Used to be I didn't like Michael Moore. I didn't like his movies or his arrogant attitude. I respected his right to make whatever movies and say anything that he wanted. Now he is offering Assange bail money. I am appalled!
An elderly blonde lived on a small farm in Canada, just yards
away from the North Dakota border. Their land had been the
subject of a minor dispute between the United States and Canada
for years. The now widowed blonde, lived on the farm with her son
and three grandchildren.
One day, her son came into her room holding a letter.
"I just got some news, Mom," he said. "The government has come to
an agreement with the people in Washington. They've decided that
our land is really part of the United States. We have the right
to approve or disapprove of the agreement. What do you think?"
"What do I think?" his blonde mother said. "Sign it! Call them
right now and tell them we accept! I don't think I could stand
another one of those Canadian winters!"
Imagine if you will... the leader of the fifth invader force
speaking to the commander in chief...
"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different
parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed
them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to
the stars."
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come
from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat
made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me
to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the
only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based
intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for
several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you
have any idea the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the
Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the
Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the
way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made
out of meat!"
"So... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking.
The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat.
The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."
"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been
trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their
years."
"So what does the meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore
the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and
information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat?"
"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by
radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of
thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You
know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk
by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by
squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do
you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any
and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without
prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase
the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make
contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat.
How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we
dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat
containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of
light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact
pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe."
"That's it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the
ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed?
You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their
heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to
them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be
meat's dream."
"And we can mark this sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any
others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence
in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic
rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the
universe would be if one were all alone."
Drunk Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's party. He is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn't taste like alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.
He forced himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose!!
He sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all cleaned and pressed! He looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly clean. So is the rest of the house.
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick: 'Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get groceries to make you your favorite dinner tonight.. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian'
He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper.
His 16 year old son is also at the table, eating. Jack asks, 'Son.what happened last night?'
'Well, you came home after 3 A.M., drunk and out of your mind you fell over the coffee table and broke it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door.'
Confused, he asked his son, 'So, why is everything in such perfect order and so clean? I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me??'
His son replies, 'Oh THAT... Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, 'Leave me alone bitch, I'm married!!'
Broken Coffee Table $239.99
Hot Breakfast $4.20
Two Aspirins $.38
Saying the Right thing, at the Right time:
PRICELESS
Politically correct?
Wus da night afo' Crizzmus, and all thru da hood,
everybody be sleepin' and da sleepin' be good.
We hunged up our stockins, an hoped like all heck,
dat Obama gunna brang us our gov'ment check.
All of da family, was lay'in on da flo', my sister wif
her gurlfriend, my brother wif some ho.
Ashtrays was all full, empty beer cans and all,
when I heared such a fuss, I thunk...."Sh'eet, must be da law".
I pulled the sheet off da window and what I'ze could see,
I was spectin' the sherrif, wif a warrant fo' me.
But what did I see, made me say, "Lawd look 'a dat!"
Dere was a huge watermelon, pulled by eight big-ass rats.
Now ovah da years, Santy Claws he be white,
but it looks like us brothas got a black un' tonight.
Faster than a poelice car, my homeboy he came,
and whupped up on dem rats, as he called dem by name.
On Biden, On Jessie, On Pelosi and Hillary,
On Fannie, On Freddie, On Ayers, and Slick Willy.
Obama landed dat melon, right there in da street,
I knowed it fo' sho', - can you believe that Sheet?
Dat Santy didn't need no chimley, he picked da lock on my do',
an I sez to myself, "Son'0a' bitch...he don did dis befo!"
He had a big bag, full of presents - at first I suspeck?
Wif "Air Jordans" and fake gold, to wear roun' my neck.
But he left me no presents, just started stealin my shit
He got my guns and my crack, and my new burglers kit.
Den, wif my shit in his bag, out da windo' he flew,
I sho' woulda shanked him, be he snagged my blade too!
He jumped back on dat melon, wif out even a hitch,
and waz gone in two seconds, da democrat sumbitch.
So nex year I be hopin', a white Santy we git,
'cause a black Santy Claws, just ain't worf a shit!
everybody be sleepin' and da sleepin' be good.
We hunged up our stockins, an hoped like all heck,
dat Obama gunna brang us our gov'ment check.
All of da family, was lay'in on da flo', my sister wif
her gurlfriend, my brother wif some ho.
Ashtrays was all full, empty beer cans and all,
when I heared such a fuss, I thunk...."Sh'eet, must be da law".
I pulled the sheet off da window and what I'ze could see,
I was spectin' the sherrif, wif a warrant fo' me.
But what did I see, made me say, "Lawd look 'a dat!"
Dere was a huge watermelon, pulled by eight big-ass rats.
Now ovah da years, Santy Claws he be white,
but it looks like us brothas got a black un' tonight.
Faster than a poelice car, my homeboy he came,
and whupped up on dem rats, as he called dem by name.
On Biden, On Jessie, On Pelosi and Hillary,
On Fannie, On Freddie, On Ayers, and Slick Willy.
Obama landed dat melon, right there in da street,
I knowed it fo' sho', - can you believe that Sheet?
Dat Santy didn't need no chimley, he picked da lock on my do',
an I sez to myself, "Son'0a' bitch...he don did dis befo!"
He had a big bag, full of presents - at first I suspeck?
Wif "Air Jordans" and fake gold, to wear roun' my neck.
But he left me no presents, just started stealin my shit
He got my guns and my crack, and my new burglers kit.
Den, wif my shit in his bag, out da windo' he flew,
I sho' woulda shanked him, be he snagged my blade too!
He jumped back on dat melon, wif out even a hitch,
and waz gone in two seconds, da democrat sumbitch.
So nex year I be hopin', a white Santy we git,
'cause a black Santy Claws, just ain't worf a shit!
Little Melissa comes home from 1st grade & tells her father that they learned about the history of Christmas.
'Since Christmas Day is to celebrate Jesus's birth, and we're
Jewish,' she asks, 'Will God get mad at me for giving someone a
Christmas card?
Melissa's father thinks a bit, then says: 'No, I don't think God
would get mad. Whom do you want to give a Christmas card to?'
'Osama Bin Laden,' she says.
'Why Osama Bin Laden?' her father asks in shock.
'Well,' she says, 'I thought that if a little American Jewish girl could have enough love to give Osama a Christmas card, he might start to think that maybe we're not all bad, and maybe start loving people a little bit.
And if other kids saw what I did and sent Christmas cards to Osama, he'd love everyone a lot. And then he'd start going all over the place to tell everyone how much he loved them, and how he didn't hate anyone anymore.'
Her father's heart swells and he looks at his daughter with new
found pride.. 'Melissa, that's the most wonderful thing I have ever heard!'
'I know, ' Melissa says, 'and once that gets him out in the
open, the Marines could shoot the mother fucker.'
Cuervo Christmas Cookies
1 cup of water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup of brown sugar
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups of dried fruit
1 bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila
Sample the Cuervo to check quality.
Check the Cuervo again, to be sure it is of the highest quality,
pour one level cup and drink.
Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter
in a large fluffy bowl.
Add one peastoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point
it's best to make sure the Cuervo is still ok, try another
cup just in case.
Turn off the mixerer thingy.
Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup
of dried fruit.
Pick the frigging fruit off the floor.
Mix on the turner.
If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaters just pry
it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who geeves
a sheet. Check the Jose Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one table.
Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find.
Greash the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over.
Don't forget to beat off the turner.
Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the
Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the wishdasher.
Cherry Mistmas !
The Hotel Bill
An elderly lady decided to give herself a big treat for her significant birthday by staying overnight in one of London's most expensive hotels.
When she checked out next morning, the desk clerk handed her a bill for £250.00.
She explode and demanded to know why the charge was so high. "It's a nice hotel but the rooms certainly aren't worth £250.00 for just an overnight stop without even breakfast."
The clerk told her that £250.00 is the 'standard rate' so she insisted on speaking to the Manager.
The Manager appeared and forewarned by the desk clerk announced: "the hotel has an Olympic-sized pool and a huge conference centre which are available for use."
"But I didn't use them," she said.
"Well, they are here, and you could have," explained the Manager.
He went on to explain that she could also have seen one of the in-hotel shows for which the hotel is famous. "We have the best entertainers from Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Aberdeen performing here," the Manager said.
"But I didn't go to any of those shows," she said.
"Well, we have them, and you could have," the Manager replied.
No matter what amenity the Manager mentioned, she replied, "But I
didn't use it!"
The Manager was unmoved, so she decided to pay, wrote a cheque and gave it to the Manager.
The Manager was surprised when he looked at the cheque. "But madam, this cheque is only made out for £50.00." "That's correct. I charged you £200.00 for sleeping with me," she replied.
"But I didn't!" exclaims the very surprised Manager.
"Well, too bad, I was here, and you could have."
Don't mess with Senior Citizens
