The FW: Emails @ Work Thread!

[Petra]

Thought I'd make another sticky thread regarding those funny emails that people shoot around the office. I get a lot of em from the crazy girls on the floor below me where I used to work, so be prepared...these may be offensive to the male species...

[Petra]

WHY YOU NEVER QUESTION A DRUNK

I was shopping at the local supermarket where I selected:

A half-gallon of 2% milk,
A carton of eggs,
A quart of orange juice,
A head of romaine lettuce,
A 2 lb. can of coffee, and
A 1 lb. package of bacon.

As I was unloading my items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind me watched as I placed the items in front of the cashier.

While the cashier was ringing up the purchases, he drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."

I was a bit startled by this proclamation, but I was intrigued by the derelict's intuition, since I was indeed single. I looked at the six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about my selections that could have tipped off the drunk to my marital status.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I said: "Well, you know what, you're absolutely right. But how on earth did you know that?"


The drunk replied, "Cause you're ugly."

[Rascal]

I don't have any emails to post at the moment, but ROFL that was too funny.....

[Petra]

hehe I gotta kick outta that one. I usually get a least one a day, but it has been slow lately lol.

[bendavho]

I just got this email today......

Michael Jackson was pronounce dead! CNN said it was from food poisoning. They said he ate 12 year old nuts!! rofl

[Petra]

LOL!!!!! That's just wrong bendavho, shame on you!

[bendavho]

Originally Posted by Petra

LOL!!!!! That's just wrong bendavho, shame on you!

It wasn't me I am just posting it! lol

[Ally]

lol! Nice emails...

[Petra]

I got two today! Lucky me! But one was one of the FW's that was a photo story so I'm not going to post that one

But here's one I have gotten before, but still think it's funny:

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the
woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume " The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toil et paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at t he same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT.

It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that
covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other
commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

[DiP]

POLITICAL CORRECTNESS........

Due to the climate of political correctness now pervading America,
Kentuckians, Tennesseans and West Virginians will no longer be
referred to as "HILLBILLIES."

You must now refer to them as APPALACHIAN-AMERICANS.

And furthermore

HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT WOMEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:

1 She is not a "BABE" or a "CHICK" - She is a "BREASTED AMERICAN."

2. She is not "EASY" - She is "HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE."

3. She is not a "DUMB BLOND" - She is a "LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE
INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY."

4. She has not "BEEN AROUND" - She is a "PREVIOUSLY-ENJOYED COMPANION."

5 . She does not "NAG" you - She becomes "VERBALLY REPETITIVE."

6. She is not a "TWO-BIT HOOKER" - She is a "LOW COST PROVIDER."


HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT MEN AND BE POLITI CALLY CORRECT:

1. He does not have a "BEER GUT" - He has developed a "LIQUID GRAIN
STORAGE FACILITY."

2. He is not a "BAD DANCER" - He is "OVERLY CAUCASIAN."

3. He does not "GET LOST ALL THE TIME" - He "INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE
DESTINATIONS."

4. He is not "BALDING" - He is in "FOLLICLE REGRESSION."

5. He does not act like a "TOTAL !!!" - He develops a case of
RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION