> Overview: I had to take my son's hamster to the vet.

>

> Here's what happened:

> Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me

> there was "something wrong" with one of the two

> hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.

> "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm

> serious, Dad. Can you help?"

> I put my best hamster-healer statement on my face and followed him

> intohis bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back,

> looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. "Honey," I called,

> "come look at the hamster!"

> "Oh my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having

> babies."

> "What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and

> Ernie, Mom!" I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can

> that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to

> reproduce," I accused my wife.

> "Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she

> inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)

> "No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my

> most

> loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).

> "Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

> "Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she

> informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, you think?) By now the rest

> of the family ha gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged,

> deciding to make the best of it.

> "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced.

> "We're about to witness the miracle of birth let's get some pictures."

> "OH, Gross!", they shrieked. "Well, isn't THAT just Great!; what

> are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?" my

> wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too.

> don't you?)

> We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a

> tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. "We don't

> appear to be making much progress," I noted. "Its breech," my wife

> whispered,horrified. "Do something, Dad!"my son urged. "Okay, okay."

> Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared,

> giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times

with

> the same

> results."Should I call emercgency?" my eldest daughter wanted to know.

> "Maybe

> they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the

> femalesin my house?) "Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove

> to

> the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. Breathe, Ernie,

breathe,"

> he urged. "I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," his mother noted to him.

> (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is

> one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.) The vet took

Ernie

> back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a

> magnifying glass.

> "What do you think, Doc, a c-section?" I suggested scientifically.

> "Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to

> you

> privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son

> to step outside.

> "Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

> Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This hamster is

> not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to

> happen... Ernie is a boy."

> "What?"

> "You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as

> they come into maturity, like most male species, they

> um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on

> his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.

> "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr.Cameron."

> We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...

> just...Excited," my wife offered.

> "Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More

> silence.

> Then my viscous, cruel wife

> started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh

> loudly. "What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but

> not believing that the woman I married would commit

> the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears

> were now running down her face. "It's just... that...

> I'm picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny

> little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in

> laughter once more.

> "That's enough," I warned.

> We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the

> hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad

> everything was going to be okay.

> "I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done,

> Dad," he told me.

> "Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing

> with laughter.

> 2 - Hamsters - 10 bucks...

> 1 - Cage - 20 bucks

> Trip to the Vet ...30 bucks...

> and pictures of your hubby pulling on the hamster's

> donger........Priceless!

Bravo!, Bravo! Label under the picture in the family album: "Here's Dad, HAMmin' it up". Or "HAMmer that baby!" Funny story. What happened to that sweet girl(wifey) that thought you were the living end, the Prince Wonderful of her dreams? Something must have jaded her. From my own experience with wifey, the old saying "Familiarity breeds contempt" is way more than true. And of course I don't deserve contempt. Heh, heh, heh.

:stupid:

HEY THERE TANNY !!!!!!!

I can't lay claim to that one mate, I received it as an email from an old Army mate in Brisbane.

I must admit that I've had my fair share of bloody embaressing circumstances though nothing to equal that one.

Rick.

Too bad. That is a funny story. Here's another. I definitely can't lay claim to this.

> "The First Time's Always the Worst"

>

> The first mammogram is the worst. Especially when the machine

> catches on

> fire.

>

> That's what happened to me. The technician, Gail, positioned me

> exactly

> as she wanted me (think a really complicated game of Twister - right

> hand

> on the blue, left shoulder on the yellow, right breast as far away

> as humanly possible from the rest of your body). Then she clamped the

>

> machine down so tight, I think my breast actually turned inside out.

> I'm

> pretty sure Victoria's Secret doesn't have a bra for that.

> Suddenly, there was a loud popping noise. I looked down at my right

> breast to make sure it hadn't exploded. Nope, it was still flat as a

> pancake and still attached to my body.

> "Oh no!" Gail said loudly. These are perhaps, the words you least

> want

> to hear from any health professional. Suddenly, she came flying past

> me,

> her lab coat whipping behind her, on her way out the door. She

> yelled

> over her shoulder, "The machine's on fire, I'm going to get help!"

> OK, I was wrong, 'The machine's on fire,' are the worst words you can

>

> hear from a health professional. Especially if you're all alone and

> semi-permanently attached to A MACHINE and don't know if it's THE

> MACHINE

> in question.

> I struggled for a few seconds trying to get free, but even Houdini

> couldn't have escaped. I decided to go to plan B: yelling at the top

> of

> my lung (the one that was still working).

> I hadn't seen anything on fire, so my panic hadn't quite reached epic

>

> proportions. But then I started to smell smoke coming from behind

> the

> partition. "This is ridiculous," I thought. I can't die like this.

> What would they put in my obituary? Cause of death: breast

> entrapment?

> I may have inhaled some fumes because I started to hallucinate. An

> imaginary fireman rushed in with a firehose and a hatchet. "Howdy,

> ma'am," he said. "What's happened here?" he asked, averting his

> eyes.

> "My breasts were too hot for the machine," I quipped, as my imaginary

>

> fireman ran out of the room again. "This is gonna take the Jaws of

> Life!"

> In reality, Gail returned with a fire extinguisher and put out the

> fire.

> She gave me a big smile and released me from the machine. "Sorry!

> That's the first time that's ever happened. Why don't you take a few

> minutes to relax before we finish up?"

> I think that's what she said. I was running across the parking lot

> in my

> backless paper gown at the time. After I'd relaxed for a few years,

> I

> figured I might go back. But I was bringing my own fire

> extinguisher.

> The end.

ROFL ROFL

TANNY,

I LIKE IT, I LIKE IT.

Reminds me of a poem. I've got it here somewhere, I'll try to dig it up.

Rick.