Author: admin

Birth Of A HamsterI had to take my son’s hamster to the vet. Here’s what happened:Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was something wrong with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.He’s just lying there looking sick he told me.Oldest trick in the book I informed him You go in to see what’s wrong with the sick one and the other one sneaks up behind you and bonks you on the head. Then they change into your clothes and escape.I’m serious, Dad. Can you help?I put a hamster-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking distressed. I immediately knew what to do. Honey, I called, come look at the hamster!Oh, my gosh, my wife diagnosed after a minute. She’s having babies What? my son demanded. But their names are Bert and Ernie! I was equally outraged. Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce, I accused my wife. Well, what did you want me to do, post a sign in their cage? she inquired sarcastically.No, but you were supposed to get two boys! I reminded her.Yeah, Bert and Ernie! my son agreed.Well, it was a little hard to tell, she informed me.By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced. We’re about to witness the miracle of birth.Gross! they shrieked.Great; what are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies? my wife wanted to know.Well, when my parents’ dog had puppies, I took them up to the grocery store in a cardboard box and gave them away, I recalled.So what are you going to do, go up with a pair of tweezers so people can pick out their hamster? she asked. We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. We don’t appear to be making much progress, I noted.A breech birth, my wife whispered, horrified.Do something, Dad! my son urged.Okay, okay. Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried again, with the same results.Should I dial 911? my daughter wanted to know. Maybe they could talk us through it.Let’s get Ernie to the vet, I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. Breathe, Ernie, breathe, he urged. I don’t think hamsters do Lamaze, I told him.The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. What do you think, Doc, an epidural? I suggested scientifically.Oh, very interesting, he murmured. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside. Is Ernie going to be okay? my wife asked.Oh, perfectly, the vet assured us. This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn’t EVER going to happen….Ernie is a boy. What? You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, male hamsters will, ah… He blushed, glancing at my wife. Well, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Cameron. We were silent, absorbing this. So Ernie’s just…just… Excited? my wife offered.Exactly, the vet replied, relieved that we understood.More silence. Then my wife started to giggle. What’s so funny? I demanded.Tears were now running down her face. Just…that…I’m picturing you pulling on its…its… she gasped.That’s enough, I warned. We thanked the veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.I know Ernie’s really thankful for what you’ve done, Dad, he told me.Oh, you have no idea, my wife agreed, collapsing into laughter as I gave her a dirty look.Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron (If you pass this story along to friends, please include the authors name and copyright information. Thank you!)

This Lady needed her bedroom painted. She called a painter to paint it for her. He came and painted it a beautiful color. She was so proud of it.

That night her husband came home, and she said, “Look honey, what a beautiful room.” The husband, being tired, leaned his hand against the wall and told her how pretty it was, but the paint, still being wet, smeared a little. The lady was rather upset that he had smeared the wall.

The next day, the painter comes over to get paid, and the lady says, “Oh, you must come in and see where my husband put his hand last night.”

The painter replied, “Sorry, I can’t do that, lady, but I will split a beer with you.”

Somebody in the advertising business has a strange sense of humor.

I just heard about a brand of dog food that’s called Mailman Helper.

Bill Gates tragically died in a car accident. Arriving at the pearly gates, he finds himself being sized up by St. Peter.

“Well, Bill, I’m really confused on this call; I’m not sure whether to send you to Heaven or Hell. After all, you enormously helped society by putting a computer in almost every home in America, yet you also created that ghastly Windows XP. I’m going to do something I’ve never done before . . . I’m going to let you decide where you want to go.”

“So what’s the difference between the two?” Bill asked. St. Peter said, “I could let you visit both places briefly, if it will help your decision.”

“Fine! Where should I go first?” “You decide.” “Okay then,” said Bill, “Let’s try Hell first.”

So Bill Gates went to Hell. It was a beautiful, clean, sandy beach with clear waters and lots of bikini-clad women running around, playing in the water, laughing and frolicking about. The sun was shining; the temperature perfect. He was very pleased.

“This is great!” he told St. Peter. “If this is Hell, I’d REALLY like to see Heaven!”

“Fine,” said St. Peter, and off they went. Heaven was a place high in the clouds, with angels drifting about, playing harps and singing. It was nice, but nothing like Hell. It didn’t take long for Bill to reach his decision.

“I think I prefer Hell,” he told St. Peter. So Bill Gates went to Hell.

Two weeks later, St. Peter decided to check on the late billionaire to see how he was doing in Hell. When he got there, he found Bill, shackled to a wall, screaming among hot flames in a dark cave, being burned and tortured by demons.

“How’s everything going?” he asked Bill Gates. His voice filled with anguish and disappointment, Bill responded, “This is awful! This is nothing like the Hell I visited two weeks ago! I can’t believe this is happening! What happened to that other place, with the beautiful beaches, the scantily-clad women playing in the water?”

“Oh, that was a demo,” replied St. Peter. “This is the release version.”