✆ Welcome To The Psychiatric Hotline ✆ – Joke

From myaeee on the Experience Project.

✆ If you are obsessive-compulsive, please press 1 repeatedly.

☎ If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2.

✆ If you have multiple personalities, please press 3, 4, 5, and 6.

☎ If you are paranoid-delusional, we know who you are and what you want. Just stay on the line so we can trace the call.

✆ If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.

☎ If you are depressed, it doesn’t matter which number you press. No one will answer.

✆ If you are delusional and occasionally hallucinate, please be aware that the thing you are holding on the side of your head is alive and about to bite off your ear.


Delusion (Photo credit: FLASHFLOOD®)



About Love…

I once had an insight and I wrote a two page letter about it to my beloved, which just goes to show that the insight I had, had not yet been all that insightful. I´ve now managed to condense it into this one line:

“Love should not be measured in how much it fills you up, but in how it fills up the one you love!”

Love for Arts

Love for Arts (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sick Leave – Joke

Foto einer Glühbirne (an),

Foto einer Glühbirne (an), (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From Spicewood on The Spoof!

I urgently needed a few days off work, but, I knew the Boss would not allow me to take a leave. I thought that maybe if I acted ‘Crazy’ then he would tell me to take a few days off. So I hung upside-down on the ceiling and made funny noises. My co-worker (who’s blonde) asked me what I was doing.

I told her that I was pretending to be a light bulb so that the Boss would think I was “Crazy” and give me a few days off.

A few minutes later the Boss came into the office and asked, “What in the name of good GOD are you doing?”

I told him I was a light bulb.

He said, “You are clearly stressed out. Go home and recuperate for a couple of days.”

I jumped down and walked out of the office.

When my co-worker (the blonde) followed me, the Boss asked her, “And where do you think you’re going?”

She said, “I’m going home, too. I can’t work in the dark.”

Just For Fun – Joke

Boys skinny dipping in a sacred tank in Tiruva...

Boys skinny dipping in a sacred tank in Tiruvanamalai, India. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From VictoriaSeagull  on Experience Project!

Some Mistakes from New English Language Students:

– I’m sorry, but I couldn’t write my essay. My roommate had a toothache this morning.
– So you couldn’t write your essay?
– Yes! He was swelling and decaying badly!

I am so eager to mate you!

He lifted the veal off her face and gave her a big kiss…

We live on the sex floor. Our apartment is small but we have a nice view.

My bed has three blankets and a large guilt my parents gave me.

It is dangerous to smoke while you are becoming pregnant!

– That night, we went skin dipping. Just the two of us!
– You mean you went skinny dipping?
– It is called skinny dipping? But I’m not very skinny!
– Well, that’s what they call it if you go swimming nude.
– What is “Nude?”
– Nude means Naked. No clothes or swimsuits.
– Naked? No! I would never skin dip naked! There are little slippery fish everywhere! We skinned dipped with our underwear over us.

A good recipe:
+Put the cabbages in salt water. Then sit in the sink until the morning.
+Add two cups of ground flowers.
+Next, chop all the vegetarians into little pieces.
+Then add small feces of fish.
+Don’t forget to insult the soup.
+Next, add a little Buddha and mix it all up.
+When you are finished cooking, find a suitable bowel and eat it with chopsticks.

I never liked mushrooms, but now they are starting to grow in me.

Last night, when I ate dinner I started joking.
My friend hit my back very hard until I stopped.
I was so lucky he was there!

Valencia, After Paqui II

I remember some more things about Paqui´s last days. If I repeat myself, do forgive me, but I don´t want to reread all I´ve written already, because then I might get stuck again (too painful). My little gypsy Princess had slipped into a coma and the doctor took me aside and warned me that he had some bad news. My knees were a bit wobbly and I asked if I could sit down. He told me she had
septicemia in the brain and that if she did come out of her coma, she would very probably be a quadriplegic.

English: Reading glasses. ‪中文(繁體)‬: 老花眼鏡

English: Reading glasses. ‪中文(繁體)‬: 老花眼鏡 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

His words of doom did not want to register in my brain and I foolishly asked if she would be alright again. He looked at me with a look of pity in his eyes and told me that we could only pray. But… I´d been with her a couple of weeks earlier. when they´d done a CAT-scan of her brain and had assured us that all she needed were a pair of reading glasses! I was a bit of a mess then. I told the boys, who hugged me and we all cried together.

Paqui had told me, when she started keeling over for no apparent reason and had trouble walking, that if she ever ended up in a wheelchair, for me to put her out of her misery. And now what!!??? Quadriplegic on the street? That would be impossible. What then? My mind was reeling!

One evening I´d gone back to the Rancho to get pissed and try to make myself believe that this was all some horrible dream. The next morning I arrived at the hospital to find Paqui´s room empty of her and also of her family. I went over to reception and inquired where my wife was. A nurse told me: “She passed away yesterday evening 10 PM.” No warning, no sit down, please, just that. “Wham, bam, thank you, Ma´am!” I ran out of there, which was foolish in hindsight. I should have asked for contact information, etcetera.

Paqui´s sister Antonia had given me her mobile phone number, but when I tried it, it didn´t work… on purpose?? And as Paqui and I had not been legally married, they would not give me any further into. To this day, I don´t even know where she is buried. It´s almost as if I dreamt her, made her up, because officially I apparently had been nothing to her but a passing stranger. Isn´t the law wonderful? Did I mention that I was a bit of a mess then?

Some weeks later a guy in a suit came up to me and asked if he could talk to me about the Lord. I told him politely that this was not the appropriate time and to please leave me be. He insisted. I told him again that this was really not the time and still he persevered. He must have thought: “Third time lucky!”, but I physically lifted him up and told him that his Lord could kiss my hairy arse and to fuck off!!! He did get the message that time. I was a mite pissed off with the Big Guy around then.

About a month after Paqui´s death, I told Steve and Paul that I couldn´t stand the Cabañal any longer, because of all the memories that haunted me. They fully understood. We broke camp and left Valencia that same day. Next stop Gandia!

To be continued…

Love Dress! – Joke

Happy Mother-in-law, Pretty Daughter-in-law

Happy Mother-in-law, Pretty Daughter-in-law (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

From NedKelly1 on Experience Project.

A woman stopped by, unannounced, at her son’s house. She knocked on the door then immediately walked in…

She was shocked to see her daughter-in-law lying on
the couch, totally naked. Soft music was playing, and the aroma of perfume filled the room.

“What are you doing?!” she asked.

“I’m waiting for Mike to come home from work,” the daughter-in- law answered.

“But you’re naked!” the mother-in-law exclaimed.

“This is my love dress,” the daughter-in-law explained.

“Love dress? But you’re naked!”

“Mike loves me and wants me to wear this dress,” she explained.” It excites him to no end. Every time he sees me in this dress, he in stantly becomes romantic and ravages me for hours on end. He can’t get enough of me”

The mother-in-law left.

When she got home, she undressed, showered, put on her best perfume, dimmed the lights, put on a romantic CD, and lay on the couch, waiting for her husband
to arrive.

Finally, her husband came home. He walked in and saw her lying there so provocatively. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“This is my love dress,” she whispered sensually.

“Needs ironing,” he said. “What’s for dinner?

And that´s when it started…

Ralphie´s View On The Occult!

ñlkjdsf  ajko`we  jkopauf hiuw nlñvxioj 832 ñl jjhaho  ñkjhfp  huwñefr ñlnkja ah hña len  hakjopofamn ñvixhoih nelñu`qoji mn noapoh nfmk nñnv ipzon nkqn opvhj anlña nñlwnvoñpih´`QY402UH NKÑLNV OHA NRMKÑñoih lknfñaln eovñpa a!!! ñljoñapih f nañpihb aneñalkhcxpoivh ankññn annwopiuuy9ebvpuan

kñlkjnhaohd a hops lgfnñoi nzocia nlkñtnao nov alñaln oañp vnlanña enoñpivaj aa nlivfñpoe lñpia lk!

P.S.: Sorry if it comes over a bit dark!

~Love Magick~ (A Poetic Incantation)

The candle burns
So mote it be
Fire in him
Flames in me

Ever burning
Popping bright
Our sighs together slash the night
He takes me in his arms to see
What his love has done to me

When he does
I want it all
His blood, his seed
His lust, his need

Earth and Rain
He keeps me sane
All his pleasure
I shall be
Ever Always
Three times three

Fiery hair and eyes of blue
My every wish
He DID come true

What Does A Writer Do?

English: "Don´t worry, be happy" Deu...

English: “Don´t worry, be happy” Deutsch: “Don´t worry, be happy” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He writes!  I didn´t feel much like writing, but I have a secret… I refuse to worry  and then everything sorts itself out automatically. And let´s face it, there is nobody standing over me with a gun, who says: “Write or I kill you!”, now is there! ?  I feel like I´m in limbo, stuck between two planes, on the outside looking in. I´m not quite here yet, in Fuengirola. Once I will have established a firm routine, then everything will start to flow naturally, as before.  Until then,  I´ll just muddle along.

I´m happy to be free again. The street gets under your skin. It is not a place, it´s a state of mind, a way of life. I´ve met several people, who spent time on the street and then returned to a more or less regular life and they all, without exception, told me the same thing and that is that it never leaves you. You carry it with you for the rest of your life. Now don´t get me wrong, I do not consider this a negative thing.

You can not imagine how liberating it is to no longer carry the fear with you of being destitute. Because you´ve been there and you survived. And you know what? It wasn´t all that bad! You go where you want, when you want, meet loads of interesting people and you learn that all you really need are the bare necessities. All the rest is pure and unadulterated luxury!

Why would I want to create a prison of my own making with a mortgage, more debts and endless worrying? For what? My luck (and my pain…) is that I have no children. I am responsible only for myself and to myself (within reason). And the world would still keep on turning just as happily without me in it. So, why worry? Be happy! A lot of people stop and stare at me, when they see me begging with a smile and a real one at that. Well… there obviously must be something wrong with that one! Except, there isn´t! At least, nothing that a good meal wouldn´t fix.

I was a bit remiss earlier, I know that my friends worry about me and I love them for it. But don´t, because you see, some days(if not most) it´s so wonderful to be alive in my billion star hotel. Except that the room service sucks! I shall have to have a word with the management.

Valencia – After Paqui.

Español: Rita Barbera en unas jornadas del PP ...

Español: Rita Barbera en unas jornadas del PP contra la violencia de género en Valencia, diciembre de 2008. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After Paqui had died, what we called ´The Czech Republic´asked if they could move into The Rancho with us, because their abode had been torn down. The reason being that it was an eyesore, which the denizens of the new five star hotel, that was now finished, did not deserve to look upon. I might have spoiled their appetite! We had also been served a demolition notice, but would only move when the bulldozers moved in. The fact of the matter was that I didn´t give a damn anymore whether the place stood or fell, for the light that made it shine was gone forever.

I tried with all my might to obliterate my remaining brain cells with alcohol, but failed. Everywhere I turned I ran into the spectre of my lost love. That was the place where she blagged up some churros for the both of us. There we´d kissed and cuddled. Where hadn´t we? She´d been inordinately proud of her blue-eyed, tall, blond guy and had shown me off to anyone she´d ever met, I think. Gypsies are for the most part not well though of in Spanish society and she was happy to have enchanted a blond bum, with great expectations, of course. Now, six years later, I still have expectations, but they´re a wee bit smaller.

I might have to weave back and forth a bit here, because to say that my recollections of these times are a bit sketchy would be a euphemism, as I was hardly ever compos mentos. I remember a Polish dimwit, who gave out to me for crying and told me that a real man don´t cry. He didn´t seem to mind so much anymore, after I´d decked him. I admired Paul no end for having gone through this five times already and to still be standing(sort of…) I followed his advice and took things one day at a time. What else could I do? I could cry an eight ocean and that still wouldn´t bring her back.

A strange phenomenon occurred around that time, in that I was horny as a jack-rabbit. Maybe this was an archetypical reaction to death? I didn´t go with anyone though. On the one hand, I was never one for one-night-stands and on the other hand there was a significant lack of ladies, who wanted to throw themselves at a bum, sad or otherwise. There still is actually. What do those young, rich guys have that I haven´t?

The cops were particularly nasty then, I remember that much. We were all parking cars on the beachfront. We stood in front of one of the few empty parking spaces and waved at oncoming cars. If they wanted to park in one of ´our´ spots, we´d guide them in. It´s amazing how many people suck at parking and the boardwalk was rather high there. Then we´d stand to one side and if they wanted to give us something, lovely and if not, that was alright aswell. No hassles! For some reason though, this was illegal, so we had to play cat and mouse with the police.

This was around the time of the umpteenth American Cup(a regatta) and the mayor, Mrs. Barberá, must have told the cops to rid their clean streets of the riffraff. True to Franco form, they took to it with gusto. I saw two Czechs and one Russian, whose torso and legs were black and blue, courtesy of the Valencia police department. They would ask for your documents, keep them and when you showed up to collect them at the police station the next morning, they would very politely ask you to join them in a small room, where five police officers would then proceed to beat the crap out of you with their night sticks.

There was one little, fat fascist pig, who asked for my documents, kept them and so on… I very politely informed him that I was on to their little game and that while I would not resist, I would afterwards certainly write to every newspapers, tv-station and up to the European high court. I would create such a shit storm as to cause them all to lose their jobs. He must have taken my friendly little warning to heart, because the next day all I had to do was sign a chit for receipt and was free to go, unmolested. Mama Burcke didn´t raise no fool, folks!

To be continued…