~~The Stuttering Cat~~

Got this in my email today and just had to share.

A teacher is explaining biology to her 4th grade students. "Human beings
are the only animals that stutter," she said.
A little girl raises her hand. "I had a kitty-cat who stuttered."
The teacher, knowing how precious some of these stories could become,
asked the girl to describe the incident.
"Well," she began, "I was in the back yard with my kitty and the
Rottweiler that lives next door got a running start and before we knew
it, he jumped over the fence into our yard!"
"That must've been scary," said the teacher.
"It sure was," said the little girl. "My kitty raised her back, went
"Ffffff!, Ffffff!, FfffffF, but before she could say "Fuck!," the
Rottweiler ate her!
The teacher had to leave the room.

Jeff Foxworthy on Utah

FORGET REDNECKS; THIS IS WHAT JEFF FOXWORTHY HAD TO SAY ABOUT UTAHNS!

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from September to May, you live in Utah.

If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you live in Utah.

If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you live in Utah.

If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed the wrong number, you live in Utah.

If "vacation" means going anywhere south of Salt Lake City for the weekend, you live in Utah.

If you measure distance in hours, you live in Utah.

If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you live in Utah.

If you have switched from "heat" to "A/C" and back again in the same day, you live in Utah.

If you install security lights on your house and garage but leave both unlocked, you live in Utah.

If you can drive 75 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, you live in Utah.

If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, you live in Utah.

If the speed limit on the highway is 75 mph -- you're going 80, and everyone is still passing you, you live in Utah.


If driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow, you live in Utah.

If you know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction, you live in Utah.

If you find 10 degrees "a little chilly" you live in Utah.

If you actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your friends, you live in Utah.

~~Wild Wild Wandaaaaa~~

I received this as an email a couple weeks ago and have looked for it on the internet, only finding it on another bloggers site along with a comment that the author is unknown. So if anyone knows where this originally came from please let me know, and for the blog Nazi, "Jimmy Cracked Corn and yep, you guessed it, I don't care!! "

This is not for the easily offended. Of course, if you were easily offended you wouldn't be here visiting me, would you?

Grab a tissue- you will need it once the laughing begins. Move away from your children, coworkers or inlaws, you do not want to have to explain why you are crying!!

Picture a mixture of this:



"Last night one of my buddies, Stan and I decided to head on out to a local gentlemen’s club for a little eye candy and a few drinks, now for some reason the local talent here has been on a downward trend for the last year or so, but slut watching is slut watching so off we go.

Show up at the place, and there is a $10.00 cover because it is Buffet Night (woo hoo free chow and boobies!) we pay the price and in we go. Typical strip club type place dark, lots of dim colored lights, scantily clad women serving drinks and young ladies dressed like those hookers from an HBO special. Music is thumping and the cheesy DJ is introducing Nevada or Austin or Dallas or some equally stupid vixen named after a city.

On our way to our seats we pass the buffet, not being one to waste a lot of energy I decide to grab a plate on the way to the table.

MMMMM looky here shrimp and steak, chicken strips and pasta…why do they always have pasta on buffets? Oh well I snatch up a pile of shrimp (get it snatch and shrimp) as well as a couple of grayish steaks, some chicken strips and honey mustard sauce for dippin and head off to the table to be entertained.

I get to the table and Stan has already placed a drink order for us, and there are already two fine up standing young ladies sitting at the table trying to wrangle drinks and table dances out of him.
I have a seat and one of them moves over next to me….is it just me or do all these chicks wear the same perfume powder combo? All titty dancers smell alike and that is not necessarily a good thing.

Well I get ready to dig in and then it hits me, this shrimp smells funny, or maybe it was Roxy sitting next to me, at any rate I am smelling a bit to much sea food odor and decide to skip to the Steak, it is passable but over cooked. The chicken fingers however are quite good.

Anyway, I am making small talk with Roxy, and she is telling me how she in college and this is just to help her get through school and get her degree. I inquire as to what she will be getting a degree in and she tells me cosmetology…..uummm ok.

So we are chatting away Stan is getting a table dance from this leggy blond right next to us and I am checking out that action out of the corner of my eye; Here is a tip when you go to a titty bar, go with someone who is willing to spend lots of cash then you get like a contact table dance sort of like a contact high. If you don’t have someone like this to go with then try and sit next to the largest group of Asians you can find, trust me on this one..

While checking out the talent walking around the room I notice that the stage has a ramp built on the side of it so I ask Roxy what’s up with the ramp is evil Knievel gonna jump his motorcycle over a dozen triple D’s? She laughs partly because I am witty and partly because that’s what they teach them to do in stripper school.

Roxy, then tells me that they had to install is to comply with the American with disabilities act, so that the stage would be wheelchair accessible.

“Wheel chair accessible?!? Are you shitting me?” Nope she tells me it’s the law. Sure because handicapped people are just beating down the door to become titty dancers right? She seemed a bit miffed at my remarks and corrected me, “We are Exotic Dancers and they are Handicapable not handicapped!”

Yeah what ever and my toilet plunger is a fecal waste flow control device, handicapped or handicapeable either way I don’t see them lined up to be “exotic daaannncerrrs.”

Roxy then tells me to stick around because Wanda will be out soon!

Who is Wanda I ask? You’ll see she replies.

Roxy then gets up and leaves and while I am not sure I think my shrimp did smell better but I still didn’t eat it.

We watch a few girls make the rounds Stan gets another table dance and tips a few of the dancers on stage, and we bullshit a bit while watching ESPN on the big screen, when Mr. Cheesy DJ, announces "Next up on the main stage gentlemen put your hands together for WILD WILD WANDAAAAAAAaaaaa!"

At this point the recognizable tones of Steppenwolf come over the speakers and I hear…

GET YER MOTOR RUNNIN HEAD OUT ON THE HIGHWAY LOOKING FOR ADVENTURE AND WHATEVER COMES MY WAY….BORN TO BE WIIIIILLD

THEN TO THE LEFT OF THE STAGE UP THE RAMP COMES WILD WANDA….A DOUBLE AMPUTEE LEGS CUT OFF AT THE KNEES IN AN ELECTRIC FREAKING WHEEL CHAIR!

I literally spit my drink all over the table! I look at Stan and his mouth is just hanging open, I think I looked the same way because I was in total shock. Now I have seen midget porn, I have even took a peak or two at women screwing a horse…..but this my friends was just plain WRONG!

Wanda rolls around the stage and spins in a circle a couple of times drives towards the end of the stage real fast, so it looks like she will go over the edge and be launched into the crowd like a human football with tits, but at the last minute she stops, throws it in reverse and then does one of those “Rockford turns” those of you old enough will know what I mean, but it is where you go backward real fast and then spin around to fact the opposite direction.

I got to hand it to her the little legless bitch could drive that damn chair like scene from the fast and the furious all that was missing was a fart can muffler and a big ass spoiler and a few r-type stickers slapped on her stumps and she would be race ready!

Now at this point I am both intrigued, shocked, and impressed, OK she is handicapeable but can she dance? Believe it or not here is where it gets weird.

The normal routine at this place seems to be dance one song dressed (this is the tease) then strip on the next song. The first song stops and the next song starts, Private Dancer.

Wanda slides out of her chair and onto the stage, goes into a hand stand (which causes the plaid school girl skirt she is wearing to drop down and expose her thong.) and walks to the center of the stage and begins to roll around in typical stripper school style first on all fours sort of dry humping the stage then she rolls over to her back…at this point I am thinking “NO PLEASE PLEASE DON’T DO IT!” she does!

Yes the stripper standard props her self up on her elbows and SPREADS HER STUMPS, just when I think I am about to puke she does the roll over back onto all fours with her ass pointed at the crowd, reaches back and slaps it!

It is at this point that Stan who up until now I had always thought of as a normal sort of guy begins to yell “Oh hell yeah shake that thing baby!!! Smack it smack it!! WOOO HOO” This behavior continues until I smack him in the back of the head. Wanda has now taken off her top to reveal a very nice set of tits, obviously fake but a nice job was done they were a good full C cup, she was not unattractive in the face and her upper body was in good shape tone and not over weight. Had it not been for the mental images of Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump playing over and over in my head I might have found her attractive.

Stan leaves me behind and runs up to the stage with a $5.00 in his mouth to tip Wanda, she walks over to him (on her hands) then sits down and grabs his waist with her stumps and grabs his collar with her hands pulls him to her and takes the $5.00 from his mouth with hers and gives him a kiss….Stan is kissing a half naked legless stripper the image is still etched in my mind.

After the kiss she rolls back into a hand stand (I wonder if she was a gymnast) then walks back to the center of the stage turns her back to the pole and sort of falls back against it grabs it between her stumps and PULLS HERSELF UP OFF THE FLOOR! Holding the pole with one hand and griping it with her stumps she leans back and rubs her fake tits (then it hits me…why would she spent 5k on new tits when she could have gotten some fake legs? But anyway)

She climbs the poll hangs off it by her stumps, all I can think is she must have some serious pinching power with those legs because it has to be that and friction that is keeping her up there….well it seems that friction played a big part. See all that pinching the pole and hot lights made Wanda’s stumpy little thighs sweat and while hanging upside down playing with her nipples, and looking at Stan who had another $5.00 in his mouth, that sweat made her iron grip slip, and down came Wild Wild Wanda!

Blam! Wanda smashed into her wheel chair which was double parked next to the Pole, the impact knocked Wanda OUT COLD and sent her wheelchair into a table near the stage where two fat business men were sitting, spilling their drinks and dumping a plate of pasta in one guys lap.

The other strippers and the door man rushed to the stage to attend to Wanda the two business men were cursing I was laughing my ass off and Stan was just standing there blank faced, $5.00 dollar bill hanging from his mouth.

The paramedics were called, and the manager comp’ed the fat guys. Stan was heart broke and I never did finish my shrimp. As for Wild Wanda I have no clue, but keep an eye out for her. And if you ever see a ramp next to the stage at the titty bar, go the other way as fast as you can go."

~~School 1960 vs School 2008~~

I remember growing up in a town where everyone knew everyone and everyone knew your business! If you were doing something wrong and the guy down the street saw you, he would take you home and let your dad kick your butt, no need for police. If you acted up in school your mom wanted them to punish you and then she would do it again when you got home. I remember at 16 hitch hiking home after working in the cherry processing plant at midnight and not being afraid of who was going to pick us up. I remember hanging out in the park or the "haunted mill" all night and the only thing (besides ghosts) we had to be afraid of was our parents if they found out we were not where we were suppose to be. Now I don't even dare let my little girls sleep out in the backyard, next to the house, with my bedroom window open. What a crazy damn world it has become. Good Lord, I miss the good old days, but now it goes something like this:
Scenario: Johnny and Mark get into a fistfight after school.

1960 - Crowd gathers. Mark wins. Johnny and Mark shake hands and end up friends.

2008 - Police are called, SWAT team arrives and arrests Johnny and Mark. Mobiles with video of fight confiscated as evidence. They are charged with assault, Protective Orders are taken out and both are suspended even though Johnny started it. Diversionary conferences and parent meetings conducted. Video shown on 6 Internet sites.

Scenario: Billy breaks a window in his neighbor's car and his Dad gives him a whipping with his belt and makes him pay for it with his allowance.

1960 - Billy is more careful next time, grows up normal, goes to college, and becomes a successful businessman.

2008 - Billy's dad is arrested for child abuse. Billy is removed to foster care and joins a gang. Psychologist tells Billy's sister that she remembers being abused herself and their dad goes to prison. Billy's mom has an affair with the psychologist. Psychologist gets a promotion.

Scenario: Mark, a college student, brings cigarettes to school.

1960 - Mark shares a smoke with the school principal out on the smoking area.

2008 - Police are called and Mark is expelled from school for drug possession. His car is searched for drugs and weapons.

Scenario: Vinh fails high school English.

1960 - Vinh goes to Remedial English, passes and goes to college.

2008 - Vinh's cause is taken up by local human rights group. Newspaper articles appear nationally explaining that making English a requirement for graduation is racist. ACLU files class action lawsuit against state school system and his English teacher. English is banned from core curriculum. Vinh is given his diploma anyway but ends up mowing lawns for a living because he cannot speak English.

Scenario: Johnny takes apart leftover firecrackers, puts them in a model plane paint bottle and blows up an anthill.

1960 - Ants die.

2008 - Homeland Security and FBI are called and Johnny is charged with domestic terrorism. Teams investigate parents, siblings are removed from the home, computers are confiscated, and Johnny's dad goes on a terror watch list and is never allowed to fly again.

Scenario: Johnny falls during recess and scrapes his knee. His teacher, Mary, finds him crying, and gives him a hug to comfort him.

1960 - Johnny soon feels better and goes back to playing.

2008 - Mary is accused of being a sexual predator and loses her job. She faces three years in prison. Johnny undergoes five years of therapy. Becomes gay.

I don't know who origninally wrote this as I found it about 100 different places when I was looking, but they hit the nail on the head. Don't you think it is all getting a little bit ridiculous???

~My Parents Drugged Me~

A few weeks ago I got an email with this story someone wrote about being "drugged in their childhood" in it. I have added a couple things to make more of a point in my life, but most of it was already just perfect!! With over 100 overdoses in my community in the last year from heroin and/or oxycontin and a son who is a heroin addict it really hits home. I wish we still had the option of "drugging" our children like my parents did when I was young without DCFS stepping in and calling it abuse.

"The other day, someone at a store in our town was talking about a Methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the county and she asked me a rhetorical question, "Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?"
I replied I had a drug problem when I was young.
I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals; I was drug to family reunions,community socials no matter the weather, county fairs, deer hunting camp, Easter at Gramma's with the whole family and school carnivals.
I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults. I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, stole a candy bar, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of an adult or if I didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.
I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profanity. I was drug to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower beds and pick vegetables and fruit with my grandparents. I was drug by the ear to show me what I had done wrong and made to do it right. I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or stack some firewood, and if my mother had ever know that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.
Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, or think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroine; and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place.
God bless the parents who drugged us.

~~Happy Thanksgiving~~

A game warden was driving down the road when he came upon a young boy carrying a wild turkey under his arm.
He stopped and asked the boy, "Where did you get that turkey?"
The boy replied, "What turkey?"
The game warden said, "That turkey you're carrying under your arm."
The boy looked down and said, "Well, lookee here, a turkey done roosted under my arm!"
The game warden said, "Now look, you know turkey season is closed, so whatever you do to that turkey, I'm going to do to you. If you break his leg, I'm gonna break your leg. If you break his wing, I'll break your arm. Whatever you do to him, I'll do to you. So, what are you gonna do with him?"
The boy said, "I guess I'll just kiss his ass and let him go!"

~~Am I Getting Old??~~~

Old Age, I decided, is a gift.
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60’s & 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the import ant things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it).

MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART!

MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES ON YOUR FACE AND IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND EVER!
FRIENDS FOREVER!

~~Happy Turkey Day!!~~

One November afternoon when my daughter was in kindergarten, I picked her up after school. She bobbed out to the car and crawled into the back seat. "What did you do today?" I asked. She couldn't wait to tell me.

"We learned that boys are different from girls," she chirped.

Looking into the rear view mirror, I could just see the top of her head.

"My teacher told us that boys have a thing the girls don't," she added.

"Well, yes they do." I said cautiously.

I couldn't think of anything else to say, so we were quiet for a moment. Then she piped up again. "That's how girls know that boys are boys," she said. "They see that thing that hangs down and they know that he is a boy."

I mentally calculated the distance home. Our five-minute commute already felt like an hour.

"Did you know that when the boys see a girl they puff up?" My palms were beginning to sweat. "Um...well..." I was still searching for something new to say, to change the subject, when she asked, "Why do the girls like the boys to have those things?" Well, I didn't know what to say. I mean, what woman hasn't asked
herself that question at least once?

"Oh, well...um" I stammered.

She didn't wait for my answer. She had her own. "It's cause it moves when they walk and then the girls see that and that's when they know they are boys and that's when they like them. Then the boy sees the girl and he puffs up, and then the girl knows he likes her, too. And then they get married. And then they get cooked."

That last part confused me a bit, but on the whole I thought she had a pretty good grasp on things. As soon as we got home and I pulled into the garage, she hopped out of the car, fishing something out of her school bag.

"I drew a picture," she said. "Do you want to see?" I wasn't sure I did, but I looked at it anyway. I had to sit down.

There, all puffed up so to speak, looking mighty attractive for the ladies, was a crayon drawing of a great big Tom Turkey. His snood, the thing that hangs down over his beak, the thing that female turkeys find so irresistible, was magnificent. His tail feathers were standing tall and proud.

She was a little offended that I laughed so hard at her drawing, and I laughed until I cried. But when I told her I loved it - and I did – she got over her pique.
That was the end of that, for her anyway. But I'm not so lucky. Every year I remember that conversation. And to be honest, I haven't looked at a turkey, or a man, the same way since.

~~What pets write in their diaries~~

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary......
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!


Excerpts from a Cat's Daily Diary...
Day 983 of my captivity...
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly
demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now................

~~Going to Hell???~~

After living what I felt was a 'decent' life, my time on earth came to the end. The first thing I remember is sitting on a bench in the waiting room of what I thought to be a court house. The doors opened and I was instructed to come in and have a seat by the defense table.

As I looked around I saw the 'prosecutor'. He was a villainous looking gent who snarled as he stared at me.
He definitely was the most evil person I have ever seen.

I sat down and looked to my left and there sat My Attorney, a kind and gentle looking man whose appearance seemed so familiar to me, I felt I knew Him. The corner door flew open and there appeared the Judge in full flowing robes. He commanded an awesome presence as He moved across the room I couldn't take my eyes off of Him. As He took His seat behind the bench, He said, 'Let us begin.'

The prosecutor rose and said, "My name is Satan and I am here to show you why this woman belongs in hell." He proceeded to tell of lies that I told, things that I stole, and in the past when I cheated others Satan told of other horrible perversions that were once in my life and the more he spoke, the further down in my seat I sank. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't look at anyone, even my own Attorney, as the Devil told of sins that even I had completely forgotten about.

As upset as I was at Satan for telling all these things about me, I was equally upset at My Attorney who sat there silently not offering any form of defense at all. I know I had been guilty of those things, but I had done some good in my life - couldn't that at least equal out part of the harm I'd done? Satan finished with a fury and said, 'This woman belongs in hell, she is guilty of all that I have charged and there is not a person who can prove otherwise.'

When it was His turn, My Attorney first asked if He might approach the bench. The Judge allowed this over the strong objection of Satan, and beckoned Him to come forward. As He got up and started walking, I was able to see Him in His full splendor and majesty. I realized why He seemed so familiar; this was Jesus representing me, my Lord and my Savior. He stopped at the bench and softly said to the Judge, 'Hi,Dad,' and then He turned to address the court. "Satan was correct in saying that this woman had sinned, I won't deny any of these allegations. And, yes, the wage of sin is death, and this woman deserves to be punished." Jesus took a deep breath and turned to His Father with outstretched arms and proclaimed, "However, I died on the cross so that this person might have eternal life and she has accepted Me as her
Savior, so she is Mine." My Lord continued with, "Her name is written in the Book of Life,and no one can snatch her from Me. Satan still does not understand yet. This woman is not to be given justice, but rather mercy." As Jesus sat down, He quietly paused, looked at His Father and said, "There is nothing else that needs to be done. I've done it all."

The Judge lifted His mighty hand and slammed the gavel down. The following words bellowed from His lips..
'This woman is free. ''The penalty for her has already been paid in full. Case dismissed.”

As my Lord led me away, I could hear Satan ranting and raving, 'I won't give up, I will win the next one.' I asked Jesus as He gave me my instructions where to go next, 'Have you ever lost a case?' Christ lovingly smiled and said,
"Everyone that has come to Me and asked Me to represent them has received the same verdict as you, ~Paid In Full~"

*** I hace been given information that besides being sent around on email, this piece was written and/or published by Harvesting Spiritual Fruit. Thanks Sue!**


Stop telling God how big your storm is. Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!'

~~Funny deer "hunting" story.~~

I had the idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, feed it up on corn for a couple of weeks, then kill it and eat it.

The first step in this adventure was getting a deer. I figured that, since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not seem to have much fear of me when we are there (a bold one will sometimes come right up and sniff at the bags of feed while I am in the back of the truck not 4 feet away), it should not be difficult to rope one, get up to it and toss a bag over its head (to calm it down) then hogtie it and transport it home.

I filled the cattle feeder then hid down at the end with my rope. The cattle, having seen the roping thing before, stayed well back. They were not having any of it.

After about 20 minutes, my deer showed up -- 3 of them. I picked out a likely looking one, stepped out from the end of the feeder, and threw my rope. The deer just stood there and stared at me.

I wrapped the rope around my waist and twisted the end so I would have a good hold. The deer still just stood and stared at me, but you could tell it was mildly concerned about the whole rope situation.

I took a step towards it...it took a step away. I put a little tension on the rope and then received an education.

The first thing that I learned is that, while a deer may just stand there look at you funny while you rope it; they are spurred to action when you start pulling on that rope. That deer exploded.

The second thing I learned is that pound for pound, a deer is a lot stronger than a cow or a colt. A cow or a colt in that weight range I could fight down with a rope and with some dignity. A deer -- no chance.

That thing ran, bucked, twisted, and pulled. There was no controlling it and certainly no getting close to it. As it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me across the ground, it occurred to me that having a deer on a rope was not nearly as good an idea as I had originally imagined.

The third thing I learned, the only upside, is that they do not have as much stamina as many other animals.

A brief 10 minutes later, it was tired and not nearly as quick to jerk me off my feet and drag me when I managed to get up. It took me a few minutes to realize this , since the blood flowing out of the big gash in my head mostly blinded me. At that point, I had lost my taste for corn-fed venison.I just wanted to get that devil creature off the end of that rope.

I figured that if I just let it go with the rope hanging around its neck, it would likely die slow and painfully somewhere.

At the time, there was no love at all between that deer and me. At that moment, I hated the thing, and I would venture a guess that the feeling was mutual.

Despite the gash in my head and the several large knots where I had cleverly arrested the deer's momentum by bracing my head against various large rocks as it dragged me across the ground, I could still think clearly enough to recognize that there was a small chance that I shared some tiny amount of responsibility for the situation we were in, so I didn't want the deer to have it suffer a slow death, so I managed to get it line back up in between my truck and the feeder -- a little trap I had set before hand...kind of like a squeeze chute.

I got it to back in there and I started moving up so I could get my rope back.

The fourth thing I learned: did you know that deer bite? They do! I never in a million years would have thought that a deer would bite somebody, so I was very surprised when I reached up there to grab that rope and the deer grabbed hold of my wrist.

Now, when a deer bites you, it is not like being bit by a horse where they just bite you and then let go. A deer bites you and shakes its head -- almost like a pit bull. They bite hard and it hurts.

The proper thing to do when a deer bites you is probably to freeze and draw back slowly. I tried screaming and shaking instead. My method was ineffective.

It seems like the deer was biting and shaking for several minutes, but it was likely only several seconds.

I, being smarter than a deer (though you may be questioning that claim by now) tricked it. While I kept it busy tearing the biceps out of my right arm, I reached up with my left hand and pulled that rope loose.

That was when I got my fifth lesson in deer behavior for the day. Deer will strike at you with their front feet. They rear right up on their back feet, strike right about head, and shoulder level, and their hooves are surprisingly sharp.

I learned a long time ago that, when an animal -- like a horse -- strikes at you with their hooves and you cannot get away easily, the best thing to do is try to make a loud noise and make an aggressive move towards the animal. This will usually cause them to back down a bit so you can escape.

This was not a horse. This was a deer, so obviously, such trickery would not work. In the course of a millisecond, I devised a different strategy. I screamed like a woman and tried to turn and run.

The reason I had always been told not to try to turn and run from a horse that paws at you is that there is a good chance that it will hit you in the back of the head.

Deer may not be so different from horses after all, besides being twice as strong and 3 times as evil, because the second I turned to run, it hit me right in the back of the head and knocked me down.

Lesson six... Now, when a deer paws at you and knocks you down, it does not immediately leave. I suspect it does not recognize that the danger has passed. What they do instead is paw your back and jump up and down on you while you are laying there crying like a little girl and covering your head. I finally managed to crawl under the truck and the deer went away.

So, now I know why when people go deer hunting they bring a rifle with a scope: so that they can be somewhat equal to the prey.

FUNNY FRIDAY"S!!!!!!!!!

Here is a couple jokes sent to me by my friend Lavonna to kick the weekend off. Enjoy!!
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I truly believe that only a man would do this....

Taser gun: A Gift for my Wife

Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser 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 taser. The effects of the taser 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.
I 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 triple-A 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 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 taser 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; 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; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) 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 as to say, "don't do it dipshit," reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little 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 GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura 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 atempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
Note: If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser, 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?
SON-OF-A-BITCH, THAT HURT LIKE HELL!!!
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. Apparrently I shit myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sence of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe was came from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!!
P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!

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Waxing . . . .

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours:

'Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.'

So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those 'cold wax' kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.

No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

(YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.

('Cold wax, yeah...right!') I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works!

OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this!

Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!.....OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!

Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...must stay conscious. Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK,back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip!

There's no hair on it.

Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip...it's not! I touch.

I am touching wax.

I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet?

I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.

SEALED SHUT!!!!

MY BUTT IS SEALED SHUT!

SEALED SHUT!!!!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself 'Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!'

What can I do to melt the wax?

Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???

WRONG!!!!!!!******

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the
bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water.

Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter......

'So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!'

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, 'Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?'

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.

YEAH!!!!! Right!!

I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions. I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor

Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.

What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and....OMG!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. Its sooo painful, but I really don't care.

'IT WORKS!! It works!!' I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.

I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....

THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color...