I Suppose This Means A Cleveland Steamer Is Out Of The Question, Too

Women: can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em. Take Nurse Lola, the vixen assigned to my care while I'm laid up at Uecker Memorial Hospital.

"Look, honey, as long as you're down there," I said during my most recent sponge bath, "how 'bout a little handjob action, huh?"

"Mister Carver," she said, full of self-absorbed indignation. "I am a registered nurse, not a hooker!"

"Well, you know what they say. Any woman who won't touch a man's willy is probably a lesbian. You don't want people thinking you're a lesbian, do you?"

"I am a lesbian."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. Maybe a tryst with a real man--"

"What?!"

"I'm just saying."

"That's it! You can wash your own damn self!"

"Aw, c'mon. Would twenty bucks change your mind?"

It wouldn't, and she stormed out of the room in a tizzy. How typical. I don't know what it is about lesbians, but they all seem to have huge chips on their shoulders. Must come from not getting enough dick.