Left this on all the copy machines in my department; it was on every supervisor's desk by noon.

Tired of feeling like a human being?

Want to be treated more like a number?

Welcome to BullShit Insurance Company!*

Systematically destroying employee morale since 2005

No longer do employees have to feel uncomfortable experiencing the excessive freedoms and perks commonly granted to adult employee's in our company's past. We can at long last relax and be the children that we are, since extensive planning and research my our new management team has resolved any need for us to have independent thoughts or actions.

No longer do we have to worry if we are dress appropriately because management has thoughtfully applied a one-size-fits-all dress code policy for us to conform to. And a good thing, too, since many of us were hitherto unaware of the evils (or even definition) of flip-flops. Locked away from the public eye, we were lost in the isolation of our comfy clothes and relaxed attitudes.

Management has even been so considerate as to provide us with rules on what, where, and how to spend our free time. As with clumsy children, we have shown ourselves to be incapable of eating and behaving properly at the "grown up table"; therefore they have removed that burdensome challenge from us. Now we are all one big happy family eating together in that warm, cozy, and fragrant environment known as the break room.

Non smokers rejoice! Smoking has been banned not only from all indoor areas, but even outdoors as well. Talk about progressive! Management graciously provided THE BOX for the convenience of the dozens of social outcasts who continue to foul our air with their loathsome habit. But, should you thing that too generous, don't worry! Since management can't actually condone such a filthy habit, a compromise was made - we won't actually let the smokers sit down! (Just to be thorough, we're not allowing them to walk around, either.)

If one thinks back, one can remember the dark days when you could actually see groups of coworkers sitting at tables eating and smoking, talking and laughing, enjoying their time off together. To further prove our disdain for this disgusting subclass of employee, we have ensured that 8 empty tables are visible right across from the designated smoking area, unused except in the memories and imagination of our marooned smokers. And that's not even counting the half dozen or so forgotten tables within the inner courtyard, all non smoking.

Most of all the new management at BS Insurance* CARES. They care so much that it is now required for employees to leave their desk for breaks and lunch. The 10 minute and 40 minutes sitting in front a computer for personal use are apparently responsible for any workman's comp and ergo issues employees may have been experiencing - not the 7.5 hours of tedious production work as we had previously thought. And the internet: as it turns out, using the internet on breaks and lunch is also too much for our brains and bodies to take. Thank you, sweet mother management - for doing so much to save us from ourselves so consistently and without us even asking. I feel so loved.

*name changed to protect my ass from getting sued.

So, I saw over on FetLife that Jay Wiseman will be presenting the class "How to Masturbate a Man" on Friday, November 6 at Cat's House in Sacramento. Now, I love Jay to death, but given his well known fetish for safety and having taken a few of his classes myself, I couldnâ??t help but envision what that course outline might look like. Iâ??m thinking it might go something like this:

How to (safely) Masturbate a Man

1. Have man fill out a detailed medical history, to include lists of medications and allergies and phone number of primary physician.


2. Obtain signed waiver of liability.


3. Obtain signed certificate of consent to masturbate.


4. Gather all appropriate safety gear - goggles, gloves, wipes, condoms, lube, sanitizer, cellphone, flashlight, solar powered radio, fire extinguisher, fresh drinking water, extra batteries, spare keys, towels, etc.


5. Inspect the area for prior damage. Have him initial any preexisting conditions on the appropriate form.


6. Show your laminated CPR and first Aid recertification card.


7. Fax copies of all paperwork to home office, best friend, attorney, and safe deposit box.


8. Download 4 hour Jay Wiseman safety lecture and watch together while securely seated at home. Do not tilt chair back while watching. Do not eat or consume fluids while laughing or yawning as this may constitute a choking hazard.


9. Wake man back up.


10. Carefully grasp man's penis.


11. Never cut off the blood flow to the penis. This could result in permanent damage.


12. Never allow penis to block your airway. Breath play is no joking matter.


13. Never leave the penis alone or in heavily restrictive bondage. Most penis accidents result from being left alone and in bondage.


14. Commence safely stroking penis, after having first checked to make sure the phone is on speed dial to emergency services, the stove is off, the door is locked, the kids are gone, and the husband is asleep.

Some of the 60's hits are being revised with new lyrics to accommodate aging baby boomers.

They include:

Bobby Darin --- Splish, Splash, I Was Havin' a Flash.

Herman's Hermits ---  Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Walker..

Ringo Starr --- I Get By With a Little Help From Depends.

The Bee Gees --- How Can You Mend a Broken Hip..

Roberta Flack --- The First Time Ever I Forgot Your Face.

Johnny Nash --- I Can't See Clearly Now.

Paul Simon --- Fifty Ways to Lose Your Liver.

The Commodores --- Once, Twice, Three Times to the Bathroom.

Marvin Gaye --- Heard It Through the Grape Nuts.

Procol Harem --- A Whiter Shade of Hair.

Leo Sayer --- You Make Me Feel Like Napping.

The Temptations ---  Papa's Got a Kidney Stone.

Abba ---  Denture Queen.

Tony Orlando --- Knock 3 Times On The Ceiling If You Hear Me Fall.

Helen Reddy --- I Am Woman, Hear Me Snore.

Leslie Gore --- It's My Procedure, and I'll Cry if I want To.

And Last but NOT least

Willie Nelson --- On the Commode Again

---found on the internet

Conan O'Brien rightly noticed that @AKGOVSarahPalin's often incomprehensible twitstream was, in fact, stream of consciousness poetry and he brought in the right team for the job to demonstrate. I can almost smell the coffee and patchouli in the background.

A lady was video taping her son riding a skate board when her attention switched to an old woman trying to cross the street.You can hear the lady who is doing the taping giggling as she records the event.

Watch (short) video clip here.

The lesson, boys and girls? Don't fuck with little old ladies.

A thief in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre.

After careful planning, he got past security, stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van.However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error, he replied,

"Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings"...

I had no Monet

to buy Degas

to make the Van Gogh

See if you have De Gaulle to send this on to someone else.

I posted it here because I figured I had nothing Toulouse .

I can watch this over and over and over again.

received this blunt missive today:

"I'd luv 2 fuck your tits and your sweet boobs!!"

um, which first?

Just received this follow up on my CN&R ad:

"i forgot to mention i live on 30 succuluded fenced acres with a looked gate near bangor i have in my back yard a large oak tree i installed hooks in the tree for suspention and flogging.you will love it lets take advantage of these warm fall afternoons."

You know, on one hand that sounds lovely. On the other hand, it creeps the living fuck out of me. I mean, I like bondage and all and I'm fairly sure I even have something in that ad about being tied to a tree, but still, for some unexplainable reason, this just set off all kinds of warning bells in my head. I think it is the "succuluded" combined with the "looked" gate that gets me nervous...

.....it puts the lotions on its little hands, it does....

Fuck, I knew it. If ever there was a day to get pulled over by the cops, today was the day. A long weekend of road trips and partying was finally over. I'd just dropped off my partner in crime and was heading home for some well deserved rest. We'd been smoking all day and it smelled like I had both Cheech and Chong huffing in the backseat with Willie Nelson riding shotgun.

I saw the first cop when I turned the corner from her unit. He was parked there stalking my my ex boyfriend/best friend's ex husband's trailer. Yes, it's a small town, and an even smaller trailer park. No big surprise to see the cops there. The ex and his latest soon to be ex wife are always fighting, and hell, it's a trailer park. Those places breed drama.

So I played it cool and kept driving, doing my good trailer park crawl. I briefly wondered if my vehicle was wafting pot smoke under the officer's nostrils as he kicked off the brake and started following me with his lights off.

I stopped at the trailer park exit for a moment to regroup and figure out where I was headed. I'm house sitting tonight so I needed to hit my tent first for some work clothes to bring with me for the morning. I hit the blinker and turned. The cop followed, still with lights off.

So I start driving, and I'm cool. I'm not driving too fast. I'm not driving too slow. I have my seat belt on. All my lights are working. Every thing's cool. His lights go on. Fuck. Fine.

I pull over and turn everything off. I fish out my driver's license and rip the hippie bandanna off my head so that my rumpled little girl braids are showing. He takes forever to get out of his car and approach me. He must have been waiting for backup because when I finally looked, there were three sets of bright twirly lights behind me. I must be one mean, scary looking hippie chick, tell you what...

He finally walks up and starts talking to me when he is still out of my range of vision, literally in my blind spot. He opens with some standard cop line like "How are we doing this evening?" as he walks up to me.

I pop right back with "I'm doing good. What's going on'?" in a relaxed semi throaty voice as I give him my all my police state papers. I'm not really worried. Fuck it, no one can hurt me. I'm on top of the world. I just got trussed up and suspended by a world class photographer, and that was just tonight. I'm not even going to go into what happened last night other than to say I still haven't managed to wipe the permagrin off my face. I'm sore, I'm bruised, and I've got rope burns but no goddamn cop is going to piss on my parade, especially when I've got a hot tub waiting for me at the end of this long and exhausting weekend.

He starts giving me some talk about a call, and some kind of disturbance, yadda yadda yadda. I'm not really interested. Like I give a fuck why he's there. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I'd just dropped off a friend after a long road trip and was headed home.

I asked him why he pulled me over and he told me I hadn't signaled. I said, "That's funny, because I remember signaling. Which signal is out?". Then he tells me that I had signaled right then turned left. I can't argue. He might have been right. Can't blame a gal for being nervous, what with a cop crawling up her ass and all.

About this time another officer walks up to my passenger side. "Smells like you've been smoking weed in here", he says.

"That's right".

"You got any in here now?" In a knee jerk reaction I said "No", then he asked me if I was sure. Duh. I immediately thought better.

"Oh yeah, of course. I've got weed all over the place." I smile at him real big.

"So, do you have your card?"

"Sure do." He asks to see it and I whip it out. He asks me what my medical condition is and I tell him it's between me and my doctor. I tell him I've been smoking in the vehicle all day while it was parked but that I hadn't been driving. This is necessary truth because, dear god, it really reeks. Joints are stinky, and we'd probably smoked over half a dozen over the last 24 hours. Not to mention my sticky, stinky fingers...

They talk amongst themselves. I can tell how much they hate not having a reason to bust me. But that's the beauty of living in a free fascist state - as long as you have the proper papers signed by an officially sanctioned authority figure, well, you're one of them...or something.

They try another approach. Cop 2 leans in the passenger window and looks around. "Got anything illegal in here?". Okay, I do want to mention that I do know how to avoid this sort of thing but that it is extremely difficult if not impossible to avoid search in a vehicle that doesn't lock. In fact, my windows don't even roll up right now. Whatever. I give some serious thought to his question and tell him so.

"Nope, nothing illegal, and I just inventoried, officer." Okay, so I'm a smart ass. Did I mention I'd been falling asleep all the way back to Chico? So I'm a little punch drunk. Sue me.

"Why do you keep looking in the back?" he asks. No way out of it now. He's suspicious. I'm having a really hard time restraining myself from giggling as I think about what's in the back of my bronco.

"Nothing illegal" I says, "but maybe a little kinky".

"Kinky?" His eyes light up. "What do you mean by that?" I just blush and don't say anything. Fuck it. Game on. I'm having fun now. This isn't the first time I've been searched. I actually have a certain amount of perverse pleasure in making cops waste their time digging through my trash. I don't keep a tidy vehicle, to say the least.

Officer 1 asks me to step out of the vehicle so they can search it. I tell them where my big blue tin of shake is and show them the little organic mints tin in my purse with its crumbled buds, last big fatty joint and collection of sad little roaches. "Oh yes, and there's roaches everywhere," I happily tell him.

Officers 2 and 3 are quietly fighting over who has to search the bronco. Honestly, I don't know why they do this if they don't enjoy it...

Officer 1 tries the smooth approach again. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what's your condition?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't like discussing my private medical information, Sir. Is that all right?" Big smile. Big blue eyes batting. Did I mention that all three of these officers were young, and cute? I love my life.

Whenever I get pulled over by the cops or have to do public speaking, my legs start shaking and my whole body starts trembling. It's all I can do to keep this from being visible. The last time this happened with cops they tried to bust me on DUI because my pulse was too high, if you can believe that...

It was also surprisingly cold for August. We'd had a sea breeze hitting us all the way back north. I had my Park Watch jacket on and was hugging myself to keep from shaking on the side of the road with cop 1 trying to make conversation while his unlucky compatriots rummaged through my truck.

"So, you volunteer for the Park, huh?" he asks. I just nod. It's pretty obvious. I'm wearing an ugly bright green windbreaker with "City of Chico Park Watch Volunteer" written on the front in conspicuous yellow letters. "What else do you do?"

"I go to school, and I work part time...for an attorney." I have to admit, that last part was really fun to say. What else ya got, boys? Come on, really. Fuck with me. Please. I like it....

So, then it becomes time to play the guess her intoxication level game. "Are you feeling the effects of your last dose of medication now?"

"No, sir. What I'm feeling is the embarrassment I'm suffering as your partner goes through my personal effects. Hey - careful - that's a video camera in there!" I'm trying really really hard NOT to mentally inventory everything in the back of the bronco. Blankets, trash, countless pairs of panties, caution tape, a duct tape body sheath, and 2 or 3 bags of possibly innocuous looking assorted dollar store items that all look suspiciously like they could be used to spank someone, or something...god only knows what's back there...well, god and these cops, now...

Cop 1 tells me not to worry, they don't care as long as it isn't illegal. I laugh and tell him, "It's okay. I would be a lot more worried if I thought for a moment that he had any idea what half of that stuff is used for. Then I'd be really embarrassed." I can see the itch in the back of his eyes as he tries oh so carefully to keep his eyes on me and not used his suddenly wished for X-ray vision on my personal belongings. I considered for a moment unsnapping the jacket to really give him something to think about but the urge quickly passed.

In an old duffel from one of my first photo shoots the searching cop pulls out another big blue cookie tin. Wow, I'm thinking, did I really leave another tin of pot just floating around forgotten in there? It wouldn't surprise me, I guess. "What's in that one, anyway, officer?" I ask him as he puts it back.

"A whole bunch of condoms," he says. "Better safe than sorry, right?" I'm having a real hard time not just falling to the ground in freaking hysterics right about this time. I remember that tin now. It also had a double fistful of personal lubricant sample packets I picked up in health class. I just smirk and say, "That's right."

They clearly don't know what to make of me. They hand me back my papers and all just stand there smiling and looking useless, with the lights of their 3 cruisers swirling hypnotically behind them.

I smile and walk away. "Thank you and goodnight." I very slowly put all my various papers back in their proper places and ease the truck back onto the road. About a half mile along the road the laughter overtook me and I had to slow myself down to keep from getting a speeding ticket as I sped away laughing like a madwoman into the night.