Sexuality

Hallo? Is this Giganta? Giganta Crotchetta?

Oh, grand! It's Bond.

James Bond? O07?

Shaken not stirred? Tuxedo? The trunk-sized jet pack? We had a run in with an Austrian terrorist with the overdeveloped reptilian brain and a predilection for man-eating octopi launching bazookas?

Well, contacting you took quite a bit of doing actually. You see, first I tried Giganta Crotchetta. I must have looked in every phone directory that MI-6 could hack into. Then I figured out that Giganta might be a code name. I mean, who has the name Giganta Crotchetta? Rather silly, when you think about it?

Yes, yes I suppose you do like it. Anyway, I recalled that I kept one of your garments – your knickers actually. And there it was. "Honey Rider" is a much prettier and commonplace name. You should use that.

Ah, yes. The, uh... point. Well, it seems that... well, there's no delicate way to put this. I have a rather nasty case of syphilis. And, um, I'm calling all my sexual partners to let them know that they should go get tested.

Uh-huh. Right. I know it was ten years ago. But the syphilis is rather unusual.

Well, it has gonorrhea.

Yes, my syphilis has gonorrhea.

And the gonorrhea has lice. And the lice have some undiscovered disease that's kind of between hemorrhagic fever and the mumps. It's a virulent mutant strand developed by Dr. No-Means-Yes during Mission: "The Russian Spy Who Loved To Thunderball Me."

Yes, I know I said I had a condom. But you see all the condoms I had were made by Q, and apparently, the condoms weren't meant to be condoms -- they were designed to be used as a pocket parachute. Good man. If you need to have your stapler work as a gun, he's your boy. Anyway, you didn't notice because while we were passionately embraced, your tongue accidentally trigged my knockout gas tooth and you, um, drifted off to sleep. But trust me, you enjoyed yourself. They all do.

Anyway, with all the rather bizarre ailments my, um, bizarre ailments have, the doctors have advised me to contact everyone in my sexual history about my condition. No small feat, I assure you. If you saw the list, you'd think I'd been having sex with my fellow spies for 50 years!

Well, this is what the doctors suggest. Right now, I am in a remote island facility. Actually there's no facility. Just an island. And me. But they'e building one as soon as they can find enough hazmat suits. Anyway, a helicopter is going to pick you up and bring you to the island where we can be treated in isolation.

Chin up! Look at it this way: it'll give us a chance to get caught up. And maybe once some of the redness goes down, along with some of the greenness and the larvae, we can do some REAL reminiscing.

"Oh, James." What's that supposed to mean?

What did the sadist do to the masochist?
Nothing!

Why does a blonde put perfume on her ankles?

Because it ends up behind her ears anyway!

An old man from a far off land was once on the subway in New York and he sat down next to a younger man. He noticed that the young man had a strange kind of shirt collar.

Having never seen a priest before, he asked the man, "Excuse me sir, but why do you have your shirt collar on backwards?"

The priest became a bit flustered but politely answered, "I wear this collar because I am a Father".

The old man thought a second and responded, "Sir I am also a Father but I wear my collar front-ways. Why do you wear your collar so differently?"

The priest thought for a minute and said, "Sir, I am the father for many."

The old man quickly answered, "I too am the father of many. I have four sons, four daughters and too many grandchildren to count. But I wear my collar like everyone else does.

"Why do you wear it your way?"

The priest who was beginning to get exasperated thought and then blurted out, "Sir, I am the father for hundreds and hundreds of people."

The old man from the far-away country was taken aback and was silent for a long time.

As he got up to leave the subway train, he leaned over to the priest and said, "Mister, maybe you should wear your pants backwards."