I'm tired of being told to store things in 'a cool dry place.' Nothing else is going to fit into my wife's vagina.
Nutmeg, me and some other guy are hanging around the bar one day, talking about our miserable wives. The nameless guy says his wife is so frigid that she can go to sleep with ice cubes in her hands, and they'll still be there in the morning. "Pffft," says Nutmeg. "My wife is so frigid, I asked her for a couple aspirin and a glass of water. By the time she brought it to me, the water was frozen solid." "Shucks, lemme tell you my story," says I. "My wife is so horribly frigid, when she spreads her legs, the furnace kicks on!"
Currently I am being supervised by several mildly retarded children and a lunch lady (geez my wife hates it when I call her that).