I would like to share a personal experience I had about drinking and driving.
This might save you the cost and embarrassment of being arrested for DWI. As you know, people have been known to have unexpected brushes with the authorities from time to time, often on the way home after a "social session" with family or friends.
Well recently, it happened to me. I was out for the night to a party and had more than several margaritas coupled with a bottle of rather lovely red wine. It was held at a great Italian restaurant. Although relaxed, I still had the common sense to know I was slightly over the limit.
That's when I did something I've never done before... I took a taxi home. On the way home there was a police roadblock, but since it was a taxi they waved it past and I arrived home safely without incident. These roadblocks can be anywhere and I realized how lucky I was to have chosen to take a taxi.
The real surprise to me was that I had never driven a taxi before. Not sure where I got it, and now that it's in my garage I don't know what to do with it. If you want to borrow it, give me a call.
It was the beginning of a new academic year at the college, and the freshmen were beginning to arrive.
The job of introducing the newcomers to their new surroundings belonged to the Dean of Women.
During the opening speech of the lecture, the Dean saw fit to bring up the subject of sexual morality, in line with the college's conservative values.
She asked the freshmen: "In moments of temptation, ask yourselves just one question: Is an hour of pleasure worth a lifetime of shame?"
The freshmen half-heartedly muttered in agreement, and the lecture went on without interruption.
At the end of the lecture, the Dean decided to ask the freshmen if they had any questions.
One of the girls timidly raised her hand and said:
"How do you make it last for a whole hour??"
Some time ago, in a little village, there was a yearly tradition. The people of the village, who were usually very polite and God-fearing, would, for one day, participate in a competition of curses.
So once a year, everyone gathered in the village square and watch their fellow villagers go one by one on the little dais and try to come up with the most foul and creative curses in as flowing and natural a manner as possible.
This year wasn't going so well, unfortunately. While some people were pretty creative, no one really impressed the village with their profanity. They've heard variations of it all before.
It was late in the afternoon, and all the promising talents have already gone up. It came time for lesser talents, and Peter was known to have some good curses on occasion, so he was called up. They called his name several times, but he wasn't answering.
Eventually, after a few minutes, they heard the door to the outhouse slam and Peter ran up the stage, and as he arrived he had already begun a flow of such profanity, such nasty cursing, that everyone took a step back. He was jumping up and down and saying such things that even ruddy, experienced old men blanched at this incredible tirade of pure verbal pollution.
Eventually the flow of curses ebbed. The village people all stared at him, amazed into silence.
"Alright," said Peter brightly, "got that darn zipper up, now for the cursing!"
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