AnnihilationX - Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game (MMORPG)

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Profile:	RIP Waylander You are gone but will never be forgotten!!!!!!! To Whoever Gets My Dog They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street. But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did. But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home).. Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike. For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to. I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey. This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me." Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter.. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that. Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me.. Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.".... ...... "To Whoever Gets My Dog: Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time... it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong... which is why I have to go to try to make it right. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you. First, he loves tennis balls... the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly. Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business. I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog. Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand. He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows. Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you..... His name's not Reggie.. I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. but I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems. His real name is Tank. Because that is what I drive. Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call the shelter... in the "event"... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word. Well, this letter is getting too downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. But still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me. That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades. All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth. Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me." Thank you, Paul Mallory I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer. I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog. "Hey, Tank," I said quietly. The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. "C'mere boy." He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months. "Tank," I whispered. His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him. "It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball? His ears perked again. "Yeah Ball You like that Ball " Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back.......he had three tennis balls in his mouth. I GOT HIT BY A \|^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^\| \|Truck full of Mexicans\| '\|""";.., _. \|_..._...______====\|= _\|__\|..., ] \| "(@ )'(@ )""""\|(@ )(@ )**(@ And they don't have any insurance! A guy walked into the local welfare office to pick up his check. He marched straight up to the counter And said, ' Hi. You know, I just HATE Drawing welfare. I'd really rather have A job.' The social worker behind the counter Said, ' Your timing is excellent. We just got a job opening from a very Wealthy old man who wants a chauffeur and bodyguard for his beautiful Daughter. You'll have to drive around in his 2008 Mercedes CL, and he will supply all of Your clothes. Because of the long hours Meals will be provided. You'll also be Expected to escort the daughter on her Overseas holiday trips. This is rather awkward to say but you Will also have as part of your job Assignment to satisfy her sexual urges As the daughter is in her mid-20's and Has a rather strong sex drive. A two-bedroom loft type apartment With plasma TV, stereo, bar, etc. Located above the garage will be Designated for your sole use and The salary is $200,000 a year.' The guy, just plain wide-eyed, said, ' You're bullshittin' me!' The social worker said, ' Yeah, well, You started it.' A precious little girl walks into a pet shop and asks, in the sweetest little lisp, between two missing teeth, "Excuthe me, mithter, do you keep widdle wabbits?" As the shopkeeper's heart melts, he gets down on his knees so that he's on her level and asks, "Do you want a widdle white wabbit, or a thoft and fuwwy bwack wabbit, or maybe one like that cute widdle bwown wabbit over there?" She, in turn, blushes, rocks on her heels, puts her hands on her knees, leans forward and says, in a tiny quiet voice, "I don't think my python weally givth a thit l I was depressed last night so I called Lifeline... Got a frigging call centre in Pakistan . I told them I was suicidal. They got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.. Proof that Men Have Better Friends... Friendship among Women: A woman didn't come home one night. The next morning she told her husband that she had slept over at a friend's house. The man called his wife's 10 best friends. None of them knew anything about it. Friendship among Men: A man didn't come home one night. The next morning he told his wife that he had slept over at a friend's house. The woman called her husband's 10 best friends. Eight confirmed that he had slept over, and two said he was still there One day, in line at the company cafeteria, Joe says to Mike behind him, 'My elbow hurts like hell. I guess I'd better see a doctor.' 'Listen, you don't have to spend that kind of money,' Mike replies. 'There's a diagnostic computer down at Wal-Mart. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what's wrong and what to do about it. It takes ten seconds and costs ten dollars . . A lot cheaper than a doctor.' So, Joe deposits a urine sample in a small jar and takes it to Wal-Mart. He deposits ten dollars and the computer lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into the slot and waits. Ten seconds later, the computer ejects a printout: 'You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks. Thank you for shopping @ Wal-Mart.' That evening, while thinking how amazing this new technology was, Joe began wondering if the computer could be fooled. He mixed some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter, and a sperm sample for good measure. Joe hurries back to Wal-Mart, eager to check the results. He deposits ten dollars, pours in his concoction, and awaits the results. The computer prints the following: 1. Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener. (Aisle 9) 2. Your dog has ringworm. Bathe him with anti-fungal shampoo. (Aisle 7) 3. Your daughter has a cocaine habit. Get her into rehab. 4. Your wife is pregnant. Twins. They aren't yours. Get a lawyer. 5. If you don't stop playing with yourself, your elbow will never get better In a trial, a southern small-town attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly elderly lady to the stand. He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Williams, do you know me?" She responded "Why, yes, I do know you, Mr. Williams. I've known you since you were a boy, and frankly, you have been a disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk behind their backs. You think you are a big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you'll never amount to anything but a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you." The lawyer was stunned. Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Jones, Do you know the defense attorney?" She again replied, "Why yes I do, I've known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. He's lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can't build a normal relationship with anyone, and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him." The defense attorney nearly died. The Judge asked both counselors to approach the bench, and in a very quiet voice, said, "If either one of you idiots asked her if she knows me, I'll send you both to the electric chair!" John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, 'Here's to spending the rest of me life, between the legs of me wife!' That won him the top prize at the pub for the best toast of the night! He went home and told his wife, Mary, 'I won the prize for the Best toast of the night.' She said, 'Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?' John said, 'Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me wife.' Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!' Mary said. The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking buddies on the street corner. The man chuckled leeringly and said, 'John won the prize the other night at the pub with a toast about you, Mary.' She said, 'Aye, he told me, and I was a bit surprised myself. You know, he's only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come.' Are you a Democrat, a Republican, or a Redneck? Here is a little test that will help you decide. The answer can be found by posing the following question: You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, an Islamic Terrorist with a huge knife comes around the corner, locks eyes with you, screams obscenities, praises Allah, raises the knife, and charges at you. You are carrying a Kimber 1911 cal. 45 ACP, and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do? ............ .......... ......... ......... ......... ......... . THINK CAREFULLY AND THEN SCROLL DOWN: Democrat's Answer : Well, that's not enough information to answer the question! Does the man look poor or oppressed? Have I ever done anything to him that would inspire him to attack? Could we run away? What does my wife think? What about the kids? Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand? What does the law say about this situation? Does the pistol have appropriate safety built into it? Why am I carrying a loaded gun anyway, and what kind of message does this send to society and to my children? Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me? Does he definitely want to kill me, or would he be content just to wound me? If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me? Should I call 9-1-1? Why is this street so deserted? We need to raise taxes, have paint and weed day and make this a happier, healthier street that would discourage such behavior. This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for few days and try to come to a consensus. ............ ......... ......... .......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... .......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... .......... ... Republican's Answer: BANG! ............ ......... .......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... .......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... . Redneck's Answer: BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG ! Click..... (Sounds of reloading) BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!BANG! Daughter: 'Nice grouping, Daddy! Were those the Winchester Silver Tips or Hollow Points?! ' Son: 'Can I shoot the next one?!' Wife: 'You ain't taking that to the Taxidermist! A DAMN FINE EXPLANATION The wife came home early and found her husband in their bedroom making love to a very attractive young woman. And she was somewhat upset. 'You are a disrespectful pig!' she cried. 'How dare you do this to me -- a faithful wife, the mother of your children! I'm leaving you. I want a divorce right away!' And the husband replied, 'Hang on just a minute love, at least let me tell you what happened.' 'Fine, go ahead,' she sobbed,' but they'll be the last words you'll say to me!' And the husband began -- 'Well, I was getting into the car to drive home, and this young lady here asked me for a lift.. She looked so down and out and defenseless that I took pity on her and let her into the car. I noticed that she was very thin, not well dressed and very dirty. She told me that she hadn't eaten for three days. So, in my compassion, I brought her home and warmed up the enchiladas I made for you last night, the ones you wouldn't eat because you're afraid you'll put on weight. The poor thing devoured them in moments.. Since she needed a good clean-up, I suggested a shower, and while she was doing that, I noticed her clothes were dirty and full of holes, so I threw them away. Then, as she needed clothes, I gave her the expensive designer jeans that you bought a couple years back, but won't wear because you say they're not the "in" style this year. I also gave her the underwear that was your anniversary present, which you won't wear because I don't have good taste. I found the sexy blouse my sister gave you for Christmas that you won't wear just to annoy her, and I also donated those boots you bought at the expensive boutique and won't wear because someone at work has a pair just like them.' The husband took a quick breath and continued - 'She was so grateful for my understanding and help that as I walked her to the door, she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said, 'Please ... Do you have anything else that your wife doesn't use?' A Damn Fine Explanation KNOW THE SYMPTOMS.....PLEASE READ! Thank goodness there's a name for this disorder. Somehow I feel better,even though I have it!! Recently, I was diagnosed with A.A.A.D.D. Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder . This is how it manifests: I decide to water my garden. As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide it needs washing. As I start toward the garage, I notice mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier. I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car. I lay my car keys on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full. So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first. But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first. I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only one check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke I'd been drinking. I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over. The Coke is getting warm, and I decide to put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold. As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need water. I put the Coke on the counter and discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning. I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers. I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table. I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I'll be looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers. I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill. Then, I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do. At the end of the day: the car isn't washed the bills aren't paid there is a warm can of Coke sitting on the counter the flowers don't have enough water, there is still only 1 check in my check book, I can't find the remote, I can't find my glasses, and I don't remember what I did with the car keys. Then, when I try to figure out why nothing got done today, I'm really baffled because I know I was busy all day, and I'm really tired. I realize this is a serious problem, and I'll try to get some help for it, but first I'll check my e-mail... "Well you see, Norm, it's like this . . . A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the heard is hunted, it is the lowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain c ells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers." Ralph came home drunk one night, slid into bed beside his sleeping wife, and fell into a deep slumber. He awoke before the Pearly Gates, where St. Peter said, 'You died in your sleep, Ralph..' Ralph was stunned. 'I'm dead? No, I can't be! I've got too much to live for. Send me back!' St. Peter said, 'I'm sorry, but there's only one way you can go back, and that is as a chicken.' Ralph was devastated, but begged St. Peter to send him to a farm near his home.. The next thing he knew, he was covered with feathers, clucking, and pecking the ground. A rooster strolled past. 'So, you're the new hen, huh? How's your first day here?' 'Not bad,' replied Ralph the hen, 'but I have this strange feeling inside. Like I'm gonna explode!' 'You're ovulating,' explained the rooster. 'Don 't tell me you've never laid an egg before? ' 'Never,' said Ralph. 'Well, just relax and let it happen,' says the rooster . 'It's no big deal.' Ralph did, and a few uncomfortable seconds later, out popped an egg! Ralph was overcome with emotion as he experienced motherhood. He soon laid another egg -- his joy was overwhelming. As he was about to lay his third egg, he felt a smack on the back of his head, and heard his wife yell..... "Ralph! Wake up. You shit in the bed!" I went to the Home Depot recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'you're definitely going to st yourself' roadkill chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off. Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No 'Watson's Movement 2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I was unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my dear wife as 'thunder and lightning'. Knowing that a time of reckoning HAD to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the Depot, my quest being paint and supplies to refinish the den. Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm referring to that 'Uh, Oh, S*t, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneros in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot. There I stood, alone in the paint and stain section, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an red aproned clerk turned the corner and asked if I needed any help., I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what his reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate. I could've warned that poor clerk, but didn't. I simply watched as he walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all he could do before gathering his senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving his arms about his head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh.. .......BIG mistake!!!!! Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things 'clamped down', if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun. Suddenly things were no longer funny. 'It' was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place. Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe' . He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, 'Sonofabitch!, did it smell that bad when you ate it?', then quickly left. Once finished and I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.' My smirking of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!', then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return. Home again without my supplies, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Lowe's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store.. Dear Son, I'm writing this slow 'cause I know you can't read fast. We don't live where we did when you first left. Your father read in the paper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you the address 'cause the last family here took the numbers with them for their next house, so they wouldn't have to change their address. This place has a washing machine. The first day I put four shirts in, pulled the chain, and I haven't seen 'em since. The coat you wanted me to send you, your Aunt Sue said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with the heavy buttons, so we cut 'em off and put them in the pockets. Your father has a new job with several hundred people under him. He cuts the lawn at the cemetery. About your sister - she had a baby this morning. I haven't found out whether it's a girl or a boy, so I don't know if you are an Aunt or and Uncle. We got a bill from the funeral home, said if we didn't make the last payment on Grandma's funeral, up she comes. Your Uncle Joe fell in the whisky vat yesterday - some men tried to pull him out but he fought 'em all off and finally drowned. We cremated him right after and he's still burning good this morning. The neighbors next door have started to keep pigs. We just got wind of it this morning. Your father took me to the doctor's the other day. The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to open it for ten minutes. Your father tried to buy it from him. It only rained twice last week. Once for three days, then for four days. It was so windy that one of our chickens laid the same egg four times. Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pick-up truck, one was driving, two in the back. The driver rolled the window down and swam out. The two in the back couldn't get the tail-gate open so they drowned too. Not much news this time, nothing much happens round here, will try to write more next time. Love, Your Mama P.S. Was going to send you money, but the envelope was already sealed. Kool_Dude died in a fire and his body was burned pretty badly… The morgue needed someone to identify the body, so they sent for his two best friends, Superduperdud and Reptilian Menace. The three men were inseparable and had always done everything together. Superduperdud arrived first, and when the mortician pulled back the sheet, Superduperdud said, 'Wow!, his face is burned up pretty bad. You better roll him over.' The mortician rolled him over and Superduperdud said, 'Nope, ain't Kool_dude.' The mortician thought this was rather strange. To confirm this unorthodox identity procedure he brought Reptilian Menace in to view the body. Reptilian Menace looked at the body and said, 'Yup, just like Superduperdud said, he's pretty well burnt up… Roll him over.' The mortician rolled him over and Reptilian Menace said, 'No, it ain't Kool_dude.' The mortician asked, 'How can you tell?' Reptilian Menace said, 'Well, Kool_dude had two assholes.' 'What? He had two assholes?' asked the mortician. 'Yup, we never seen 'em, but everybody used to say: 'There's Kool_dude with them two assholes.' A priest offered a Nun a lift. > > She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal > a leg. > > The priest nearly had an accident. > > After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up > her leg. > > The nun said, 'Father, remember Psalm 129?' > > The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let > his hand slide up her leg again. > The nun once again said, 'Father, remember Psalm > 129?' > > The priest apologized 'Sorry sister but the flesh is > weak.' > > Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on > her way. > > On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up > Psalm 129. It said, 'Go forth and seek, further up, you > will find glory.' > > Moral of the story: > If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a > great opportunity. THE SPOILED UNDER-30 CROWD!!! If you are 30 or older you will think this is hilarious!!!! When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were growing up; what with walking Twenty-five miles to school every morning Uphill... barefoot... BOTH ways Yadda, yadda, yadda And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on kids about how hard I had and how easy they've got it! But now that... I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today. You've got it so easy! I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia! And I hate to say it but you kids today you don't know how good you've got it! I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have The Internet. If we wanted to know something, We had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves, in the card catalogue!! There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter, with a pen! Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10 cents! Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass! No where was safe! There were no MP3's or Napsters! You wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the damn record store and shoplift it yourself! Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio and the DJ'd usually talk over the beginning and @#% it all up! There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favorite tape and "eject" it when finished and the tape would come undone.'cause that's how we rolled, dig? We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called they got a busy signal, that's it! And we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your mom, your boss, your Bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent, you just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances, mister! We didn't have any fancy Sony Playstation video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! Wehad the Atari 2600! With games like 'Space Invaders' and 'asteroids'. Your guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE! You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel! There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying!?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards! And we didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat something up we had to use the stove ... Imagine that! That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it too easy. You're spoiled. You guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes back in 1980or before! Regards, The over 30 Crowd Once upon a time lived a beautiful Queen with large breasts. Nick the Dragon Slayer obsessed over the Queen for this reason. He knew that the penalty for his desire would be death should he try to touch them, but he had to try. One day Nick revealed his secret desire to his colleague, Horatio the Physician, the King's chief doctor. Horatio thought about this and said that he could arrange for Nick to more than satisfy his desire, but it would cost him 1000 gold coins to arrange it. Without pause, Nick readily agreed to the scheme. The next day, Horatio made a batch of itching powder and poured a little bit into the Queen's bra while she bathed. Soon after she dressed, the itching commenced and grew intense. Upon being summoned to the royal Chambers to address this incident, Horatio informed the King and Queen that only a special saliva, if applied for four hours, would cure this type of itch, and that tests had shown that, among all of the citizens of the kingdom, only the saliva of Nick would work as the antidote to cure the itch. The King, eager to help his Queen, quickly summoned Nick to their chambers. Horatio then slipped Nick the antidote for the itching powder, which he put into his mouth, and for the next four hours, Nick worked passionately on the Queen's large and magnificent breasts. The Queen's itching was eventually relieved, and Nick left satisfied and hailed as a hero. Upon returning to his chamber, Nick found Horatio demanding his payment of 1000 gold coins. With his obsession now satisfied, Nick couldn't have cared less knowing that Horatio could never report this matter to the King and with a laugh told him to get lost. The next day, Horatio slipped a massive dose of the same itching powder into the King's underwear. The King immediately summoned Nick ... The moral of the story - Pay your bills. I was the white guy with the black Burrberry jacket that> you demanded I hand over shortly after you pulled the knife> on me and my girlfriend. You also asked for my> girlfriend's purse and earrings. I hope you somehow come> across this message. I'd like to apologize. > > I didn't expect you to crap your pants when I drew my> pistol after you took my jacket. Truth is, I was wearing the> jacket for a reason that evening, and it wasn't that> cold outside. You see, my girlfriend had> just bought me that Kimber 1911 .45 ACP pistol for> Christmas, and we had just picked up a shoulder holster for> it that evening. Beautiful pistol, eh? It's a very> intimidating weapon when pointed at your head, isn't it?> > I know it probably wasn't a great deal of fun walking> back to wherever you'd come from with that brown> sludge flopping about in your pants. I'm sure it was> even worse since you also ended up leaving your shoes,> cellphone, and wallet with me. I couldn't have you> calling up any of your buddies to come help you try to mug> us again. I took the liberty of calling your mother, or> "Momma" as you had her listed in your cell, and> explaining to her your situation. I also bought myself some> gas on your card. I gave your shoes to one of the homeless> guys over by Vinnie Van Go Go's, along with all of the> cash in your wallet, then I threw the wallet itself in a> dumpster. > > I called a bunch of phone sex numbers from your cell.> They'll be on your bill in case you'd like to know> which ones. Alltel recently shut down the line, and I've> only had the phone for a little over a day now, so I> don't know what's going on with that. I hope they> haven't permanently cut off your service. I was about to> make some threatening phone calls to the DA's office> with it. Oh well. > > So, about your pants. I know that I was a little rough on> you when you did this whole attempted mugging> thing, so I'd like to make it up to you. I'm sure> you've already washed your pants, so I'd like to> help you out. I'd like to reimburse you for the> detergent you used on the pants. What brand did you use, and> was it liquid or powder? I'd also like to apologize for> not killing you and instead making you walk back home> humiliated. I'm hoping that you'll reconsider your> choice of path in life. Next time you might not be so lucky.> If you read this message, email me and we'll do lunch> and laundry. Peace! EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH I never dreamed that slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect. I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact. Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Harley Davidson with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular... He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage! Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing... I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH! Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Harley Davidson can only have one result. TORQUE. This is what the Harley Davidson is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Harley Davidson screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in . well . I just plain screamed. Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle... my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser. About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I amquite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment),>so her front end started to drop. Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now, the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort of. Spectacularly sort of ..so to speak. Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car. I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street. I would have returned to 'fess up' (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really... Except for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop fromthe passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car .. but it was all his. I took a deep breath, turned on my turn signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids. Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting "Holy shit!!!!!! What a ride!!!!!!!!! To give you some background information the original author of this email is in his mid 40’s about 6’4 and 220 lbs and contrary to this story, he is quite an intelligent person. Dear Friends, My wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to “Well, I have out done myself once again.” No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a Life Time movie in the near future. Here it goes: Last weekend I spied something at the Pawn shop that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my “fancy” is easily tickled.) I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you’ve never seen one of these things in action, then you’re truly missing out-way too cool! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don’t need no stinkin’ directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I’d get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!! Yipeeeeee I’m easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to her what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn’t be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time. So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. All the while I’m looking at this little device (measuring about 5” long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, “no friggin’ way!” Friggin’ way - trust me, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I’m sitting there alone, the dog looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, “don’t do it buddy,” reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil’ ole thing couldn’t hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight—always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don’t ya hate that?) I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY *******!!!! I’m pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, “do it again, do it again!” (Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You’re not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you’re lucky, you won’t lodge one of the prongs 1/4” deep in your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-*** that hurt! A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, as my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I’m pretty sure. By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward. They’re round, rather large. Miss ‘em ...... sure would like to get ‘em back. __________________888888888888888888888888 _______________8888OOO8888888888888888888888888 _____________8888OOOOOO8888888888888888888888888888 ____________88OOOOOOOO888OOO8888888888888888888888888 __________88888888OOOO8OOOOOOOOOOO888888888888888888888 ________8888OO88OO88OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO88888888888_ 88 _______8___88OOOO888888OOOOOMmOOOOOOOOOO88888888888__8 _________888888888888888888OMOOOOOOOOOOO8888888888888 ________88888888888888888888OOOOOOOOOOOOM88888888888888 ________8888888888888888888888OOOOOOOOOM8888888888888888 _________8888888888888888888888OOOOOOOM888888888888888888 ________8888888888888888OO88888OOOOOOM88888888888888888888 ______88888888888888888OOO88888OOOOOM888888888888888___8888 _____88888888888888888OOO88888OOOOMOO.o.O.o.888888888___88 ____88888888888888888OOO8888OOOOOMOOOOOOOOOOO88888888____8 ___88888888888888888OOOO88OOOOOOMO;OOOOOOOOOOO888888888 __8888888888888888888OOO8OOOOOOMOOaAaOOOOOOOOM8888888888_______8 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