Posted on 07/01/2005 6:11:11 AM PDT by TheBigB
I remember the story about the old country preacher who had a teenage son,
and it was getting time the boy should give some thought along the line of
choosing a profession.
Like many young men, then and now, the boy didn't really know what he wanted
to do- and he didn't seem overly concerned about it.
One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an
experiment. What he did was, he went into the boy's room and placed on his
study table these three objects: a Bible, a silver dollar, and a bottle of
whiskey...
"Now then," the old preacher said to himself, "I'll just hide behind the
door here, and when my son comes home from school this afternoon, I'll see
which of these three objects he picks up. If he picks up the Bible, he's
going to be a preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be! If he
picks up the dollar, he's going to be a businessman, and that would be o.k.
too. But if he picks up the bottle, he's going to be a drunkard - a no-good
drunkard and Lord, what a shame that would be."
The old man was anxious as he waited, and soon he heard his son's footsteps
as he came in the house whistling and headed back to his room. He deposited
his books on the bed, as a matter of routine, and as he turned around to
leave the room he spotted the objects on the table.
With a curious set in his eye, he walked over to inspect them. What he
finally did was, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He
picked up the silver dollar and dropped it into his pocket. He uncorked the
bottle and took a big drink...
"Lord have mercy," the old man whispered, "He's gonna be a politician!"
Too late, Austin.
OMG, that memo is hysterical, sad but hysterical! I thought my company was bad!
I do not work in a factory or unionized warehouse, but here goes,,,,,No socializing, no laughing, everyone must take a break at 10, it's optional, however, if you don't take one you don't get one, everyone must take lunch between 12 and 1 like it or not, after 90 days we get a gym membership, however, if you are "caught" socializing with other employees while at the gym you will be asked to workout at another time, if you continue to "socialize" you will be fired because the company has a no dating co workers policy and socializing is considered dating, no notices are giving, i.e. if I were to give my two weeks notice today my boss would march me into HR and both HR and my boss would walk me to my desk, WATCH ME pack my personal stuff and then walk me to the door, buh bye, have a nice day, LMAO, needless to say the turnover in this company is horrendous, and they don't tell you all this joyful stuff until you accept the job and show up for orientation, by then you've got nowhere else to do,,,,I'm job hunting!
An ion says to an atom, "I think I lost an electron."
The electron says, "Are you sure?"
The ion answers, "Yes. I'm positive."
"Oh, no!" the bunny said to himself. "I can't find my pancake. It's Friday and I can't go out without my pancake. Where could it possibly be?"
He was hopping madly around the burrow looking for his pancake when suddenly he remembered he'd forgotten his spare ammo belt. He ran back to the tent, grabbed it and a few extra grenades.
Later that morning on patrol, he was very grateful for the grenades because the Starbucks around the corner was out of Soy Milk for his Latte. "That does it," sad our erstwhile hero. "There's terrorist weasels afoot. Four foot to be precise. Or four feet. In any event, there's no time to loose."
Our hero placed his pancake firmly on his head and dialed his faithful sidekick Shalom. "Shalom! Get your tail down here! There is trouble afoot. Bring a spare pancake and plenty of ammo. We're on our way to Paris to get the terrorist scum who miss spelled series. He is a notorious spelling jihadist. It is a hugh prolem. He is out to stun Americas beber by blowing up the Eiffel Tower. Actually, he wrote 'that awful tower' but we can't be too sure, since he's not only a terrorist weasel but a terribul spellir - er - terrebel spiller - er - he can't spell."
Meanwhile, outside a Tower Records store in Paris ... A loose floosy walked in and asked directions to the Hilton. She was under the impression that the Paris Hilton was a hotel and not a person. She had been trying to remove bunny hair from her ears when someone told her...
"HURRY UP! we need to finish loading this ammo and the RPG's. They are coming... AEAEAEAERGGGH!" The thud of hot lead was more that Jack could bear as it tore through the bone and viscera of his chest. The taste of blood and the fatty-like grey matter on his tongue made him instantly wretch. "I hate Paris in the springtime" he muddled to himslef as the last gasps of the foul Paris air escaped his rapidly collapsing lung.
The loose floozy, whose name was Bambi, quickly wadded up the bunny hair she had extracted from her ear and grabbed a handy spiderweb. Jamming the mess into the hole in Jack's chest, she smacked him heartily on the back, causing him to gasp and re-inflate his now patched lung.
"You'll do," Bambi nodded in satisfaction. Grabbing the rocket launcher and sticking a few spare grenades in her bra, she noticed there was a sale at a cute boutique across the street. Forgetting entirely about Jack, who was still bleeding profusely on the sidewalk, she spent the next six hours trying on every pair of shoes in the store finally settling on a pair of pink bunny slippers and a leather teddy that she elected to wear home.
Shaking her head and chasing away the last vestiges of THAT daydream, Bambi noticed that Jack was well enough to be checking out the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine, displayed crassly in the window of a nearby shop, so she kicked him and said, "Are you with me, or do I have to take out this series spelling jihadist who is such a hugh prolem all by myself (not that that would be very tough for a competent, brainy woman like me who won National Spelling Champ in 4th grade?)"
Jack looked guiltily back at Bambi and said, "I'll bet that spelling champ gets lonely sitting up there on your mantle all the time. I'll bet you make him spell words like Lugubrious and Aflatoxin before you will even feed him. I'll bet you don't even give him good food like the poached rabbit and pancakes they are serving at the cafe over there. By the way those grenades make your bra look all bumpy and unnatural..."
With horror, Bambi realized that she was LOOKING AT THE SPELLING JIHADIST, who had shot himself in the chest to make himself look like an ally. No, it was WORSE than that--Jack had multiple personality disorder!! She watched fascinated as the different expressions chased each other over his face...first lust for her, then hate for the National Spelling Champ sitting on her shoulder...Then to her utter dis belief she saw Jack melt away from something that looked like a miniature cross between Alan Combs and James Carville oozed from his foaming chest wound. The thing slowly emerged from the steaming pile of goo and stood on 6 spindly legs and it was coming right at Bambi. "I am Glarcon the enforcer of the planet Jihad!" It announced, somewhat melodramatically. "How do you spell that" asked the spelling champ just before Glarcon neatly bisected his skull with a no parking sign that just happened to be handy.
Blood splattered on the bunny, who, because Starbucks was out of soy milk for his latte had gotten a Cafe Americano instead, and had fallen into a doze. "Yee-uck!!" the bunny cried, and pushing Bambi aside, beat Glarcon to death with his pancake, completely forgetting about his rocket launcher, ammo belt, grenades, etc. That's what missing your morning latte will do to you.
Then the bunny, whose name was Pat, comforted Bambi for the loss of her National Spellng Champ, and they rode off into the sunset together (although it was still morning), headed for the next corner where they had high hopes the Starbucks there wasn't out of soy milk. The bunny forgot all about his faithful sidekick, Shalom, who...
"Oh, no!" the bunny said to himself. "I can't find my pancake. It's Friday and I can't go out without my pancake. Where could it possibly be?"
He was hopping madly around the burrow looking for his pancake when suddenly he remembered he'd forgotten his spare ammo belt. He ran back to the tent, grabbed it and a few extra grenades.
Later that morning on patrol, he was very grateful for the grenades because the Starbucks around the corner was out of Soy Milk for his Latte. "That does it," sad our erstwhile hero. "There's terrorist weasels afoot. Four foot to be precise. Or four feet. In any event, there's no time to loose."
Our hero placed his pancake firmly on his head and dialed his faithful sidekick Shalom. "Shalom! Get your tail down here! There is trouble afoot. Bring a spare pancake and plenty of ammo. We're on our way to Paris to get the terrorist scum who miss spelled series. He is a notorious spelling jihadist. It is a hugh prolem. He is out to stun Americas beber by blowing up the Eiffel Tower. Actually, he wrote 'that awful tower' but we can't be too sure, since he's not only a terrorist weasel but a terribul spellir - er - terrebel spiller - er - he can't spell."
Meanwhile, outside a Tower Records store in Paris ... A loose floosy walked in and asked directions to the Hilton. She was under the impression that the Paris Hilton was a hotel and not a person. She had been trying to remove bunny hair from her ears when someone told her...
"HURRY UP! we need to finish loading this ammo and the RPG's. They are coming... AEAEAEAERGGGH!" The thud of hot lead was more that Jack could bear as it tore through the bone and viscera of his chest. The taste of blood and the fatty-like grey matter on his tongue made him instantly wretch. "I hate Paris in the springtime" he muddled to himslef as the last gasps of the foul Paris air escaped his rapidly collapsing lung.
The loose floozy, whose name was Bambi, quickly wadded up the bunny hair she had extracted from her ear and grabbed a handy spiderweb. Jamming the mess into the hole in Jack's chest, she smacked him heartily on the back, causing him to gasp and re-inflate his now patched lung.
"You'll do," Bambi nodded in satisfaction. Grabbing the rocket launcher and sticking a few spare grenades in her bra, she noticed there was a sale at a cute boutique across the street. Forgetting entirely about Jack, who was still bleeding profusely on the sidewalk, she spent the next six hours trying on every pair of shoes in the store finally settling on a pair of pink bunny slippers and a leather teddy that she elected to wear home.
Shaking her head and chasing away the last vestiges of THAT daydream, Bambi noticed that Jack was well enough to be checking out the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine, displayed crassly in the window of a nearby shop, so she kicked him and said, "Are you with me, or do I have to take out this series spelling jihadist who is such a hugh prolem all by myself (not that that would be very tough for a competent, brainy woman like me who won National Spelling Champ in 4th grade?)"
Jack looked guiltily back at Bambi and said, "I'll bet that spelling champ gets lonely sitting up there on your mantle all the time. I'll bet you make him spell words like Lugubrious and Aflatoxin before you will even feed him. I'll bet you don't even give him good food like the poached rabbit and pancakes they are serving at the cafe over there. By the way those grenades make your bra look all bumpy and unnatural..."
With horror, Bambi realized that she was LOOKING AT THE SPELLING JIHADIST, who had shot himself in the chest to make himself look like an ally. No, it was WORSE than that--Jack had multiple personality disorder!! She watched fascinated as the different expressions chased each other over his face...first lust for her, then hate for the National Spelling Champ sitting on her shoulder...Then to her utter dis belief she saw Jack melt away from something that looked like a miniature cross between Alan Combs and James Carville oozed from his foaming chest wound. The thing slowly emerged from the steaming pile of goo and stood on 6 spindly legs and it was coming right at Bambi. "I am Glarcon the enforcer of the planet Jihad!" It announced, somewhat melodramatically. "How do you spell that" asked the spelling champ just before Glarcon neatly bisected his skull with a no parking sign that just happened to be handy.
Blood splattered on the bunny, who, because Starbucks was out of soy milk for his latte had gotten a Cafe Americano instead, and had fallen into a doze. "Yee-uck!!" the bunny cried, and pushing Bambi aside, beat Glarcon to death with his pancake, completely forgetting about his rocket launcher, ammo belt, grenades, etc. That's what missing your morning latte will do to you.
Then the bunny, whose name was Pat, comforted Bambi for the loss of her National Spellng Champ, and they rode off into the sunset together (although it was still morning), headed for the next corner where they had high hopes the Starbucks there wasn't out of soy milk. The bunny forgot all about his faithful sidekick, Shalom, who...
Feeling lonely and rejected vowed to make the bunny pay for abandoning a perfectly good sidekick (a graduate of Gabby's college of sidekickery for Pete's sake) He gathered together all of the sun lamps he could find at the tanning parlor on the next block and aimed them at the Starbucks where Bambi and Bunny were enjoying their soy milk lattes. With all of this UV exposure they both got skin cancer and died of multiple melanomas about 30 years later.
I wanna be the last post.
How 'bout - "Either my way or the highway."
I'm getting a little tired about arguing about things that should never even be thought of.
Example: Should two men be allowed to marry each other? Correct answer: Why would anyone WANT that?
Shalom.
Try again.
Just got it. Been off line. (WORK) No truer statement could be made than what you said.
April Fool
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