A womens poem:
Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's rich and self-employed,
And when I spend, won't be annoyed.
Pull out my chair and hold my hand.
Massage my feet and help me stand..
Oh send a king to make me queen.
A man who loves to cook and clean..
I pray this man will love no other.
And relish visits with my mother...
A MAN'S POEM:
I pray for a deaf-mute gymnast nymphomaniac with
big tits who owns a bar on a golf course,
and loves to send me fishing and drinking.
This doesn't rhyme and I don't give a chit.
The boss walked into the office one morning not knowing his zipper was down and his fly area wide open. His assistant walked up to him and said, 'This morning when you left your house, did you close your garage door?' The boss told her he knew he'd closed the garage door, and walked into his office puzzled by the question.
As he finished his paperwork, he suddenly noticed his fly was open, and zipped it up. He then understood his assistant's question about his 'garage door..'
He headed out for a cup of coffee and paused by her desk to ask, 'When my garage door was open, did you see my Hummer parked in there?'
She smiled and said, 'No, I didn't. All I saw was an old mini van with two flat tires.
The boss walked into the office one morning not knowing his zipper was down and his fly area wide open. His assistant walked up to him and said, 'This morning when you left your house, did you close your garage door?' The boss told her he knew he'd closed the garage door, and walked into his office puzzled by the question.
As he finished his paperwork, he suddenly noticed his fly was open, and zipped it up. He then understood his assistant's question about his 'garage door..'
He headed out for a cup of coffee and paused by her desk to ask, 'When my garage door was open, did you see my Hummer parked in there?'
She smiled and said, 'No, I didn't. All I saw was an old mini van with two flat tires.
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The original point and click interface: Smith & Wesson.
There will be no Nativity Scene in Washington this year!
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a Nativity Scene
in the United States' Capital this Christmas season.
This isn't for any religious reason.
They simply have not been able to find Three Wise Men
in the Nation's Capitol.
A search for a Virgin continues.
There was no problem, however,
finding enough asses to fill the stable.
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The original point and click interface: Smith & Wesson.
There will be no Nativity Scene in Washington this year!
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a Nativity Scene
in the United States' Capital this Christmas season.
This isn't for any religious reason.
They simply have not been able to find Three Wise Men
in the Nation's Capitol.
A search for a Virgin continues.
There was no problem, however,
finding enough asses to fill the stable.
That joke seems so true to life.
__________________
Corby Story-B4/T4
TRCR....come and play!
Doin it dirty style!
www.311.com Spread Unity!
There will be no Nativity Scene in Washington this year!
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a Nativity Scene
in the United States' Capital this Christmas season.
This isn't for any religious reason.
They simply have not been able to find Three Wise Men
in the Nation's Capitol.
A search for a Virgin continues.
There was no problem, however,
finding enough asses to fill the stable.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Bremelo
That joke seems so true to life.
oh if you could only read the words.
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TurtleMaster Racing - Schumacher - Speedpassion - High Velocity Racing
An old prospector shuffled into town leading an old tired mule. The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town to clear his parched throat.
He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail. As he stood there brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, "Hey old man, have you ever danced?"
The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, "No, I never did dance-and just never wanted to."
A crowd had gathered quickly and the gunslinger grinned and said, "Well, you old fool, you're gonna' dance now," and started shooting at the old man's feet. The old prospector in order to not get a toe blown off or his boots perforated was soon hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet and everybody was laughing fit to be tied.
When the last bullet had been fired the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon. The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double barreled shotgun, and cocked both hammers back. The loud, audible double clicks carried clearly through the desert air.
The crowd stopped laughing immediately. The young gunslinger heard the sounds, too, and he turned around very slowly. The quiet was almost deafening. The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin barrels. He found it hard to swallow. The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man's hands.
The old man said, "Son, did you ever kiss a mule's ass?"
The young bully swallowed hard and said, "No, but I've always wanted to."
There are two lessons for us all here:
1. Don't waste ammunition.
2. Don't mess with old people.
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The original point and click interface: Smith & Wesson.
The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.
The next day the kids came back, and one by one began to tell their stories.
"Little Johnny, do you have a story to share ?"
"Yes ma'am. My daddy told a story about my Aunt Karen. She was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a flask of whiskey, a pistol and a survival knife.
She quickly drank the whiskey on the way down, knowing it would shatter and go to waste otherwise, and just then her parachute landed her right in the middle of twenty enemy troops.
She shot fifteen of them with the gun until she ran out of bullets, killed four more with the knife, till the blade broke, and then she killed the last Iraqi with her bare hands."
"Good Heavens" said the horrified teacher. "What kind of moral did your daddy tell you from this horrible story ?"
"Stay the Fuck away from Aunt Karen when she's drinking."
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keith coffman II (jr. at the track)
Four friends spend weeks planning the perfect backwoods wheeling, camping and fishing trip.
Two days before the group is to leave Mike’s wife puts her foot down and tells him he isn’t going.
Now Mike’s friends are very upset that he can’t go, but what can they do?
Two days later the three friends pull into their selected camping spot only to find Mike already there with a Generator running, big stack of firewood and fresh fish grilling over the fire.
“Damn man, how long you been here and how did you talk your wife into letting you come?”
Well I been here since yesterday Mike explains.
You see yesterday evening I was sitting in my shop looking at the toy all loaded up and ready to roll for our trip and drinking a Red Bull, when the wife came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes and said “Guess Who?”
I pulled her hands off my eyes and turned to find she was standing there in a new sheer see through Teddy. She then took my hand and lead me into the house and to the bedroom. The room had two dozen candles and rose petals all over.
On the bed she had laid out handcuffs and ropes. As I took this all in she whispered in my ear, to tie her up and cuff her to the bed, so I did.
One of Korean school kids’ favourite games is 똥침, or “ddong ch’im,” which translates roughly as “shit needle.” It’s not complicated; all you do is run around with your two index fingers in the steeple position, find vulnerable anuses and jam your “needle” up them as hard as you can. (Find a digital version of the game—a kind of excremental Asteroids—here. ) For the foreign receiver, this is rarely funny or enjoyable in any way. However, the activity is indicative of a much larger national relationship with turds.
In the West, we have plenty of juvenile toilet humour, but when it boils right down to it, there’s not much we like less than shit. We think shit is gross. We equate it with moral filth, degeneracy, everything in society that we would like to flush into the sewer along with our deuce bombs. As Erik D’Amato points out in his “Mystery of Disgust,” “in most cultures the same word used to describe feces and decay [‘disgusting’] is also applied to morally-dubious acts.”
In Korea, however, shit is cute. It has somehow been adopted as a kind of cartoon mascot, a harmless and even adorable little character that takes the form of a coiled, anthropomorphized pile of poop. You’ll find this little guy on stickers, notebooks and other school supplies, and even used on signage for restaurants; currently, by my count, there are at least three “Ddong” bars in Shi-cheong, the student pub area of Jeju City, each of which is adorned with a glowing pile of shit to draw carousers in for a few shitty beers.
In Seoul, there is even a pair of public sculptures of the peaked forms done in colourful mosaic. The forthright appreciation for crap goes even further in Jeju, where indigenous black pig, traditionally raised in pens that doubled as toilets for Jeju villagers and therefore fattened on the droppings left therein, is among the most coveted and expensive meats used for Korean barbeque. This is not only undisguised—it is advertised in the very name of the animal: “ddong dwaeji,” literally, “shit pig.”
The Korean fondness for feces probably has roots in Confucianism, wherein the individual is always part of a larger group, thereby rendering Western notions of privacy moot. This ideological base also dictates that standards of shame are based more on concepts of social dishonor than fear of the body. It could also have to do with the much more direct relationship Koreans have with the sources of their food—there is no equivalent in Korean for the English words “beef” and “pork”; here, you order “so gogi” or “dwaeji gogi,” “cow meat” or “pig meat,” and the animals that provide the meat appear alongside the little turd as cartoon ambassadors for the restaurants in which they are served as dinner. Maybe recognizing the stuff you are eating makes it easier to face the stuff you are excreting, which is, after all, the same shit in a different form.
Whatever the explanation, the discrepancy between our fear of shit and Koreans’ tendency to want to cuddle it points to the same difference in perspective that I mentioned oh, about six million words ago in the introduction. What is important when looking at these differences, be they to do with food or shit, is not to fall into the trap of grafting our moral judgments about things we deem “disgusting” onto cultures that haven’t absorbed our inherited cultural attitudes. As D’Amato points out, “by relishing something we consider gross, an otherwise well-regarded culture can be instantly relegated to barbarian status.” The fear factor is a big one in forming our opinions of people from other places. The empathy of taste—trying to wrap your head around enjoying those fried toad balls, rather than just eating them on a dare—is something we all need a little more of when developing our global palates.
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SMFF
racing
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