Oldies but goodies *Jokes*

[chrisheltra]

Divorce letter......
Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldnÔÇÖt contact each other during our ÔÇ£cooling offÔÇØ period, but I couldnÔÇÖt wait anymore. The day you left, I swore IÔÇÖd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my prideÔÇÖs cost me a lot of things. IÔÇÖm tired of pretending I donÔÇÖt miss you. I donÔÇÖt care about looking bad anymore. I donÔÇÖt care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.

Maybe itÔÇÖs time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says: ÔÇ£ThereÔÇÖs no one like you, Connie.ÔÇØ I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but theyÔÇÖre not you. TheyÔÇÖre not even close.

Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I donÔÇÖt say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19; with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldnÔÇÖt believe and an ass that just wouldnÔÇÖt quit. Every manÔÇÖs dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff weÔÇÖve made important in our lives. ItÔÇÖs all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed?

Well, in this case, yes, but you see what IÔÇÖm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And IÔÇÖd never really thought of that before.

I donÔÇÖt know, maybe IÔÇÖm just growing up a little. Later, after IÔÇÖd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, ÔÇ£Why do I feel so drained and empty?ÔÇØ It wasnÔÇÖt just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didnÔÇÖt feel the same because you werenÔÇÖt there to watch.

Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, IÔÇÖm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasnÔÇÖt eating right without a woman around. I didnÔÇÖt know what she meant till later, but thatÔÇÖs not the real story.

Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, weÔÇÖre banging away in our old bedroom. And this tartÔÇÖs a total monster in the sack. SheÔÇÖs giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when sheÔÇÖs not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmotherÔÇÖs old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And itÔÇÖs totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I canÔÇÖt help thinking, ÔÇ£Why didnÔÇÖt Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? WeÔÇÖve had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy.ÔÇØ

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, VickyÔÇÖs just a kid and all, but sheÔÇÖs got a pretty good head on her shoulders and heÔÇÖs been a real friend to me during this painful time. SheÔÇÖs given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. SheÔÇÖs pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So weÔÇÖre doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. HereÔÇÖs this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18.And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out VickyÔÇÖs really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when IÔÇÖm thrusting inside your baby sisterÔÇÖs cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you?

ItÔÇÖs true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. DonÔÇÖt you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh?

I think we can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the ****ing remote is?

Love,

Dan

[chrisheltra]

I’ll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago: I got a vasectomy. I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the “I’m pregnant” talk. She’s going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married “for the baby”. She’s positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she’s gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I’m just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse “oops” on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can’t think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to “think about all this.” I meet her again. I say I don’t want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely batsh*t insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I’m laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a “negative test result for sperm” to show I’m sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I’m ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She’s all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. “Are you sure that this baby is mine?”

Well, she goes batsh*t insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she’s really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she’s a slut. I’m just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities… blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I’m not really mad. I’m kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won’t shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, “You’re screwed”.

Her look doesn’t change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. “I am sterile”

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women’s logic. “You’re full of sh*t. You’re trapped and you know it.”

I hold up the letter and the test results. “Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine.”

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. “Bullsh*t, those are fakes.”

I was ready for that. “No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It’s a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine.”

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It’s a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story -

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

[gearmesh, inc.]

Excellent strategy on the stealth vasectomy. An ace up your sleeve when you are trying to figure out whether or not to trust a particular woman is priceless.