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When the body was first made, all the parts wanted to be the boss. The brain said, "because I control everything and do all the thinking, I should be the boss." The feet said, "because I carry man where he wants to go and get him in position to do what the brain wants, then I should be the boss." The hands said, "because I must do all the work and earn all the money to keep the rest of you going, I should be the boss." And so it went with the eyes, the heart, the lungs, the kidneys and all the other parts of the body, each giving the reason why they should be the boss. Finally, the arsehole spoke up and said it was going to be the boss. All the other parts laughed and laughed at the idea of the arsehole being the boss. The arsehole got so angry that he blocked himself off and refused to function any more. Soon the brain was feverish and could barely think, the feet felt like lead weights and were almost too weak to drag the body anywhere, the eyes grew bleary, and the hands hung useless at the sides. All pleaded with the brain to let the arsehole be declared the boss. And so it happened; all the other parts did all the work and the arsehole just bossed and passed out a lot of crap. The Moral: No matter how well things are going, it can all be shut down by a single arsehole. "Is your advertising getting results?" asked one business owner. "It sure is," moaned the second owner. "Last week we advertised for a night watchman ... and the next night we were robbed." A well-stacked young advertising secretary wore tight knit dresses that showed off her figure, especially when she walked. Her young, aggressive boss motioned her into his office one afternoon and closed the door. Pointing to her tightly covered derriere, he asked, "Is that for sale?" "Of course not!" she snapped angrily, blushing furiously. Unchanged, he replied quietly, "Then, I suggest you quit advertising it."
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