SHARING HUMOR AROUND THE WORLD

shashichief · 1st Moderator

RE: SHARING HUMOR AROUND THE WORLD

shashichief · 1st Moderator

DON'T FORGET YOUR PROTECTIVE ATTIRE IN INDIA

It's oppressively hot in India, but you wouldn't know it
from the way people dress. They wear saris, salwar kameezes,
kurtas or other long garments, traditional clothing that was
designed many years ago by people living in the North Pole.
Some of those people migrated to India, but despite the
stifling heat, decided not to change their clothing and
expose more of their skin. They were concerned about
morality, of course, but not as much as they were concerned
about mosquitoes.

India isn't full of mosquitoes, but it has more than its
fair share. That's why government officials, noticing the
scarcity of mosquitoes in some countries, have wisely formed
the Indian Mosquito Export Agency. If you live in a country
that isn't blessed with mosquitoes, you can finally do
something about it! Act now while supplies are high and
prices are low!

There are many reasons to import mosquitoes. You can conduct
research on them. You can keep them as pets. You can give
them to friends at Christmas. Just remember this: Unlike
cats, mosquitoes will not ignore you. You'll enjoy their
company day and night.

Your investment is guaranteed to increase exponentially.
Yes, buy six mosquitoes today and you'll have 200 in a few
weeks. You can start your own mosquito supply company.

Don't worry about depleting India's mosquito resources.
Thanks to good planning by the government, India has built a
large reserve of mosquitoes, enough to keep the world
well-supplied for years.

The country has so many mosquitoes that anyone who goes days
without being bitten will eventually have this uneasy
thought: "What's wrong with my blood? Even the mosquitoes
don't want it. Perhaps I should get it tested."

If you're a musician performing in India, don't assume that
the audience is clapping for you. They're probably swatting
mosquitoes. In fact, many Indian classical dances have
incorporated mosquito swatting into their movements. That
gentle touch of the belly may seem subtle, but not to a
mosquito.

Indians have learned to protect themselves from mosquitoes.
Some sleep under mosquito nets, others cover their bodies
with ointment, and a few try to repulse mosquitoes by not
taking baths.

Perhaps the best protection is the Secured Attire for
Resisting Insects (SARI). Mosquitoes aren't fond of saris,
because each sari consists of yards of material that go
around a woman's body. How many yards? Enough to wrap a
dozen Egyptian mummies. In fact, the first "mummy" was an
Indian mummy who was laid to rest in her sari.

The sari would be completely impenetrable if women weren't
inclined to compromise function with style and allow a
section of their stomachs to be visible. This is the section
that attracts not just hordes of mosquitoes but also hordes
of men.

A salwar kameez solves this problem quite nicely. For many
women, it's the next best thing to wearing a suit of armor.
They're well-protected from top to bottom, with plenty of
overlap between the upper dress and lower pajama. The
message to men and mosquitoes is clear: "Don't even think
about it."

shashichief · 1st Moderator

DON'T SPIT ON A GOOD HABIT

I visited a dentist in India the other day and, silly me,
walked right into her office wearing my sandals. How
embarrassing. She had to tell me to remove my footwear and
leave them beside the door. I don't think I offended her in
any way, but I'm not sure because she spent the next five
hours drilling my teeth.

You'd think I'd be used to Indian customs, having grown up
in an Indian family abroad and married a woman raised in
India. In fact, the habit of leaving footwear at the door is
one that my wife has been enforcing in our home,
insisting that it helps keep the dirt out. Our carpet gets
quite dirty nevertheless, because we haven't yet adopted
another habit: leaving our children at the door.

I don't mind taking my shoes off before entering the house,
but it can be a pain sometimes, especially when I'm rushing
to use the bathroom. At such a critical moment, it seems
senseless to be untying my shoelaces, as though my big toe
wants to relieve itself. One of these days, there's going to
be an accident and I will look at my wife sheepishly, point
downward and say, "Look, honey. No shoes!"

People in India tend to wear sandals, so it's easy for them
to remove their footwear before entering a home, office or
temple. It seems to be a good habit, for you never know what
you might have stepped on in the street. Some streets are
extremely clean, especially if a politician lives there.
Other streets are a mess -- it's like walking into a
teen-age boy's bedroom, but with no pictures of
Pamela Anderson.

Despite the mess, some Indians don't seem to mind walking
everywhere barefooted. If they were visiting our home,
my wife would have to get tough. "Hey, don't come in here
with those feet! Here's a pair of shoes!"

Every culture has some good customs and some questionable
ones. But it's often what you're used to. While visiting
in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, I was
surprised that the female hosts didn't eat with us, but
instead stood nearby and refilled our plates and cups when
necessary. They gave us such good service, it seemed utterly
rude of us not to leave a tip.

As a guest, I enjoyed this special treatment, but it was
also clear to me that the women were following a custom that
puts men's needs ahead of theirs. The men eat first, while
the women serve them. Then the women eat, while the men
check the cricket scores. Of course, this doesn't happen in
every household. Some men check football scores.

After meals and at other times, it's not uncommon for men to
chew "paan" or betel leaves, along with nuts and flavorings,
then spit out the red mixture onto whatever surface is
available. Spitting is an art form in India -- you should
see some of the patterns on the walls. In one building, I
saw a sign on the wall that said, "No spitting," and under
it, someone had left some "spit art." It may seem like a
disgusting habit, but probably not to the men who do it.
They're beautifying India.

Paan chewer: "Look, Deepak, I just created a picture of the
prime minister on the wall. Quite a likeness, no?"

Friend: "Yes, Suresh, it's amazing! The spitting image of
him."

shashichief · 1st Moderator

MICHAEL JACKSON'S FAN LETTER FROM INDIA

Dear Michael,

My name is Chandrika, an English teacher in Madurai and your
greatest fan in India. I started enjoying your music many
years ago, during the late '70s or early '80s, back in the
days when you didn't look so much like your sister LaToya.
You were my childhood idol, Michael, with your great voice,
amazing dancing and wonderful Afro. You were the epitome of
the phrase "tall, dark and handsome," even if the "tall"
part was largely a result of your hair.

I was proud that someone as dark-skinned as me had achieved
so much and was adored by millions of people. You see, even
as a child, I was made to feel uneasy about my complexion.
My elder sister, Radhika, was fair-skinned and all my
relatives commented that she had "good color," while
debating endlessly what had happened to me. Some thought I
had played too much in the sun. Others wondered if my mother
had sprinkled enough powder on me as a baby. A few concluded
that, given my sister's fair skin, all I needed was a good
scrubbing in the bathtub.

If you think that was bad, you should hear what happened to
me when my father, an Army captain, was transferred north to
Delhi. I was a teen-ager then and had to endure all sorts of
ridicule from the light-skinned girls in my school. One girl
said that I was the black sheep of my family and that my
parents must have bought me on the black market. I wanted to
give her a black eye. Another girl kept saying I was as
black as a crow. I wanted to peck her eyes out.

Children can be cruel, but Indians of all ages are obsessed
with skin color. That's why my sister got married so easily.
My father placed a matrimonial ad describing Radhika as
"extremely fair" and she found a groom the very next day.
(He runs a tailor shop, but managed to impress my father by
calling himself a "softwear designer.") I didn't have any
luck at all with my ad, unless you count the three proposals
I received from Central Prison. Those rascals must have
missed the line in which I said "no bars."

My relatives advised me to try again, saying I should put
the word "fair" in my ad. So I wrote another matrimonial ad
and said that I had won first prize in the science fair. But
the men, they don't care about that kind of fair. It's so
unfair.

My relatives then suggested I try various methods of
lightening my skin. First I tried all the beauty creams,
including "Fair & Lovely," "Fair Glow," and "Fairy-tale."
None of them lightened my skin, though they did manage to
lighten my purse. Next I tried covering myself in a paste of
coconut milk, white flour and talcum powder. That worked out
well, but only until the paste dried and cracked in many
places. I looked like Sonia Gandhi's great-grandmother.

It was during this time that I noticed something amazing:
You, Michael, had somehow transformed yourself from black to
white. I said to myself, "He's a great composer, wonderful
singer, superb dancer. And now he's managed to change color.
Is there anything this man can't do?"

When my relatives heard about your transformation, they told
me to experiment some more. For a few years, I tried
moonwalking, wearing a white glove and hanging out with lots
of children. I even got myself a pet monkey named Bubbles.
But my complexion didn't change, not even under the glove.

Then someone informed me that you suffer from some sort of
skin condition. If that's true, Michael, I'm sorry to hear
it. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone.

My relatives, however, want me to ask you this: Is it
contagious? And if so, Michael, when are you coming to
India?

shashichief · 1st Moderator

MEN NEED SOME EXCUSES TOO

There are thousands of male scientists in the world, most of
whom do their jobs quite well. But they've failed to fulfill
their duty to fellow men. They haven't come up with
scientific reasons for certain types of male behavior. They
haven't given us adequate excuses for habits like leaving
the toilet seat up, refusing to ask for directions and
getting too intimate with the remote control.

Women, it seems, have a monopoly on the excuses. An example
of this occurred some years ago in Brookfield, Wisconsin. As
reported by the Associated Press, Jaclyn Netzel, 19, was
trying to turn her car right when a male driver behind
honked and finally drove around her. Netzel and the man
exchanged obscene gestures. When they met again at a nearby
gas station, Netzel called the man a vulgar name and then
slapped him after they argued. Police cited her for
disorderly conduct. Netzel pleaded that she was pregnant.
Her pregnancy had evidently caused her body to produce a
surplus of a hormone called SMH (Slap Men Hormone).

Netzel told a police officer that "when a female is
pregnant, they are more emotional than normal." This is why
it's always a good idea to wear body armor when visiting the
maternity ward. You could get attacked from all directions.
Pregnant women are eager to slap men, because men never have
to go through labor. This resentment probably goes back to
the Garden of Eden: Adam was too busy inventing rules for
football to attend the meeting where God handed out
childbirth duties. Even the feminists haven't figured out a
way to share this burden with men.

But women have turned pregnancy into an advantage of sorts.
A pregnant women can get away with just about anything:
turning her husband into an errand boy, consuming pizza for
breakfast and ice cream for lunch, eating as if she's giving
birth to a whale.

Women who aren't pregnant can also get away with pretty much
anything, as long as the timing is right. Picture this
courtroom exchange:

Judge: "Miss. Fisher, the jury has found you guilty of
hijacking 10 planes, bombing five federal buildings and
destroying three Hollywood marriages, all in one day. Do you
have anything to say?"

Defendant: "Your Honor, it was that time of the month."

Judge: "Case dismissed!"

If the insanity defense works, it won't be long before women
invoke the PMS defense. There's nothing that can't be
explained by PMS, which stands for either Perilous Mood
Swings or Potential Male Slap. PMS usually lasts just a few
days, but like a football game, can go into overtime. Of
course, there's a lot of scientific evidence to confirm the
effects of PMS. Men can't understand it all, but as with
religion, we just have to believe.

If male scientists would get their act together, maybe
they'd discover a few afflictions for men. This would help
us get some much-needed sympathy and ease all that guilt we
feel.

Men who hate to ask for directions probably suffer from
something like GCM (Going in Circles Mania). When pestered
by his wife to stop at a gas station, a man could say,
"Sorry honey, that darned GCM is acting up again."

Men who forget to lower the toilet seat suffer from TED
(Toilet Etiquette Deficiency). "Sorry honey, the doctor says
it's incurable."

Men who skip church to watch football suffer from PDS
(Priority Disorder Syndrome). "You wouldn't understand it,
honey. It's a guy thing."

Men who scratch themselves in public suffer from PMI
(Primitive Male Itch). "Sorry honey, I can't help it. It's
genetic."

Men who caress the remote more than their wives suffer from
BPO (Button Pushing Obsession). "Sorry honey, I don't know
which buttons to push with you. Do you have one for 'mute'?"

Come on scientists, we need this a lot more than we need
cloned sheep

shashichief · 1st Moderator

HAPPINESS REQUIRES THE RIGHT PERSPECTIVE

At times I wonder why so many people seem unhappy with their
lives. Don't they appreciate what they have? Are they
comparing themselves to others? Do they have a slow Internet
connection?

I think a lot of it has to do with perspective -- or the
lack of it. Having proper perspective means that you don't
worry about small things and you don't take your blessings
for granted. A woman with perspective isn't concerned that
her boyfriend is short, because she knows he can easily kiss
her feet. A man with perspective isn't concerned that his
girlfriend is overweight, because he knows there'll be more
of her to love.

However bleak our lives may seem, there's always someone in
the world who'd be thrilled to be in our shoes. We often
worry about so many insignificant things: the score of the
football game, the number of dresses we own, the complexion
of our skin, the prestige of our jobs, the size of our bald
spots. And we take for granted so many important things:
health, family, friendships, food, shelter, fresh air, clean
water, freedom. I love freedom -- the freedom to pursue a
dream, the freedom to eat lots of ice cream.

But imagine a guy who's been unemployed for years. As he
scans the employment ads, he prays, "God, if you just give
me a good job, I'll be happy for the rest of my life." His
prayer is answered and soon he's earning a high salary,
praying, "God, if you just give me a good wife, I'll be
happy for the rest of my life." His prayer is answered and
soon he's going shopping with his new wife, praying, "God,
if you just give me a second job ..."

Think of the poor farmer in an African village who grows
just enough corn to feed his family. He's happy with his
life, though he lives in a tiny hut, wears tattered clothing
and has never even heard of the Internet. When he feels like
chatting with someone, he doesn't go online or push buttons
on a cell phone. He does something really strange -- he
chats with his family. Imagine that.

Then there's the dot.com tycoon in California who can't find
enough ways to spend her money. She's unhappy with her life,
though she owns a pet lion, drives a Jaguar and plays golf
with a Tiger. She has her own private plane, which takes her
all over the country and allows her to visit her family,
she's proud to say, at least once a year.

Just in case you're having trouble with perspective, here
are a few questions to ponder:

You just landed an executive position at a top company. Do
you:

(a) complain that you don't make as much money as Bill
Gates.

(b) rejoice that you make 100 times more money than the
Pope.

(c) grumble that you still can't afford to go on a date with
Paris Hilton.

(d) celebrate that you make enough money to feed 20 million
people in China or the entire defensive line of the Dallas
Cowboys.

You have a kind, generous husband who loves you dearly. Do
you:

(a) complain that he doesn't look like Tom Cruise.

(b) rejoice that he doesn't look like Tom Arnold.

(c) grumble that he doesn't make as much money as Bill
Gates.

(d) celebrate that his heart is bigger than his bank account
and that an investment in love beats money any day. You
can't buy a fancy car with love, but then again, no Mercedes
will ever kiss you back.