Don't Slap Her! Hand Her A Vibrator
According to a story I once read online entitled, Vibrators Used to Relieve "Hysteria", the 1899 edition of the Merck Manual, a reference guide for physicians, hysteria can be treated by manual or electromechanical massage.
This piece of valuable medical information left Morris and I so stunned, that for a moment you would have thought our computer screen a pair of oncoming truck lights, and the muse and I a couple of wide eyed does caught in their beams. Suddenly regaining his composure, Morris lept into the air, did a backwards triple somersault, and as he landed on my shoulder again, said, "Kewl Beaners BB, next time a woman gets hysterical around me, instead of slapping her, I'll give her a manual massage, or hand her a vibrator. She may still be moaning and screaming before we're through, but at lease she'll be over her hysterics! And will holding a vibrator under her nose, bring an unconscious blonde around, like holding a bottle of smelling salts under her nose does?"
I thought about what my little muse had said for a few seconds, then replied, "Maybe, but it will never replace CPR completely. And you know something, this information should have been made more public back in 1899 when that Merck Manual first came out! It would have saved a hell of a lot of women from getting slapped over the years! I mean, think about it! All these years, instead of promoting good vibrations like they should have been, the damn movies have been promoting violence against hysterical women."
And by golly! I think it is time we women put a stop to the film industry promoting violence against hysterical women the way it does. We women should all join together, and with vibrators in hand, stand up for ourselves, and demand that scenes in movies and television programs showing men slapping women for getting hysterical, be replaced by scenes showing men handing hysterical women vibrators instead of slapping them.
And oooooh boy wouldn't a move like that on our part really put the Christian Coalition's panties into a big wad! Look on the bright side though, perhaps those religious nuts will get so busy trying to put a stop to our 'good vibrations' movement, they won't have time to hassle Tinky Winky about the shape of his antenna and lousy color coordinating abilities. And maybe we will get REALLY lucky, and they will be so busy trying to stop the 'good vibrations' movement, they won't have time to write letters demanding that 'HC' ratings be placed on shows with homosexual content. Though Morris claims that they can't stop this movement because manual or electromechanical massages, given under these circumstances, does NOT count as sex, sin, or self-indulgence, since it would be done strictly for medicinal purposes only. Personally, I wish the Christian Coalition would put down those bibles they keep thumping, take the Merck Manual's advice, and go give themselves a good manual, or electromechanical, massage. Even if it doesn't cure their bible thumping hysteria, maybe it will keep them occupied, and out of our hair for awhile.
Give Me Orange M&M's
The attorney I once worked for gave me the March 24,1997 edition of U.S. News one day, and told me to be sure and read the article on M & M's in it. So that evening I took the magazine home with me and read it. Including the article about the M & M's. Now I understand that damn commercial about the green ones. For those who have always wondered about that commercial, it seems the green are considered aphrodisiacs. It is also apparently thought by some, that the orange ones are supposed to augment breast size. The boss new I am constantly searching for ways to augment my breast size without the aid of surgery or foam rubber, so he couldn't resist giving me that edition of U.S. News.
Then I made the mistake of letting my husband, read that article. The next day he comes home from work with several big bags of M & M candy. He then proceeds to start diligently sorting the candy. In one bowl he had the green M & M's. In the other he had orange M & M's. Now every time I turn around, he is feeding me a handful of orange M & M's. He told me I can have the other colors after I eat all those orange ones. He says the green ones are for both of us.
Not only that, but the boss also sorting out those damn orange ones, and giving them to me. Of course my boss was always teasing me about my cleavage, or rather lack of. Unfortunately he was as eloquent in his sarcastic description of my board like figure, as he was when cross examining a hostile witness. He once asked a witness who complained that her sex life with her husband was infrequent, if she meant infrequent as one word or two. He says that I make Twiggy look positively buxom. And tells me the only way I'm ever going to get cleavage is if I go out and buy some. Of course I just keep telling him I have better things to spend my money on than breasts. Although I sometimes do envy other more well endowed females. It isn't that I want boobs the size of watermelons, but a couple of cantaloupes would be nice.
And as fate would have it, after he read the first draft of this, a man came in selling fruit. The boss bought some and then informed me, with a big grin on his face, that although they didn't have any Pecos Cantaloupes, there was a couple of grapefruits that were just the right size if I wanted them. The boss was such a damn comedienne.
One day after a busy morning of defending the innocent, all our clients were innocent until proven guility thank you very much, the boss was kicked back watching some daytime talk show when something came up about employers who hire women according to their breast size as opposed to their mental abilities. The boss looked over at me, started laughing, and said, "You know it's a good thing I don't have that attitude, or you would be out of a job."
"Yeah." I replied. "It's a good thing God gave me some brains, because he sure as hell short changed me in the boob department. Mom always said it isn't God's fault though. She claims when God was handing out tits I thought he said grits. And I said I didn't want any of those."
The boss was always making some wise ass comment about my weight. One day he told one of the new girls in the offic that the reason the police like to frisk me is because they only have to make two passes. One straight up and one straight down. The boss claimed the patting down maneuver is completely unnecessary in my case since anything bigger than a M & M would show up as a definite bulge with my build.
I'm sad to that at least in my case, the orange M&M's didn't work, and I am still as flat chested as ever. The upside of that is that at least I don't have the sagging problem some women do as they age. Though to be honest, there are moments I would glady deal with that problem just to have a little cleavage.
They Feel Just Like Gummie Bears
Up until now I thought my sister's transvestite cat was the weirdest pet I had ever heard of. Then I began to read this story about an American dog getting the first set of new and improved canine silicone testicles. Frodo, a Chinese pug aged 16 months, was the lucky recipient of the first pair of new and improved testicle implants. CTI president Gregg Miller, who invented Neuticles, says this new softer silicone version of Neuticle is more authentic and has the feel and texture of a gummie bear.
A gummie bear? Now when I read that my little blonde eyebrows popped clear up into my hairline. My untrustworthy sidekick Morris started laughing so hard he nearly fell off my shoulder. "Excuse me?" I said as I pushed him back up onto my shoulder, "A supposedly trained scientist has just described dogs' gonads as feeling like gummie bears? And they are going to neuter the dog here?"
"Oh sure blonde," my maniacal little muse snickered, "Can't you just see some veterinarian scientist in white scrubs, scalpel poised above a Doberman's gonads. His fellow scientists, hard at work on an authentic feeling substitute, seeing what he is about to do, yell at him, "Hey, before you snip those off, what do they feel like?" And squinting in thought behind his coke bottom lenses, his scalpel free hand busily fondling the Dobermans gonads, he replies, "Gummie bears! Boys, these gonads feel just like gummie bears!"
And as I sat there with that picture implanted in my mind, I realized a very profound truth. I would never again look at gummie bears or scientist quite the same way. Sighing sadly at my lost innocence I continued to read the story so I might pass on this wisdom on to others. And why do scientist want authentic gummie bear feeling dog testicle implants? So when your canine companion is neutered, he has a pair of realistic gonads to replace that pair they just snipped off. The theory being as long as he has something there that looks like gonads, and feels like gummie bears, he won't realize he's missing anything.
Personally, I think if we are actually breeding dogs so stupid they can't tell real gonads from silicone replacements that feel like gummie bears, then we should be neutering those animals. If for no other reason than for the good of the entire canine gene pool.
But this whole concept of testicle replacement is not a new issue it seems. Already, 14,560 pairs of its less expensive, hard polypropylene Neuticles have been implanted in dogs and cats in all 50 states and nine other countries in the past three years. These implants are harder than the new ones and do not have the same authentic gummie bear feel as the new ones do.
This story sure gives a whole new meaning to the term, a dogs life, though doesn't it? And friends, what is next? Silicone breast implants for female dogs who feel inadequate?