This one arrived in my junk folder titled, "Take an extra 20% off!"
Off what, I wondered. Off my mortgage? Off my total net worth?
Nope, it's offering to take 20% off my penis!
"Erectile dysfunction walks away using our Levitra.
Have you heard about the new technologies in anesthesia?
Everything has its beginning and its end. Take a debilitant and chill out!"
I'm concerned that these people want to hurt my penis. Which makes me awfully glad I'm a girl. Because apparently their treatment for erectile dysfunction involves anesthesia. And a debilitant, which I can only assume debilitates you, so you can't chase after them and demand to know what they've done to your (now 20% reduced) penis.
On the other hand, they did warn you. Everything has its end. Including your penis.
It seems my 11yo son never just gets a cold - he gets horribly, horribly ill. But there's still always moments that make us laugh.
This afternoon, for example, he was in the bathroom coughing up a lung. When he staggered out, he announced that every time he spat up it, "hurts both my ribs and my crotch."
EH, sitting at our computer, looked up and said mildly, "Sweetie, next time the word you want to use is 'groin'. It hurts my ribs and my groin.'"
Immediately on the defensive, the boy replied, "I'm really sick! You have your mental illness, and I'm really sick!"
To my immense admiration, EH somehow managed not to laugh. We saved that for later, when he couldn't hear us.
Clearly we need to give him more slack, when it comes to his lexicon. At least until he's feeling better. ;-)
There's a war going on between the French teacher and most of his Grade 6 class this year. My son has been doing his part sowing the seeds of disorder by asking questions such as, "Why are we learning this?" "Are we ever going to need to know this stuff?" This morning I sent my son off to school with instructions to sit down and be quiet in French class.
"You want me to be nice to him," growled my son.
"No," I said, "You don't have to be nice to him. Just be quiet. Maybe you'll hear something you can use against him."
"I don't have to be quiet to hear that!" said my son. "He threatens students all the time, and I didn't think that was allowed!"
"What does he threaten you with?"
"He's gonna strangle us. We're all getting F's. We're all gonna be sent to a Turkish Prison..."
I couldn't help it. I started laughing. When I composed myself, I said, "Well, be quiet, and take notes. If you feel he's crossed a line with something he's said, you can write a letter of complaint to the principal." Then I had to ask, "Are you really afraid of Turkish prison?"
"They don't feed you there," said my son, earnestly.
ROFLOL! This is why my boy will never embark on a life of crime. He can't handle prison food.