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| Posted by Me Mo on 11-Aug-2005 | Thanksgiving Forecast...Thanksgiving Forecast:
Turkeys will thaw in the morning, then warm in the oven to an afternoon high near 190F.The kitchen will turn hot and humid, and if you bother the cook, be ready for a severe squall or cold shoulder.
During the late afternoon and evening, the cold front of a knife will slice through the turkey, causing an accumulation of one to two inches on plates. Mashed potatoes will drift across one side while cranberry sauce creates slippery spots on the other. Please pass the gravy.
A weight watch and indigestion warning have been issued for the entire area, with increased stuffiness around the beltway.During the evening, the turkey will dimish and taper off to leftovers, dropping to a low of 34F in the refrigerator.
Looking ahead to Friday and Saturday, high pressure to eat sandwiches will be established.Flurries of leftovers can be expected both days with a 50 percent chance of scattered soup late in the day.We expect a warming trend where soup develops.By early next week, eating pressure will be low as the only wish left will be the bone.
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| Posted by Abbey J. Heier on 11-Aug-2005 | Twas the Night Before Chrismas...'Twas the Night Before Chrismas: Brooklyn Version
'Twas the night before Christmas,
Da whole house was mellow,
Not a creature was stirrin',
(I had a gun unda my pillow.)
When up on da roof'
I heard somethin' pound,
I sprung to da window,
To scream, ''Ay! Keep it down!''
When what to my
Wanderin' eyes should appear,
But dat hairy elf Vinny,
And eight friggin' reindeer.
Wit' a bad hackin' cough,
And da stencha burped beer,
I knew in a moment
Yo, da Kringle wuz here!
Wit' a slap to dere snouts,
And a yank on dere manes,
He cursed and he shouted,
And he called dem by name.
''Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,
Yo Sally, Yo Vito,
Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,
Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!''
As I drew out my gun
And hid by da bed,
Down came his friggin' boot
On da top a my head.
His eyes were all bloodshot,
His b.o. wuz scary,
His breath wuz like sewage,
He had a mole dat wuz hairy.
He spit in my eye,
And he twisted my head,
He soon let me know
I should consider myself dead.
Den pointin' a fat finga
Right unda my nose,
He let out some gas,
And up da chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh,
Obscenities screaming,
And away dey all flew,
Before he troo dem a beatin'.
But I heard him exclaim,
Or better yet grump,
''Merry Christmas to all, and
Bite me, ya hump!''
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| Posted by mega on 11-Aug-2005 | Things that sound dirtyThings that sound dirty at Thanksgiving but really aren't:
Reach in and grab the giblets.
Whew... that's one terrific spread!
I'm in the mood for a little dark meat.
Tying the legs together will keep the inside moist.
Talk about a huge breast!
''And he forces his way into the end zone.''
She's 5000 pounds fully inflated and it takes 15 men to hold her down.
It's cool whip time!
If I don't unbuckle my pants, I'm going to burst.
It must be broken 'cause when I push on the tip, nothing squirts out.
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| Posted by Basketball Babe on 11-Aug-2005 | Star Trek CarolsStar Trek Carols
Jean-Luc Picard (to the tune of ''Let It Snow'')
Oh, the vacuum outside is endless,
Unforgiving, cold, and friendless,
But still we must boldly go--
Make it so, make it so, make it so!
William Riker: (to the tune of ''Deck the Halls'')
Here's a vexing Christmas riddle:
(Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la la)
Why must I play second fiddle?
(Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la la)
How can I impress Deanna
(Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la la la)
When I'm number two banana?
(Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la la)
Wesley Crusher: (to the tune of ''God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'')
I'm at Starfleet Academy,
And I'd just like to say
I miss the opportunity
To weekly save the day--
To make things worse, I have to be
In some dumb Christmas play!
Yes, I'm bright, though I'm just a teenaged boy,
Only a boy,
And the Enterprise was my most favourite toy!
Data: (to the tune of ''Jingle Bells'')
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,
Jingle all the way!
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one-horse open sleigh--
or so I am reliably informed lacking a subjective
and intuitively perceived referent for the term ''fun,''
I am able only to report the phenomenon as experienced
by others, whose individual perceptions somewhat colour the--
yes, sir.
Worf: (to be to the tune of ''White Christmas'')
I'm dreaming of a dead Pakled,
Just like the one in Rec Deck Eight.
They all think they've hidden,
But this one didn't,
And I'm using him as bait.
I'm dreaming of a dead Pakled--
Their mental skills are rather lame.
May your foes die sonless, in shame--
And I hope you're wishing me the same!
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| Posted by Aleksandar Pavlovic on 11-Aug-2005 | Twas the Night Before Christmas...'Twas the Night Before Christmas: Microsoft Version
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except Papa's mouse.
The computer was humming, the icons were hopping,
As Papa did last-minute Internet shopping.
The stockings were hung by the modem with care
In hope that St. Nicholas would bring new software.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of computer games danced in their heads.
PageMaker for Billy, and Quicken for Dan,
And Carmen Sandiego for Pamela Ann.
The letters to Santa had been sent out by Mom,
To santaclaus@toyshop.northpole.com
Which has now been re-routed to Washington State
Because Santa's workshop has been bought by Bill Gates.
All the elves and reindeer have had to skedaddle
To flashy new quarters in suburban Seattle.
After centuries of a life that was simple and spare,
St. Nicholas is suddenly a new billionaire,
With a shiny red Porsche in the place of his sleigh,
And a house on Lake Washington that's just down the way
From where Bill has his mansion. The old fellow preens
In black Gucci boots and red Calvin Klein jeans.
The elves have stock options and desks with a view,
Where they write computer code for Johnny and Sue.
No more dolls or tin soldiers or little toy drums
Will be under the tree, only compact disk ROMS
With the Microsoft label. So spin up your drive,
From now on Christmas runs only on Win95.
More rapid than eagles the competitors came,
And Bill whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
''Now, ADOBE! now, CLARIS! now, INTUIT! too,
Now, APPLE! and NETSCAPE! you are all of you through,
It is Microsoft's SANTA that the kids can't resist,
It's the ultimate software with a traditional twist
Recommended by no less than the jolly old elf,
And on the package, a picture of Santa himself.
Get 'em young, keep 'em long, is Microsoft's scheme,
And a merger with Santa is a marketer's dream.
To the top of the NASDAQ! to the top of the Dow!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away - wow!''
And Mama in her 'kerchief and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
The whir and the hum of our satellite platter,
As it turned toward that new Christmas star in the sky,
The SANTALITE owned by the Microsoft guy.
As I sprang from my bed and was turning around,
My computer turned on with a Jingle-Bells sound.
And there on the screen was a smiling Bill Gates
Next to jolly old Santa, two arm-in-arm mates.
And I heard them exclaim in voice so bright,
Have a MICROSOFT CHRISTMAS, and TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.
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| Posted by gamer GOD on 11-Aug-2005 | Twas the Night Before Christmas'Twas the Night Before Christmas: Texas Version
T'was the night before Christmas, in Texas, you know.
Way out on the prairie, without any snow.
Asleep in their cabin, were Buddy and Sue,
A dreamin' of Christmas, like me and you.
Not stockings, but boots, at the foot of their bed,
For this was Texas, what more need be said,
When all of a sudden, from out of the still night,
There came such a ruckus, it gave me a fright.
And I saw 'cross the prairie, like a shot from a gun,
A loaded up buckboard, come on at a run,
The driver was ''Geein'' and ''Hawin'', with a will,
The horses (not reindeer) he drove with such skill.
''Come on there Buck, Poncho, & Prince, to the right,
There'll be plenty of travelin' for you all tonight.''
The driver in Levi's and a shirt that was red,
Had a ten-gallon Stetson on top of his head.
As he stepped from the buckboard, he was really a sight,
With his beard and moustache, so curly and white.
As he burst in the cabin, the children awoke,
And were so astonished, that neither one spoke.
And he filled up their boots with such presents galore,
That neither could think of a single thing more.
When Buddy recovered the use of his jaws,
He asked in a whisper, ''Are you really Santa Claus?''
''Am I the real Santa? Well, what do you think?''
And he smiled as he gave a mysterious wink.
Then he leaped in his buckboard, and called back in his drawl,
''To all the children in Texas, Merry Christmas, You-all!''
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