1. Grasp cat firmly in your arms. Cradle its head on your elbow, just as if you were giving baby a bottle. Coo confidently, "That's a nice kitty." Drop pill into its mouth.
2. Retrieve cat from top of lamp and pill from under sofa.
3. Follow same procedure as in 1, but hold cat's front paws down with left hand and back paws down with elbow of right arm. Poke pill into its mouth with right forefinger.
4. Retrieve cat from under bed. Get new pill from bottle. (Resist impulse to get new cat.)
5. Again proceed as in 1, except when you have cat firmly cradled in bottle-feeding position, sit down on edge of chair, fold your torso over cat, bring your right hand over your left elbow, open cat's mouth by lifting the upper jaw and pop the pill in - quickly. Since your head is down by your knees, you won't be able to see what you're doing. That's just as well.
6. Leave cat hanging on drapes. Leave pill in your hair.
7. If you're a woman, have a good cry. If you're a man, have a good cry.
8. Now pull yourself together. Who's the boss here anyway? Retrieve cat and pill. Assuming position
1, say sternly, "Who's the boss here, anyway?" Open cat's mouth, take pill and... Oops!
9. This isn't working, is it? Collapse and think. Aha! Those flashing claws are causing the chaos.
10. Crawl to linen closet. Drag back large beach towel. Spread towel on floor.
11. Retrieve cat from kitchen counter and pill from potted plant.
12. Spread cat on towel near one end with its head over long edge.
13. Flatten cat's front and back legs over its stomach. (Resist impulse to flatten cat.)
14. Roll cat in towel. Work fast; time and tabbies wait for no man or woman.
15. Resume position 1. Rotate your left hand to cat's head. Press its mouth at the jaw hinges like opening the petals of a snapdragon.
16. Drop pill into cat's mouth and poke gently. Voila! It's done.
17. Vacuum up loose fur (cat's). Apply bandages to wounds (yours).
18. Take two aspirins and lie down.
19. Forget aspirin, drink glass of wine and lie down.
A man goes to the famous Lucas Carton restaurant in Paris with his girlfriend and orders the 1928 Mouton. The waiter returns with a bottle full of wine, pours a small amount in the glass for tasting. The customer picks up the glass, smells the wine, and puts it down on the table with a thud.
“This is not the 1928 Mouton.”
The waiter assures him it is, and soon there are another twenty people surrounding the table, including the chef and the manager trying to convince the man that the wine is the 1928 Mouton.
Finally someone asks him how he knows that it is not the 1928 Mouton.
“My name is Phillipe de Rothschild, and I make the wine.”
Finally, the original waiter steps forward and admits that he poured the Clerc Milon 1928.
“I could not bear to part with our last bottle of 1928 Mouton. You know Clerc Milon, it is in the same village as Mouton, you pick the grapes at the same time, the same cepage, you crush in the same way, you put them into similar barrels. You bottle at the same time, you even use eggs from the same chickens to fine them. The wines are the same, except for a small matter of geographic location.”
Rothschild beckons the waiter forward, and whispers to him, “When you return home tonight, ask your girlfriend to remove her underwear. Put one finger in one opening, another finger in the other, then smell both the fingers. You will understand what difference a small distance in geographic location makes.”
A preacher was completing a temperance sermon and with great expression, he said,
"If I had all the вееr in the world, I'd take it and throw it into the river."
With even greater emphasis he said,
" And if I had all the wine in the world, I'd take it and throw it into the river."
And then finally, he said,
"And if I had all the whiskey in the world, I'd take it and throw it into the river." He then sat down.
The song leader then stood very cautiously and announced with a smile, "For our closing song, let us sing Hymn 365, "Shall We Gather at the River."
Pierre, a french fighter pilot, takes his girlfriend, Marie, out for a pleasant little picnic by the river Seine. It`s a beautiful day and love is in the air, so Marie leans over to Pierre and says, “Pierre, kiss me!”
So our hero grabs a bottle of red wine and splashes it on Marie`s lips.
“What are you doing, Pierre?” shrieks Marie.
“Well, my name is Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot, and when I have red meat I like to have red wine!” His answer is good enough for Marie and things begin to heat up.
So she says, “Pierre, kiss me lower.”
Our hero rips off her blouse, grabs a bottle of white wine and starts pouring it all over her t*ts.
“Pierre, what are you doing?”
“My name is Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot, and when I have white meat I like to have white wine!” They resume their passionate interlude and things really steam up. Marie leans over once more and softly whispers into his ear, “Pierre, kiss me lower.”
Pierre tears off her underwear, grabs a bottle of Cognac and sprinkles it all over her bush. He grabs a match and lights it on fire. Patting the flames out furiously, Marie screams, “PIERRE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!?”
“My name is Pierre, the French Fighter Pilot, and when I go down, I go down in flames!”