They Shoot Holes in Cheese, Don't They?

My campaign to rid the world Internet of ass crack is not going well, as you can see. However, there is a ray of sunshine. I might be able to make some money off this.

It seems quite a few of my readers also would like to cold-cock the butt-crackers. So here's the deal: You send me all the crack pictures you find and I will put 'em in cold storage on my computer, where they will never be seen again, as I do not know how to retrieve stuff once it's on my machine. I will probably have to buy a new computer every three or four weeks to have enough storage, but, what the hell, nothing is too good for my readers if they are willing to pay me enough. I'll take any form of payment except Nigerian bank notes.

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You know how it is some days when you have more answers than there are questions? As I was dozing in my recliner awhile ago, some answers came to me, so naturally I had to make up questions, because I hate it when I have all the answers and you don't. So here's how this worked:

Q. How many network news anchors are men over 40?

A. All of them.

Q. How many network news anchors are women over 40?

A. None.

Q. How many of the local weather forecasters have big boobs?

A. In stations where general managers keep a eye on "the bottom line," the answer is "All of them."

(Do you ever have deep thoughts like I do? No, I didn't think so.)

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Oregon is the only state where assisted suicide is legal. The guy who wants to take himself out because of boredom or pain is given a big slug of barbituates. This is know locally as "a killer app."

We actually are very proud of this distinction. We quit being beaver skin merchants a long time ago.

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My favorite word today is demur. Adj., in recovery mode. Def.: When the third Wise Man takes back his gift to Christ.