It is with great remorse that I inform you all of the sad news of something that happened to someone very dear to us all.

Last night, at approximately 8:42 PM, the Energizer Bunny, after going, and going, and going for so long, unfortunately passed away.

Upon completion of the autopsy early this morning, the chief medical examiner reported the cause of death as acute cardiac arrest induced by sexual over-stimulation.

Apparently, someone had put Mr. Bunny's batteries in backwards and he kept coming, and coming and coming....

*** A MAN who smelled like a distillery flopped on a subway seat next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a few minutes the disheveled guy turned to the priest and asked, "Say, Father, what causes arthritis?"

"Mister, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol and a contempt for your fellow man."

"Well, I'll be damned," the drunk muttered, returning to his paper. The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?"

"I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does."

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OUCH!!! { Too Absurd Not to be True } ================================= Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am lying.

On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the truth was too humiliating to reveal.

I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown.

In this case, the truth hurt. I mean it really hurt in the place me feel the most pain. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!" she hearkened,"The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it."

"You know where the button is." I protested through the shower (pitter-patter). "Reset it yourself!"

"I am scared!" She pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" . . . .Pause. . . . . "C'mon, it'll only take a second."

No logical assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers from"Big-ol-scary-machinephobia," a condition brought on by watching too many Stephen King movies.

It is futile to argue or explain, kind of like telling Lloyd Bentsen Americans are over-taxed. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with that the rest of my life.

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her cowardly behavior was not without consequence but it was I who would suffer.

I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it wasn't a hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between my legs.

She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.

Now when men feel pain or even sense danger anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed.

Not even a well trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight"syndrome; men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option.

Fleeing straight up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. My wife told me I should be flattered.

At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" XXXXXXXXXXXXX

CODEBREAKER

One girl was telling a friend over lunch that she had given all her beaus pet names that also served as a secret reminder of their sexual talents. As luck would have it, one passed by, and she called out, "Hey, Johnny Walker. How's it going baby?" Her friend said, "Say. I happen to know that fellow, and his name is not Johnny Walker at all. Johnny Walker is a liquor." "Damn!!! You've broken my code that quickly," said the girl.

SNAP CRACKLE POP

Two girls were discussing their boyfriends, and the pet nicknames they sometimes use. "Well," said the one, "there are times I call him 'my little firecracker'." "Wow!" replied the other, "He's that good?" "Not really," said the first girl, "It's just that most of the time he finishes his 'love-making' as quick as a rocket."

ORGY, SMORGY

"Hah!" snorted the girl to the nervous young man beside her. "Here you've been telling me all those frat party orgies you said you'd been to, and now here we are in bed together and you can't do a single thing." "I know! I know!" the totally frustrated fellow replied, "but I've never been alone with a real girl before."

BETTER BY THE FOOT

"I gotta know how your date went last night," said the one coed to her roommate. "The rumors are all over campus that this guy is really quite a stud muffin." "Well..." replied her roommate, "Let's just say that he put his best foot forward."