evenly over all of 
his countries and eventually get his ass kicked. Seriously kicked, until 
you finally told him, "Look, Timmy, go on a blitzkrieg. It's the only way 
to win. Fortify the Ukraine, and launch your attack from there."

  Timmy has been told this already. He learned from his mistakes in World 
War 1. He did pretty well in World War 2 (a.k.a., That Time the Germans 
Kicked Everyone's Ass Until they Messed With Russia in the Middle of a 
Siberian Winter) until he decided to make one of the classic blunders. He 
got involved in a land war in Eastern Europe. Eastern Europe is close 
enough to Asia for this to count as a major blunder. One of these days, 
Timmy will finally realize that he's first got to either completely wipe 
out Asia or ignore it until he can attack it from Alaska and Europe. Timmy
also really needs to take some pages from Sun-Tzu, and perhaps from 
Chairman Mao; the most important lesson Timmy can learn is Mao's classic 
comment, "Power is the barrel of a gun."

  Now what? The things that really throw me are the Euro and the European 
Union. What's the deal there? I mean, you just know that somebody is 
someday going to say, "You know what? I don't give a damn about unified 
currency. Nor do I care about any stupid Union. Let's go blow stuff up." 
Then, Timmy and Co. will run around Europe for a few years, blowing stuff 
up, maybe even run around other parts of the world (hopefully New Jersey),
and then somebody will have to come in and put an end to the madness.

  What can we do to stop this? Stop buying Volkswagen? Perhaps there is no 
way to prevent this. Perhaps we simply have to wait for them to rise up 
again and kick even more ass.

  *Please note: The author of this does not in any way condone warfare,
nor does he see the German people as bloodthirsty warmongers. He is simply 
pointing out that they have acted in a very megalomaniacal manner in the 
past, and that history tends to repeat itself. Thus, there is the 
possibility that Germany will once again try to take over the world and 
will most likely be successful this time around. 

Date: Wed, 8 Dec 1999 10:13:18 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Addiction warning

LITERATURE ABUSE: AMERICA'S HIDDEN PROBLEM

  Once a relatively rare disorder, Literature Abuse, or LA, has risen to 
new levels due to the accessibility of higher education and increased 
college enrollment since the end of the Second World War. The number of 
literature abusers is currently at record levels.

SOCIAL COSTS OF LITERARY ABUSE

  Abusers become withdrawn, uninterested in society or normal 
relationships. They fantasize, creating alternative worlds to occupy, to
the neglect of friends and family.

  In severe cases they develop bad posture from reading in awkward
positions or carrying heavy book bags.  In the worst instances, they 
become cranky reference librarians in small towns.

  Excessive reading during pregnancy is perhaps the number one cause of
moral deformity among the children of English professors, teachers of
English and creative writing.  Known as Fetal Fiction Syndrome, this
disease also leaves its victims prone to a lifetime of nearsightedness,
daydreaming and emotional instability.

HEREDITY

  It has been established that heredity plays a considerable role in
determining whether a person will become an abuser of literature.  Most
abusers have at least one parent who abused literature, often beginning at
an early age and progressing into adulthood.  Many spouses of an abuser
become abusers themselves.

OTHER PREDISPOSING FACTORS

  Fathers or mothers who are English teachers, professors, or heavy
fiction readers; parents who do not encourage children to play games,
participate in healthy sports, or watch television in the evening.

PREVENTION

  Pre-marital screening and counseling, referral to adoption agencies in
order to break the chain of abuse.  English teachers in particular
should seek partners active in other fields.  Children should be
encouraged to seek physical activity, and to avoid isolation and morbid 
introspection.

Self-test for literature abuse How many of these apply to you?

1.  I have read fiction when I was depressed, or to cheer myself up.
2.  I have gone on reading binges of an entire book or more in a day.
3.  I read rapidly, often 'gulping' chapters.
3.  I have sometimes read early in the morning, or before work.
4.  I have hidden books in different places to sneak a chapter without 
being seen.
5.  Sometimes I avoid friends or family obligations in order to read
novels.
6.  Sometimes I re-write film or television dialog as the characters
speak.
7.  I am unable to enjoy myself with others unless there is a book nearby.
8.  At a party, I will often slip off unnoticed to read.
9.  Reading has made me seek haunts and companions which I would otherwise
avoid.
10. I have neglected personal hygiene or household chores until I had
finished a novel.
12. I have spent money meant for necessities on books instead.
13. I have attempted to check out more library books than permitted.
14. Most of my friends are heavy fiction readers.
15. I have sometimes passed out from a night of heavy reading.
16. I have suffered 'blackouts' or memory loss from a bout of reading.
17. I have wept, become angry or irrational because of something I read.
18. I have sometimes wished I did not read so much.
19. Sometimes I think my fiction reading is out of control.


  If you answered 'yes' to three or more of these questions, you may be a
literature abuser.  Affirmative responses to five or more indicates a
serious problem.

DECLINE AND FALL: THE ENGLISH MAJOR

  Within the sordid world of literature abuse, the lowest circle belongs
to those sufferers who have thrown their lives and hopes away to study
literature in our colleges.  Parents should look for signs that their
children are taking the wrong path-don't expect your teenager to approach
you and say, 'I can't stop reading Spencer.' By the time you visit her
dorm room and find the secret stash of the Paris Review, it may already be
too late.

  What to do if you suspect your child is becoming an English major:

1.  Talk to your child in a loving way.  Show your concern. Let her know
you won't abandon her- but that you aren't spending a hundred grand to put
her through Stanford so she can clerk at Waldenbooks, either.  But
remember that she may not be able to make a decision without help;
perhaps she has just finished Madame Bovary and is dying of arsenic 
poisoning.

2.  Face the issue: Tell her what you know, and how: 'I found this book in
your purse.  How long has this been going on?'  Ask the hard question-
'Who is this Count Vronsky?'

3.  Show her another way.  Move the television set into her room.  Praise
her brother, the engineer.  Introduce her to frat boys.

4.  Do what you have to do.  Tear up her library card.  Make her stop
signing her letters as 'Emma.' Force her to take a math class, or minor in
Spanish. Transfer her to a Florida college.

You may be dealing with a life-threatening problem if one or more of the
following applies:
*   She can tell you how and when Thomas Chatterton died.
*   She names one or more of her cats after a Romantic poet.

*   Next to her bed is a picture of:  Lord Byron, Virginia
Woolf, Faulkner, or any scene from the Lake District.

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

  Most important, remember, you are not alone.  To seek help for yourself
or someone you love, contact the nearest chapter of the American
Literature Abuse Society, or look under ALAS in your telephone directory.

Date: Thu, 9 Dec 1999 13:07:04 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  music

  Two men, sentenced to die in the electric chair on the same day, were 
led down to the room in which they would their maker. The priest had given
them last rites, the formal speech had been given by the warden, and a
final prayer had been said among the participants. 

  The warden, turning to the first man, solemnly asked, "Son, do 
you have a last request?" 

  To which the man replied, "Yes sir, I do. I love dance music. Could you 
please play the Macarena for me one last time?" 

  "Certainly," replied the warden. He turned to the other man and asked, 
"Well, what about you, son? What is your final request?" 

  "Please," said the condemned man, "kill me first."

Date: Fri, 10 Dec 1999 13:15:21 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  final words

  The National Transportation Safety Board recently divulged they have 
covertly funded a project with U.S. auto makers for the past five years
whereby the auto makers were installing black boxes in four-wheel drive
pick-up trucks in an effort to determine, in fatal accidents, the 
circumstances in the last 15 seconds before a crash.

  They were surprised to find in 49 of the 50 states the last words of 
drivers in 61.2 percent of fatal crashes were, "Oh, Shit!"

  Only the state of West Virginia was different, where 89.3 percent of the
final words were: "Hold my beer and watch this!"

Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 11:32:23 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  All I Want for Christmas

Dear Santa,

  I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond
earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little
thing, and I want it deeply. I want to slap Martha Stewart. Now, hear me
out, Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or anything. Just one good
smack, right across her smug little cheek. I get all cozy inside just
thinking about it. Don't grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands
of women across the country.

  Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a gift to us all.
Those of us leading average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with
gracious living. We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates
match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner. We're
tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped
in 18 carat gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of the
furniture polish variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce,
spiced with turmeric. Most of us can't even say turmeric, let alone figure
out what to do with it.

  OK, Santa, maybe you think I'm being a little harsh. But I'll bet with
all the holiday rush you didn't catch that interview with Martha in last
week's USA Weekend. I'm surprised there was enough room on the page for
her ego. We discovered that not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza
(she's only ordered it once), she refuses to eat it cold (No cold pizza?
Is Martha Stewart living?) When it was pointed out that she could
microwave it, she replied, "I don't have a microwave." The reporter,
Jeffrey Zaslow, noted that she said this "in a tone that suggests you
shouldn't either." Well lah-dee-dah. Imagine that, Santa! That lovely
microwave you brought me years ago, in which I've learned to make
complicated dishes like popcorn and hot chocolate, has been declared
undesirable by Queen Martha. What next? The coffee maker?

  In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes adorning an
entire wall in her home. Forty sets. Can you spell "overkill"? And neatly
put away, no less. If my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies
as "put away" in my house!

  Martha tells us she's already making homemade holiday gifts for 
friends."Last year, I made amazing silk-lined scarves for everyone," she
boasts. Not just scarves, mind you. Amazing scarves. Martha's obviously
not shy about giving herself a little pat on the back. In fact, she does
so with such frequency that one has to wonder if her back is black and
blue. She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the 90s", and
says her most glamorous friends are "interested in stain removal, how to
iron a monogram, and how to fold a towel." I have one piece of advice,
Martha: "Get new friends." Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a whim. They
drift past the Greek Islands on yachts, sipping champagne from crystal
goblets. They step out for the evening in shimmering satin gowns, whisked 
away by tuxedoed chauffeurs. They do not spend their days pondering the
finer art of toilet bowl sanitation.

  Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of America's 25 most influential
people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Theresa, Madeline Albright and
Maya Angelou, no doubt). The proof of Martha's influence: after she bought
white-fleshed peaches in the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me buy
them. In an instant, they were all gone." I hope Martha never decides to
jump off a bridge.

  A guest in Martha's home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early to 
rollerblade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for breakfast.
This confirms what I've suspected about Martha all along: She's obviously
got too much time on her hands. Teaching the dogs to rollerblade. What a
show off. If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how Martha treats
her friends: She gave one friend all 272 books from the Knopf Everyman
Library. It didn't cost much. Pocket change, really. Just $5,000. But what
price friendship, right? When asked if others should envy her, Martha
replies, "Don't envy me. I'm doing this because I'm a natural teacher. You
shouldn't envy teachers. You should listen to them." Zaslow must have slit
a seam in Martha's ego at this point, because once the hot air came
hissing out, it couldn't be held back. "Being an overachiever is nothing 
despicable. It is only admirable. Never lower your standards," says 
Martha. And of her Web Page on the Internet, Martha declares herself an
"important presence" as she graciously helps people organize their sad,
tacky little lives.

  There you have it, Santa. If there was ever someone who deserved a good
smack, it's Martha Stewart. But I bet I won't get my gift this year. You
probably want to smack her yourself.

Date: Tue, 14 Dec 1999 10:21:27 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  good question

  The psychology instructor had just finished a lecture on mental health
and was giving an oral test.

  Speaking specifically about manic depression, she asked, "How would you
diagnose a patient who walks back and forth screaming at the top of his
lungs one minute, then sits in a chair weeping uncontrollably the next?"

  A young man in the rear raised his hand and answered, "A basketball
coach?"

Date: Wed, 15 Dec 1999 11:13:28 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  12 Days of Christmas, different

Louisiana Christmas

Day 1:
  Dear Boudreaux, Thanks for de bird in de Pear tree. I fix it las' night
with dirty rice. I doan tink de pear tree will grow wid all da heat in the
summa.

Day 2:
  Dear Boudreaux, You letter say you sent two turtle doves, but all I got
was two scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mixed dem with andouille an made some
gumbo out of dem.
Marie


Day 3:
  Dear Boudreaux,Why couldn't you a sent me Crawfish? I'm tired of eating
dem darn birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickens to Marie Trahan
over at Grans Bayou an fed the tird one to my dog Phideaux. Marie needed
some sparring partners for her fighting rooster.
Marie

Day 4
  Dear Boudreau, Mon Dieux! I tol you no more xxxxx birds. Deez four, what
you call dem "calling birds" were so noisy you could hear dem all de way
to Napoleonville. I used dere necks for my crab traps, an fed de rest of
dem to de gators.
Marie

Day 5
  Dear Boudreaux, You finally sen' somethin useful. I like dem golden 
rings, me. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got enuf money
to fix da shaft on my shrimp boat an buy a round for da boys at de Raisin'
Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup!
Marie

Day 6:
  Dear Boudreaux, Couchon! Back to da birds, you Cajun turkey! Poor egg
suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geeses. He tried to eat
dems eggs and dey peck de heck out ah his snout. Dey good at eating 
cockroaches, though. I may stuff one of dem wit oyrster dressing on 
Christmas day.
Marie

Day 7:
  Dear Boudreaux, I'm gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you.
Thibeau, da mailman, is ready to kill ya. The merde from all dem birds is
stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue
him good. I let those seven swans loose to swim on de bayou and some duck
hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of de water. Talk to you 
tomorrow.
Marie

Day 8:
  Dear Boudreaux, poor ole Thibeau, he had to make tree trips on his 
mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and their cows. One of dem cows
got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like
dem shiftless maids, me no. I tolt dem to get to work guttin fish and 
sweepinq the shack but dey say it wasn't in dair contract.  Dey probably 
think dey too good ta skin nutrias I caught las night.
Marie

Day 9:
  Dear Boudreaux, What you trying to do huh? Thibeau had to borrow the
Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you call Lords-a-Leaping across
the bayou. As soon as dey gots here dey wanted a tea break with crumpets.
I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well La Di Da.  You get Chicory
coffee or nuttin." Mon Dieu, Emile. What I'm gonna feed all dese bozos?
Dey too snooty for fried nutria, and de cows done eat my turnip greens.
Marie

Day 10:
  Dear Boudreaux, You got to be outs you mind! If de mailman don't kill
you, I will fo sure. Today he deliver 10 half nikid floozies from Bourbon
Street. Dey said dey be "Ladies Dancin" but dey doan act like ladies in
front of dose Limey twits. Dey almos left after one of dem got bit by a
water moccasin over by da out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute
le monde an had to get toilet paper; the Sears catalog wasn't good enuf
fer dose hoity toity Lords' royal behin'.
Marie

Day 11:
  Dear Boudreaux, where y'at? Cheerio an pip pip. Your 11 pipers piping 
arrives today from the House of Blues, second lining as dey got off de
boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya and we having a 
fais-do-do.  Da new mailman he having a good time, yeah, dancing with de 
floozies. Thibeau he jump off de Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your 
name. If you get a mysterious, ticking package in de mail, doan open it.
Marie

Day 12:
  Dear Boudreaux, I sorry to tell ya but I not your true love anymore, no. 
After da fais-do-do, I spent de night with Jacque, de head piper. We
decide to open a restaurant and gentleman's club on de bayou. The 
floozies, pardon me, Ladies dancing can make $20 for a table dance, and de 
Lords can be waiters an valet park de boats. Since de maids doan have no 
more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps, watch my trotlines,
an run my shrimping business. We will probably gross a million nex year.
Marie

Date: Thu, 16 Dec 1999 11:09:46 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Beautiful response

In honor of his reelection... dunno, if true or legend, but:

--------

[Brown is the mayor of San Francisco]
  
  Some months ago, Brown was awakened at home at 2:30 a.m. by a resident 
calling him to complain that a street light outside of her house had been 
broken for a while, and the city had failed to repair it. He took her 
number and at the office that day ordered his aides to fix the light, no 
matter what. Then he personally telephoned the woman back to check if the
light was working--waking her up at 2:30 a.m.

Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1999 10:55:37 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Christmas presents

  As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his
fireplace before Christmas.  He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill
them.  What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true,
because every Christmas morning, although Jay's kids' stockings were
overflowed, his poor panty hose hung sadly empty and grew increasingly
threadbare.

  One year, I decided to make his dream come true.  I put on sunglasses
and a fake beard and went in search of an inflatable love doll.  Of
course, they don't sell those things at Wal-mart.  I had to go to an adult
bookstore downtown.  If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go.
You'll only confuse yourself.  I was there almost three hours saying
things like, "What does this do?"  "You're kidding me!"  "Who owns that?"
"Do you have their phone number?"

  Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.  I wanted to buy a 
standard, uncomplicated doll suitable for a night of romance, that could 
also substitute as a passenger in my truck, so I could use the car pool
lane during rush hour.  I'm not sure what a complicated doll is.  Perhaps
one that is subject to wild mood shifts and using a French accent for no 
reason at all.  (That also describes a few ex-girlfriends.)

  Finding what I wanted was difficult.  Love dolls come in many different 
models.  The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do 
things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry.  I figured the 
"vibro-motion" was a feature Jay could live without, so I settled for 
Lovable Louise.  She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise
a "doll" took a huge leap of imagination.

  On Christmas Eve, with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to 
life.  My sister-in-law was in on the plan and cleverly left the front
door key hidden under the mat.  In the wee morning hours, long after Santa
had come and gone, I snuck into the house and filled the dangling panty
hose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom.

  I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a
nearby tray.  Then I let myself out, went home, and giggled for a couple
of hours.

  The next morning, my brother called to say that Santa had been to his
house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog 
confused.  He would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some 
more.  I suggested he purchase an inflatable Lassie to set Rover straight.

  We also agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest
of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional 
Christmas dinner.  It seemed like a great idea, except that we forgot that 
Grandma and Grandpa would be there...

  My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What
the hell is that?" she asked.  My brother quickly explained. "It's a 
doll."

  "Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped.  I had
several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.  "Where are her
clothes?" Granny continued.  I hadn't seen any in the box, but I kept this
information to myself.

  "Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran," Jay said, trying to steer her
to the dining room.  But Granny was relentless.

  "Why doesn't she have any teeth?"

  Again, I could have answered, but why would I?  It was Christmas and no
one wanted to be the one to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, 
"Hang on Granny, Hang on!"

  My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me 
and said," Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?"  I told him she was 
Jay's friend.  A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel,
talking to Louise.  Not just talking, but actually flirting.  It was then
that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

  The dinner went well.  We made the usual small talk about who had died,
who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise
that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom in the morning.

  The she lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and
fell in a heap in front of the sofa.  The cat screamed, I passed cranberry
sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees,
and began administering mouth to mouth resuscitation.  My brother wet his
pants and Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, went
outside and sat and fumed in the car.

  It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

  Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to 
decide the cause of Louise's collapse.  We discovered that Louise had 
suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately,
thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect
health.  Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies. I think
Grandpa still calls her whenever he can get out of the house.

Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1999 11:05:07 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Plane Crash

  Naomi Campbell, Claudia Schiffer and Cindy Crawford are flying to a 
supermodels conference in Paris, when the captain of the plane announces: 
"We have just lost power to the engines and are going to make an emergency 
crash landing - assume the brace position immediately!

  The three models start preparing for the worst. Claudia pulls out
lipstick and make-up and starts fixing her face.  Bewildered, Naomi and
Cindy ask: "What the hell are you doing fixing your face when we are about
to crash!"

  Claudia responds: "I know for a fact that the rescue workers will search
for and save first, the ones with the best looking faces, which is why I
am putting on my make-up."

  Cindy rips open her blouse to expose two beautiful mounds of flesh which 
inexplicably defy the law of gravity. 

  Totally confused,Naomi and Claudia shout: "Cindy, have you lost your
senses? Why are you baring your breasts for everyone to see when we are
about to die?"

  Cindy responds: "I have it on good authority in plane crashes, the
rescue workers look to save the women with big beautiful breasts, which is
why I am exposing my tits!"

  Not hesitating, Naomi pulls down her skirt and panties to expose her
"love triangle."

  Freaking out, Claudia and Cindy yell: Naomi, are you crazy? Why are you
exposing your crotch for everyone to see?"

  Calmly,  Naomi responds: "Bitches, please! I know for a fact the first
thing the rescue workers look for is a black box!"

Date: Tue, 21 Dec 1999 10:59:26 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  Secretaries...

  "Why did your boss jump out of the window?" the detective asked the 
secretary.

  "I don't know", she sobbed, "he was always so nice to me. Two months ago 
he gave me a fur coat, last month a sports car and just today a diamond 
ring. Then he asked, what it would cost to be able to ravish me."

  "And what did you say?"

  "I just said, that the other men in the office always just gave me fifty
dollars..."

Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 12:28:21 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  bad news

  A man got a call from his doctor who said "I have some bad news and some
terrible news, which would you rather hear first?"

  The man says "The bad news."

  The doctor says "The lab messed up your tests and when they re-did them,
they found out you only have 48 hours to live!"

  The man exclaimed "What could be more terrible than that!!??"

  The doctor replied "we tried all day yesterday to get hold of you but
your phone was busy!" 

Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1999 13:12:20 -0500 (EST)
Subject: humor:  alternatives

  Heard on a public transportation vehicle while in Orlando:
 
  "When you exit this vehicle, please be sure to lower your head and watch
your step. 
 
  If you fail to do so, please lower your voice and watch your language.
Thank you."