bones
02-13-2004, 05:01 PM
The Bum and the wealthy gentleman enjoyed their dinner and developed a good rapport. The Bum, as it turns out, was a burned out Plastic Surgeon from posh up-town New York who had recently endured 2 nasty malpractice suits and an ugly divorce after his wife ran off with a Ku Klux Klansman. His daughter had moved to a commune with a bunch of hippies. In his despair, he had become the Bum.
"At one time, I too, had a fine house. Aboard my 60 foot Hatteras I entertained colleagues with fine cigars and whiskies, enjoyed poker, and we fished up-and-down the coast. Flyfishing was always my favorite, even above my frequent golf outings."
The friendship developed over a period of a few weeks and with the wealthy gentleman's inspiration the Plastic Surgeon decided to go back to work. He borrowed from his new friend and set up a new practice in the Hamptons. He was immensely successful and became very famous for his surgery and philanthropy. Life was good. He enjoyed all of the amenities of wealth........the imported cigars, fine whiskeys, a new boat.
One day, he died of natural causes and finds himself in Hell; he is speaking with the Devil himself.
Satan: Why so glum?
Bum: What do you think? I'm in Hell!
Satan: Don't worry about it. This is only the first level of Hell.......you will be down here only long enough to pay for your bad habits while you were alive, then we'll send you up to St. Peter for re-evaluation. We can have a good time, meanwhile. You a drinking man?
Bum: Yeah. You've got booze down here?
Satan: Your gonna love Mondays. On Mondays all we do is drink, all of the fine whiskeys, Guinness, great wines, Rum and Coca-Cola, rootbeer, all you want. No need worrying about killing brain cells, you are already dead.
Bum: Gee. This sounds great!
Satan: You a smoker?
Bum: You better believe it!
Satan: All right! Your gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the world and smoke our lungs out. Plenty of Marlboros. If you get cancer, no biggie, you are already dead. You like to gamble?
Bum: Hell yeah! Goes good with the other stuff.
Satan: Well, you're sure gonna love Wednesdays. All we do all day long is sit around and play cards, roulette, slot machines.........if you go bankrupt, so what, you're dead, anyway. You a fisherman? Play golf?
Bum: You're damned right I do ......You don't mean..
Satan: You got it! On Thursdays you will begin your day on the flats stalking the stripers, lunch at the Martini and Cigar Bar, and finish the day on the golf course. I'll throw in the caddy of your choice from Hooter's. Forget about the skin cancers, you're dead meat, remember?
Bum: I never figured Hell would be so awesome! I might want to stay!
Satan: Like I said, we have a good time down here. You gay?
Bum: No way.
Satan: (Staring at the ground, grimmacing)
Oooooooooooh.
You're gonna hate Fridays!
"At one time, I too, had a fine house. Aboard my 60 foot Hatteras I entertained colleagues with fine cigars and whiskies, enjoyed poker, and we fished up-and-down the coast. Flyfishing was always my favorite, even above my frequent golf outings."
The friendship developed over a period of a few weeks and with the wealthy gentleman's inspiration the Plastic Surgeon decided to go back to work. He borrowed from his new friend and set up a new practice in the Hamptons. He was immensely successful and became very famous for his surgery and philanthropy. Life was good. He enjoyed all of the amenities of wealth........the imported cigars, fine whiskeys, a new boat.
One day, he died of natural causes and finds himself in Hell; he is speaking with the Devil himself.
Satan: Why so glum?
Bum: What do you think? I'm in Hell!
Satan: Don't worry about it. This is only the first level of Hell.......you will be down here only long enough to pay for your bad habits while you were alive, then we'll send you up to St. Peter for re-evaluation. We can have a good time, meanwhile. You a drinking man?
Bum: Yeah. You've got booze down here?
Satan: Your gonna love Mondays. On Mondays all we do is drink, all of the fine whiskeys, Guinness, great wines, Rum and Coca-Cola, rootbeer, all you want. No need worrying about killing brain cells, you are already dead.
Bum: Gee. This sounds great!
Satan: You a smoker?
Bum: You better believe it!
Satan: All right! Your gonna love Tuesdays. We get the finest cigars from all over the world and smoke our lungs out. Plenty of Marlboros. If you get cancer, no biggie, you are already dead. You like to gamble?
Bum: Hell yeah! Goes good with the other stuff.
Satan: Well, you're sure gonna love Wednesdays. All we do all day long is sit around and play cards, roulette, slot machines.........if you go bankrupt, so what, you're dead, anyway. You a fisherman? Play golf?
Bum: You're damned right I do ......You don't mean..
Satan: You got it! On Thursdays you will begin your day on the flats stalking the stripers, lunch at the Martini and Cigar Bar, and finish the day on the golf course. I'll throw in the caddy of your choice from Hooter's. Forget about the skin cancers, you're dead meat, remember?
Bum: I never figured Hell would be so awesome! I might want to stay!
Satan: Like I said, we have a good time down here. You gay?
Bum: No way.
Satan: (Staring at the ground, grimmacing)
Oooooooooooh.
You're gonna hate Fridays!