Bill worked in a pickle factory.
He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day to confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion.
He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill said he would be too embarrassed.
He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.
One day a few weeks later, Bill came home and his wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong.
´What´s wrong, Bill?´ she asked.
´Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?´
´Oh, Bill, you didn´t´ she exclaimed.
´Yes, I did.´ he replied.
´My God, Bill, what happened?´
´I got fired.´
´No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?´
´Oh...she got fired too.´
BR
He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day to confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion.
He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill said he would be too embarrassed.
He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.
One day a few weeks later, Bill came home and his wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong.
´What´s wrong, Bill?´ she asked.
´Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?´
´Oh, Bill, you didn´t´ she exclaimed.
´Yes, I did.´ he replied.
´My God, Bill, what happened?´
´I got fired.´
´No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?´
´Oh...she got fired too.´
BR
You can\'t be a Real Country unless you have a BEER and an airline - it helps if you have some kind of a football team or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need a BEER.
Frank Zappa