MALE SENSITIVITY

The room was full of pregnant women with their partners. The class was in full swing. The instructor was teaching the women how to breathe and was telling the men how to give the necessary assurance to their partners at this stage of the pregnancy.

She said "Ladies, remember that exercise is good for you. Walking is especially beneficial. It strengthens the pelvic muscles and will make delivery that much easier. Just take several stops and stay on a soft surface like grass or a path."

She looked at the men in the room, "and Gentlemen, remember -- You're in this together -- It wouldn't hurt you to go walking with her."

The room suddenly got very quiet as the men absorbed this information.

Then a man at the back of the room slowly raised his hand.

"Yes," answered the Instructor.

"I was just wondering if it would be all right if she carries a golf bag
While we walk?"


Internet addict Pornocat says, "I don't think this post is funny at all. Golfing is an elitist pastime and I do not approve. No, sir. And until you start writing about porn and posting pictures of sexy women, I shall stop reading your blog. Meow!"

MARINES BANNED FROM FARTING IN AFGHANISTAN

MARINES BANNED FROM FARTING IN AFGHANISTAN:

Marines in Afghanistan have reportedly been told not to pass gas around Afghans to avoid offending the indigenous population. That's right, now any leatherneck who lets one rip on patrol with Afghans nearby could receive a talk from his superior officer.
The new flatulence restriction was first picked up by the Military Times and has since become fodder for online discussion ranging from the curious to the ridiculous. A few military bloggers have taken it seriously and found the ban to be indicative of a trend among military brass of bending over backwards to avoid offending the locals. Others have pointed out that a culture that has allowed stoning, various forms of execution, and amputations as penalties for criminal offenses should be able to withstand a little passed gas.
The new regulation is not covered in the Uniform Code of Military Justice and the military has not even confirmed it exists. For now, the "fart ban" appears to be simply a guideline for good manners while Marines are out on patrol.

PERSONALLY I THINK THE BAN STINKS.


Guardian of the Universe Gamera says, "And now it's political humor and fart jokes. If this is a sign of blogs to come I may stop reading."







.

Amity Island Harbor Master Frank Silva says, "Aye, tis pathetic. And believe me when I say the worst part is this is no joke. Tis really discourteous to be breakin tha wind in front of brown people. We had a similar restriction back in me Navy days. We weren't allowed to have sex with each other, as to not disrupt our morale."

SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND WASHINGTON POLITICS

SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND WASHINGTON POLITICS....

The English language has some wonderfully anthropomorphic collective nouns for the various groups of animals.

We are all familiar with a Herd of cows, a Flock of chickens, a School of fish and a Gaggle of geese.

However, less widely known is a Pride of lions, a Murder of crows (as well as their cousins the rooks and ravens), an Exaltation of doves and, presumably because they look so wise, a Parliament of owls.

Now consider a group of Baboons. They are the loudest, most dangerous, most obnoxious, most viciously aggressive and least intelligent of all primates. And what is the proper collective noun for a group of baboons? Believe it or not ....... a Congress!

Education and entertainment.

Guardian of the Universe Gamera says, "So this is what it's come to, Turz? Political humor? Really?"

Arcade Memoirs, Vol. I ~ The Ballad of Marcos

Marcos is a homeless guy I met my first month on the island. I gave a friend a ride to Tripler Army Hospital for an appointment and Marcos was in the lobby for no particular reason other than to play his guitar and serenade the sick.
He wasn't any good, but I admired the sentiment. I went to Tripler 3 times in two onths and he was always there.
Some months later, I was in Waikiki admiring the prostitutes one night when lo and behold, there was Marcos in a bus stop, two blocks from the beach, playing his guitar. He hadn't gotten any better, but hey, it was Marcos; on another part of the island.

What a coincidence.

And now, some more months later, I see Marcos on a regular basis, as he is a regular customer at the adult arcade gig I snagged on Hotel Street. Nowadays I see Marcos almost every day.

It's such a small island...

Anyways- you may be wondering why Marcos is the focus of my premiere installment of The Arcade Memoirs and if you're not, you've probably stopped reading by now. So I'd better continue without further dispatch...
Last Sunday while I was in the middle of a 16 hour shift, he strolls in and announced that he had been sleeping all morning on Waikiki Beach but was still soooooo tiiiiired. So tired. After sleeping all morning on the beach at Waikiki. (It's amazing what some people take for granted, no? Here he is, living the dream of literally millions of people on the mainland and he blows it off like I do a pleasant fart.)
After I explained that I had no interest in hearing his tale of how he accomplished absolutely nothing that day, I politely requested that he buzz the hell off! Afterwhich he smiled and shuffled away to the pits of our private peepshow booths to watch a little PRON. That was the last anyone saw of Marcos for the next 45 minutes.

Once he got that out of his system, he had a new itch to scratch; video games! He dug deep in his pockets for the last of his loose change. A dime, two nickels and five pennies. He asked to trade them in for a quarter. He gave me the coins, and they stuck to my hand!!!

OH MY FRIGGING GAWD!

Dr. Jekyll took a back seat to Mr. Hyde as I was just a sniff away from tearing him a new a**hole. I would have too, but I was too disgusted to touch him. He started to clean off the coins on his shirt. "NO FRIGGING WAY!" I explained to him, as calmly as I possibly could. I told him to go to the restroom and clean each coin individually with soap and water while I dumped half a bottle of hand sanitizer on my hands and face. FREE-KING GROSS, DUDE.

Feel free to leave snide comments. Go ahead, get it out of your system. But know this; such is the manner of tales you may expect to read about in future episodes of The Arcade Memoirs. Abandon all hope, ye who dare to read my stuff.

The impatient ghost of Robert Shaw says, "Bloody Christ! I would prefer to read your tawdry, pedantic, opinionated bantering about pornographic cinema than this filthy mess! At least pornography is fanciful fiction. This tale is so disgusting it must be a true story. This makes me wish the afterlife had a Pub."