This is an actual account by a worker at a technical support and service center. One particular customer had an old console-type machine with a print head that would ride back and forth on a spiral shaft. They also had a big bushy cat who liked to sit on the edge of the printer next to the operator.
Well, one day we got a service call that said, Cat caught in machine, come quick!
When I arrived I saw everyone sitting around mending their various wounds, scratches and contusions. No sight of the cat. It appears that while they were running the machine the cat was twirling his tail in his usual fashion and stuck it down into the printer at the most inopportune time and got sucked in! Apparently, the cat absolutely freaked out and clawed at everyone who came close. They finally freed the cat, and to this day, the cat goes nowhere near the machine.
Unless his father is rich, a graduate student in computer science will most likely end up supporting himself by working on university research projects or, if he doesnt speak English, by teaching undergraduates. These students make less than a freelance can recycler. A few students work part-time at a useful craft or trade that supports them in comfort. I decided that I would practice such a trade: Professional sperm donation, the jack of all trades.
During my first visit to the sperm bank, I was taken to the office of the doctor in charge. His walls were covered by medical degrees and citations for his achievements in sperm preservation. One of the citations said Honorable Discharge, which I thought was a bit grandiose.
It is of the utmost importance that semen samples remain sterile, the doctor explained.
Sterile semen? I oxymoroned.
Thus, samples must be produced by unassisted direct manual stimulation of the genital protuberance.
Huh?
Choke the purple-helmeted love nazi.
Oh.
Furthermore, before the production of each sample, there must be three days of abstinence.
Three days? 4320 minutes! Is that really a good idea? I had visions of being rushed to the emergency room to have my scrotum lanced and drained as it expanded like a Jiffy Pop bag.
Im no doctor, but I think an hour of abstinence is enough. I mean, were not aging a fine wine, are we?…
I was scheduled for a donor room, where I would have to deliver samples, piping hot, in 30 minutes or less. I didnt know if I could become aroused under such conditions. I was of an impressionable age when I first saw Racquel Welch in Fantastic Voyage, and afterward I could only be aroused by women who wore rubber diving suits and were covered by foot-long antibodies. (These days, having your partner in a rubber suit covered with large antibodies is not a bad idea.) Ive since grown out of this habit. Although now I can only become aroused by a woman if she turns the letters on my Wheel of Fortune board game. I decided to get some mens magazines for immoral support.
As a teenager I found Penthouse to be highly stimulating. (As a teenager I found everything to be highly stimulating. I had to take up tennis just to explain my tennis elbow.) However, Penthouse photographs are often rendered in a diffused soft focus, which is why you go blind. Eyestrain is the reason you often see men crying when they read the magazine.
Once, when I was fourteen, my father wondered if he should get a subscription to Penthouse. Great idea! I panted. It offers an insightful editorial posture and interviews with personalities of topical interest.
He shrugged indifferently.
You have to get it! You absolutely have to! It offers guides to fashion and accessories, goddammit! I shrieked before passing out. Now Ive started to actually read those articles. I used to put magazines under my mattresss so they wouldnt be found; now theyre there for lower back support.
I thought that, if Im going to be a professional in a medical facility, I should forget the over-the-counter products like Penthouse and look for more potent prescription remedies in the shops of the red light district.
These magazines did not have interviews with personalities of topical interest. Their titles generally were the names of female body parts. One was called Female Body Parts. The magazines might serve a medical professional as references of female anatomy and its many diseases, but they were too much for me. I settled for this months issue of NBC Anchorwomen in Chains.
As it turned out, I was able to wield Excalibur without anxiety in the clinics donor room, and I looked forward to returning there on my twice-weekly visits. I didnt appreciate it at first, but I eventually realized what a terrific room it was. It had a wicked, shameless chair, a voluptuous, come-hither lamp and a coy, pouting paper towel dispenser. However, the room was small, or perhaps it only seemed so because when there I was usually homo erectus, so I was constantly upsetting lamps and clearing shelves. Okay, maybe not.
I produced so many test specimens that the doctor could have built an infant from scratch and avoided conception altogether. But after several weeks, the testing was over and I was sent back to the doctors office.
He said that I had been accepted into the program: my sperm count was five times higher than average.
There it was. In seconds, I had become an awesome engine of fertility, a sexual force to be feared. Condoms and diaphragms could be shredded by my Zulu sperm cells as their superior numbers overwhelmed the British outpost of the ovum. My minions could overcome any female contraceptive resistance and commit countless acts of microscopic date rape.
My ego was further engorged by the fact Id finally met someone who wanted me just for my body. I was a sex object, meat on the hoof. The doctor obliged by talking about me in the cold quantities of sperm counts and motilities, reciting my tale of the tape as us pro athletes call it. He also referred to donor candidates by number instead of name to preserve anonymity. To the doctor I was The Man With No Name, a hired gun.
A hunrd and ten million! Thats pretty good shootin, stranger. Whatd you say your name was again?
I didnt say….
From now on, I would be paid. My one-armed bandit had consistently hit the jackpot, and now I was going to cash in. Some guys think their penis has a mind of its own. Mine had a career of its own.
It was during my next visit, as I approached the main desk, that I first saw her: Candy the candystriper.
I had never been particular about my women. Two X chromosomes sufficed. But Candy was different. Perhaps it was the three days of fluid backing up into my brain that made her look like an angel floating toward me. Perhaps it was her helium breast implants. All I knew was that I wanted to suckle that bosom till I talked like Donald Duck.
She noticed my groin, which bulged handsomely due to the bag of ice I put in my pants to keep down the swelling.
She gave me a specimen cup and I went into the donor room, where I was great. A minute later I returned.
My headache was gone. I sauntered over to Candys desk and turned on the charm, which I can do pretty much at will.
Sorry, but my cup runneth over with love.
She smiled the dazzling smile that is the gift of a woman with braces. She said, You might want to zip up your fly.
Why, you eagle-eyed minx, I teased. Youve been watching my fly, havent you, like a photographer waiting for a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster.
She giggled. So, what do you do?
Here? Um, I do what all the other guys do. But better.
I mean, what do you do for a living?
I hung my head. Im a computer science graduate student.
Really? Can you say something in computerese?
Awk grep sed lex yacc?
She squealed with delight, and her sudden increase in body heat caused her implants to expand. I had it made.
On our first date, I learned all about her. A woman of compassion, she had bought a water bed because it made the fleet feel more at home. She had also bought a high-tech, no-mess vibrator, only to learn it was an electric orange juicer.
I thought it would be responsible of me to inquire about her medical history. Her gynecologist had said that, though she needed retreads, she didnt have any social diseases. This was a relief because it meant the president wouldnt have to order a stand down of all naval operations. Her neurologist had said that her brain was still a virgin, its fragile tissues untouched by knowledge.
Her favorite literary work was Kafkas Metamorphosis. She hadnt read it, but she had seen an ad for the promo of the music video. She could emphathize with a human mind that finds itself trapped inside the body of an insect, because she suffered the opposite problem.
She was my girl of my dreams.
Toward the end of the evening, I made my move. Pound bang slash bin slash cush semi ell ess minus ell splat.
She fell against me, nearly swooning. Should I strike while the iron is hot? The sperm bank had already scheduled to within 4 minutes every ejaculation I would have in the next year. But how often does a man find true love? I decided I would service both Candy and the sperm bank, spreading myself thin, so to speak.
Candy, would you like to go to my place and view my itchings? We could practice CPR. Ill check you for tumors. Maybe a lower GI series?
We got to my apartment and with a flourish I opened the door to my my lair of lust. Welcome to my Altar of Ecstasy, my Boudoir of Bliss.
Gee, it looks just like a sperm donor room.
We wasted no time. She was so hot her bust deployed like a Chrysler air bag. All night it was twiddle twiddle twiddle pipe mount socket pound bang pound bang splat return. Consummate, consummate, consummate.
In the morning I staggered to the sperm bank. The vigor of youth had abandoned me. I needed a heavy styling mousse to achieve the hardness needed to raise my flag over Iwo Jima and produce a specimen. The cup wouldve held more microbes if it was filled with Jersey tapwater.
Unfortunately, the doctor chose that day for a spot check of my handiwork. He looked at my specimen under a microscope, but couldnt find anything. He continued hunting for Red October and finally found a sperm. It tried to swim, but then it grabbed its chest and rolled over.
So, my career ended as soon as it started. But my romance has flourished. Candy has proven to be a challenging libidinal dynamo, but nothing me and some new vacuum cleaner attachments cant handle.
Computer Stories from a Field Service Engineer
When I worked for a company that had a contract with 3M, 3M had asked me
to write them a memo describing why we were having problems with diskette
failures. I said in the memo that the disks were failing due to head
crashes. If the customers would just clean their heads periodically, we
wouldnt have these problems, I said in the memo. One customer responded
with What kind of shampoo do you recommend?
An end-user hotline received a call about a bad software disk. They asked
the customer to make a copy of the disk and mail it in to the hotline.
A few days later, they received a letter with a mimeographed copy of
the disk. Since it was a double-sided disk, both sides of the disk
had been xeroxed.
A Computer Operator says as she is lifting an RP06 disk pack from the drive:
Gee, how much does one of these weigh?
Me: It depends on how much data is on the disk….
The operator believed it.
I had a similar experience while working as a student operator at
Michigan Tech. One particularly trying afternoon, the computer was merrily
crashing for a number of reasons. After about four such spectacles, we
broadcast that the computer would be down for the remainder of the afternoon.
There was a resigned groan from the users and they began to file out of the
Center, except for one comely young woman with wide blue eyes who wandered up
to the counter and queried:
Whats wrong with the computer?
Too tired and irritated to give her a straight answer, I looked her straight
in the eye and replied: Broken muffler belt.
A look of deep concern wafted into her expression as she asked:
Oh, thats bad. Can you call Midas?
I work for University Computing Services answering questions about any and all
aspects of computing here, and as a result I run into some truly astonishing
mental densities… A few excerpts from the Helpdesk:
Caller: Whats the name for when youre entering data into the computer?
HD: Data Entry.
Caller: Thank you!
Overheard in a student computer lab:
Client (raising hand and waving frantically): The computer says Enter your name and press RETURN. What do I do??
Lab Assistant: Enter your name and press RETURN.
Client (as if a revelation has struck): Oh!
Another friend of mine in a similar situation reports having a student in the lab one day, who had to abort out of the SET PASSWORD sequence because he couldnt think of a six-letter word.
Yo momma id so stupid it took her 2 hours to watch 60 minutes!
What is a macho man?
After getting a blow job, he asks the woman, Was it as good for you, as it was for me?
One day, a line of people were waiting for the bus at a busy bus station. At the front of the line was a very attractive blonde woman dressed in a black business vest, white blouse, leather skirt, and high heels.
As the bus pulled up and opened the door, she went to board it, but found that her skirt was too tight for her to raise her leg to the required height. Looking around and thinking quickly, she reaches behind her and unzips the zipper on the back of her skirt a little and then tries again.
Again, she finds that she cannot maneuver the step, so once more she reaches behind her and unzips her skirt a little more. With a smile, she looks at the bus driver and tries to board again. With disappointment, she finds that she still cant step that high, and so with exasperation and a sigh, she unzips her skirt the rest of the way down. To her amazement, her leg still will not reach the bottom step.
Finally, Morris, a big guy behind her gently grabs her by the waist, lifts her up, and places her on the bus. The woman turns to Morris and furiously says, Who do you think you are? To touch my body in that way? I dont even know you!
Non plussed, Morris looks at her and replies, Well, sweetheart, after you unzipped my fly da third time I thought we were already pretty good friends.
A man walks into a doctors office and the doctor says to him, Ive got some good news and some bad news.
Tell me the good news first, the patient says.
The good news is that your penis is going to be two inches longer and an inch wider,the doctor replies.
Thats great! says the patient. Whats the bad news?
The doctor says, Its malignant.
Your momma is so dumb . . .
She failed her blood test.
Paddy and Mike had just arrived in New York from Dublin and were walking
around the city. Since they didnt know about traffic signals they crossed
the street at will and were almost hit several times. Finally, Officer
Flaherty spots them and comes running up, yelling, Are ye daft, crossin
on the red? Pardon us, constable, Paddy says, but weve just come from
the Old Country. Ah, well, the cop says, that explains it. Listen,
you only cross when the light is green. Ya got that?…only on the green!
So Paddy and Mike continue their walk, and they wait on the orange and red
and only cross on the green. After they wait through a few orange and red
lights, Paddy turns to Mike and says, They dont give the Protestants much
time to get across, do they?
It turns out that Heaven isnt above Hell, but rather, Heaven and Hell share the same plane and are separated only by a long wooden fence.
One day, the Devil decides to throw this huge bash. Lots of bands perform with some of the biggest names, and the Damned start having a heck of a party. Toward the end of festivities, a big fireball fight breaks out and, sure enough, one lands on the fence and burns it down.
God complains to the Devil and insists that the Devil rebuild the fence.
The Devil says, Sure, no problem. Ive got all the union leaders over here as well as most of the building contractors.
So, the fence is rebuilt but its three feet to one side so that Hell has taken over three feet of Heaven. God is really pissed off.
If you dont move that fence back, yells God, Im gonna sue you.
Yeah, right, says the Devil. Where are you gonna get a lawyer?