If you don't laugh out loud after you read this you are in a coma! This is even funnier when you realize it's real! Next time you have a bad day at work...think of this guy...
Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an
E-mail he sent to his sister.
Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job.
As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool.
So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints.
What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.
Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit.
Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate.
When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.
Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.
So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.
Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
The Irony of the Rat Race
A boat docked in a tiny Mexican village. An American tourist complimented the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
“Not very long,” answered the fisherman.
“But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the tourist.
The fisherman explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The tourist asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
“I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village and see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs…. I have a full life.”
The tourist interrupted, “I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers, instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open you own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct you huge enterprise.”
“How long would that take?” asked the fisherman?
“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the tourist.
“And after that?”
“Afterwards? That’s when it gets really interesting,” answered the tourist laughing. “When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!”
“Millions? Really? And after that?”
“After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends.
“Not very long,” answered the fisherman.
“But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the tourist.
The fisherman explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.
The tourist asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
“I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings, I go into the village and see my friends, have a few drinks, play the guitar, and sing a few songs…. I have a full life.”
The tourist interrupted, “I have an MBA from Harvard and I can help you! You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the extra revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers, instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open you own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Mexico City, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct you huge enterprise.”
“How long would that take?” asked the fisherman?
“Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the tourist.
“And after that?”
“Afterwards? That’s when it gets really interesting,” answered the tourist laughing. “When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!”
“Millions? Really? And after that?”
“After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your children, catch a few fish, take a siesta, and spend your evenings drinking and enjoying your friends.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
A First Person Taser Experience
Last weekend I spied something at the pawnshop that tickled my fancy.
(Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled).
I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 18th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl.
What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety.
You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. However I soon learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. Awesome! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop! Yipeeeeee!
I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to my wife what that burn spot on the face of her microwave is.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc. etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. He is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Was I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? It seemed reasonable to me at the time.
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "No friggin' way!"
Friggin' way - trust me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. I'm sitting there alone, the dog looking on with his head cocked to one side as to say, "Don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such! a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-- always 20-20. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya just hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY*********! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!!
I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, and then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Do it again, do it again!"
(NOTE: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep into your thigh like yours truly.)
SON-OF-A-***** that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My glasses were on the TV across the room. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure.
The worst part was confessing this to my wife. She wasn't sympathetic at all.
(Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled).
I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 18th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl.
What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety.
You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. However I soon learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. Awesome! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop! Yipeeeeee!
I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to my wife what that burn spot on the face of her microwave is.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc. etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. He is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised.
Was I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? It seemed reasonable to me at the time.
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water.
All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "No friggin' way!"
Friggin' way - trust me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. I'm sitting there alone, the dog looking on with his head cocked to one side as to say, "Don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such! a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-- always 20-20. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya just hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY*********! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!!
I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, and then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Do it again, do it again!"
(NOTE: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep into your thigh like yours truly.)
SON-OF-A-***** that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My glasses were on the TV across the room. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure.
The worst part was confessing this to my wife. She wasn't sympathetic at all.