The Shit List

THE GHOST SHIT
The kind where you feel shit coming out, have shit on the toilet paper but there is no shit in the bowl.

THE CLEAN SHIT
The kind where you shit it out, there is shit in the bowl, but t3ere is not shit on the to

THE WET SHIT
The kind where you wipe your ass fifty times and it still feels unwiped, so you have to put toilet paper between your ass and your underwear so you don’t ruin them with those dreadful skid marks.

THE SECOND WAVESHIT
This shit usually happens when you’re finished shitting, you’ve pulled your pants up to your knees, and you realize that you have to shit some more.

THE BRAIN HEMMORAGE THROUGH YOUR NOSE SHIT
This kind of shit you strain so hard to get it out that you practically have a stroke

THE CORN SHIT No explanation necessary

THE LINCOLN LOG SHIT
This kind of shit that’s so huge that you’re afraid to flush the toilet without first breaking I up into little pieces with the toilet brush.

THE GEE I WISH I COULD SHIT
The kind where you want to shit but all you can do is sit on the toilet bowl, cramped and farting

THE NOTORIOUS DRINKER SHIT
This is the kind where you have after a long night of drinking. Its most notable trait is the tread mark It leaves on the bottom of the bowl.

THE POWER DUMP SHIT
This is the kind that comes out your ass so fast you barely get your pants down and you’re done
THE LIQUIDSHIT
The kind where yellowish-brown liquid shoots out of your ass, splatters all over the inside of the toilet bowl, the whole time burning your tender anus.

THE LIQUID PLUMMER SHIT
The kind of shit that’s so big it plugs up the toilet and you end up with shit all over the floor.
THE SPINAL TAP SHIT
The kind of shit that hurts so much coming out that you swear it must be coming out sideways.
THE I THINK I’M GIVING BIRTH TROUGH MY ASSHOLE SHIT
Similar to the “Lincoln Log” and “Spinal Tap” shits. The shape of the turd seems to resemble a beer can. Vacuous air space remains in the rectum for some time afterwards.

THE PORRIGE SHIT
The type of shit that comes out like toothpaste but just keeps coming out. You have two choices with this shit: a) flush it and keep going or b) risk it piling up to your butt while you sit there helpless.

THE I’M GOING TO START CHEWING MY FOOD BETTER SHIT
This is where those Doritos you ate before going to bed last night scrape the sides of your asshole till it bleeds.

THE AM I TURNING NTO A RABBIT? SHIT
The kind when you drop cute little rounds ones that look like marbles and make little splashing sounds when they hit the water.

THE WHAT THE HELL DIED IN THERE? SHIT
This is also sometimes referred to as the “Toxic Dump”. Of course you don’t warn anybody about the obnoxious bathroom odor. Instead you stand near the door and watch their faces as they run gagging and gasping for air…

THE I JUST KNOW THERE’S A TURD STILL DANGLING THERE
This is where you just sit and wait for the last cling-on drop to fall off because if you were to wipe it now, it would be rather messy.

THE GROANER SHIT
A shit so large it must be vocally assisted.
THE CROWD PLEASE SHIT
A shit so intriguing shape in shape or size that you must show it to someone else before you flush it.
THE RICHARD SIMMONS SHIT
The kind where you shit so much you lose 40 pounds instantly.

The Poncho Villa Will Never Die Shit
This is the kind of shit that comes reminds you that your were drinking tequila, eating incredibly hot tortilla chips and putting half a bottle of Tabasco in each beer to prove how damn tough you are.

Groups Names and an Observation

If a group of dogs is a pack, and a group of lions is a pride, then a group of house cats has gotta be an "uppity"!

I saw a lady with 2 kids today. One was bigger than the other. Brother and Sister? I asked?" "No, twins", she said. Why is the boy so much bigger? I asked. "He always fed on the right." she answered.

Deciduosity

When we are born, we have a full head of hair and no teeth. We lose the baby hair and grow teeth. Next, we grow real hair and we lose the baby teeth and grow permanant teeth. As nature and luck would have it, from then on, we begin to lose things, a tooth here, an appendix there, sometimes a digit or an appendage. Sometimes we have things taken away on purpose.

Next, the hair starts to go away again, except this time it does not come back. Our eyesight deteriorates, we need glasses. Hearing starts to go, then slowly, a bit at a time we lose other things, the appendix, teeth, a finger here, a toe there, perhaps a gall bladder. Man is a deciduous being! I call this deciduosity.

Full Moon

I watched a film of some man shooting a rhino with a tranquiler gun.
The Rhinosteraurisisisis started running around. 
Then he moved really slowly until he stopped.
Then he fell over...
I know how he felt.

James Dean ???

I watched this guy order a shot of Tequila
and proceed to "Toss It Down"
(The same shot 4 times)
and go through the tough guy macho changes
of a sidewalk commando
with clean tennis shoes.

2 A.M.

I was totally willing
To get lost in that kiss
While the bar was closing around us
And everyone was going home.
But you escaped because
you thought I was just trying to get into
Your pants
When it really didn't matter
Whose.

Life's First Great Lesson

I was a stalwart young  sailor of 18 years. I had joined the US Navy 10 days after I graduated from high school. (It seems that this in its self should have been the first great life lesson, but it wasn't. It wasn't the end of "high" schooling either.)  I had spent the summer marching around in great squares, memorizing things that I will probably remember forever, but never use again. I graduated from boot camp in San Diego, and then returned 2 weeks later to attend "A" school. I was to become a dental technician/field medic. (This was not my choice, and it was my first encounter with my particular "kismet". It has been blatantly making it's presence known ever since.) 

I had managed to score a ticket for a Janis Joplin concert at the Sports Arena in San Diego.  I had taken the bus downtown, and while I was there, I tried to score some dope to smoke at the concert.  I guess in the end, it was my Kismet coming back to help me out, because I was unable to cop even a roach.   It wasn’t too surprising though, at that time in history, being a sailor in San Diego was more of a negative than it could be a positive, I looked too straight to be a hippie and too much like a cop to take a chance with. I did manage to find a friend who was a few years older, and he copped me a bottle of Ten High Bourbon Whiskey. It was a pint.  For my young and inexperienced tolerance to alcohol, it was way more than enough for my purposes. I had never been very good at drinking, my family didn’t drink all that much, and none ever bothered to teach me how to hold my liquor. What was to ensue wasn’t going to be any test of that particular skill. I caught a bus from downtown directly out to the Sports Arena.

Only tasting the Ten High before I got to the bus, when I arrived, I wandered around, sneaking behind cars and buildings when I wanted a toot.  I was early for the concert; people were all about heading towards the Sports Arena.  I decided that I’d step into the Chevron Station to take a leak before the concert started.  I waited my turn, finally getting in, and locking the door, I took a pretty good swig of the bourbon before relieving myself. I finished up my business, took another drink, stuffed the bottle down my pants, and then opened the door.  I was surprised, it was a person from my barracks on the Naval Training Center, (NTC), so when he came in, I locked the door and pulled out the bottle.  We shared a snort, I stashed the bottle, and the sailor left. “Hell, I thought, I’ll have one more quick one, and then head to the concert.”  I neglected to lock the door, and the very next person that made his way into the restroom was a San Diego Police Officer, and he caught me stuffing the bottle back into the trousers.

“Are you twenty-one?” he asked.

“Yep.”, I replied quickly.

Apparently he didn’t believe me because he said “Shit”, and then grabbed me by the arm and took me out to the patrol car. He leaned me against the fender, then went over and spoke to another officer.  They conferred for a minute or two, then the first cop came over and told me to turn around.  He handcuffed me, then put me in the back of the patrol car.  I was conflicted, I had never been in the back of a patrol car before, and I was curious.  Boredom followed soon after, there just isn’t that much to do being handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car.  I was starting to feel the buzz of the bourbon, and I had a real urge to have a cigarette.  I was in a fix, the cigarettes and lighter were in my left front shirt pocket.  My hands were behind my back.  Since I had no clue as to how to act when handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car, I thought things over, and being much more flexible in those days, I pulled my heels up over my hands and moved my cuffed wrists to the front where it was much easier to manipulate the cigarette and lighter thing.  I fired one up and settled back to watch the people outside heading off to the concert.  About halfway through the smoke, I heard a knock on the window.  I looked up, and there was my own private police officer staring down at me.

“OK, acrobat, get back the way I had you.”

I tried, I sincerely tried to get my feet up front and my hands back, but I got halfway there and got stuck. “I’m stuck.” I said with the cigarette dangling from my now semi-drunken lips. I heard cursing, and the officer opened the door and told me to stand up.  It didn’t work.  He muttered some unkind things, and then unlocked me, took the cigarette out of my mouth and pushed me back into the patrol car.

“Now stay that way!”  Before he could shut the door I asked him, “Hey, I don’t wanna waste this ticket, would you give it to somebody?” I asked.  I guess he saw the logic to that, and he took it and handed it over to some hippies that were standing and watching the spectacle.   I made some strange kid happy that night.  I hoped that he appreciated my sacrifice.

I sat there watching the people peer in at me, I was getting more bored, and more buzzed as the evening wore on.  The police officers were conferring with each other,

then the other officer, (not my officer), got on the radio.  Soon, a gray panel truck with “United States Navy ntssd “, stenciled on the side.  The Shore Patrol had been called.  I was guessing at the time that this might be a good thing, if I was turned over to them, I wouldn’t have to go downtown and face the civilian legal half of our justice system.

            I was lucky.  The San Diego City Police did turn me over to the Shore Patrol. The police officers uncuffed me, and then the shore patrol held me told me to go stand by the panel truck.  I did, and I waited while they filled out the paperwork that reassigned me from the San Diego City to the United States Navy.  The Shore Patrol came back, unlocked the panel truck, opened it up and put me into the back of panel truck.  There were two benches in the truck, running parallel down the sides.  There was a drunk sitting near the front on each side.  Then I, being drunk number three, sat next to the less greener of the two, I wasn’t ready to be next to some car sick drunken sailor when the truck started bouncing around. I was looking for an easy out in case someone got sick.   As it turned out, it didn’t really make any difference, the panel truck was just making the rounds picking up the odd stray drunk, the truck made about 3 more stops before it was full, and drove onto the navy base.

            I had never been into the base by the main gate, my first time was when the panel truck pulled through fences, I could only see it through the sliding window between the cab and the back of the truck.  I wasn’t really impressed with it, I was too worried about where I was going to be headed next, the Shore Patrol wasn’t being too informative.  I was led from the truck into a door, then down the hall to a cage. I was officially in the Navy Brig.

            I had never been locked up before, and it was all new.  I was stuck into a square room with bars on three sides.  There was a small stainless steel ledge that ran along two sides and the back, there was no bunk.  I was the only one in there; they had given me my own private drunk tank. I was having a bunch of first experiences that I would have just as soon not have had. I pulled up the floor, laid down and stared at the ceiling.

            The ceiling had some kind of vent above it. I was made of a steel plate with 2 inch holes drilled in it to let air in and out. For some reason, I still had a piece of chewing gum in my mouth.  It was getting pretty stale, so I took it out, rolled it in a little ball and not having anything else to do, I tossed it up at the holes in the steel plate above me.  This was more entertaining than doing nothing, and I was at it for about five minutes before it actually went into one of the holes, but the whole exercise was self defeating, I had nothing else to do but wait for what was to happen next. 

            Finally, around an hour later, an SP came in, unlocked the door and took me out to a truck in the parking lot. He let me sit in the front, and he drove me back to my barracks.  I didn’t know it until later, but when the Master-at-arms heard that I had been brought in for drinking, he said, “Damn, a drinker, I thought all of these assholes were all dopers!”  I didn’t know it, but I had gotten lucky. The Master-at-arms was a boozer.

            The next morning, we all had to report to muster or roll call at eight AM. I was scared to death that I was really going to be raked over the coals.  The MAA called out, “Who is this Kessler asshole?”  I responded with a shaky “That is me, Master-at-arms.”

            “OK asshole, go stand by the truck.”

            I stepped out of formation and walked over to the barracks panel truck. It was very similar to the ones I had ridden in the night before, but it didn’t have bars or heavy screens over the windows.  My anxiety increased tremendously as the MAA passed out jobs. Six men were assigned to carry buckets of red lead paint up three flights of rickety stairs of one of the buildings.  They were to spend the next two weeks painting walls and concrete floors with either gray or red paint. The next six were assigned to carry buckets of clean water up three flights of rickety stairs, mop floors and scrub windows, and then carry the buckets of dirty water back down the three flights of rickety stairs and pour it into drains, and then clean the drains.  The next six were assigned to carry rolls of tarpaper up three flights of rickety stairs and then onto a rickety scaffold and up onto the steep roof of one of the barracks to spend the next couple of weeks putting on a new roof.

My prospects were looking dimmer and dimmer. I had no idea of what he was gonna have me doing, but it didn’t look very promising.

            “Kessler, go inside the office and bring the three floor buffers out and put them in the back of the truck, then you get in the truck and wait.”  I was becoming less anxious and more puzzled as I picked up the three industrial size buffers, rolled them down the stairs and put them into the back of the truck.  I sat in the front of the truck, and must have smoked about four cigarettes before the MAA finally came out of the building and got behind the wheel.  “We gotta go over to the Base District Office and find a barrel.” he told me, and we were on our way.

            This was to continue for the next week or so, until I had my scheduled “Captain’s Mast”, basically a low level court appearance where one pleads guilty to a misdemeanor. In my case, it was for drinking as a minor.  I was sentenced to 3 weeks restriction to base, 2 weeks extra duty,  and a fine that was about a quarter of my income, not a whole lot in those days. The extra duty involved running around the base with the MAA, and base restriction didn’t exclude me from base movies, library or and other base service.  I didn’t’ have any money to go off base anyway.

            The Captain’s Mast concluded, and before I left, the Captain asked me, “Kessler, what did you learn from all of this?”

            “Not to drink alcohol until I reach the legal drinking age, sir.” I replied.

            “No, Kessler.  You have learned that above all, you must not get caught.”

            There it was. My first great lesson, and my new philosophy on life.

Don’t get caught.

Learning to Walk

I don't really recall the struggle it took me to get to the point where I could just hop up and start bopping down the street.  I know it took me two years to get around to it. I can imagine though, that I had a lot of help learning, you know Mom and Dad letting me grab onto index fingers, and me doing some sort of staggering dance to move forward in a walking motion; of course maintaining the obligatory toothless grin that accompanies such actions.  Eventually, from falling flat on my butt from a standing position to falling forward and skinning my hands and knees, I managed to master it. The exact time of that magnificent first step evades me though, seems like that would be something worth remembering.

I do know that after I figured out how much fun alcohol was though, I would begin to suffer setbacks. It really amazes me how a couple hours sitting around the table with some friends drinking beer, or sitting in a pub or bar for an evening can affect the hard learned lessons of childhood so easily, or, for that matter, how eager at times I am to forget them.

American English Idioms #1

I was the Head Instructor for an English as a Second Language School in Japan for about 12 years. One of my jobs required me to "break in" new teachers and kind of show them the ropes. Teaching ESL in Japan is more like being an entertainer rather than an instructor, it is not easy to find students that really want to put in the effort to learn more English, they just try to maintain what they already know. One new teacher had to take over an advanced idiom class, so I was introducing him. We encouraged the students to try to use new idioms when they could, sometimes, it just didn't work as expected.

One of the students was a medical student and he was in his intern rotations. His current rotation was gynecology. When I introduced him, the new teacher asked what he did, it sort of went like this.
"So what do you study now?"
"Oh, I am in the gynecology rotation"
The teacher, a young man, jokingly said, "Wow, gynecology, that must be great!"
The Student replied with an idiom. "To tell you the truth, I am really fed up with gynecology."

Arizona Bye

This is some pretty important stuff. PAY ATTENTION!

Rant By John Henry DeJong

John Henry Rants
LowGenius

This place is worth a look.
http://www.lowgenius.net/post/2010/07/07/Video-How-We-Do-Business-(and-why-it-sucks)-plus-general-JH-updates.aspx

Facebook

For me, Facebook is a mostly pleasing division.  I play games, I make friends, I share views, I argue, I make quips, I get quipped. Not a problem. What does cause me problems is the people who take this whole thing so seriously enough to get angry.  It is real easy to just hide or delete someone from Facebook. You are offended, you filter it.

Personally, I don't really believe that any Republican has any common sense. I am sure that there are many Republicans who disagree with that statement. Hey, it is cool. Turnabout is fair play. What really mystifies me is when people get so worked up that they have to attack my comments, ideas or philosophy personally. This is about as public as I get, and I doubt a lot of people pay much attention to me. But! I want to make a statement to all people on the Internet, Facebook in particular.

We are talking about the USA.  That gives me the right to express any view I like. (There are limits, I agree, and I am 100% in agreement with these social mores.)  What I don't think is responsible is for jumping in with your 2 cent jack boots and telling me that I am totally wrong.  You do not have that right.  If you try to censor me, you will try to censor someone else, and then we have a tyranny and not a democracy.

Disagree if you must, I listen, but when you disagree and you don't listen, then there is something wrong with YOU.  (Don't get angry with me, just go away!)  Enough people do this and I am talking to myself.  If enough people disagree with  you, then you are talking to yourself.  Wise up.  Use this place and Facebook to learn not fight but discuss and share ideas.  If you are such a small individual that you cannot offer up a good enough argument to prove me an idiot then STFU.  You have no right, no matter who you support or what your family may be doing. What the hell have you done?

Keep it sane.  If you have no personal stake in this countries fight, I don't want to hear your criticisim.

Conspiracy for World Dominion

The Chatholic Church denies it's deciples birth control. Anyone who marries outside o the Catholic faith, must have the prospective spouse sign a statement vowing to raise all children in the Catholic faith. The intent is obvious, overpopulate the world with little Catholics who won't practice birth control!  Isn't it a shame that the Vatican was unable to convert every single Chinese?

Japanese Word of The Day "Shigataganai"

Shigataganai. That is a Japanese word. It is kind of fun to say really. Break it down to sylables. Shi-ga-ta-ga-nai. Keep the intonation flat, give each sylable equal length and stress. Now say it Shi Ga Ta Ga Nai. Feels good in the back of your throat, doesn't it?




Now, what it means. It means "It cannot be helped." "Que Sera Sera" "What will be will be." You can believe things happen for no reason what so ever. You can figure that they happen for a specific purpose. You can believe that all is random, chance, that is really doesn't make a damn bit of difference one way or the other. You might be the one that stands in the middle of the street with the rain pouring buckets down on your head screaming, "WHY ME? WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS!"



I think things happen for a reason. You know, a place for every thing, a thing for every place. For instance, you are standing in line at your local supermarket. You aren't in any particular hurry, but you don't want to stand in line all day. There is an odd old lady in front of you. She is wearing a shaggy, dirty coat and carried a monstrous old purse. Has one thing on the counter, you have two, in the back of your head, you think that your are nearly outta here and on your way to where ever it is you happen to be going. That is when it happens. She has a total of a dollar and seven cents. That is when she starts digging in this huge bag for change. At first it is a quarter, then a dime, a nickel of two, then suddenly, she is pulling out pennies. One at a time. STOP!, I'LL PAY FOR IT! JUST MOVE! But you don't. You stand there, getting hotter and more pissed by the clink of each penny on the counter.



Here is where Shigataganai comes into play. It cannot be helped. Maybe, just maybe, this extra minute, maybe ninety seconds that holds you up could be doing one of two things. One, when you leave the supermarket, jump into your car and get stuck at all the lights before you can get on the highway and off to where ever the hell it was that you were headed to, you missed the big guy driving the Volkswagen mini-bus who dropped his cell phone, and bent down to pick it up, swerving over the center line just where you would have been ninety seconds ago. Whew! That old lady with the bag of pennies just saved your life! And you were pissed at her! Imagine that! Or, on the the second thing that could happen. You get in line in front of the old lady, you rush out the door of the supermarket and run right into a gang banger heading into the market. You piss him off, and he pounds the shit out of you.



Now think about it. Did the old lady save your life, or because she got held up by someone who was trying to help her decide which can of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup was the freshest, the reason you got your ass kicked?



Everything is so easy to understand in retrospect. You just have to remember tho, don't think about it too much, you'll start to analyze everything. Just remember one thing. Shigataganai.

Japanese American Idol

I was invited by a Japanese friend to a free outdoor concert today. I got to the spot on time, but the bands were behind and I had to wait over an hour for my friend to get his equipment set up so he could play for about 20 minutes.  After he was finished playing, he asked me what I thought. I told him that he could probably make it on the season's first show of American Idol, but I wasn't sure if he'd get any further. He took it as a compliment. I'm glad I didn't lie.

Digital vs. Analogue TV

  Let me get this straight. We have wireless internet, wirelsess phones, wireless remotes, wireless printers, faxes and music. Now, they force me to ditch my wiresless TV and pay for them to bring me a wire into my house so I can watch TV. Boy, this is really starting to make sense now, isn't it?

Take a Number

I have this whole thing all figured out. We were given freedom of choice and we enjoy that freedom, (Why some people decided to choose a Bush for their Frightening Leader, I have no idea! but we weren't given freedom of time, and that is what it all comes down to. You probably remember going to catch a bus at sometime during your life. (Or some other regularly scheduled event over which you have no control.) Perhaps you arrived at one of three times for this particular bus you were going to catch. One, you got there just in time, paid your fare, and got on. Two, you got there just in time to watch the bus turn the corner and you missed it. Three, you got to the bus stop, and you didn't have a watch. You didn't know if you just missed the bus, the bus would be here any second, so you wait expectantly. Or, you missed the last bus, and you will never get out of Dodge.




That is the way life treats us though. Some people just know what they will be doing in life. They got lucky and caught the bus just in time. A lot of us feel like we missed the bus, and that is the way life always treats us. Damn Screwed again! Most of us go thru life though, never knowing when the bus is gonna get there, so we are fated to wait for that particular time we were destined to hook up with. Then there is the last group of us that have all missed the bus, and we don't even know it. Hey, the bus is a bitch, isn't it?



Now we get back to timing. This is where we all are on a lot of things. Who are you gonna marry? You search, and you wait. Then, for one brief moment, the universe comes together and you and another person arrive at the same place and time at the same place and time. Bam, you fall in love. Not as romantic as destiny, but there you have it. Timing.



Timing. Timing. Have you seen the movie or program where you see this dog trotting along the road, smelling flowers, posts, other dog's butts, you know, bopping along and being a dog? Then the camera cuts to this delivery truck. The driver is late; he is checking his watch and looking for an address. Back to the dog, still walking, still bopping, still smelling. Back to the truck, the driver is still in a hurry, still lost and still looking for an address, but not paying too much attention to his driving. Then, you have it. Bam. Truck squishes the dog. Dog is dead, or, the truck swerves to miss the dog and kills a [Choose . . . a) old woman with a shopping bag b) little boy chasing a ball or c) scantily clad woman sunning herself on the beach. ] I always choose the woman, so the dog is the one getting squished, other people choose the dog, old woman or the little boy. Anyway you picture it; (except in my case, I'm looking at the lady in the bikini) something gets squished.



That is what it is all about. That one precise moment when everything comes together. You have free choice to take what happens and do something with this moment, or just ignore it. (you can look back and see some of these "moments" that you have let slide by, you know, that special person that you should have said something to, that thing you should or shouldn't have said.) We all have them. our missed chances, or perhaps those moments that you acted when you shouldn't have. (SHIT! I should have stopped at that corner; I should have known that the fuckin' cop would be waiting behind that sign!) But the time is past, and we have what we have. And, someplace along the way, we will have another one of these "moments" where we will have a chance to act, not act, or just be oblivious to the whole game and not be aware of what the hell is actually going on. Maybe that last group is really the lucky ones, the oblivious. So, take a number!

Cougars and the Lolita Complex

(This is a photo  of young ladies in Japan who are fans of the style "Loli-con" or Lolita Complex)

I turned 59 years old this year. I am no longer in the market for a cougar. I am becoming more and more interested with females afflicted with the Lolita Complex however.
Note: Loli-con comes from the words "Lolita (Loli-) and Conplex (con) It is a form of  high school and college style of fad dress. The girls here are probably in college or perhaps even office workers. Japanese take words and parts of words out of context and apply them to a concept. I am not saying that these girls are involved in any particular sex act, they are merely dressing in a popular style. 40 years ago, the men wore Ivy League style shirts and adopted a particular life style called Ibi, or Ivy. Today many girls are Gothic inspired or Goth. The word manicure in English means to have your fingernails done, to the Japanese manicure simply means nail polish. The girls pictured wear little girl type clothing popular in Alice and Wonderland. They carry around very large teddy bears and wear hoop skirts. This does not mean that they prefer older suitors over persons their own age. It is a form of cosplay (costume play where in the USA, they would be going to comi-con (Comics Conplex or Comic Convention, I am not sure of the etemology of this word, but it should give you the idea.).

Lasar Hair Removal

The biggest problem with Lasar Hair Removal is that you can never go retro again. Ever try to get a wig made for down there?

Only A Man Would Try This!!!

Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife... A guy who purchased
his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked
my interest...
The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little
something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a
100,000-volt, pocket/purse- sized tazer.

The effects of the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no
long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time
to retreat to safety....??

WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home.
loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button.
Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the
button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time, I'd
get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the
prongs.
AWESOME!!!
Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie 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 AAA batteries, right?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently
(trusting little soul)while I was reading the directions and thinking
that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving
target.

I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a
second) and then thought better of it.. She is such a sweet cat. 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?
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,
and 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 major loss of bodily control; and a three-second burst would
purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of
water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the
batteries.

All the while I'm looking at this little device measuring about 5"
long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy
AAA batteries); pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no
possible way!'
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best ...

I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one
side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one second
burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I
decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I
touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and ...

HOLY MOTHER OF.. . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE ....!!!

I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up
in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and
over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the
fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples
on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under
my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs!
The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging
to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an
attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the
living room.

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 will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged
from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor! A three
second burst would be considered conservative!

A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at
that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and
surveyed the landscape.
My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The
recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it
originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still
twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my
bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.. I had no control over the drooling.
Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for
sure, and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above
my head, which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my
testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!

P.S... My wife can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift
and now regularly threatens me with it!
If you think education is difficult, try being stupid !!!
(Feel free to copy and pass along.) Thanks to Carole Idris

The G Dubbya Legacy

President GW Bush is very concerned with his legacy, the way that the history books, the movies and the records will determine what his mark on history will be. He says that it isn't the polls, the headlines, but history that will prove him as a great leader.


Bush doesn't realize that he is the first President of the United States who has ever had everything he has ever done, from the bumbling remarks to the great mistakes, to every single one of his appointees and what they have said marked down in countless blogs, stories, and remarks. His legacy isn't going to have anything to do with history books; it is already marked indelibly on the eternity of the internet.

Please Mr. Custer

Copperhead Road

Daylight Savings Time -- a Question

I have a sundial in my yard set in concrete. How do I adjust it for Daylight Savings Time?

Gods

"Gravissima calamita umquam supra Occidentem accidens erat religio Christiania" "The greatest disaster ever to befall the West was Christianity". Gore Vidal 1987