Bill worked in a pickle factory. He'd been employed there for years when he came home one day and told his wife he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his pe nis into the pickle slicer.
His wife, terribly concerned, suggested that he see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill refused--he'd be too embarrassed, he said, and vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.
So a few weeks later, Bill came home one day white-faced. His wife knew something was seriously wrong. "My Gawd, Bill, what's wrong?" she asked. Bill looked at her. "Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my pe nis into the pickle slicer?"
"Oh Bill, You didn't," she moaned, horrified.
"Yes, I did," replied Bill.
"My Gawd, Bill, what happened?"
"I got fired."
"No, Bill, I mean what happened with the pickle slicer?"
"Oh, she got fired too."
His wife, terribly concerned, suggested that he see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill refused--he'd be too embarrassed, he said, and vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own.
So a few weeks later, Bill came home one day white-faced. His wife knew something was seriously wrong. "My Gawd, Bill, what's wrong?" she asked. Bill looked at her. "Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my pe nis into the pickle slicer?"
"Oh Bill, You didn't," she moaned, horrified.
"Yes, I did," replied Bill.
"My Gawd, Bill, what happened?"
"I got fired."
"No, Bill, I mean what happened with the pickle slicer?"
"Oh, she got fired too."
