Somewhere, the Russian version of Farmer Ted is thinking that all his wildest sexual fantasies have come true.  Thousand of young girls ready and willing to indulge in sex for “The Motherland.”  There are tents setup in a place called the “Love Oasis.”  Here’s the catch – It seems Russia’s population is in some sort of jeopardy: 

Attendance is monitored via compulsory electronic badges and anyone who misses three events is expelled. So are drinkers; alcohol is banned. But sex is encouraged, and condoms are nowhere on sale.

Bizarrely, young women are encouraged to hand in thongs and other skimpy underwear – supposedly a cause of sterility – and given more wholesome and substantial undergarments.

Attempting to raise Russia's dismally low birthrate even by eccentric-seeming means might be understandable. Certainly, the country's demographic outlook is dire. The hard-drinking, hardsmoking and disease-ridden population is set to plunge by a million a year in the next decade.

Yesterday's welcoming meeting for a new memeber of the sales team at Peachbutt, Inc. was cancelled after four minutes due to poor staff behavior.

Clancy Peachbutt was attempting to introduce new Vice-President of Sales, Harry Growcock, to his (Growcock's) new coworkers and staff but was unable to complete his welcoming speech because all in attendance save Mr. Peachbutt and Mr. Growcock were overwhelmed by fits of laughter and giggling.

"I can only assume that our people were laughing about some unrelated joke or something seen on television last night," said Mr. Peachbutt.

Mr. Growcock went directly to his office without addressing the room, but was heard to say "Oh, grow the fuck up" to a colleague.

"Hey, after a number of years working for this company I've pretty much gotten used to the boss' name," said one employee on the condition of anonymity. "But seriously, if you're gonna introduce a guy by the name of Harry Growcock, you've gotta give us a little warning in advance so we can try to keep it together."

Mr. Peachbutt's Executive Assistant says the meeting will not be rescheduled.

I would file this under abuse of the elderly if the phone wasn't such a bargain.  This classic 1952 beauty features rotary dialing with distinctive retro gold styling.  It only cost Harmon, Maine resident Lloyd Overlock $4.42 a month!  Thanks to AT&T for keeping the price so damn affordable. 

From The Bangor Daily News:

Wayne Jortner, an attorney with the Maine Public Advocate’s Office, said Friday that Overlock’s situation is not unique. Before 1984, when a federal court determined that AT&T’s lock on the nation’s telephone industry constituted an illegal monopoly, most consumers were required to lease their phones, he said. The forced restructuring of the industry included opening up the manufacturing of telephones, and people began purchasing their own instruments.

The Vice President returned to his normal Saturday after doctors at George Washington University Hospital implanted a new internal heart defibrillator.  No word from the White House on whether or not Cheney’s force choke powers will return back to normal.  Developing…

“Who’s On First”

Abbott:
Well, Costello, I'm going to New York with you. Bucky Harris, the Yankee's manager, gave me a job as coach for as long as you're on the team.

Costello:
Look Abbott, if you're the coach, you must know all the players.

Abbott:
I certainly do.

Costello:
Well you know I've never met the guys. So you'll have to tell me their names, and then I'll know who's playing on the team.

Abbott:
Oh, I'll tell you their names, but you know it seems to me they give these ball players now-a-days very peculiar names.

Costello:
You mean funny names?

Abbott:
Strange names, pet names.

Costello:
For example?

Abbott:
Well, let's see, we have on the bags, Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know is on third…

Costello:
What?

Abbott:
He’s on second.

Costello:
No, I’m asking you. What? What are their names?

Abbott:
Well, as I said, we have Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know is on third…

Costello:
Are you fucking kidding me?

Abbott:
What do you mean?

Costello:
Those are their nicknames? Who? What? I Don’t Know?

Abbott:
Yes.

Costello:
That’s fucking stupid.

Abbott:
Stupid?

Costello:
What the fuck kind of nicknames . . . you’re totally fucking with me.

Abbott:
Not at all.

Costello:
Knock it the fuck off. What are the real nicknames? Hambone? Knuckles? Wolfman? What?

Abbott:
He’s on second. Like I said, Who’s on first—

Costello:
Stop that shit or I’m going to bash your fucking mouth in with this Adirondack Special.

Abbott:
There’s no need to get hostile. I’m just telling you that Who’s on first—

Costello:
An interrogative pronoun.

Abbott:
What?

Costello:
Who is an interrogative pronoun. It’s not a nickname.

Abbott:
What?

Costello:
Oh, I thought he was on second, right? Straighten the fuck out.

Abbott:
No, I’m asking you, what?

Costello:
And I’m telling you. What is a relative pronoun. Again, a shitty nickname. How do you earn the nickname What? What the fuck do you do to earn such an insipid nickname? It’s just not plausible. If you have red hair, they call you Red. If you throw left handed, they call you Lefty. Simple. What on god’s green earth would you do to earn the nickname What? Maybe he’s deaf or something, but then he wouldn’t be a professional baseball player. Maybe he’s a bad listener? Then call him Dipshit or Dickhead or something. But What? Come on . . .

Abbott:
I was just trying to—

Costello:
Trying to what?

Abbott:
He's on—

Costello:
Don’t fucking say it.

Abbott:
What?

Costello:
Oh, so you’re asking me now? You understand that using pronouns as nicknames is asinine?

Abbott:
I don’t know.

Costello:
You're goddamn right you don’t know.