Posted on 03/23/2007 6:33:05 AM PDT by Lucky9teen
A guy with money to burn may well find a gal who wants to play with fire.
He folded and straightened the money because he wanted a tidy sum.
Thank you for this chart. I wonder what Chocolate Liquor is used for since there is no alcohol in it. Semisweet chocolate is my very favorite. I really like Special Dark candy bars. Coca Butter is the best treatment for cracked feet that I've ever used. I buy it in a stick.
Burn! Great use of a pun!
Mmmmmm, now I'm hungry!
Ya, all have a great weekend. It is Miller time for me!
How's it going Grandpa? Sorry we couldn't get you into the Democrat Old Folks Home but they were full up with illegal immigrants.
That's OK son. It's fine here. This is a wonderful place.
Glad to hear it Grandpa. What makes it wonderful?
Well, your accomplishments in life are recognized here all the time. There is a guy who was a doctor but he hasn't practiced medicine in over 30 years and everybody still calls him Doc. And there is a retired military man who hasn't been in uniform in over 40 years and everyone still calls him Colonel.
That's nice Grandpa.
And the greatest thing of all, I haven't had sex in over 25 years but everybody refers to me as the F*****g Democrat.
went on a trip out that way a couple years back and took tour.
I bet the tour guides are tired of the all the "take the
Hershey Highway" jokes ("what do you do, are you a fudge packer?")
Beer and chocolate?!
Luke days it is!
Thank you for a very fun and cool thread, Lucky! :)
Potty Talk
A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.
By Shannon Popkin
My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in the library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window. People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a just-turned-3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It's always fully cranked. There've been several embarrassing times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at Costco.
Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second to the last stall:
"Mommy, are yo u gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper on the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now? Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the potty?"
At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in the bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5? Maybe we could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut out of this s tall and reveal my identity.
Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on the potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying to see in dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are gonna get some candy!"
I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of me. Where is a screaming newborn when you need her? Good grief. This was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time before exiting. Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in Mommy's
purse and see if you can find some candy. We'll both have some!"
"No, I'm trying to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He started to gag at this point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze stinkies are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!" As the gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began to reason with myself: OK. There are four other toilets. If I count four flushes, I can be reasonably assured that those who overheard this embarrassing monologue will be long gone.
"Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off. Now I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet outside my door.
"Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door? What were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?" More laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.
"Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now, Mommy." He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to wash your hands? I want to go out!!"
I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. As I sheepishly opened the door, and found an open sink, I thought, Where's the fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit of my privacy? But as my little herald gave me a big, cheeky grin while he rubbed bubbly soap between his chubby little hands, I thought, I'd sign it all away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little fellow.
Somewhere in "Potty Talk" there is a
relationship to chocolate. Sure there is.
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