woman walks into a veterinarian's waiting room dragging a wet rabbit on a leash. The rabbit obviously does not want to be there.

"Sit, Fluffy!" she says. Fluffy glares at her, and sopping wet, jumps up on another customer's lap, getting water all over him.

"I said sit, now there's a good Fluffy," says the woman, slightly embarrassed.

Fluffy, wet already, squats in the middle of the room and urinates. The woman, mortally embarrassed, shouts, - "Darn it, Fluffy, will you be good?!"

Fluffy then starts a fight with a Doberman and pursues it out of the office. As the woman leaves to go after it, she turns to the rest of the flabbergasted customers and says:

"Please pardon me... I just washed my hare, and can't do a damn thing with it!"

does anyone else put ketchup smiley faces on their pizza?

Coming from the midwest,my wife was pretty basic with her choice of foods-till I returned to active duty 5 years ago,and she has been exposed to different types of ethnic foods available in military towns.It started out with cajun food in Louisiana,progressed to teriyaki out in Washington state,and now,she's moved on to kimchee.Yeah,kimchee-the most vile,disgusting,horrendous food ever devised by mankind.Yer basic rotten,disgusting,putrid pile of cabbage glop I've ever seen.And she loves it......

She first encountered it at a little teriyaki place we go to sometimes-then discovered a little asian market that sells gallon jars of it.eeeew.Kimchee being brought into my HOUSE.....wonder if'n I should call a hazmat response team?She broke 2 jars of it in the house already,and the cats were overcome by the fumes,my dirty socks ran away,and then theres that bald patch on the dog's back.......wonder if kimchee juice would clean my engine on my truck?might try that......then she discovered an asian channel on cable that shows a Korean soap opera,subtitled in english-it actually IS rather funny-like the scene in a restaurant,where a guy gives his girlfriend some greens,and says"greens are really good for constipation"........followed by her shouting across the room"does anyone know a good proctologist?"...........hey,kimchee sucks,but this soap opera has potential......

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend’s father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter’s chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter’s suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they’ll stay wilted all night.

“So,” I’ll call out jovially. “I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you’re stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?”

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.

Rule One - If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure as heck not picking anything up.

Rule Two - You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three - I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to assure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric staple gun and fasten your trousers securely in place around your waist.

Rule Four - I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I WILL kill you.

Rule Five - In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”

Rule Six - I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make YOU cry.

Rule Seven - As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process which can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight - The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places lacking parents, policemen, or nuns. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her chin. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.

My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these eight simple rules from memory. I’d be embarrassed too—-there are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I’d have these rules tattooed on his arm if he couldn’t remember them. (I checked into it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be inadequate-—ink washes off-—and that my wood burning set was probably a better alternative.

One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter’s would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy. “Don’t you remember being that age?” she challenged.

Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight simple rules?

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Act naturally

Happily married

Microsoft Works

Holy war

Found missing

Resident alien

Minor Catastrophe

Affordable housing

Near miss

Great depression

Canadian army

Phone sex

United nations

Advanced BASIC

Genuine imitation

Death benefits

Airline Food

Women's rights

Good grief

Same difference

Almost exactly

Sensitive man

Government organization

Everything except

Civil War

Good kid

Sanitary landfill

Alone together

Legally drunk

Silent scream

British fashion

Living dead

Small crowd

Business ethics

Soft rock

Butt Head

Military Intelligence

Software documentation

New York culture

New classic

Sweet sorrow

Childproof

"Now, then"

Synthetic natural gas

Christian Scientists

Passive aggressive

Taped live

Clearly misunderstood

Peace force

Extinct Life

Temporary tax increase

New and improved

Computer jock

Plastic glasses

Terribly pleased

Computer security

Political science

Tight slacks

Definite maybe

Pretty ugly

Twelve-ounce pound cake

Diet ice cream

Rap music

Working vacation

Exact estimate

Religious tolerance

Freezer Burn

Honest Politician

Jumbo Shrimp

Loners Club

Postal Service