Testicle Therapy

[Kay]

Two ladies were playing golf. One teed off and watched in horror

as her ball headed directly toward a foursome of men playing the next hole.

The ball hit one of the men.

He immediately clasped his hands together at his groin, fell to the

ground and proceeded to roll around in agony.

The woman rushed down to the man, and immediately began to

apologise. 'Please allow me to help. I'm a Physical Therapist and

I know I could relieve your pain if you'd allow me, she told him.

'Oh, no, I'll be all right. I'll be fine in a few minutes,' the man replied.

He was in obvious agony, lying in the foetal position, still clasping

his hands there at his groin.

At her persistence, however, he finally allowed her to help. She

gently took his hands away and laid them to the side, loosened

his pants and put her hands inside.

She administered tender and artful massage for several long

moments and asked, 'How does that feel'?

He replied: It feels great, but I think my thumb's still broken!

[Carolynn]

The toy-makers of Tyco have been selling versions of Tickle-me-Elmo since 1996. This year, disturbed by the decline in the economy and reports of economic distress among single moms, not to mention desiring to look better to those who monitor diversity hires, one executive at Tyco decided to institute a program to bring unskilled, former house-wives into the work force.

One of the first hires reported nervously to work and was told her job was to work on the assembly line. Her job, as the exec rapidly explained, was to give each Elmo coming off the line a couple of test tickles to be sure it performed satisfactorily.

Showing the new employee her place on the line just before the packaging, the exec went on his way.

A few hours later an irate production line boss was in his office and complaining loudly because her line had slammed to a near halt, and it seemed to be backing up from the end where the new hire was working.

The exec went to the location and found the new hire disheveled, sweaty, and working as hard as she could, with several yards of Elmo fabric arrayed around her and cutting that into neat, small squares, hand sewing each into a pouch and inserting two cotton balls. She was then attaching them to each new Elmo.

The exec was torn between astonishment and laughter. He moved up beside her and gently explained, “Mrs. B_____, the words I used were “give each of them a couple of test—tickles, not testicles.”