[lfjokes] Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About

[Adam Shand]

So this is the funniest thing I've read on the net for quite a while. 
It has a cumulative effect as well.  The more you read the funnier it gets.

The below is just one exerpt of a long page of stuff, mostly picked at 
random.

Please, for the good of the world, go read it.

Adam.

Via: Richard Schwartfeger <istari at spack.org>
From: http://homepage.ntlworld.com/mil.millington/things.html

What Margret and I have, essentially, is a Mexican stand-off with love 
instead of guns. OK, yes, sometimes there are guns too. The important 
thing is the mindset, though. Sure, people can argue about important 
issues, that's fine, good luck to them I say. But where, I ask you, are 
those people when you take away the meaningful sources of disagreement? 
Lost. Utterly lost. Let me illustrate the common mistakes amateurs might 
make using something that happened the other week. You will need:

Margret.
Me.
A roast chicken.

We're having tea and on the table are the plates, a selection of 
vegetables and a roast chicken in an incredibly hot metal baking tray. 
Getting this chicken to the table (see 'cloth 
taking-things-from-the-oven-things', above) has been an heroic race that 
ended only fractions of a second short of a major skin graft. Due to 
this haste it is, however, not sitting precisely centrally on the 
coaster. Some kind of weird, hippie, neo-Buddhist couple might have 
failed even at this point and simply got on with eating the meal. 
Fortunately, Margret is there to become loudly agitated that radiant 
heat might creep past the edge of the coaster, through the table cloth, 
through the protective insulating sheet under the table cloth, and 
affect the second-hand table itself. She shouts and wails. I nudge the 
tray into the centre of the coaster, but, in doing so, about half a 
teaspoon of the gravy spills over the side onto the table cloth. Outside 
birds fall mute, mid-song. Inside, frozen in time, the camera swings 
around us sitting at the table, like in The Matrix.
'What the hell did you do that for? Quick, clean it up - quick,' says 
Margret (where an amateur would have, say, shrugged).
'No,' I reply (at the moment that another amateur would have been 
returning from the kitchen with a cloth), 'I'm eating my tea. I'm going 
to sit here and eat my tea. Then I'll clean it up.'

'No, clean it up now.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
'No. I'm going to eat my tea first.'
'Clean it up now.'

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, so a couple of semi-pros might 
have worked this up into a shouting match. But I am not about to stoop 
to childish name-calling. Instead I lift up the tray and pour some more 
gravy onto the table.

'OK?' I say, 'Now stop it. I'll clean it up after.'
'Clean it up now.'
I tip a little more gravy onto the table.
'I'm just going to keep doing it every time you say that. I'll clean it 
up later.'
'Do it now.'
More gravy.
'Now.'
More gravy.

This continues until we run out of gravy.

I must make it clear that my actions here seemed perfectly rational at 
the time. I've mulled them over since, of course, and am relieved to 
find that they still hold up to examination - it's pleasing to know I 
can make good decisions under pressure. Anyway, we eat the meal from a 
table awash with gravy. I am happy to have argued my point persuasively. 
Margret has a smile fixed to her face from the belief (incorrectly, of 
course, but it's only her enjoyment that matters) that I've clearly done 
something hugely stupid that she can bring up later in any number of 
arguments - possibly years from now. Everyone wins. We eat, united in 
contentment. I clean up the table.

Do you see? I want everyone to try this out at home and write me a 
report for next week.