^^ i very much enjoyed those book covers.
^Classy. (eta:just to be clear to anyone who hasn't followed the link, I meant the guy in the story, not PFP's post! :D )
This made me laugh.
Watching AngelBN post her daily dose of spam
During a shit storm about spam
Watching that spam be deleted during the shit storm
probably shouldn't have but it did
you can vote for the next one.
Let the games begine!
I was thinking about my handbag anti-attorney general protective copy of the Constitution, and I thought about this part of a speech Molly Ivins once gave:
Unknown to many people, my friend John Henry (Faulk) had a career in law enforcement -- at one point as he was a Texas Ranger. Captain of the Texas Rangers. He was seven at the time. And his friend Boots Cooper was the sheriff. The two of them did a lot of serious law enforcement out behind the Faulk place in south Austin.
And one day Mrs. Faulk asked those boys to go down to the henhouse and get a chicken snake out of the henhouse for her. So they rode their bikes down there and tethered their brooms. Went in and hunted through the nests on the bottom shelf and did not find that snake. Then they had to stand on tiptoe to see over the edge of the top shelf, and they did find a snake.
I myself have never been nose-to-nose with a chicken snake, but I’ve always taken John Henry’s word for it that it will just scare the living hell out of you. And it did. It scared both those boys so bad they both tried to exit the henhouse at the same time doing considerable damage to both themselves and the henhouse door.
Mrs. Faulk, watching this from the porch, got to laughing so hard. And they came back up there, and she said, “Boys, what is wrong with you? You know perfectly well a chicken snake cannot hurt you, will not hurt you.” That’s when Boots Cooper said something fairly immortal. He said, “Yes, ma’am, but there are some things that’ll scare you so bad that you’ll hurt yourself.”
Molly Ivins never failed to give me a happy.
A nun walks into Mother Superior's office and plunks down into a chair.
She lets out a sigh heavy with frustration.
"What troubles you, Sister?" asks the Mother Superior. "I thought this was
the day you spent with your family."
"It was," sighed the Sister. "And I went to play golf with my brother. We
try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer
before I devoted my life to Christ."
"I seem to recall that," the Mother Superior agreed. "So I take it your day
of recreation was not relaxing?"
"Far from it," snorted the Sister. "In fact, I even took the Lord's name in
"Goodness, Sister!" gasped the Mother Superior, astonished. "You must tell
me all about it!"
"Well, we were on* the fifth tee...and this hole is a monster, Mother ~ 540
yard Par 5,* with a nasty dogleg left and a hidden green and I hit the drive
of my* life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made. And it's flying
straight and true, right along the line I wanted...and it hits a bird in
mid-flight not 100 yards off the tee!"
"Oh my!" commiserated the Mother. "How unfortunate! But surely that didn't
make you blaspheme, Sister!"
"No, that wasn't it," admitted Sister. "While I was still trying to fathom
what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods, grabs my ball and
runs off down the* fairway!"
"Oh, that would have made me blaspheme!" sympathized Mother.
"But I didn't, Mother Superior!" sobbed the Sister. "And I was so proud of
myself! And while I was pondering whether this was* a sign from God, this
hawk swoops out of the sky and grabs the* squirrel and flies off, with my
ball still clutched in his* paws!"
"So that's when you cursed," said the Mother with a knowing smile.
"Nope, that wasn't it either," cried the Sister,* anguished, "because as the
hawk started to fly out of sight, the* squirrel started struggling, and the
hawk dropped him right there on* the green, and the ball popped out of his
paws and rolled to about 18* inches from the cup!"
Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest,
fixed the Sister with a baleful stare and said...
"You missed the goddamned putt, didn't you?"
Found on the Internet
Edited for scansion and style by the Poetry Rewrite Desk
For years and years they told me to be careful of my breasts:
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them, and give them monthly tests.
I heeded all their warnings; in the bedroom and the spa
I guarded them from hands and stress and always wore my bra.
But after 30 years of care my doctor found a lump.
She ordered up a mammogram to look inside that bump.
"Stand up very close" she said, and got my boob in line,
"And tell me when it hurts" she said; "Ah yes there now that's fine."
She stepped down on a pedal; I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate pressed down and down -- my boob was in a vise!
My skin was stretched and stretched from up beneath my chin.
My boob was being squished and squashed to Swedish pancake thin.
I felt excruciating pain within its alligator grip.
A prisoner in this vicous thing: my poor defenseless tit!
"Take a breath" she said to me: who's she think she's kidding?
But since I'm mashed in her machine I do her evil bidding.
"There, that was good," I heard her say. The room is slowly swaying.
"Now, let's have a go at the other one." Lord have mercy I'm praying.
It squeezed on me from up and down; it squeezed from side to side;
I'll bet she's never had this done to her educated hide!
If I had cysts when I came in I surely have none now.
If there had been a cyst in there it would have popped, "ker-pow!"
A man must have invented this machine I have no doubt;
I'd like to stick his balls in there and see how they come out!
Thinking of Graham Chapman earlier today, I was reminded of the eulogy that John Cleese delivered at his memorial service. It's one of the most beautiful and appropriately inappropriate and hilarious things ever spoken. And it's nsfw.
Stephi's new title!!
|All times are GMT -3. The time now is 04:43 PM.|
Powered by vBulletin® Version 3.6.5
Copyright ©2000 - 2022, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.