NEW HUMOR AND SITES FROM GREG BULMASH

I'm sure most of you have heard this joke...

One day A young Native American man asked his father when he'd get to have sex with a woman. "Soon," his father said, "but first you go out and practice on knotholes in trees."

The boy did as his father said and soon his time came. He was left alone in a tent with a pretty young squaw. He was nervous, as was she, and they both slowly undressed. She lay down on a buffalo skin, trying to look inviting, but surprisingly the young man flipped her over and started beating her behind with a stick. "What are you doing," she screamed.

"Checking for wasps," he replied.

I told you that, so I could tell you this... a true story...

I must have been about ten, I guess. My mother and sister and I had gone up to a dude ranch in Bridgeport, California for a week of riding horses and doing other cowboy type stuff. Along with us were my best friend, Josh (name changed), and his mom. And Josh wasn't the brightest kid in the world. During the drive up, Josh had bet me a hundred-thousand pennies on something. When I won and told him to pay up the thousand dollars he owed me... though first I had to enlist the aid of our moms in proving to him that a hundred thousand pennies was the same as a thousand dollars... well Josh almost started crying. Then our moms made me let him off the hook.

Anyway, Bridgeport is up in the mountains and is extremely beautiful. Josh and I had proved ourselves capable enough horseback riders to escape from the smaller kids and uncoordinated adults in the "Buckaroo" group and go riding with the "Intermediate" group. Around mid-week, the riding leader took us out to this great shaded creek where we chilled beers and sodas in the water and ate our lunches. After lunch, Josh went behind a tree to answer a call of nature.

Seconds later, this agonized scream came from Josh's general direction. While he was relieving himself behind that tree, a wasp flew out and bit him right on the tip of his... well, you know. Luckily one of the riders in our group was a vacationing doctor who inspected Josh's rather personal injury and declared it non-fatal, though I'm sure it must have felt pretty darn fatal and I'm sure having to ride a horse for three hours to get back didn't help.

That same week, while playing with some of the old-style ranch equipment, I ended up getting my hand caught in the motorized clothes wringer, and got it wrung all the way up to the wrist. Nothing was broken, but my hand turned a few shades of purple. I thought myself lucky, though. Considering the other injury of that week... no matter how much my hand hurt, I wouldn't have traded with Josh. Not even for a hundred-thousand pennies.