Pap Cheer

While having a cuddle with Alec and prattling on about the various bits of my day, I also mentioned wurh’s recent and rather endearing (yes, really) post about her pap smear.

And then one bit of pap smear humour led to another bit of pap smear humour and soon I was on a roll.

Me: What do you call it when you have a pap smear and it’s really badly done?
Alec: What?
Me: A crap smear! Hahahahaha!
Alec: I think it’s time for you to go home now.
Me: Have you heard of that high-tech kind of smear you can get over your mobile phone? It’s a wap smear! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

[For ease of reading, I’ll present the next few in Q & A form, omitting Alec’s groans and my HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!s.]

Q: What kind of smear does Yoko Ono get?
A: A jap smear!

Q: What kind of smear does L’il Kim get?
A: A rap smear!

Q: What do they call it when the woman falls asleep halfway?
A: A nap smear!

Q: What kind of smear do you get if you slept around a lot when you took a year out from uni?
A: A gap smear!

Q: What do you call a smear which reveals that the woman does actually have a STD?
A: A clap smear!

Me, finally running out of ideas: I’m so funny.
Alec: ……
Me: Why aren’t you hugging me any more?

Career Suicide Who?

It might get a little quiet round here in the next few days as I try to get my arse in gear for a redesign.

In the meantime, here’s a joke I told to the boss of a glamorous department in my company where lots of ambitious high-flyers want to work.

Me: Knock knock.
Boss: Who’s there?
Me: The interrupting cow.
Boss: The interrupting c…
Me: MOO!

I expect his offer of a prime position, company car and tenfold salary increase to arrive shortly, don’t you?

Accurate Acronyming

Paste read an article in the Independent about the increasing number of women seeking breast enlargements. The article quoted a representative of the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons – or if you’re in a hurry, BAAPS.

Ant-agonism

A dinner conversation. Context: Alec freaking out about the ants in his flat, which always seem to traumatize people from temperate countries a lot more than us from the tropics. During the day he’d managed to track down and poison two ant colonies, but had then found a third where the residents seemed worryingly resistant to annihilation.

Alec, ranting: So I bet when I get home tonight there’ll be this little ant rave going on in my living room, with their little ant glowsticks and their little ant dance moves. (Does little ant dance moves in restaurant.)
Me: And their little ant DJ, ANT-hony Pappa! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Alec: …
Me: Followed by special guests, BUGZ In The Attic! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’m so funny! Aren’t I funny?
Alec: Why me?

Crossing The Rubicum

After Alec got a haircut yesterday, he tried to make his way from Circular Road to the Ritz-Carlton to attend a wedding. Due to National Day Parade rehearsals in the vicinity, various roads were closed and crowds were packed solid outside the parade areas waiting to see the fireworks. Usual routes to the Ritz-Carlton had hence been rendered impassable, but in a situation where a lesser man would have given up and resigned himself to his fate, my boyfriend stood strong and forged a creative MacGyveresque solution.

Either that or the following text-message I received from him, explaining why he wasn’t at the hotel yet, was rather hastily typed: “Have to take a cumboat to cross the river”

[Non-Singaporeans might find this contextual link useful.]

[I verily believe this is the worst-titled entry ever on this blog! Any contrary views?]

Stupid Boob Jokes

Given that life without stupid boob jokes just isn’t worth living at all for me, it was pretty hard to keep them out of the previous post. I’ve been making them all the way through this stressful process, but ultimately didn’t want them to detract from the serious message I wanted to send.

However, now that I’ve made my point, I think there’s no harm in a little levity. I don’t intend to spend the days till the 20th worrying unduly, and neither should any of you.

So here you are, a few of the Stupid Boob Jokes Deleted From The Previous Serious Post:

  • “FOUR lumps and still so small??!”
  • While doing a pre-op ultrasound scan, my surgeon was telling me what to expect after the operation.
    Surgeon: There will be some swelling, don’t worry if it takes a few months to fully go down.
    Me: Wow, could you operate on the other one too then?
  • Janet Jackson Demonstrates:

    A good way to do breast self-examination

    A bad way to do breast self-examination

  • I think it’s always important to maintain perspective. Breast self-examination is uncomfortable, breast ultrasounds are uncomfortable, breast surgery is uncomfortable, but in the larger scheme of breast-related activities it seems to me from reading dooce’s account that breastfeeding, in contrast, is MOTHERFUCKING AGONY.

KNÖBGÅÅGS

Far funnier jokes about IKEA product names have been made by people far funnier than me, but what the hell. Surfing the IKEA website in search of a frame which would fit the fantastic poster Russ brought me from London, I was very impressed by the following products:

  • KOLON floor protector “protects flooring and flat-woven rugs against wear and dirt.” Cost: $69.
  • KONJUGAT curtain rod is made of powder-coated steel, “can be extended with enclosed connector”, and “cut to desired length with a hacksaw.”
  • Finally, VÄGIS key cabinet. Consists of 3 compartments for mobile phone, small items, “etc”.

I didn’t find what I was looking for though, boo. Does anyone know where in Singapore I can find an affordably priced frame big enough for a 85 cm by 120 cm poster?

Things Fall Apart

I realized on the bus home yesterday that, completely unintentionally, I was reading a book set in a leper colony and listening to Disintegration.

And because I clicked “Preview” and this post looked a little short the way it was, I shall end with a terribly tasteless joke. You know what prostitutes like about lepers, don’t you? Yeah, they always leave a tip.

Insert Cruiser Joke Here

More shipping lawyer fun – in the Lloyd’s Register today, I found a ship called GAYDAR!

[I text-messaged Sue immediately to share this wonderful news. She replied telling me to search Lawnet for an article called The Meaning Of Meaninglessness.]

The little ways we get through the days.