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| Posted by T E. S on 14-Aug-2005 | Rain or Snow?A Russian couple were walking down the street in Moscow one night, when
the man felt a drop hit his nose. "I think it's raining," he said to his
wife. "No, that felt more like snow to me," she replied. "No, I'm sure it
was just rain," he said. Well, as these things go, they were about to have
a major argument about whether it was raining or snowing when they saw a
communist party official walking toward them.
"Let's not argue about it," the man said, "Let's ask Comrade Rudolph
whether it's officially raining or snowing." As the official approached,
the man said, "Tell us, Comrade Rudolph, is it officially raining or
snowing?"
"It's raining, of course," he replied, and walked on. But the woman
insisted: "I know that felt like snow!" To which the man quietly replied:
"Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear."
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| Posted by Tevin mcguire on 14-Aug-2005 | The WORST thing that could happen everTHIS IS A TRUE STORY:
It was spring vacation and my friend wasn't going anywhere. her
mom felt really bad for her so she took her to a spa. she didn't
like that so they dicited to go home early. her mom still felt
sortove bad so she acted like she made a wrong tern and she went
to the beach. what my friend didn't know was that her mom was a
real partier so she was left out in everything! there was this
concert the next day and her mom literly went on the stage and
brung my friend up there. her mom went off the stage and
everybody started to screem my frends name. she got so excited
that she through off her shirt
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| Posted by Lalalak on 14-Aug-2005 | Fruitcake RecipeIf you find yourself stressed about all of the Thanksgiving cooking and
company, try this sure-fire recipe. I've never liked fruitcake, but this
recipe has made me change my mind. I discovered after trying this recipe
that there isn't anything better on Friday nights after work than a HUGE
slice of this great recipe:
First, you'll need the following: a cup of water, a cup of sugar, four
large brown eggs, two cups of dried fruit, a teaspoon of salt, a cup of
brown sugar, lemon juice, nuts, and a bottle of whiskey.
Sample the whiskey to check for quality. Take a large bowl. Check the
whiskey again. To be sure it's the highest quality, our one level cup and
drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a
large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again. Make sure the
whiskey is still okay. Cry another tup. Turn off the mixer. Beat two eggs
and add to the bowl and chuck in the chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix
on the tuner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose
with a drewscriver. Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity. Now sift
lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or
something. Whatever you can find. Now, grease the oven. Turn the cake tin
to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the tuner. Throw the bowl out the
window. Check the whiskey again and go to bed.
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| Posted by Eric Nili on 14-Aug-2005 | Dave Barry on HalloweenI love Halloween. It reminds me of my happy childhood days as a student at
Wampus Elementary School in Armonk, N.Y., when we youngsters used to
celebrate Halloween by making decorations out of construction paper and
that white paste that you could eat. This is also how we celebrated
Columbus Day, Washington's Birthday, Lincoln's Birthday, Thanksgiving,
Christmas, Easter, New Year's, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's
Day, Armistice Day, Flag Day, Arbor Day, Thursday, etc. We brought these
decorations home to our parents, who by federal law were required to
attach them to the refrigerator with magnets.
That was a wonderful, carefree time in which to be a youngster or
construction-paper salesperson. But it all ended suddenly one day -- I'll
never forget it -- when the Soviet Union launched the first satellite,
called ``Sputnik'' (which is Russian for ``Little Sput''). Immediately all
the grown-ups in America became hysterical about losing the Space Race,
which led to a paranoid insecurity about our educational system, expressed
in anguished newspaper headlines asking, ``WHY AREN'T OUR KIDS LEARNING IN
SCHOOL?'' I wanted to answer, ``BECAUSE ALL WE EVER DO IS MAKE DECORATIONS
OUT OF CONSTRUCTION PAPER,'' but I couldn't, because my mouth was full of
paste.
But getting back to Halloween: It's still one of the most fun holidays of
the year, as well as one of the most traditional, tracing its origins back
more than 2,000 years to the Druids, an ancient religious cult that
constructed Stonehenge as well as most of the public toilets in England.
The Druids believed that one night each year, at the end of October, the
souls of the dead returned to the world of the living and roamed from
house to house costumed as Power Rangers.
And thus it is that to this day, youngsters come to our door on Halloween
night shouting: ``Trick or treat!'' According to tradition, if we don't
give the youngsters a ``treat,'' their parents will ``sue'' us. That's why
most of us traditionally prepare for Halloween by going to the supermarket
and purchasing approximately eight metric tons of miniature candy bars,
which we dump into a big bowl by the door, ready to hand out to the hordes
of trick-or-treaters.
The irony, of course, is that there ARE no hordes of trick-or-treaters,
not any more. We in the news media make darned sure of that. Every year we
publish dozens of helpful consumer-advice articles, cheerfully reminding
parents of the dangers posed by traffic, perverts, poisoned candy, and
many other Halloween hazards that parents would never think of if we
didn't remind them (``Have fun, but remember that this year more than
17,000 Americans will die bobbing for apples'').
The result is that many children aren't allowed to go trick-or-treating,
and the ones who ARE allowed out come to your house no later than 4:30
p.m., wearing reflective tape on their Power Rangers costumes and trailed
at close range by their parents, who watch you suspiciously and regard
whatever candy you hand out as though it were unsolicited mail from the
Unabomber.
So for most of Halloween, your doorbell is quiet. This means that you pass
the long night alone, hour after hour, just you and the miniature candy
bars. After a while they start calling seductively to you from their bowl
in their squeaky little voices.
``Hey, Big Boy!'' they call. ``We're going to waste over here!''
As the evening wears on they become increasingly brazen. Eventually they
crawl across the floor, climb up your body, unwrap themselves and force
themselves bodily into your mouth. There's no use hiding in the bathroom,
because they'll just crawl under the door and tie you up with dental floss
and threaten to squeeze toothpaste in your eye unless you eat them. At
least that's what they do to me. By the end of the night my blood has the
same sugar content as Yoo-Hoo.
But eating huge amounts of candy allegedly purchased for youngsters is
only part of the Halloween tradition. The other part is buying a pumpkin
and carving it to make a ``jack-o'-lantern,'' which sits on your front
porch, a festive symbol of the age-old truth -- first discovered by the
Druids -- that there is no practical use for pumpkins.
Here's how to make a traditional jack-o'-lantern:
1. Cut a lid on top of the pumpkin.
2. Pull off the lid and peer down into the slimy, festering pumpkin bowels.
3. Put the lid back on and secure it with 200 feet of duct tape.
(This is also the traditional procedure for stuffing a turkey.)
But however you celebrate Halloween, make sure you remember this important
safety tip: (IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP GOES HERE). Otherwise, you will not
survive the night. I'd give you more details, but right now I need to do
something about these tiny Milky Ways crawling up my legs.
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| Posted by Dean C. Hughes on 14-Aug-2005 | What Is EasterThree blondes died and were up talking to St. Peter. He said "I
have one question and if you get it I will let you into heaven."
He asks the first blonde, "What is Easter?" She answers "Oh,
that's that one time of the year when our whole family gets
together and we eat turkey."
St. Peter just shook his head and said to the next blonde, "What
is Easter?" She answered, "Oh, that is the time of year when our
family gets together and we all open presents and the fat jolly
guy comes down thechimney."
Again St. Peter just shook his head. He said to the third
blonde, "What is Easter?" She said, "Oh that's when Christ died
and they put him in a tomb and rolled a rock in front of it."
St. Peter smiled and urged, "yes... go on..." The blonde
continued, "then once a year we roll the stone away and he comes
out and if he sees his shadow we have six more weeks of winter."
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| Posted by dodo zhang on 14-Aug-2005 | Santa Must Be a SheI think Santa Claus is a woman....
I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he is a
she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy,
nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy
could possibly pull it all off!
For starters, the vast majority of men don't even think about
selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It's as if they are all
frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on
Dec. 24th, when they - with amazing calm - call other errant men
and plan for a last-minute shopping spree. Once at the store,
they always seem surprised to find only extra-small sweaters,
Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the
shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of
panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it's an enormous relief
because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On
this count alone, I'm convinced Santa is a woman.
Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up
Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the
tree, still in the bag.
Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of
all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead,
gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh.
Blitzen's rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.
Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he'd still have
transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up
there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for
directions.
Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in
the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect
and repaint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for
carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under
every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a
perfectly upright 90-degree angle.
Other reasons why Santa can t possibly be a man:
* Men can't pack a bag.
* Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
* Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be
seen with all those elves.
* Men don't answer their mail.
* Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even
in jest as anything remotely resembling a bowl full of jelly.
* Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing
them.
* Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their
ability to pick up women.
* Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a
commitment.
I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are
men.......
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous.
Definite guy.
Cupid flies around carrying weapons.
Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.
Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone
screening test.
But not St. Nick. Not a chance.
But as long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth,
faith and Nat King Cole's version of The Christmas Song, it
probably makes little difference what gender Santa is.
Merry Christmas to all :-)
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