Chapter 888

THE CONFESSION

Hi Fred,

This is Richard next door. I have a confession to make.

I’ve been feeling guilty these past few months and have been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you, but at least I’m telling you now in a text message as I feel bad about you not knowing.

The truth is I have been sharing your wife a lot lately. In fact, probably more than you. I haven’t been able to get it at home recently, but that’s no excuse, I know. The temptation was too much. I feel so guilty and I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies. It won’t happen again. Please suggest a usage fee and I’ll pay you.

Regards, Alan.

THE ACTIONS

Fred, feeling betrayed and insulted, grabbed his gun (he is an American!) rushed next door and shot his neighbor dead. He returned home, poured himself a stiff drink and sat down on the sofa to reflect.

Then he took out his phone and saw he had a second message from his neighbor:

SECOND MESSAGE

Hi Fred, Alan here again. Sorry about the typo on my last text. I guess you figured it out anyway - the damned Auto-Correct changed ‘wi-fi’ to ‘wife.’ Technology, hey?

Regards, Richard

These are compliments of smokeyjoe

During an interview on the BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation), a former WW2 German fighter ace Adolf Galland was asked if he could relate his most intense air battle.

“Vell I was flying along in mine Messerschmitt Bf 109 at about 10,000 metres”.

The interviewer interrupted him by explaining to the viewing audience, “The Messerschmitt was a type of German fighter, please continue.”

“Well I looked out of mine left cockpit and saw 10 Fokkers, zen I looked out of mine right cockpit and saw another 10 Fokkers and zen I looked in mine mirror and I saw another 10 Fokkers behind me.”

Again the interviewer interrupted, fearing an outcry about ‘THAT’ word, “Viewers, just to clarify, the Fokker was another type of German fighter plane.”

“Nein, Nein,” exclamed Adolf, “These Fokkers were Spitfires.”

WHY ... Just a simple little word, but a word that can strike terror, apprehension and a severe case of the stuttering mumbles in any male above the age of puberty.

Example:- Young man at a Dance hall/Disco, Etc; espies an especially attractive female across the room. Sidles over with lust in his eyes, sex on the brain and a bright line of chat up on the lips.

Spends the whole night chatting up said female whilst plying her with expensive drinks, (which, by the way, she won’t buy herself).

Then finally comes the crunch as he asks, “Can I take you home?”

And it happens, that word, delivered with all the effect of an atomic explosion and all the innocence of a 14 year old virgin, (if one of those strange creatures still exist).

She utters that word, “WHY?’

Young man retreats in utter disarray, muttering outlandish gibberish.

She knows why, she knows what for, but will she admit it?

NO BLOODY WAY.

Ever had one of those days when you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, one sock on and one off, trying to work out if you’re just getting up or getting ready for bed?