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| Posted by Kathleen E. Ryan on 08-Aug-2005 | THE TALKING PARROTSA lady approaches her priest and tells him "Father, I have a problem. I have two female talking parrots, but they only know how to say one thing."
"What do they say?" the priest inquired.
"They only know how to say, 'Hi, we're prostitutes. Want to have some fun?'"
"That's terrible!" the priest exclaimed, "but I have a solution to your problem. Bring your two female parrots over to my house and I will put them with my two male talking parrots whom I taught to pray and read the bible. My parrots will teach your parrots to stop saying that terrible phrase and your female parrots will learn the joys of praise and worship."
"Thank you!" the woman responded.
The next day the woman brings her female parrots to the priest's house. His two male parrots are holding the rosary beads and praying in their cage. The lady puts her two female parrots in with the male parrots and the female parrots say "Hi we're prostitutes, want to have some fun?"
One male parrot looks over at the other male parrot and exclaims, "Put the beads away, brother. Our prayers have been answered!"
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| Posted by jimmy miller on 08-Aug-2005 | BIZARRE REAL LIFE ANIMAL LAWSIn Kingsville, Texas, there is a law against two pigs having sex on the city's airport property.
It is illegal for hens to lay eggs before 8 am and after 4 pm in Norfolk, Virginia.
Ducks quacking after 10 pm in Essex Falls, New Jersey are breaking the law.
In Quitman, Georgia, it is against the law for a chicken to cross any road within the city limits.
In McDonald, Ohio, farmers cannot march a goose down a city street. And fowl, particularly roosters, are prohibited from going into bakeries in Massachusetts.
In Kansas, it is illegal for chicken thieves to work during daylight hours.
In New York, frogs may be taken from their ponds from June 16 to September 30, but only between sunrise and sunset.
In Pennsylvania, no one is allowed to shoot bullfrogs on a Sunday.
In Arizona, the bullfrog-hunting season is permanently closed.
In Vermont, you can be fined if your pig runs in a public park without the permission of a selectman.
French Lick Springs, Indiana, once passed a law requiring all black cats to wear bells on Friday the 13th.
Madison, Wisconsin, will not allow joint custody of a family pet when a couple divorces - the animal is legally awarded to whoever happens to have possession of it at the time of the initial separation.
Dogs in Foxpoint, Wisconsin, may not bark profusely, snarl, or make any menacing gestures.
In Texas, it's illegal to put graffiti on someone else's cow.
It is illegal to ride a mule down Lang, Kansas' Main Street in August, unless the animal is wearing a straw hat.
Over in Berea, Kentucky and also in Willamantic, Connecticut, horses are not allowed out on the streets and highways at night unless the animal has a "bright" red taillight securely attached to its rump.
Horses may not wear cowbells inside the city limits of Tahoe City, California.
In Washington, though, every cow wandering the streets of Seattle must be wearing a cowbell.
In Burns, Oregon, horses are allowed in the town's taverns, if an admission fee is paid before they enter.
You can't blow your nose in public places in Leahy, Washington, because it might scare a horse and cause it to panic.
In Wanassa, New Jersey, a dog is breaking the law if it is heard to be "crying."
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| Posted by Matt J. Kovich on 08-Aug-2005 | The Secret Diary of a CatDAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from shredding on the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant and cough it up on the carpeting.
DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair... must try this on their bed (again).
DAY 762 - Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.
DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in
attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was ...Hmmm. Not working according to plan...
DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth and the tiny bit of flesh under my claws.
DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant. He has mastered their frightful tongue (something akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured.
But I can wait; it is only a matter of time....
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| Posted by Waz Up on 08-Aug-2005 | Ernie the HamsterIf you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet-flush burials for dead goldfish It's a long story but one that will have you laughing out LOUD!!
Overview: I had to take my son's hamster to the vet. Here's what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was something wrong with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room. "He's just lying there looking sick," he told me, "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put my best hamster-healer look on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. (Call my wife.)
"Honey," I called, "come look at the hamster!" "Oh, my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies." "What?" My son demanded.
"But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be?! I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce!" I accused my wife. "Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?!" She inquired. (I actually think she had the gall to say this sarcastically.)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together). "Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" My son agreed. "Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, ya know," she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, ya think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
"OH, Gross!" They shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?" My wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. Don't you?)
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. "We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified. "Do something, Dad!" My son urged. "Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" My eldest daughter wanted to know," Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in hislap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to ME is one thing, but this boy is of her womb.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. "What do you think, Doc, a c-section?" I suggested scientifically. My son appeared impressed by my observation.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" My wife asked. "Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us.
"This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen Ernie is a boy."
"What?"
"You see, Ernie is a young male AND occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um .... er ... masturbate, just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this.
"So Ernie's just ... just ... excited?"! My wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And laugh. And then even laugh loudly!
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face.
"It's just ... that ... I'm picturing you pulling on its ... its teeny little ..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, once again collapsing into laughter.
Enough said.
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| Posted by Caleb J. Pering on 08-Aug-2005 | Baby TurtleA baby turtle was standing at the bottom of a large tree and with a deep sigh, started to climb. About an hour later, he reached a very high branch and walked along to the end. He turned and spread all four flippers and launched himself off the branch. On landing at the bottom in a pile of soft, dead leaves, he shook himself off, walked back to the bottom of the tree and with a sigh started to climb.
About an hour later, he again reached the very high branch, walked along, turned, spread his flippers and flung himself off the branch. Again, he landed on the bottom, shook himself off, went to the bottom of the tree, sighed and started climbing.
Watching these proceedings from the end of the branch were two little birds. Mummy bird turned to Daddy bird and said, "Don't you think it's time we told him he was adopted?"
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| Posted by Jena Robbins on 08-Aug-2005 | Signs your cow has mad-cow disease.Sure fire signs that your cow has mad-cow disease...
Your cow insists on wearing a little A-1 sauce behind each ear as cologne.
She refuses to let you milk her, saying "Not on the first date."
Your cow takes up painting and cuts off one of its ears.
Your cow gets a silicon implant for her udder.
Your cow appears on Oprah, claiming to be a horse trapped in a cow's body.
Your cow demands to be branded with the 'Golden Archs Logo'.
Your cow insists that all Hindus are sacred.
Your cow insists evaporated milk comes from thirsty cows.
Your cow quits the family dairy business and applies for a job at Burger King.
She starts giving you Milk of Amnesia.
Your cow joins the Hell's Angels because, hey, it already has a cool leather jacket.
Your cow starts smoking its grass rather than eating it.
Your cow spends half the day sitting in the Lotus Position chanting "MOO" backwards.
Your cow insists that it can give you chocolate milk if you started feeding it Hershey bars.
Your cow asks you to brand it again but only if you'll wear something sexy this time.
Your cow purposely blinds itself with a dart and yells "Bullseye"!
Your cow becomes a Muslim and asks to be called "LaCream Abdul Milkbar".
Your cow insists Milk Duds are the result of stupid cows.
Your cow starts laughing hysterically until milk spurts out its nose.
You find your cow hiding secret plans to burn down half of Chicago.
Your cow keeps wanting to chew other cows cuds.
Your cow believes it could really jump over the moon like in the nursery rhyme if it had a really good run at it.
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