Posted on 03/05/2010 4:26:04 AM PST by Lucky9teen
Aunt Bessie loved to visit her nieces and nephews. However, she had relatives all over the country.
The problem was that no matter how much she enjoyed seeing them, she hated flying. No matter how safe people told her it was, she was always worried that someone would have a bomb on the plane.
She read books about how safe it was and listened to the stewardess demonstrate all the safety features. But she still worried herself silly every time a visit was coming up.
Finally, the family decided that maybe if she saw the statistics she’d be convinced. So they sent her to a friend of the family who was an actuary.
“Tell me,” she said suspiciously, “what are the chances that someone will have a bomb on a plane?”
The actuary looked through his tables and said, “A very small chance. Maybe one in five hundred thousand.”
She nodded, then thought for a moment. “So what are the odds of two people having a bomb on the same plane?”
Again he went through his tables.
“Extremely remote,” he said. “About one in a billion.”
Aunt Bessie nodded and left his office.
And from that day on, every time she flew, she took a bomb with her.
Yea!! Over 100 posts!!
Air Force One crashed in the middle of rural America. Panic stricken the Secret Service mobilized and descended on the farm in force. When they got there, the wreckage was clear. The aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hulk left smoldering in a tree line that bordered a farm. Secret Service descended upon the smoking hulk but could find no remains of the crew or the President’s staff. To their amazement, a lone farmer was plowing a field not too far away as if nothing at all happened. They hurried over to surround the man’s tractor.
“Sir,” the senior Secret Service agent asked, panting and out of breath.
“Did you see this terrible accident happen?”
“Yep. Sure did.” The man muttered unconcernedly.
“Do you realize that is the President of the United States airplane?”
“Yep.”
“Were there any survivors?” the agent gasped.
“Nope. They’s all kilt straight out.” The farmer sighed cutting off his tractor motor. “I done buried them all myself. Took most of the morning.”
“The President of the United States is dead?” The agent gulped in disbelief.
“Well,” the farmer sighed, obviously wanting to get back to his work. “He kept a-saying he wasn’t ... but you know what a liar he is.”
One day at a busy airport, the passengers on a commercial airliner are seated waiting for the pilot to show up so they can get under way.
The pilot and copilot finally appear in the rear of the plane and begin walking up to the cockpit through the center aisle. Both appear to be blind; the pilot is using a white cane, bumping into passengers right and left as he stumbles down the aisle. The copilot is using a guide dog. Both have their eyes covered with sunglasses.
At first, the passengers do not react thinking that it must be some sort of practical joke. After a few minutes though, the engines start revving, and the airplane begins moving down the runway.
The passengers look at each other with some uneasiness. They start whispering among themselves and look desperately to the stewardesses for reassurance.
Yet, the plane starts accelerating rapidly, and people begin panicking. Some passengers are praying, and as the plane gets closer and closer to the end of the runway, the voices are becoming more and more hysterical.
When the plane has less than twenty feet of runway left, there is a sudden change in the pitch of the shouts as everyone screams at once. At the very last moment, the plane lifts off and is airborne.
Up in the cockpit, the copilot breathes a sigh of relief and tells the pilot: “You know, one of these days the passengers aren’t going to scream, and we aren’t going to know when to take off!”
After Monday and Tuesday...
even the calendar says
W T F
According to the Knight-Ridder News Service, the inscription on the metal bands used by the U.S. Department of the Interior to tag migratory birds has been changed. The bands used to bear the address of the Washington Biological Survey, abbreviated, “Wash. Biol. Surv.” until the agency received the following letter from an Arkansas camper:
“Dear Sirs: While camping last week I shot one of your birds. I think it was a crow. I followed the cooking instructions on the leg tag and I want to tell you it was horrible.”
As a rural mail carrier, I encounter dogs on a regular basis. Whodathunkit? Dogs, rural, hmm. By the way, say "rural" out loud a few times. Doesn't that make you feel retarded? Who invented that word? Anyway, dogs are like the mushroom guys in Mario. They're always around, always trying to get me. My car, being unable to spin/jump and crush them into oblivion, is quite unwieldy in it's maneuverability. It's a daunting challenge to get around some of them and retain what dignity I have.
Should we try to understand a dog's motive? Are they merely following their genetic code that hard wires them into chasing everything that moves thinking it's a cow? Should we feel badly for their retardedness? Were they oppressed by a poor family unit as mere pups and are acting out now? Are there now Crips and Bloods of the canine variety?
Nah.
Dogs are stupid. Chasing a car is a redneck trick for a dog. If I spoke dog, I'll bet I could hear them way back there, hiding in the tall grass behind the mobile home, saying to their buddies "hold my beer" right before they come charging out on their four wheelers. Some try for extra points by trying to bite the tire that feeds them. These efforts are pretty high scoring affairs if they are successful, but not many score points in this fashion. The second highest scoring opportunity is to actually get out in front of the car and try to slow it down. The least scoring affairs are the "group chase" and the "try to bite the arm as it goes to the mailbox." Oh, and there's also a point if you have to get out of the car. If they are able to convince you that they are happy, harmless dogs long enough for you to break eye contact while say, interacting while the home owner, they can sneak up from behind for a leg score. I don't know how many points this one is worth. Yet.
I've developed a couple of methods to try to avoid them:
The "Pretend They Aren't There" method: This was my first attempt which has come to be probably the worst method. It should be called "Where is my rubber dog stamp and ink pad?" Four dogs, including the County Commissioners dog on the County Commissioner's private 1/2 mile driveway, have gotten spin/jumped in this method. Not effective. I give it two stars, only because it's the most time efficient. Otherwise one star.
The "Herd THEM Into The Weeds" method: As the dogs come running up from the yard, their share of the road has to be minimized. They are trying to herd my bovine mobile, so I return the favor by moving toward the edge of the road. The edge of the road that they're on. This has good and bad aspects. First, if successful, it will move the dog into the less aggressive running path, and force them to jump the clumps over in the weeds. It's fun, entertaining to watch, and simple physics! All that college wasn't wasted on me. The bad part about this method is the "OH, the mail carrier appears drunk" swerve, as I drive from side to side of the road. This is a good swerve when used out on the side of the highway, as I can influence traffic to actually USE the passing lane to, y'know, pass. I can see them moving over over a half-mile back in my mirror when I use the swerve. I get extra points for that. The other drivers think I'm not paying attention, when I'm herding THEM. Oh, I'm talking about dogs though. Dogs don't drink, as far as I know, at least that early in the morning. Three stars, with extra credit for multiple dogs getting herded. Lose a point if the home owner watches the swerve. And owns a shotgun.
Finally, my newest method. The "Keep Stopping" method: They come running expecting a good race, a fair race, with no cheap punches, biting off ears, spitting, etc. and I stop.
And I wait.
Then when I accelerate, I go gently, until I see them make a move to run. Then I stop.
I wait.
If they're close enough to the car, I give 'em the best Darth Vadar stare I can muster. No, wait. He wears a helmet. Okay, my best Klingon glare. I accelerate, stop. accelerate, stop. I keep lathering, rinsing and repeating until I've washed those dogs right out of my hair. They get confounded, confused, they look at each other, and wonder whether I'm the redneck that would use a leaf blower in the house. They forget to bark. When used effectively, they end up standing beside the road, drooling, muttering to themselves, and losing their self respect and what dignity they had. What a bunch of major league losers! They are often seen falling into alcoholic binges and quitting the Crips or Bloods. Many need counseling or heavier therapy, and drugs.
FIVE STARS!
I enjoyed that. Thanks
I told a couple of people in the office to try that on Google. I think it stopped work for about an hour.
funny
Loved this pic!!
ROFL!
I’m not able load youtubes myself. Just going on other peoples’ input. An email friend, a very objective fellow, concluded that it was a “stealth pick”. The “flip”, on the other hand, seems to be settled. A whole lotta pickin’ and flippin’ goin’ on up deah’.
I’m sorry, did you say something? I was dreaming of raisins.
The bill may not imply a government takeover of healthcare but his speech with a union where he talked about getting Americans off of private insurance even if it takes 20 years IS a government takeover of healthcare. Explicitly so at that. Obama LIES.
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