How do you sweat? I am a head sweater. it has caused for some embarrassing moments. The sweat just pours from my head when I am outside in the heat, or I am nervous, or most of all when I eat.
People sweat in different ways. You have the arm pit sweater. You can tell them by the yellow stains on their shirts.
You have the palm sweater. You do not want to shake hands with them. It is like sticking your hand in a bucket of water.
You have the ASS sweater ( known as SWASS) Nothing worse than sweaty ASS. You get up from sitting down and you have the wet stain on your pants that looks like you wet yourself. SWASS sufferers should not wear khaki pants in the summer.
There is the foot sweater. They squish when they walk and their feet stink.
Guy’s always say ” I am sweating my balls off” BUT I cannot find anything on ” ball sweat” So it must be something else that is moistening up that area. Moira says That there is a thing called”boob” sweat, so I will take her word for it.
We all sweat, so get over it. Some more than others.
Why do we sweat? Here is the technical answer
Perspiration, or sweat, is your body’s way of cooling itself, whether that extra heat comes from hardworking muscles or from overstimulated nerves.
The Sweat Gland
The average person has 2.6 million sweat glands in their skin! Sweat glands are distributed over the entire body — except for the lips, nipples and external genital organs. The sweat gland is in the layer of skin called the dermis along with other “equipment,” such as nerve endings, hair follicles and so on.
When people order from a menu, they almost always say ” I will JUST have the chicken Parm” or ” I will JUST have the molten lava Chocolate cake”
Why is it necessary to say JUST??
can’t you JUST say I will have the Chicken parm. It is not all that you are having, or it does not minimize the order. it is an extra word. It is like saying I am not a pig like the guy next to me, I am JUST having the 48 ounce porterhouse.
People stop saying JUST.
Also, when you are ready to leave the house or go somewhere, do not dilly dally and say JUST a minute. I JUST have to do one more thing. You know you are doing 10 more things and not JUST one thing, Saying JUST implies that you are doing one and only one thing.
If it is a lie, saying JUST is JUST a crutch.
Anyway, I was JUST getting this little pet peeve off of my chest.
adv.(jst, jst; jst when stressed)
1. Precisely; exactly: just enough salt.
2. Only a moment ago: He just arrived.
3. By a narrow margin; barely: just missed being hit; just caught the bus before it pulled away.
For his birthday, little Ben asked for a 10-speed bicycle.
His father said, ‘Son, we’d give you one, but the mortgage on this house is $280,000 and your mother just lost her job. There’s no way we can afford it.’
The next day the father saw little Ben heading out the front door
with a suitcase, so he asked, ‘Son, where are you going?’
Little Ben told him: ‘I was walking past your room last night and heard you telling Mom you were pulling out. Then I heard her tell you to wait because she was coming too. And I’ll be damned if I’m staying here by myself with a $280,000 mortgage and no bike.
Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. Greg who purchased
> his lovely wife Mary a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this:
>
> Last weekend I saw something at Larry’s Pistol & Pawn Shop that
> sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was
> looking for a little something extra for my wife Mary. What I came
> across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of
> the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse
> affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to
safety….??
>
> WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it
> home.
> > I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
> Nothing!
>
> I was di sappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button
> AND pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I’d get the
> blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.
> AWESOME!!!
>
> Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Mary what that burn spot is
> on the face of her microwave.
>
> Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that
> it couldn’t be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right?
>
> There I sat in my recliner, my dog Randy looking on intently
> (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking
> that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving
target.
>
> I must admit I thought about zapping Randy (for a fraction of a
> second) and thought better of it. He is a great dog. But , if I
> was going to give this thing to my wife to protect her s elf against a
> mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am
> I wrong?
>
> So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
> glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one
> hand, and taser in another. I put down my Captain and Coke ( with extra Cherries)
>
> The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient
> your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms
> and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would
> purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of
> water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the
> batteries. All the while I’m looking at this little device measuring
> about 5″ long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really
> and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to
> myself, ‘no possible way!’
>
& gt; ; What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my
> best…? I’m sitting there alone, Randy looking on with his head
> cocked to one side as to say, ‘don’t do it dipshit,’ reasoning that a
> one second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn’t hurt all
> that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of
> it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and . .
.
> HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . .
> WHAT THE HELL!!!
>
> I’m pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me
> up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and
> over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the
> fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples
> on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under
> my body in the oddest posit ion, and tingling in my legs?
>
> The dog was barking like I had never heard before, clinging
> to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an atempt
> to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
>
> Note: If you ever feel compelled to ‘mug’ yourself with a taser, one
> note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you
> zap yourself!
>
> You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand
> by a violent thrashing about on the floor. A three second burst would
> be considered conservative?
>
> SON-OF-A-BITCH, THAT HURT LIKE HELL!!!
>
> A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at
> that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and
> surveyed th e landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of
> the firep lace . The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so
> from where it originally was.
>
> My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face
> felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed
> 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling. Apparently I shit myself,
> but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I
> saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe was came from my
hair.
> I’m still looking for my nuts and I’m offering a significant reward
> for their safe return!!
>
> P. S. My Mary loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
>
> ‘If you think Education is difficult, try being stupid.’ I should have gone to the regular High School instead of the voke.
While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old Texas rancher, whose hand was caught in a gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to Obama and his bid to be our President.
The old rancher said, ‘Well, ya know, Obama is a ‘post turtle’.’
Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a ‘post turtle’ was. The old rancher said, ‘When you’re driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that’s a ‘post turtle’.’ The old rancher saw a puzzle d look on the doctor’s face, so he continued to explain. ‘You know he didn’t get up there by himself, he doesn’t belong up there, he doesn’t know what to do while he is up there, and you just wonder what kind of a dumb ass put him up thereto begin with.’
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st, j
st; j
st when stressed)
