Let's play taboo
Why is it that certain subjects are banned from polite society? For example, I just got back from Alaska where, in the Korean company I kept, I could have carried on for hours about bowel movements and the color of my stool without raising a censorious eyebrow. However, now that I am back in Bellingburg I find my conversational latitude somewhat restricted. Where does such restriction come from?
In addition to poo, I have found from experience that it is for whatever reason frowned upon to discuss one's warts and possible remedies thereof before any audience but that of fellow sufferers. Again - why? Mind you, there are plenty of heinous things I could discuss. The methods a housecat employs during and following the dismembering a bird, for instance. Or the state of my cuticles. The Chair Incident, even. World Hunger. AIDS. Overpopulation. The Apprentice. But not warts. Anything but that.
While on the subject of strange and unpleasant topics of conversation, have you ever considered what it would be like to be a family practitioner? Bear with me. At first one might think such an occupation pleasant - helping people all the time and all that. But consider: as such a doctor, the only contact you would have with the vast majority of the humanity you encounter you encounter a good deal short of midseason form. Mr. Johnson you know as the grumpy old man with a urinary tract infection. Little Billy is always crabby and feverish. Mrs. Carmichael insists that you inspect the yellow spot under her fourth toenail. Seems that that would give one a rather dim view of the future prospects of our fine species. And a dim view of the future prospects of our fine species being something I would rather avoid, I think I should be rather disinclined to pursue that particular occupation.
But that won't stop me from making a terrible doctor pun.
Q: What do you call it when the tough job market causes children's doctors to seek other forms of employment?
A: Pediattrition
Ha!
Music of the Moment: I am enjoying Jars of Clay's "Much Afraid" album once again. Wonderful, wonderful music - in fact, nearly perfect to my naive ears.
In addition to poo, I have found from experience that it is for whatever reason frowned upon to discuss one's warts and possible remedies thereof before any audience but that of fellow sufferers. Again - why? Mind you, there are plenty of heinous things I could discuss. The methods a housecat employs during and following the dismembering a bird, for instance. Or the state of my cuticles. The Chair Incident, even. World Hunger. AIDS. Overpopulation. The Apprentice. But not warts. Anything but that.
While on the subject of strange and unpleasant topics of conversation, have you ever considered what it would be like to be a family practitioner? Bear with me. At first one might think such an occupation pleasant - helping people all the time and all that. But consider: as such a doctor, the only contact you would have with the vast majority of the humanity you encounter you encounter a good deal short of midseason form. Mr. Johnson you know as the grumpy old man with a urinary tract infection. Little Billy is always crabby and feverish. Mrs. Carmichael insists that you inspect the yellow spot under her fourth toenail. Seems that that would give one a rather dim view of the future prospects of our fine species. And a dim view of the future prospects of our fine species being something I would rather avoid, I think I should be rather disinclined to pursue that particular occupation.
But that won't stop me from making a terrible doctor pun.
Q: What do you call it when the tough job market causes children's doctors to seek other forms of employment?
A: Pediattrition
Ha!
Music of the Moment: I am enjoying Jars of Clay's "Much Afraid" album once again. Wonderful, wonderful music - in fact, nearly perfect to my naive ears.
3 Comments:
I hear lots of bad jokes in my classroom. Every morning the kids have a "morning meeting" where each person has a job, and one of them is "Jester." The jester's job is to tell a joke. Our classroom library has a couple jokebooks, or they can find one from home.
Friday's joke:
Q: What does a pig say when he gets hurt?
Hmm... well, he's probably not bacon for mercy. Or hamming it up. In fact, he'd swine a lot though his mother always warned him that he'd pork his eye out. Eventually, he'd get a lot of ribbing and someone would have to sow up the wound. (Ask me another - this one's such a boar.)
Hahahaha...you rock, Rob.
I'm laughing so hard my sides hurt. Call the hambulance!
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