Old Ones on a Tuesday

 

Old ones:

A young man goes up to the bar and orders six Jagermeister’s. The gulps each one down, one after the other without pausing. The bartender ask if he has a problem or is he celebrating something. The young man shrugs and says, “I don’t know which one to say. Celebrating I guess over my first blowjob.”

“Well , in that case let me give you a seventh shot on the house.”

“No offence, sir. But if six shots won’t get rid of the taste, another one won’t make a difference.”
*****

This couple goes to bed and the husband starts rubbing his wife’s arm. The wife turns over and says, “I’m sorry honey, I’ve got a gynecologist appointment in the morning and I want to stay fresh.” He starts to turn over then turns back and ask, “ Do you have a dentist appointment tomorrow, too?”
*****

Bill worked in a pickle factory. He had been employed there for a number of years when he come home one day to confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his dick into the pickle slicer. His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill indicated that he’d be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.

One day, a few weeks later, Bill came home absolutely ashen. His wife could see at once that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong, hon?” she asked.

“Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my dick into the pickle slicer?”

“Oh, Bill, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“My God, Bill, what happened?”

“I got fired.”

“No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer and are you alright?”

“Oh…I’m fine but she got fired, too.”
*****

A man was making his daily visit to the hospital where she has been in a com for years. On this visit he decides to rub her left breast instead of just talking to her. On doing this she lets out a sigh. The man runs out and tells the doctor, who says this is a good sign and suggest he should try rubbing the right breast to see if there is any other reactions. So he goes back in and rubs her right brest and she lets out a moan. From this the doctor suggest he go back in and have oral sex, saying he will wait outside as it is a personal act. About 5 minutes later and white as a sheet, the man comes out and tells the doctor his wife is dead. The doctor asks what happened to which the man says, “She choked.”
*****

Have a fun Tuesday, Peeps!

Santa's Second Week - One More To Go

Here are some pictures I made last Saturday. They are made with my camera and no one knows how to zoom in to get rid of the background food supply.

This one I made of ground control. From the left is Dr. Amber, Sweet Tea, Bug, Major Tom of Ground Control (Rick) and a customer in awe of our setup.

 

This is my two elves, Bug and J-Man. They really worked hard, too. They walked the dogs, petted all the dogs and cats that came by, and inspected every item on the shelves, in the fish tanks and in the cat room. We could't have made it without their support and help.

 

This is Ruger. His only goal in life is to eat and be petted. The looks fierce, but is such a baby. Much like me.

 

Now to tell you about some of the people who come through the store. One little guy came by me riding on his heelies. You know. The sneakers with wheels in the heel? He came up to me to say hello.

“Hey, Santa!”

“Hey, bud! What’s your name?”

“Darnell”

“Man, Darnell, I would like to have a pair of heelies like that.”

“Well, Wal Mart has a pair that would fit you.”

“I bet they do, too. But I can’t find a pair with training wheels on them.”

He just gave a toothless grin and punched me on the arm and said, “Santa, you’re sooo silly.” And skated off. Little shit! Punching Santa! Humph!

The little kids who come through are awed and half are afraid to come see me. But they are so cute.

Every now and then a real nice tight fitting pair of jeans will come through. It’s much better than looking at the backs of dog’s heads all day. Thanks, ladies! Rick and I appreciate it. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Then there are the people who are wwaaaaayyyy to fat to wear short shorts and shirts that show too much midriff. I have to assume there are no mirrors in their homes.

A few come through in the full regalia complete with sequins or rinestones. Six inch heels, tight jeans or short skirts, sexy blouses and a jacket, even though it is 70 degrees outside.

We also see the pet lovers who stop and tell you all about their fostering achievements and animal rescue efforts because they are wonderful people who will have a special place in heaven. I hope it’s in the kennels there.

But most of the people coming in make it worth it. They are nice and appreciative and understand what is actually going on. They even thank Santa for his efforts and make nice comments. I just tell them to blow it out their asses and get this damn dog off my lap. It stinks and you both of you need to take a bath.

Sunday my arms were sore because I had a great many large dogs and I had to strain to keep them sitting beside me, or between my legs or in my lap until a decent picture can be made. One mastiff mix just climbed into my lap and set down on my arm and I had to hold him by the butt for several seconds. It was so funny. He was a true lap dog. There were several poses with two or three lab size dogs. Lab’s are not made to sit and pose. You have to keep a gentle pressure on their sides to keep them where you want them. And their heads are in constant motion. That’s when the little ball peen hammer comes in handy. Glad my suite is red. The most I had to pose with was four big dogs of different breeds.

Then there are the cats. Cats don’t pose. Cats climb. I found out that if I just let them set on my legs and I hold them gently, like a vice grip, by the hips, they will stay put long enough to get a picture. But they have a mind of their own and all the squeaky toys and box shaking you do to get their attention is useless.

Anyway, that’s about it for now. I won’t bother you with this stuff anymore. Except next weekend! I will have pictures of my dogs to show you. After that, no more Santa shit.