Real-time Mind Control Zombie Zot

http://www.MindControlUSA.com ^ | 12/23/06 | BibleBabe1

[BibleBabe1]

Remote detection satellites are used by the intelligence branch of the military to conduct mind control exercises in the theater of war. All this technology is dependent upon the higher branches of particle physics and quantum mechanics. The array of satellites safe in deep space cover the entire earth making the mind control intelligence program widely successful. Be amazed as you view this military program break out of the box. Go to the following web site that shows a real-time mind control zombie being manipulated by satellite and the military. www.MindControlUSA.com

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I like the look of them!! :D

[rottndog]

Can't wait to get to the shop and puff on one of those...

I don't dare lite up around the house.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I smoke anywhere... despite the Government's best efforts!

[rottndog]

Good for you!

You think if you told the police that the burglar breaking into your house was smoking, they would show up faster?

[Irish_Thatcherite]

They'd be here like lightning! :-P

[Tax-chick]

I'll have to look into that. There's an herbal store not far away. We'll see how he does over the weekend; it's not too bad so far. He's cranky when his temperature goes up, and wants to nurse instead of eating food, but we can live with that.

I used to get pinkeye when the two oldest kids were in daycare, back when I was putting Der Prinz through college. I'm allergic to the sulfa drops - found out the hard way!

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Howya TC!!

[Darksheare]

The Book Of ForeShadowed Sorrows Tale V

The Smirk Of Fate
Or
"One Never Knows..."


He'd Hurried to work, as always, gotten stuck in traffic, again as always, and been exasperated beyond compare within a fifteen minute period.
He'd hoped the day would turn out better.
The morning reports sat on his desk thumbing their noses at the poor sap, er, fool assigned their custody. Eying them with suspicion and dread, he sighed and sank into his seat.
It took three hours, but he finally bullied through the voluminous hordes and their sign-in-triplicate bretheren despite their calls for reinforcements.
And then, in his cubicled world, it all came to:

"Good morning."

"Oh! Good morning Nan. How are you today-" the bark of a .38 both cut him off and answered his question. He staggered, spun, his blood spattering the console systems besides him, his hand clutching his chest as he sank to his knees on the cheap business office rug.

"Why?" his eyes pleaded with her as he looked up.
Her hand pulled his head back by his hair, she kissed him roughly, and the last bark of finality from her .38 was her only reply.

Here, the Book of Foreshadowed Sorrows briefly ponders upon the many senseless endings held within it's shattered pages before turning it's parch gaze upon further tales buried within.

[Tax-chick]

How yu, I_T? We have a big storm coming this way - I need to get all my kids indoors!

[Irish_Thatcherite]

Howya Darks!!

That's an interesting read!

[Darksheare]

Hi!
It was a quick type short.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

It's January - that means storms everyday of the week over here!

[Irish_Thatcherite]

It was?

[Darksheare]

Only about ten minutes or less, and it shows.

[Irish_Thatcherite]

I didn't spot any typos....

[Dead Corpse]

typsos?

[Irish_Thatcherite]

tyyypssoas?

[Dead Corpse]

Type O.

Ok... so Type O Negative. "Never mistake lack of talent for genius."

[Dead Corpse]

Just don't google up their album "Origin of the Feces"...

[Dead Corpse]

900?