Bill worked in a pickle factory…

Bill worked in a pickle factory. He’d been employed there for years when he came home one day and told his wife he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer. His wife, terribly concerned, suggested that he saw sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill refused – he’d be too embarrassed, he said, and vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own. So a few weeks later, Bill came home one day white-faced. His wife knew something was seriously wrong. “My God, Bill, what’s wrong?” she asked. Bill looked at her. “Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?” “Oh Bill, you didn’t,” she moaned, horrified. “Yes, I did,” replied Bill. “My God, Bill, what happened?” “I got fired.” “No, Bill, I mean what happened with the pickle slicer?” “Oh, she got fired too.”

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