From: James "Kibo" Parry (kibo@world.std.com) Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Subject: STORY (new): Einstein's Christmas Resolution Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2006 04:37:04 -0500 Here's this year's Einstein Christmas story. It's short, but I think you'll understand why it doesn't need to be any longer. EINSTEIN'S CHRISTMAS RESOLUTION by James "Kibo" Parry written on December 24 & 25, 2006 Copyright (c) 2006 James "Kibo" Parry "Merry Christmas, idiot!" Einstein whispered at his bathroom mirror. Then he put the gun in his mouth and fired. It jammed. It jammed every year, because Jesus loved him, especially at Christmas. Einstein was tired of having this Seasonal Affective Disorder, which he had caught while shopping at Wal-Mart. It made him depressed for seven months before Christmas and seven months after Christmas, so it was worst in the summer when the two periods overlapped. He decided to see a psychiatrist. He typed "TELL ME THE NAME OF THE WORLD'S CHEAPEST PSYCHIATRIST" into Google. Before he pressed the "Enter" key he remembered that he was using an Internet search site, so he added "NO SCAMS PLEASE". When the results came back, he only bothered reading the top one because he knew he was smart enough to have entered a perfect query. The ad he found said: PSYCHIATRY FIVE DOLLARS OPEN ON CHRISTMAS YOU'LL GO SANE IN AN HOUR OR YOU WIN A T-SHIRT NO WEIRDOS Einstein filled his pockets with gummi bears for the trip and walked across Princeton to the psychiatrist's office, which was in the strip mall behind the Krispy Kreme. "Wow, Princeton got a Krispy Kreme!" thought Einstein happily, but then he remembered that he was busy going to a psychiatrist so as not to kill himself, so he kept on walking while eating just the best parts of the gummi bears (the heads.) "Tell me about your problems, your insurance, and your childhood," said the psychiatrist, who had a wacky German accent and weird hair. Einstein eased himself down into the beige naughahyde couch and began: "Well, doc, my name is Albert Einstein, and --" "Say no more! Delusions of grandeur!" The doctor reached for a needle of Make People Not Think They're Smarter Than They Are serum. "But I really am Einstein! See?" He held up his Princeton dining hall card and showed his signature. The psychiatrist took the "A" volume of the World Book off his shelves and opened it to a picture of the first atomic bomb. Einstein's signature on the bomb was exactly the same. "Yes, apparently you are famous genius Albert Einstein. Of course, I am a psychiatrist, which means I outrank you because I went to medical school for eight years and physics majors can graduate in four." "But I --" "Don't talk back. Now, here's how we're going to make you happy. You've got to start asserting yourself, and --" "But --" "SHUT UP! DON'T INTERRUPT! THE IMPORTANT PERSON IS TALKING!" The psychiatrist pulled a foam rubber Encounter Bat from under his desk and threw it at Einstein's head. "Einstein, you're a bad person. I say that as a psychiatrist, I can spot a bad person from a mile away. Let's try a different approach. We're going to attempt a radical new technique I learned about in 'Psychology Today' magazine, which I've been reading because 'TV Guide' is too challenging. This is a projective technique, which means I'm going to ask you a question and there are no right or wrong answers, you get charged full price either way. Now, here's the question. Tell me the funniest thing you can think of." "That's not a question!" "WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!" yelled the psychiatrist, throwing lawn darts at Einstein's head. "I will now repeat the question! Tell me the funniest thing you can think of!" Einstein, in no mood to be a happy funster, said, "Christopher Reeve rolling off a cliff, with diarrhea. 'Look, mommy, a brown rainbow!'" "Einstein, you're not taking your mental health seriously. Stop cheating." The psychiatrist closed the Venetian blinds because Einstein had been staring at the drippy brown rainbow outside. "Now, close your eyes and tell me the funniest thing you can think of." Einstein closed his eyes. "Honestly, doc, I can't think of anything actually funny. I feel like I'm surrounded by unfunniness. In fact, I feel like I'm just a fictional character in a story that's trying way too hard to be unfunny just so that nobody can accuse it of trying to be funny and failing." "Well, Einstein, first of all, your logic is invalid because you're not a fictional character, you're a famous scientist, even though you didn't win as many kinds of Nobel Prizes as Linus Pauling. Second, while you had your eyes closed, I put your hand in warm water, so now you have to mop up my couch while I think about possible diagnoses." "What? I told you all that and you haven't figured out what's wrong with me yet? I'm Einstein! I have asymmetrical hair! Isn't it obvious what's wrong with me?" "Well, Einstein, psychiatry is not an exact science like physics, psychology, sociology, or astrology. I can't diagnose you in so short a time. Every psychiatrist knows that there's only one personality disorder that is immediately obvious during a five-minute conversation, and that's sociopathy." "What's that? Some sort of baking powder?" "No, Einstein. A sociopath is someone who doesn't care about anyone else and never feels human emotions. They do what they want all the time, and never feel guilty about what they do, because they consider themselves better than other people. They don't really have human feelings. Basically, a sociopath combines the best qualities of Mr. Spock and Darth Vader." "Wow! Doctor Psychiatrist, I could kiss you! I've made up my mind, I'm going to go home and experiment on my brain until I become a sociopath, and then I won't feel guilty about building all those atomic bombs! I'm glad that instead of curing me, you've helped me to become worse!" Einstein ran out of the office, giggling happily at the prospect of having no feelings. The psychiatrist ran after him. "Wait, you forgot your T-shirt!" He threw it and Einstein caught it. It said: "I WENT TO THE PSYCHIATRIST AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS CRAZY T-SHIRT." * * * * * Einstein was enjoying his new life as a sociopath. He did whatever he wanted, to whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and he never had to eat his vegetables! He abandoned his career as an ethical scientist and instead used his knowledge of physics to scam people through ads in the back of "Popular Mechanics" magazine. "Hey magazine readers!" said one, "This is famous genius Albert Einstein here to tell you how to meet time travellers! If you've ever wanted to meet people from the year Three Thousand, you've wondered why they never visit a loser like you. Well, it's because time travellers spend all their time hunting down babies who will grow up to be the next Hitler! So if you want to meet time travellers to impress your friends, I'll sell you Baby's First Hitler Mustache for a low price of only ten installments of $99.99. Just put one on your baby, toddler, or wife and wait for time travellers to say hello! Baby's First Hitler Mustache, another patent pending invention from Einstein. Available in regular, or pay extra for the deluxe adhesive-backed version so you won't need to use staples!" Those ads for Einstein's scams were offensive and insulting to the intelligence of everyone in the world, but that was okay because he was smart enough to know that everyone but him was a worthless idiot. He made a fortune selling regular and deluxe mustaches to babies whose parents would rather have new time-travelling friends than a baby. Einstein spent a small fraction of his fortune on a Hummer, and used it to spin doughnuts on the Princeton football field, ruining the big game against Harvard. He got away with that because he had tenure. Also Harvard couldn't be mad at him either because he bought Harvard and changed its name to The Albert Einstein College Of Einsteinology. Now gullible freshmen would pay him to tell them what to think, instead of just reading about him in Reader's Digest for free! After moving into a big mansion (which Einstein had built on the former site of Disneyland), Einstein felt slightly lonely in the vast, echoing, ivory-paneled chambers. So he mail-ordered a case of puppies with a stolen credit card. When the crate arrived, he picked out the puppy he liked best and sold the others to the factor that made P. Diddy's line of hoodies. The puppy he kept was a shaky little one who was all white except for one large dark spot on his side. Einstein chose him because the spot would make him the easiest one to kick in the dark, if it ever came to that. Being a sociopath, Einstein would never bother to go out of his way to kick a poor little puppy, but on the other hand, being a sociopath meant that someday he might have to kick the puppy if anyone challenged him to prove that he was a sociopath. "Hey, Einstein," said little Spot, "Why are you acting so mean in this story? You were never this mean in any of the previous 158 stories about you adopting me for the first time!" Einstein looked up from the machine he was building to make all TV programs end with all the characters telling people to send their money to Einstein. "Well, Spot, it's like this. I decided to be a sociopath. That's what this story's about. Me being a sociopath. And that makes perfect sense to me." "But, Einstein! You're not a sociopath! Also, what's a sociopath?" "Spot, a sociopath is someone who has no feelings for other people." "Oh. Like Mr. Spock." "Yes, except that Mr. Spock is sort of just an elf who is a sociopath, but I'm real like Mr. Spock and not imaginary like an elf because I'm a real live sociopath like all the ones on TV." "You are so not a sociopath. I remember once you cried when I acted out the plot of 'Snoopy, Come Home' for you." "That was in a different story, probably one that never even existed, and besides, I only became a sociopath recently. I was talking to my psychiatrist and I decided it would be the best thing to be, even better than a ninja." "You are NOT a sociopath." "Am too!" "Are not!" "Okay, look, you dim little puppy, if you believe I am lying about being a sociopath, tell me this: What sort of person would lie about being a sociopath?" "Um... someone who didn't care what they said as long as it gave them a way to manipulate people and... oh... I see. Only a sociopath would falsely claim to be a sociopath. Damn you, Einstein, your logic bewilders me. I guess you really are a sociopathic genius and I'm just a puppy who's neither." Einstein smiled on the inside. (It was the only place where he now smiled.) Spot said, "Well, I guess it could be worse. The title of this story could have been 'Einstein Becomes A Sociopath While Spot Gives Birth To Poisonous Pandas', or something even ickier. Well, in any case, now that I've agreed you're a sociopath I guess we're done with this conversation. I'll just stay out of your way for the rest of your life and you can ignore me while you do what you want." They went their separate ways. Spot moved into Motel 6 For Dogs (a doghouse with a noisy ice machine right outside the door) and Einstein went to shoplift an Aleister Crowley poster from Hot Topic. Unfortunately, during the thirty seconds Einstein was in Hot Topic, he absorbed enough Hot Topic radiation to change him from a sociopath to an emo kid. He spent the rest of his life trying to make his hair more asymmetrical. THE END -- K. I cheated a little by starting this one a day early, but inspiration struck. But most of the stuff from yesterday's beginning got removed today, so maybe I'll just save the part about the frat house and the part about the eyeballs for the 2007 and 2008 stories. ----------------------------------------------------- From: James "Kibo" Parry (kibo@world.std.com) Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Subject: STORY (new): Spot's Complete Reversal Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2006 04:34:44 -0500 Here's something I just threw together during the last sixty minutes. SPOT'S COMPLETE REVERSAL by James "Kibo" Parry written December 25, 2006 Copyright (c) 2006 James "Kibo" Parry Spot woke up. Christmas was already over! Spot cried. "Waah! Why did I decide to spend Christmas Eve on a plane crossing the International Date Line?" Because Spot had missed Christmas, he didn't get any presents, which meant that nobody loved him. So he decided to turn the plane around and go across the International Date Line the other way to get some presents, and then keep going around the world and cross it again to get the same presents twice. This caused a rip in the space-time continuum. Now there were two Christmases, which meant that Christ was born twice! The two Christs got into a fistfight. The winner nailed the loser to a cross and laughed and laughed. Because there had been two Christs, this meant that now there were a Pope and an Anti-Pope. One worshipped the guy who got tacked to the cross, and the other worshipped the guy who invented Velcro (and if you don't believe me that Christ would have invented Velcro if he hadn't been crucified, I dare you to prove that Christ couldn't invent Velcro.) Spot had a very poor memory, so on one of the two Christmas mornings this year, he forgot which of the two religions he belonged to, and he went to the wrong church. It was the one that had the Anti-Pope. An Anti-Priest was passing out Anti-Communion wafers. They had lots of flavor. Also, instead of going in your mouth, they went in the other end. Spot screamed. He had never intended to be in one of those bad "Twilight Zone" rip-offs where someone wakes up and everything's backwards! He decided to write a letter to Rod Serling to complain. But that meant he had to find a store that could sell him a completely-written letter so that he could use an empty pen to suck all the ink off the paper before he could take it out of the envelope to turn it back into a tree, or something, he didn't really understand it. "Oh no!" gasped Spot, "If I don't understand the completely consistent logic of this adventure, that must mean that my brain has been reversed too! Right is wrong, wrong is right, hot is cold, and vowels are consonants!" But then Spot tripped and accidentally swallowed one end of the International Date Line. By the time it came out his other end, it had sent his intestines back in time a thousand years, so from now on Spot could only enjoy the taste of his TV dinners if he planned ahead and ate them before he was born. He couldn't figure out how to do that, so he starved to death. At his funeral, the Anti-Pope gave the eulogy. He read it backwards, and he switched all the vowels and consonants, and he said he'd miss Spot. THE END -- K. I think this series has gone on too long. Nobody even remembers that when it started, Spot sounded just like Walter Matthau. ----------------------------------------------------- From: James "Kibo" Parry (kibo@world.std.com) Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Subject: Things I've Been Too Busy To Post, Part 1: Dildo Bozo Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2006 04:42:17 -0500 Here's an update on a story I seem to remember commenting on a year or two ago. I wrote these comments about a month ago but haven't had time to post them or to catch up on alt.religion.kibology so my apologies if this guy has started posting to the group in my absence. (If you're here, I apologize for you being a complete idiot in the following article.) [ocweekly.com] -> -> BUM LUCK -> -> OC janitor owns world's most expensive broken dildo Technically, almost anything counts as a broken dildo -- except for a functional dildo -- so I can name about a million more expensive broken dildos. Like, to start with, the Great Pyramid, and assorted other priceless ancient treasures (as long as they're not usable as normal Earth dildos.) -> By R. Scott Moxley -> Wednesday, November 22, 2006 - 3:00 pm -> -> Nobody's been compiling a list, I DEMAND THE OC WEEKLY ISSUE A RETRACTION AND ALSO PUBLISH MY LIST. -> but we're confident that Orange County's Marcelino P. Castro -> owns the most expensive broken dildo in the world at $48,000. -> -> How the married, 42-year-old janitor single-handedly converted -> a simple, mail-order dildo into an historic artifact is a -> painful tale that requires us to start at the very beginning. Well, first there was the Big Bang, and then energy coalesced into matter, and the two fundamental types of subatomic particles formed -- the ones that have one dimension longer than the others were the dildons, and the ones with holes or concavities were the holons. After the second billion years, the Universe's secondary erogenous zones were formed by a complex series of forces, and then the dinosaurs died, and then Stephen Hawking told me all about this stuff, and then there was this guy named Marcelino who came up with an even more revolutionary physics discovery -- he found a way to break a dildo. His Nobel Prize should be doubled if it turns out that he can break a dildo with his butt while breaking another mirror with his face. Tripled if he can break a dildo with his face. -> Last February, Castro was elated when the sex toy he ordered -> arrived in the mail. This dildo had an attached handle so a -> user could manipulate its motion from different angles. "Honey, what did you do at the office today?" "I wrote a news article for the OC Weekly, and in the course of the article, I taught my readers how dildos work." "You missed little Suzie's first birthday for that?" "It had to be done. Remember, we live in Orange County, where people only know how to break dildos, not use them properly. They must be enlightened as to correct dildo procedure!" -> Castro decided to pleasure himself. During the heat of -> passion, the handle broke off and the dildo became lodged -> deep in his rectum. -> -> In similar circumstances, others might have seen a doctor -> immediately. But Castro slept overnight on his predicament "Oh, and honey, I forgot to mention, that while I was writing the article I got to one point where I had to take a break from typing while I ran around the office shouting 'WINK!' in each person's ear." (Cut to stock footage of Brian Posehn in an orange jumpsuit shouting "I SLEPT ON MY PREDICAMENT LAST NIGHT! YOU ARE NOT 'KUNG FU'!") -> and woke to launch himself on a course that guaranteed his -> private horror would spiral into a humiliating public spectacle. Could be worse. He could have been trying to use a dildo as a dive stick. Google News still hasn't learned to predict which articles are most important to me. If it were truly artificially intelligent, it would break things down into these four equally-sized categories: * Articles about people who claim not to know how all six dive sticks got up their butt. * Articles about people who claim a team of invisible ninjas broke into their home and super-glued their mouth shut. * Articles about everybody else, and * Articles about me. But no, I still have to manually search for phrases like "humiliating public spectacle", "broken dildo", and "Brian Posehn". -> The next morning, Castro told his bosses, police, paramedics, -> firemen, state insurance investigators and later emergency -> room doctors that he'd been gang-raped at work by "two large -> dark men, probably Samoan." The doctors said "HAW HAW YOU GOT GANG-RAPED BY GIRL SCOUT COOKIES!" and turned him over to the police for some crumbly, waxy Punish Mints. Why did he call the firemen? Maybe everything he knew about sex he learned from "Stop My Ass Is On Fire 7". It couldn't have been "Stop My Ass Is On Fire 3" -- or as the first-edition DVD box said, "Stop My Is Ass On Fire 3" -- because then he would have also been charged with running a bunch of stop signs on the way to work, given that anyone whose entire education consists of "Stop My Is Ass On Fire 3" would think that only seven-sided stop signs are real. http://www.adultfilmdatabase.com/Graphics/Boxes/200/Front/62214.jpg I don't know which bothers me more, the low graphic-art standards in the sleaze industry, or the fact that while I was researching this article, I actually checked whether or not they'd fixed that typo. I consider it important to get my facts straight when reporting on where "is" is in "Stop My Is Ass On Fire 3". No word on where the word "on" is in the ninth one, or where the word "bayberries" is in the tenth one. (This is the end of this paragraph FOREVER.) -> He said he'd been cleaning an office bathroom the previous -> night when the rapists grabbed him, put a rope around his -> neck, placed a damp cloth over his mouth, yanked his pants -> down and sodomized him so vigorously that he passed out. The "damp cloth" part is so precious. "I've only seen chloroform in old episodes of 'The Bionic Woman', so not only do I think it really works that way, I think it doesn't smell any different than the rest of my TV screen! OH NO THEY PUT HUMIDITY ON MY FACE! I know it was a knockout moist towlette because one of my imaginary rapist friends said, 'Here, have a Wet-Nap!'" It would be so cool if there really were knockout drops that would render anyone unconscious upon contact with a neatly-folded hankie. Unfortunately in the real world they usually figure out how to bite your fingers first, unless you've already super-glued their mouth shut. -> "When I woke up, I was alone in the restroom with my pants -> down to my knees," said Castro, who implied the Samoans must -> have inserted the dildo. He also implied that they, like him, didn't know shit about butt plugs, because neither he nor his two imaginary friends seems to have figured out that leaving his pants around his knees would make it difficult to spread his legs... ...assuming they were regular pants and not just chaps. -> He was rushed to the ER, where doctors surgically removed the -> sex toy. Surgically. As opposed to removing it with magic! In the future, if he ever gets anything lost up his butt again, he should go see Harry Potter. Harry could just dematerialize the dildo, providing his wand's working that day. And afterwards Harry would sit him down and explain "Now, if you run into this problem a _third_ time, I'll declare you to be so dumb that not even magic can help you." Anyhow, rape is not funny, except when a guy rapes himself so hard that he needs a colostomy. Then it's funny, whether or not Harry Potter performs the colostomy. It's funniest when Brian Posehn performs the colostomy live on stage. I'll lay odds that the guy will return to the doctor soon, because after the colostomy he'll just have more holes to get things stuck in, if he doesn't just suffocate from pulling the bag over his head. ("Hey, it smells like TV dinners in here!") -> The possible return of the angry Samoans so alarmed the -> managers of Castro's office building that they spent $4,000 to -> change all the locks. Police investigators, too, took the -> complaint seriously -- until they concluded the rape story -> was a piece of fiction. "Specifically, a piece of pulp fiction. Now we're gonna get medieval on your ass..." The insurance investigators are also looking into his previous claim that he hurt his jaw when he tripped and accidentally got some guy's penis stuck in his throat for six hours. -> In August, police arrested Castro. He pleaded not guilty -> and was released on $50,000 bail. -> -> The Weekly broke the story ("Das Booty"), which prompted -> Castro defense attorney Jeff Tatch to attack our report. -> -> "I am ashamed that this piece of journalism was published -> with inaccurate information in it," said Tatch. He declined -> to be specific. Well, at least he called it "journalism". As opposed to "an excuse to use the phrase 'slept on his predicament'." (I love it when I get to put double quotes around single quotes because then I don't need to worry about the rule that says whether or not the period should go inside the quotes, I can just split the difference. I am not ashamed that my piece of journalism was published with incorrect punctuation in it. I would use more punctuation, but my computer's keyboard has something stuck in its colon.) -> On Nov. 15, Castro -- named one of Orange County's Scariest -> People in the Weekly's annual Halloween issue -- confessed -> to four felony counts including falsifying insurance claims. -> Though he faced up to eight years in state prison, he'll -> report Jan. 12 to the Orange County Jail for a six-month -> sentence, serve five years' probation and pay $48,000 in -> restitution for wasting everyone's time. Wait, so then, the mail-order company forgot to charge him for the cost of the dildo? The top half of this story sure didn't say that Mr. Castro's Anal Adventure cost him $48,012 to take into account the $12 or whatever a breakaway dildo sells for on Amazon these days. It probably wasn't one of those fancy $200 ones molded from a real human arm. I bet the guy's not an American citizen. 'Cause any right- thinking American would have known that the proper American thing to do would have been to sue the dildo company for millions of dollars, and then to sue his employers for laughing at him because that's discrimination against ass freaks, and then sue the OC Weekly, and sue me (over the Internet!) and oh yeah he should also sue Amazon, or if not, at least post a strongly-worded customer review of the twelve-dollar Double-Studded Anal Destroyer With Glass Swizzle-Stick Handle. ** DISSAPOINTING -- Marcelino, Orange County This flismy peice of junk brok the frist time I tired to inert it into my buut becouse the insuctions didnt say I shouldnt putt it in side ways. Also unlike all other giant butt pluggs this one needs lube. TWO STARS MAX!!!!! (8 of 102 people found this review helpful) Customers who bought this item also bought: "Stop My Ass Is On Fire 3" (DVD) Edible bondage hood, cherry flavor (Gourmet Food) "seaQuest DSV", season 1 (DVD) Marcelino, if you're reading this, I have a hot tip for you, though it might not be the type you like: THINK CAREFULLY BEFORE PUTTING ANYTHING UP YOUR BUTT, EVEN IF IT'S ATTACHED TO YOUR FAVORITE PRIEST. CONSULT A NON-IDIOT BEFORE USING ANY SEX TOYS WHICH MIGHT SHATTER LIKE A STALE CHICK-O-STICK. KEEP PORCELAIN, BAKELITE, AND MAGIC ROCKS OUT OF YOUR ASS. STICK TO SEX TOYS WHICH ARE AT LEAST AS STURDY AS THE STRAPS ON YOUR NINTENDO WII CONTROLLERS. AND NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, DON'T TELL YOUR BOSS OR YOUR FIRE DEPARTMENT ANYTHING. IT'S A PRIVATE MATTER BETWEEN YOU AND THE CHEAPEST PROCTOLOGIST IN TOWN, THE ONE WITH A HOOK FOR A HAND. And here's advice from famous cartoonist B. Kliban: NEVER PUT ANYTHING BIGGER THAN YOUR HEAD UP YOUR BUTT. Finally, don't forget to cancel your Amazon account. If they ask why you're cancelling, tell the nice customer service representative that you need to cancel because you're too dumb to operate a dildo. You might be able to return the unused portion for a refund. -- K. "Doctor, I must have sat upon it by accident after my pants fell off, and then I accidentally moved it back and forth gently until the friction caused the solid plastic shaft to explode..." ----------------------------------------------------- From: James "Kibo" Parry (kibo@world.std.com) Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Subject: Things I've Been Too Busy To Post, Part 2: Condoms and Pappadums Date: Mon, 25 Dec 2006 04:45:28 -0500 Another article I wrote a couple weeks ago but never had time to post. I'm probably about the twentieth person to tell you about this news item. Well, that's tough, because he who bores last bores the hardest. [news.yahoo.com] -> -> Condoms too big for most Indian men Their peace pipes no heap big? Plenty of room for a spare tomahawk in the loincloth? Okay, I'll stop now. -> Fri Dec 8, 6:40 AM ET -> -> NEW DELHI (AFP) -- Indian men's penises do not match -> international sizes and most condoms on sale in the country -> are too big, according to a medical study. "International sizes"? Has Chris Elliott started the International Penis-Size Standardization Council? Does this mean I have to get my penis ISO 9000 certified? Or do I have to trim it down to international size first? -> The Indian Council of Medical Research, the country's -> top health research institute, found 60 percent of men -> in Mumbai had penises at least 2.4 centimeters (one inch) -> shorter than international condom sizes, The Times of India -> newspaper said Friday. Um... with regard to condoms and length... you people know you can selectively that little thing to the appropriate length, right? You don't unroll it to its full fifteen-inch length and then try to pull it on like the world's most annoying tube sock. Unless you're trying to play "elephant", but if your bedroom games involve role-playing as Ganesha you're going to have bigger problems. The extra arms would make things more interesting, but nobody except Crispin Glover would enjoy foreplay involving riding on a rat. -> For 30 percent, the gap was five centimeters (two inches), -> said a researcher quoted in the article headlined "Indian men -> don't measure up". Most sources say that "average" size, at least in the U.S., is about five and three-quarters inches (erect) though of course it depends on how the measurements are taken and how hot the nurses taking them are. If 30% of the guys staffing your bank's customer-service phone number in Mumbai are down to three and three-quarters inches, that means we should be able to find a few who are a little shorter than that so we can make "3-1/2-inch floppy" jokes. -> The institute surveyed 1,400 men visiting family planning -> clinics across the country to conduct the "Study on proper -> length and breadth specification for condoms". And those are just the men who _want_ to go show their penis to a doctor while asking for condoms. The ones with the really small penises probably just stay home, sitting in a tiny pool of their own shame, discussing whether Macs or Windows machines are better. -> The study was carried out in a bid to improve the sizing of -> condoms, which have a failure rate of up to 20 percent in -> India. "Oh dear, the condom has failed, so I will now be calling the number for customer support." (Guy dials the phone and the other extension rings. His girlfriend answers it.) "Good evening or good morning whichever it may be, my name is 'Mary', how may I be of assistance?" (The sketch has nowhere to go after the premise so we drop the cow. Because this is India, where cows are sacred, we then apologize to the cow. The audience is sent home after their penises are measured. Albert Brooks puts this in a movie nobody likes.) -> "While improper usage is one of the reasons, there is also -> condom slippage or tear, which is associated with the size of -> the condom in relation to an erect penis," said Dr Chander -> Puri, director of the councils National Institute for Research -> in Reproductive Health. -> -> The effectiveness of condoms in India, which has a growing -> population of 1.1 billion, (proving that even tiny penises work fine) -> is an important issue as they have emerged as a vital safeguard -> against sexually transmitted diseases such as HIV-AIDS. "Emerged"? This is a new development? "Condoms never used to work against V.D., but nowadays we've learned to make them closed at one end! The old 'both or neither' approach is no longer effective!" -> India has the world's highest HIV-AIDS caseload, with -> 5.7 million people living with the illness, according to -> UN figures. Yes, but how large are the penises of U.N. officials compared to those of average citizens? And do they have blue helmets? -- K. Remind me again why I bothered posting this after it sat around for two weeks? Oh, right, because I could, because I can do whatever I want, because I have A BIG PENIS.