Those are cute, Jox. And they did give me smiles this morning.
Well, good, that's just what I was hoping this thread would do.
I've never seen skunks with that much white on them.
Neither had I. The skunk eating the cat food on my back porch had two small streaks that went from one at the top of the head to two down each side of the neck. No one streak from head to tail like Pepe LePew.
Here's one if you need a good dose of cute. I've posted it before, but it's worth another look: otters, holding hands:
Here's pure silliness from French & Saunders, a great comedy duo. Jen (the blonde) is looking for a few quiet minutes, but Dawn (the brunette) has different ideas. The first time I saw this, I laughed so hard, I scared my cat. Just the way she says "penetrated"....
And now for something wonderfully weird, highly creative, and funny, funny, funny. Leslie Hall has her own style, and a unique view of the world.
Comments made on students' report cards. *All teachers were reprimanded.
01. Since my last report, your child has reached rock bottom and has started to dig.
02. I would not allow this student to breed.
03. Your child has delusions of adequacy.
04. Your son is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.
05. Your son sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
06. The student has a 'full six-pack' but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together.
07. This child has been working with glue too much.
08. When your daughter's IQ reaches 50, she should sell.
09. The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming.
10. If this student were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week.
11. It's impossible to believe the sperm that created this child beat out 1,000,000 others.
12. The wheel is turning but the hamster is definitely dead.
These are actual comments made by police officers. The comments were taken off actual police car videos around the country. It's unknown if any officers were reprimanded.
01. "You know, stop lights don't come any redder than the one you just went through."
02. "Relax, the handcuffs are tight because they're new. They'll stretch after you wear them a while."
03. "If you take your hands off the car, I'll make your birth certificate a worthless document."
04. "If you run, you'll only go to jail tired."
05. "Can you run faster than 1200 feet per second? Because that's the speed of the bullet that'll be chasing you."
06. "You don't know how fast you were going? I guess that means I can write anything I want to on the ticket, huh?"
07. "Yes, sir, you can talk to the shift supervisor, but I don't think it will help. Oh, did I mention that I'm the shift supervisor?"
08. "Warning! You want a warning? O.K, I'm warning you not to do that again or I'll give you another ticket."
09. "The answer to this last question will determine whether you are drunk or not. Was Mickey Mouse a cat or a dog?"
10. "Fair? You want me to be fair? Listen, fair is a place where you go to ride on rides, eat cotton candy and corn dogs, and step in monkey poop."
11. "Yeah, we have a quota. Two more tickets and my wife gets a toaster oven."
12. "In God we trust; all others we run through NCIC." (National Crime Information Center)
13. "Just how big were those 'two beers' you say you had?"
14. "No sir, we don't have quotas anymore. We used to, but now we're allowed to write as many tickets as we can."
15. "I'm glad to hear that the Chief (of Police) is a personal friend of yours. So you know someone who can post your bail."
16. "You didn't think we give pretty women tickets? You're right, we don't. Sign here."
From the "Truth is stranger than fiction" file: Killer Biscuits Wanted For Attempted Murder In Drive By Shooting (The actual AP headline.)
Linda B., 23, a resident of San Diego, went to a nearby supermarket to pick up some groceries. Several people noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up and with her eyes closed, with both hands behind the back of her head.
One customer who had been at the store for a while became concerned and walked over to her car. He noticed that Linda's eyes were now open, and she looked very strange. He asked her if she was okay. Linda replied that she'd been shot in the back of the head during a drive-by shooting, and had been holding her brains in for over an hour. The man called the paramedics, who broke into the car because the doors were locked and Linda refused to remove her hands from her head.
When they finally got in, they found that Linda had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head. A Pillsbury biscuit canister had exploded from the heat, making a loud noise that sounded like a gun shot and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When she reached back to find out what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brains. She had initially passed out, but quickly recovered and tried to hold her brains in for over an hour until someone noticed and came to her aid.
My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, "What's on TV?" I said, "Dust." And then the fight started... ________________________________
My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary. She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds." I bought her a bathroom scale. And then the fight started......
This is a wonderful piece by Michael Gartner, editor of newspapers large and small and past president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing. It is well worth reading, and a few good chuckles are guaranteed. Here goes....
My father never drove a car. Well, that's not quite right. I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.
"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."
At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in: "Oh, bull----! she said. "He hit a horse."
"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."
So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars -- the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford -- but we had none.
My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines , would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.
My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that.
But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one." It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.
But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown.
It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car. Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother.
So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying more than once.
For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps -- though they seldom left the city limits -- and appointed himself navigator. . . . It seemed to work.
Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.
(Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.)
He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home.
If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."
After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored."
If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out - and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream. As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?"
"I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.
"No left turns," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic..
As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."
"What?" I said again.
"No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer So we always make three rights."
"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support. "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works." But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."
I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing.
"Loses count?" I asked.
"Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."
I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.
"No," he said " If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."
My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving.. That was in 1999, when she was 90.
She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102.
They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom -- the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.)
He continued to walk daily -- he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising -- and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.
One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news.
A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer."
"You're probably right," I said.
"Why would you say that?" He countered, somewhat irritated.
"Because you're 102 years old," I said..
"Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day.
That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night.
He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet"
An hour or so later, he spoke his last words: "I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."
A short time later, he died.
I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.
I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life, or because he quit taking left turns.
Life is too short to wake up with regrets.
So love the people who treat you right. Forget about the one's who don't. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it & if it changes your life, let it. Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it.
Warning! Watch out if you are driving in the Dallas area - cops are setting up speed traps! First time they catch you speeding they make you take two tickets to a Cowboy's game. Second time they make you use them!
A real woman is a man's best friend. She will never stand him up and never let him down. She will reassure him when he feels insecure and comfort him after a bad day. She will inspire him to do things he never thought he could do; to live without fear and forget regret. She will enable him to express his deepest emotions and give in to his most intimate desires. She will make sure he always feels as though he's the most handsome man in the room and will enable him to be the most confident, sexy, seductive and invincible...
No wait... Sorry..... I'm thinking of whiskey. It's whiskey that does all that stuff. Never mind.
A guy was getting ready to tee off on the first hole when a second golfer approached and asked if he could join him The first said that he usually played alone, but agreed to the twosome. They were even after the first few holes. The second guy said, "We're about evenly matched, how about playing for five bucks a hole?" The first guy said that he wasn't much for betting, but agreed to the terms. The second guy won the remaining sixteen holes with ease. As they were walking off number eighteen, the second guy was busy counting his $80.00. He confessed that he was the pro at a neighboring course and liked to pick on suckers. The first fellow revealed that he was the Parish Priest. The pro was flustered and apologetic, offering to return the money. The Priest said, "You won fair and square and I was foolish to bet with you. You keep your winnings." The pro said, "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" The Priest said, "Well, you could come to Mass on Sunday and make a donation. And, if you want to bring your mother and father along, I'll marry them.
A long time ago, there was a beehive in the middle of a forest. Every day, as worker bees do, they would go out into their fields, gather pollen from the flowers, and bring it back to make honey. The bees had a problem, though, because every so often an intruder would come around, such as a bear who wanted the honey, or kids who thought it'd be fun to throw rocks at the hive.
Finally, the bees got tired of it. Being the intelligent bees that they were, they built an alarm system for the hive. They built it such that one bee pulls a lever, which triggers the alarm that the bees hear from the fields, and then the bees come back to protect their home.
There was one bee who was exclusively assigned that job, and he was aptly named the "Lever Bee." His job was to watch for potential adversaries, and pull the lever to raise the alarm.
Now obviously, the security of the hive depends on this one Lever Bee. So he has to be constantly ready and on the alert to be able to do his job.
And that, friends, is why people say, "I'm as ready as a Lever Bee."
Though it won't be for all tastes, this blog always makes me laugh. I don't care a bit about fashion. But the bloggers and their readers (in the comments) are just funny.
"fugly", as you may know, means f'in ugly. In this blog, they're talking about fugly fashion, as worn by celebs. March Fugness is their annual tournament, in which they pit fashion-challenged celebs against each other, tournament-style, and ask their readers to pick the fugliest of all. Here's this year's winner:
A Russian and a Redneck wrestler were set to square off for the Olympic gold medal. Before the final match, the Redneck wrestler's trainer came to him and said 'Now, don't forget all the research we've done on this Russian. He's never lost a match because of this 'pretzel' hold he has. Whatever you do, do not let him get you in that hold! If he does, you're finished.' The redneck nodded in acknowledgment. As the match started, the Redneck and the Russian circled each other several times, looking for an opening. All of a sudden, the Russian lunged forward, grabbing the Redneck and wrapping him up in the dreaded pretzel hold. A sigh of disappointment arose from the crowd and the trainer buried his face in his hands, for he knew all was lost. He couldn't watch the inevitable happen. Suddenly, there was a long, high pitched scream, then a cheer from the crowd and the trainer raised his eyes just in time to watch the Russian go flying up in the air. His back hit the mat with a thud and the Redneck collapsed on top of him, making the pin and winning the match. The trainer was astounded. When he finally got his wrestler alone, he asked 'How did you ever get out of that hold? No one has ever done it before!' The wrestler answered 'Well, I was ready to give up when he got me in that hold but at the last moment, I opened my eyes and saw this pair of 'jewels' right in front of my face. I had nothing to lose so with my last ounce of strength, I stretched out my neck and bit those babies just as hard as I could.' The trainer exclaimed 'That's what finished him off?' 'Not really. You'd be amazed how strong you get when you bite your own!'