Bill has worked in a pickle factory for several years.
One day he confesses to his wife that he has a terrible urge to stick his weapon into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggests that he see a therapist to talk about it, but Bill vows to overcome this rash desire on his own.
A few weeks later, Bill returns home absolutely ashen.
His wife asks, “What’s wrong, Bill?”
“Do you remember how I told you about my tremendous urge to put my weapon into the pickle slicer?”
His wife gasps, “My God, Bill, what happened?”
“I got fired.”
“No, Bill — I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?”
“Oh, um, she got fired, too.”
One day he confesses to his wife that he has a terrible urge to stick his weapon into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggests that he see a therapist to talk about it, but Bill vows to overcome this rash desire on his own.
A few weeks later, Bill returns home absolutely ashen.
His wife asks, “What’s wrong, Bill?”
“Do you remember how I told you about my tremendous urge to put my weapon into the pickle slicer?”
His wife gasps, “My God, Bill, what happened?”
“I got fired.”
“No, Bill — I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?”
“Oh, um, she got fired, too.”
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