“Klotz” As In “Blood”

Yesterday’s cross-blogination experiment was a lot of fun. Got to go up close and personal — within internet limitations, of course — with a lot of kindred spirits. Great job, Rebecca!

And Paula — as far as your guest-post on this blog is concerned, I suspect most readers would happily read and comment about female breasts, whether plastic or protoplasmic, all day and all night long! Hell, I know I would!

It had a certain karmic poignancy, too, because the story line is so close to home: following Guido’s cancer surgery, this is very much what we’re going through. Its formal name is “reconstructive surgery,” but for us congregants in the pews of the Church of the Roseate Nipple, it’s known as a boob job. Rolled the hard way, for certain, with a lot of agony and heartache, but ultimately a boob job nevertheless.

Better yet: later in the day Paula e-mailed me a related story.

Anyway, let’s let a day go by before we get to business. For today, I just wanna retell a joke that went around my office and made a lot of people laugh:

The Boss has a tough choice. Business is bad, so so he needs to lay somebody off. It’s down to Jack or Lourdes, both good workers, and no good reason to let either one go. He agonizes over the choice, and decides that whoever walks up to the water cooler first the next day is the one who gets cut.

Well, Lourdes spends the whole night drinking and partying, so she’s hung over bad next morning. Arriving early at the office, she grabs a pair of Tylenol Extra Strengths and staggers over to the water cooler.

Out pops the Boss, distraught but determined. “Lourdes,” he says, unhappily, “I’ve never had to do this before, but it’s gotta happen. I need to lay you or Jack off.”

Lourdes shakes her head. “Do me a favor and jack off,” she says. “I really feel like shit this morning.”

Yeah. Happy Day After.

Plastic Surgery Update:  Even the Hurled is keeping abreast of this one.