1. Never give me work in the morning. Always wait until 4:00 and then bring it to me. The challenge of a deadline is refreshing.

2. If it's really a rush job, run in and interrupt me every 10 minutes to inquire how it's going. That helps. Or even better, hover behind me, advising me at every keystroke.

3. Always leave without telling anyone where you're going. It gives me a chance to be creative when someone asks where you are.

4. If my arms are full of papers, boxes, books, or supplies, don't open the door for me. I need to learn how to function as a paraplegic and opening doors with no arms is good training in case I should ever be injured and lose all use of my limbs.

5. If you give me more than one job to do, don't tell me which is priority. I am psychic.

6. Do your best to keep me late. I adore this office and really have nowhere to go or anything to do. I have no life beyond work.

7. If a job I do pleases you, keep it a secret. If that gets out, it could mean a promotion.

8. If you don't like my work, tell everyone. I like my name to be popular in conversations. I was born to be whipped.

9. If you have special instructions for a job, don't write them down. In fact, save them until the job is almost done. No use confusing me with useful information.

10. Never introduce me to the people you're with. I have no right to know anything. In the corporate food chain, I am plankton. When you refer to them later, my shrewd deductions will identify them.

11. Be nice to me only when the job I'm doing for you could really change your life and send you straight to managers' hell.

12. Tell me all your little problems. No one else has any and it's nice to know someone is less fortunate. I especially like the story about having to pay so much taxes on the bonus check you received for being such a good manager.

13. Wait until my yearly review and THEN tell me what my goals SHOULD have been. Give me a mediocre performance rating with a cost of living increase. I'm not here for the money anyway.

Bunnings has everything!

One day, in line at the company cafeteria, Joe says to Mike behind him, ‘My elbow hurts like hell. I guess I'd better see a doctor.'

'Listen, you don't have to spend that kind of money,’ Mike replies. 'There's a diagnostic computer down at Bunnings. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what's wrong and what to do about it.

It takes ten seconds and costs ten dollars . . . A lot cheaper than a Doctor.'

So, Joe deposits a urine sample in a small jar and takes it to Bunnings.

He deposits ten dollars and the computer lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into the slot and waits.

Ten seconds later, the computer ejects a printout:

'You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks.

Thank you for shopping @ Bunnings.'

That evening, while thinking how amazing this new technology was,

Joe began wondering if the computer could be fooled.

He mixed some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter, and a sperm sample for good measure.

Joe hurries back to Bunnings, eager to check the results.

He deposits ten dollars, pours in his concoction, and awaits the results.

The computer prints the following:

1. Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener. (Aisle 9)
2. Your dog has ringworm. Bathe him with anti-fungal shampoo. (Aisle 7)
3. Your daughter has a cocaine habit. Get her into rehab.
4. Your wife is pregnant. Twins. They aren't yours. Get a solicitor.
5. If you don't stop playing with yourself, your elbow will never get better!

Thank you for shopping @ Bunnings

A crusty old biker, on a summer ride in the country, walks into a tavern and sees a sign hanging over the bar whichreads:

CHEESEBURGER: $1.50

CHICKEN SANDWICH: $2.50

HAND JOB: $1000

Checking his wallet for the necessary payment, he walks up to the bar and beckons to the exceptio nally attractive female bartender serving drinks to
a meager looking group of farmers.

"Yes?" she inquires with a knowing smile, "can I help you?"

"I was wondering," whispers the old biker, "are you the young lady who gives the hand-jobs?"

"Yes," she purrs, "I am."

The old biker replies, "Well wash your hands, I want a cheeseburger.