Bill worked in a pickle factory.
He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day
to confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion.
He had an urge to stick his penls into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it,
but Bill said he would be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the
compulsion on his own.
One day a few weeks later, Bill came home and his wife could see at once
that something was seriously wrong.
'What's wrong, Bill?' she asked.
'Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put
my penis into the pickle slicer?'
'Oh, Bill, you didn't' she exclaimed.
'Yes, I did.' he replied.
'My God, Bill, what happened?'
'I got fired.'
'No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?'
'Oh...she got fired too.'
He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day
to confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion.
He had an urge to stick his penls into the pickle slicer.
His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it,
but Bill said he would be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the
compulsion on his own.
One day a few weeks later, Bill came home and his wife could see at once
that something was seriously wrong.
'What's wrong, Bill?' she asked.
'Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put
my penis into the pickle slicer?'
'Oh, Bill, you didn't' she exclaimed.
'Yes, I did.' he replied.
'My God, Bill, what happened?'
'I got fired.'
'No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?'
'Oh...she got fired too.'
