Married Reality

A man walked into a drug store with his 8-year old son. They happened to walk by the condom display, and the boy asked, "What are these, Dad?

To which the man matter-of-factly replied, "Those are called condoms son. Men use them to have safe sex."

"Oh I see," replied the boy pensively. “Yes, I've heard of that in health class at school."

He looked over the display and picked up a package of 3 and asked, "Why are there 3 in this package?"

The dad replied, "Those are for high school boys,

v one for Friday,

v one for Saturday, and

v one for Sunday."

"Cool" said the boy. He noticed a 6 pack and asks, "Then who are these for?"

"Those are for college men," the dad answers,

TWO for Friday,

TWO for Saturday, and

TWO for Sunday.”

"WOW!" exclaimed the boy,

"Then who uses THESE?" he asked, picking up a 12 pack.

With a sigh and a tear in his eye, the dad replied, "Those are for married men.

v One for January,

v one for February,

v one for March......."

The Three Bears

Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in her little chair at the table. She looks into her little bowl. It is empty.

"Who's been eating my porridge?!!" she squeaks.

Daddy Bear arrives at the table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl and it is also empty. "Who's been eating MY porridge?!!" he roars.

Mummy Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells...

"For Christ's sake, how many times do we have to go through this with you idiots?

It was Mummy Bear, who got up first,

It was Mummy Bear who woke everyone in the house,

It was Mummy Bear who made the coffee,

It was Mummy Bear who went out in the cold air to fetch the newspaper,

It was Mummy Bear who set the damn table,

It was Mummy Bear who unloaded the dishwasher and put everything away, and

it was Mummy Bear who put the friggin' cat out, cleaned the litter box and filled the cat's water and food dish.

Now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-asses downstairs and grace Mummy Bear's kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen good, cause I'm only gonna say this one more time..........

........I HAVEN'T MADE THE FUCKING PORRIDGE YET!!!!"

Women's Rights

The following took place at an international conference for women's rights.

The first speaker, a lady from England stood and said,

"During last year's conference, we spoke about being more assertive with our husbands. Well, after the conference, I went home and told my husband, Barrington, that I would no longer cook for him and that he would have to do it himself.

After the first day, I saw nothing.
the second day, I saw nothing,
but on the third day,
I saw that he had cooked a wonderful roast lamb."

(The crowd cheered).

The second speaker from Russia, stood up and said,

"After last year's conference, I went home and told my husband, Ivan,
that I would no longer do his laundry and that he would have to do it himself.

The first day, I saw nothing. After the second day, I saw nothing,
but on the third day,
I saw that he had done not only his own washing, but mine as well.

(The crowd again cheered).

The third speaker, a Jamaican lady, stood up and said,

" After lass year's conference, I wen home and tole dat lazy husband of mines, Dingo Jack,
I was froo pickin up his beer cans!!!!
I was froo cookin his tucker!!!!
I was froo washing his undaweah !!
and dat he was goin to haf to do dem himself!!!!

(The crowd went wild with cheering and clapping that lasted for five long minutes).
She continued...........................

"Afta da first day, I nevah see nuffing.
Afta da second day I nevah see nuffing,
but afta da fird day,
I could see a little bit out of my leff eye."

I wish I'd thought of it.

One year at Thanksgiving my mom went to my sister's house for the traditional feast. Knowing how gullible my sister is, my mom decided to play a trick.

She told my sister that she needed something from the store. When my sister left, my mom took the turkey out of the oven, removed the stuffing, stuffed a Cornish hen, and inserted it into the turkey, and re-stuffed the turkey. She then placed the bird(s) back in the oven.

When it was time for dinner, my sister pulled the turkey out of the oven and proceeded to remove the stuffing. When her serving spoon hit something, she reached in and pulled out the little bird. With a look of total shock on her face, my mother exclaimed,

"Patricia, you've cooked a pregnant bird!"

At the reality of this horrifying news, my sister started to cry.

It took the family two hours to convince her that turkeys lay eggs!

Political Correctness and The Measuring Contest

Political Correctness

For some years now I have felt that all this business of political correctness has gone much too far. It has gotten to the point where a minority culture of anti-discrimination purists has somehow gained the right to edit the dictionary on their terms, and as a consequence there is no Freedom of Speech left for the majority who wish to conduct conversation in the language that they have used for the larger portion of their lives. No-one, in the course of a public address or conversation, is permitted to describe another as short, nor as retarded. In the terminology of the language purists these individuals must be termed vertically and mentally challenged. This is a total denial of the realities of life. In both the foregoing instances, given that the individuals being described with these labels have reached the age of majority, they once were faced with vertical and mental challenges. Having failed to rise to the challenge they have wound up either short, or retarded. That is fact and no amount of political correctness can alter the current reality that one will never be a basketball star, nor the other get a Doctorate in Mathematics.

As a prime example of the dire consequences that could arise from this censoring of our "common" language, let me propose an example in the person of Sheila Copps, our much maligned former Deputy Prime Minister, whatever her current title might be. I don't like Ms. Copps very much, never have, and on more than one occasion over the previous years I have called her a "Stupid Bitch." This is no longer acceptable terminology. Now I should describe her as an "intellectually handicapped canine of the female gender". This may be politically correct but a lot of the punch got lost in the translation, and a certain amount of accuracy.

Somehow "intellectually challenged" misses the point that this broad really is stupid. She will never, ever, understand all those words with more than two syllables. In addition a "bitch" is not just a female dog. It is also a female human with a severe attitude problem usually just before her "time of the month". Confronted by a polysyllabic statement as demanded by the Correctness purists, and poor Ms. Copps would probably become totally confused and throw one of those "Stupid Bitch" fits that can only be overcome by a damned good swat upside her head.

All I wanted to do was call her names, not have to slap her back to reality. I don't believe in gratuitous violence.

On further examination, this correctness nonsense has gone much too far, and by and large it is enforced by a group of zealots with no sense of humour, backed up by a collection of chickenshit politicians who can't stand to be laughed at. The reality of the situation is that if you can't make fun of stereotypes and people's differences and unique foibles, there's not much left in this world that is funny. I just don't understand this super sensitivity about race and sex and stuff, when the worst tellers of racist jokes are the racee's the jokes are all about. Jews tell Jew jokes, Newfies tell Newfy jokes, Niggers tell Nigger jokes, and Women try to tell jokes about other Women. Unfortunately, ladies, when the joke gets close to home and personal, you usually don't have much of a sense of humour at all.

I don't understand it. They can get up and tell a joke and it's funny. I get up and tell the same joke and I'm labeled a bigoted, racist, male chauvinist pig. That might all be true but it's still not fair. But I've never let being called names stand in my way and I'm going to tell you a true story about a place where Women were not allowed and where men were allowed to really have some fun without fear of political censorship.

************************************************************************

The Measuring Contest
Way back in the dawn of prehistory when I was a young man, the Puritan forces that governed the Province of Alberta dictated that the Beer Parlours in many of the small towns had to be split in half. One side was for "Ladies and Escorts" where the men had to behave like Gentlemen, and the other was the "Men's" side where we could behave like the normal animals we are.

One Saturday afternoon I was bored and having not much else to do, I decided to drop down to our local Hotel and see if anything interesting was going on. I had just settled into my chair in the "Men's" side, enjoying a glass of my favourite pale ale off the tap, when I noticed that the table next to mine was occupied by four strangers to our small town . They were getting very excited and their voices kept rising with each passing minute. This naturally aroused my curiosity, for strangers were a novelty in our small community, and I decided to stay for a time and find out what all the excitement was about.

Now these were strange looking fellows. One was a Limey type guy; all dressed up in a bowler hat, three piece suit, with an umbrella and polished shoes. Another one was a Scotty, complete with kilt and sporran, with his bagpipes stuck up in the corner behind him. The third guy was one of those there Orthodox Jew guys. I'd never seen one before but I knew what he was from pictures I'd seen in the National Geographic. He had a big black beard, and a wide brimmed black hat, and he had those funny little curls of hair, dreadknots I think they're called, hanging down by his ears. The last guy was a weenie little black fellow all dressed up in a cowboy outfit. He was only about four feet tall, but he was real cocky, and I figured he was probably a jockey from one of those greyhound races I'd read about.

It turned out that they weren't acting much different from our local fellows when it came to "Men's" side behaviour. They were getting themselves all worked up arguing about who had the biggest pecker at the table. A couple of more beers and the situation started getting serious and finally got to the "Put your money where your mouth is" stage, with a couple of hundred bucks piled up in the middle of the table.

They flipped a coin and the Limey guy had to go first so he stands up and unbuttons his fly and reaches in and pulls out this pale, pasty white, wrinkly thing, about five inches long on the edge of the table and starts to reach for the money.

"Hoot, mon', yells the Scotty, "Put that poor anemic thing of yours away, Laddy, or he'll get a complex when he meets his big brother!". He reaches under his kilt and whips out a large red veined garlic sausage with a little toque on its head, and he grabs the toque and stretches it and he's got a full nine inches!

The Jew jumps up and slams the table and yells, "No foreskins was in the bet. Let it go!" and the Scotty did and it snapped back and he's only got a mere seven inches that even I could have beaten.

The Jew steps up to the edge of the table, unzips the fly in his black polyester pants and lays out what looks like a piece of pepperoni sausage on it. It's only about 1/2" wide but the thing is a full ten inches long. The Scotty throws up his hands in disgust and the Jew started to reach for the money when the little black guy says, "Hold on there, Rabbi, it's my turn now!"

He jumps down from his chair, runs over to the corner of the bar and drags over two cases of empty beer bottles and builds a sort of footstool and climbs up on them and just manages to get his crotch up to table height. He fishes in his pants and finally manages to get a little two inch long piece of wrinkly black laid onto the table edge. The other three fellows took one look and they all just burst out laughing.

This didn't seem to bother the little black guy one bit.

He just stood there patiently until they were all finished gasping and choking and wiping the tears out of their eyes, then he just says, "Fellows, you ain't seen nothin' yet!". He reaches into his back pocket and takes out a little plastic package and unwraps a slimy, rotten, smelly piece of old dead fish and he reaches down and draws a long S curved line from the end of his pecker to the other side of the table and drops the piece there. Then he stands up real straight, takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and looks down at his weenie little pecker and says,

"Sic "em, boy".

Now let me tell you, watching' that bloodhound take up the trail was one of the most interesting things I ever did see. The other most interesting was seeing' what it did when it caught up to the bait!

Revenge-Justified and Explained

After nearly three thousand years of research, Science has finally managed to explain what has always been common sense to the average man. The following article extracted from someplace else on the Web provides an explanation for the true to life story that follows it:
_______________________________________________

The Study: Why We Really Enjoy Getting Revenge

Revenge is sweet. When we are wronged by someone, most of us take great pleasure in yelling at that person. There's a reason for this. According to new research from scientists at the University of Zurich in Switzerland, revenge is linked to the area of the brain associated with enjoyment and satisfaction. The BBC News Online reports that this may explain why so many of us choose to reprimand others when they break the rules or abuse our trust.

The study: The Swiss researchers tested seven pairs of men as they played a game that involved an exchange of money. The men were each given 10 units of money and told they could increase their winnings if they trusted one another. They could not see each other while they were playing. Player No. 1 was given the option of keeping all his money or giving it to his opponent. If he kept it to himself, he didn't make anything extra, but if he gave it all to his opponent, the opponent's winnings would quadruple. Player No. 2 was then asked whether he wanted to keep the money or share it with his opponent. If he failed to share it, the first player would be asked whether or not his opponent should be punished. They were given one minute to make their decision, during which time the scientists monitored their brains using positron electron tomography, or PET, scanners.

The results: If one of the men didn't play fair, he was usually punished by the other. In fully six out of the seven cases, the opponent chose to reprimand the other player. During the reprimand, the dorsal striatum region of the brain was activated, an area known to be involved in feelings of enjoyment and satisfaction. This same area lights up when someone who is in love sees a photograph of his beloved. "It suggests that there is a satisfaction associated with punishing norm violations--they have been cheated, they feel bad in that situation probably--and now by punishing, they feel less bad," study co-author Dr Ernst Fehr told the BBC News.

"Instead of cold, calculated, reason, it is passion that may plant the seeds of revenge," psychologist Brian Knutson of Stanford University wrote in a commentary accompanying the study findings that were published in the journal Science. He equated it to an aggressive driver who refuses to allow another car to pass in front of him in heavy traffic. "After squeezing back the intruder, you can't help but notice a smile creep onto your face," Knutson wrote in Science.
_______________________________________________

Finally a scientific justification for the following incident:

Revenge

A Christian says: "Do unto others..."
A Jew says: "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth"
An Arab says: "Harm one tooth in my head and I'll have
your whole damned mouthful."

Revenge, they say, is sweet. They are wrong. Revenge, if taken properly, well thought out in advance, executed with precision, and successful in its outcome, is probably one of the most soul satisfying endeavors in which a person can engage. It is not just a matter of getting even, it's a matter of doing the other bastard just a little bit better and sticking it to him right where he lives.

The other morning when I was out for a coffee, I was joined by the Madame of our local whorehouse. During the course of our discussion of business practice and procedures in general, she told me the story of one of her customers, that, to me represents the epitome of successful revenging practice. An insult or hurt was received, an appropriate remedy for that hurt was established as a goal, and a plan was devised to effectively unite the perpetrator of the crime with the remedy.

It seems the Madame was awakened the other morning by a terrific pounding on the door of the whorehouse. She rushed down to greet this early business opportunity, but when she opened the door was surprised to find only a little boy standing on the step. He was quite agitated and upset and she could see that he had been crying, so she asked what she could do for him. He looked her straight in the eye and with barely contained rage in his voice told her he wanted a whore.

She was taken aback by this, and enquired as to his age. He bluntly told her that that was none of her business, he had enough money, produced a wad of bills to verify this assertion, and told her she could take it or leave it, he didn't really give a shit. If she didn't want his money he knew who her competition was in town and he'd just go there, so make up her mind, yes or no? Well, cash is cash, and it was better she take it now and keep it from that gutter crawling bitch who ran that low class brothel down the street.

Resolving to do business with him, and with total customer satisfaction an established policy of the house, she agreed and asked if he had any preference when it came to his choice of whores. He told her he really didn't give a shit what the bitch looked like or how old she was but, she had to have Syphilis. The Madame was totally astonished by his request and refused to proceed any further with the business until he explained why he would want to contract this horrible sexual disease.

The boy thought it over for a minute and then, with a look of enraged anticipation on his face, told her:

Well, she'll give it to me,

I'll give it to Sis.

Sis'll give it to Dad.

Dad will give it to Mom,

Mom will give it to the Postman,

and

That's the son-of-a-bitch that stepped on my frog.

The Free Beer Challenge

Free Beer

You meet all kinds of people as you go through this life, but my friend Clyde, a somewhat underclass individual from the East Hastings area of Vancouver, is one of the strangest I have encountered. He is one of those individuals who has a passionate love of beer, who cannot resist a challenge, and who when mixing the two, displays a total lack of good judgment.

One day last month as we were walking down one of his favorite downtown Vancouver back streets we passed one of the local taverns and Clyde was stopped dead in his tracks by a large sign in its' window which advertised;

FREE BEER- on condition.

His curiosity and love of the pale ale forced him to enter the place and I simply had to follow. Clyde went up to the bar and asked the bartender what the sign meant.

The bartender on duty advised him that the sign was for real, and that all he had to do was fulfil three conditions, the first being that he had to pay for and drink at least two large shots of Tequila while he considered the other two. This seemed reasonable to Clyde and against my advice he ordered a double round for the two of us. The bartender then told him that if he decided to accept the challenge and met the other conditions, these drinks would be free and in addition he would be entitled to drink as much beer as he liked for a whole month absolutely free. The second condition was that he had to enter the back room of the tavern and remove an infected tooth from the rear upper jaw of a seventeen foot long alligator that was kept there as the owner's pet and the bar 's mascot. "Think about it and if your interested I'll tell you the last condition."

Now this sounded downright dangerous and Clyde had to do some serious thinking so he polished of his Tequilas, had a couple more then finally asked the bartender what the last condition was.


The bartender told him that the last condition wasn't nearly as hard as the second. Room 332 upstairs was rented by a 100 year old squaw who was sex starved. She was so old and ugly her sex life has dried right up and all he had to do was go upstairs and fuck her till she smiled.

Again Clyde had to think this over, but after a couple more Tequilas, he managed to stand up, told the bartender the bet was on, staggered to the back room, entered and closed the door behind him.

There was a moment of quiet and then a terrible explosion of sounds of mayhem, destruction and wild activity erupted. Screams, roars, bangs and crashes went on and on for a good forty minutes but then there was a quiet time when all that could be heard was a sort of loud purring sound.

The door finally opened, and Clyde emerged. He was bruised and bloody, his clothes were all ripped and torn, but he staggered over to the bar and asked, " Now! Where's this old squaw with the bad tooth?"

Natural Thoughts

Every once in a while it is soothing to the soul to venture beyond the confines of our urban environment and get out into the countryside and observe Mother Nature at her work. Despite our presumed knowledge and sophistication, many times we ignorant city dwellers see simple things that pose questions for which we simply do not have ready answers.

As a perfect example of this, one day last summer I was hiking through the woods, and came at last to the edge of a small pond in the middle of a large meadow. The day was extremely hot and sultry and after refreshing myself with a quick drink from the pond, I decided to just rest there awhile and observe the natural environment around me.

It was a truly beautiful day and the first thing that struck me was the silence. There was not a breath of wind and the pond lay before me like a polished sheet of glass, and all I could hear at first was the sound of my own laboured breathing as I recovered from my exertions. As my breathing slowed and I enjoyed my relaxation, I gradually became aware of other sounds I had previously ignored.

First, it was the occasional call of wild songbirds, then the constant hum of millions of tiny insects as they went about their activities.

As I sat there, finally tuned into the magic of the place, I noticed that every once in a while the surface of the pond was disturbed by large bubbles of gas that rose from the bottom and then burst at the surface making an audible "Blup!!" sound and spreading a ring of ripples that ran across the pond. Again and again this happened as I pondered the phenomenon, Blup, Blup. Blup.

It really made me wonder,


"Do fish fart ???"

The Concord Syndrome

Now this is a true story about what happened to a couple of my Newfie friends, Pat and Mike when they got a job in Gander at the airport fuelling up the Concord. They were working the afternoon shift and along about midnight they were both just dying for a drink. They were getting tired and Pat accidentally spilled some of the Concord fuel on his wrist and unthinkingly licked it off with his tongue.

"Hey! Mike," he calls out. "Taste this stuff. It's not half bad. Sorta tastes like Screech!!"
Mike tries the stuff and it's not too bad if you don't try to breathe when you're drinkin' it, so they filled up two gallon bottles when they left for the night at shift change and took it home.

The stuff had the kick of a mule and by two o'clock they were both nearly totally out of it. Mike loaded Pat into a taxi and passed out on his bed. He was awakened by the phone about 9 o'clock and on answering it found Pat on the other end:
"Oh, Mike. Forgive me for startin' us on that wicked brew. How are ye feelin"?"
"Lord Jaysus", Mike replied, "like me tongue was a carpet in the hallway of the great unwashed and it's been trampled by the bare feet of the multitude, and me head feels like a soccer ball after the World Cup. Lord, that was horrible stuff we was drinkin'!!"
"Mike," says Pat, "go to the mirror there and take a good look at yourself."
So Mike gets up and goes over to the mirror in his bedroom and takes a look and asks Pat

"What am I lookin' for here Pat, all I see is me?"

"Now look at your hair," says Pat. "Is it all sweepin' forward and comin' up to a point on top?"
"By God," says Mike. "It is! It is!"
"And is your head bent all forward so you can’t hardly look up?"

"By God! It is! It is!"
"And are you bent over at the hips so you’re almost fallin' forward?"

"By God!" says Mike, "I am indeed."

"And are your arms just achin' to be pulled backward
and out from your sides?"

"By God," says Mike, "they are.
What the devil is goin' on here?"

"I don't really know.” says Pat.
"But for God's sake Mike,
if you gets the urge
don't you dare cut a fart,

“I'm phoning from Vancouver!!”

Viagra

A woman went to her family doctor and complained that her elderly husband was impotent. The doctor asked if her husband would consider taking Viagara to see if it might help. She replied that they had discussed it, but he was convinced there was nothing wrong with him, but that rather the fault was hers for not being able to get him turned on. She really needed to get some excitement back in her life.

She and the doctor discussed matters and hatched a little plot. The doctor gave her three Viagara pills, told her to grind one up and slip it into her husband’s meals at some point in the next couple of days and see what the result would be. She left with a follow-up appointment a week later.

When she appeared for the follow-up, she told the doctor that the trick had worked!

“How was it?” asked the doctor.

She replied, “Oh, Doctor, it was simply terrible! I slipped a pill into my husbands coffee and then after dinner he started to look at me funny, grabbed me, tore off all my clothes, threw all the table dishes on the floor, then threw me onto the table and had his way with me for a long time.”

“Well, wasn’t that exciting?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, yes it was!” she said.

Then hanging her head she sobbed

“But Doctor! I can’t ever go back to that MacDonalds again!

How to Sell a Dead Donkey......

How to Sell a Dead Donkey......

When he was young a man named Paul Martin bought a donkey from an old farmer for $100.00. The farmer agreed to deliver the donkey the next day.

When the farmer drove up the next day, he said, "Sorry son, but I have some bad news...the donkey is on my truck, but he's dead."

Paul replied, "Well then, just give me my money back.

"The farmer said, "I can’t do that. I went and spent it already.

"Paul said, "OK then, just unload the donkey anyway".

The farmer asked, "What are ya gonna do with him?"

Paul said, "I'm going to raffle him off."

To which the farmer exclaimed, "You can't raffle off a dead donkey!"

But Paul, with a big smile on his face, said, "Sure I can. Watch me. I just won’t tell anybody that he's dead."

A month later the farmer met up with Paul and asked, "What happened with that dead donkey?"

Paul said, "I raffled him off. I sold 500 tickets at two dollars a piece and made a profit of $698.00."

Totally amazed, the farmer asked, "Didn't anyone complain that you had stolen their money because you lied about the donkey being dead?"

Paul replied, "The only guy who found out about the donkey being dead was the raffle winner, when he came to claim his prize. So I gave him his $2 back plus $200 extra, which is double the going value of a donkey, so he thought I was a great guy."

Paul Martin grew up and eventually became the Prime Minister of Canada, and no matter how many times he lied or how much money he stole from Canadian voters, as long as he gave them back some of the stolen money, most of them thought he was a great guy

Seamus and the Leprechauns

I should warn you this a long yarn but it's well worth the time to read

Enjoy!

SEAMUS AND THE LEPRECHAUNS

It was a cold blustery, rain threatening morning when Seamus Donnelly rose from his bed and looked gloomily out his one little kitchen window at all the work that wasn’t going to be done today. Great dark boils of black clouds rolled over the Ulster horizon and the sky was a leaden grey with sudden gusts of wind and occasional lashing rain. His little farm lay before him waiting for his attention and his horse drawn plow to sow the seed that would hopefully yield a crop that would allow him to eke out another year of his pitiful existence.

God, it was cold in here! He pulled on some clothes and quickly and efficiently built a fire in the kitchen stove that slowly but surely warmed the room. He quickly made his customary breakfast of porridge and whatever left-overs he could find and the sat at his little table to consider his dire situation.

He was poor. The little land and small two story cottage he had inherited from his mother just could not produce enough surplus for him to ever better his condition and it was in the depths of despair that he finally decided that he would go fishing. He grabbed his line and baits, pulled on his big heavy boots, threw his cape around him and stormed out the door into the dull grey day.

He decided he would go and fish in a nice pool he hadn't visited in a long time and he hoped he remembered his way as he trod along the narrow path that followed the line of the creek. As he walked, the more he thought about his sorry life the angrier he got, and he finally worked himself into a complete state of frustration that had to be released.

Suddenly, just there, back of those trees, appeared a perfect target for his rage. An ancient mushroom or toadstool stood alone in a small clearing. It was huge, at least four feet across, useless because it was way too big to eat, and Seamus vented his rage with a great kick from his boot that spun the cap upside down across the clearing.

As soon as the great lid flew off Seamus found himself staring down into a deep cave, all fitted out better than his cottage and face to face with three very surprised leprechauns who as soon as they sighted him grabbed up their shillelaghs? and launched an attack upon him.

One of them jammed his stick between his ankles and felled him to the ground, where the other two joined in beating him to a pulp. He was struck on his back, his head, his knees, his arms and all the while the oldest of these furious little creatures ranted
Who do you think you are you big dumb lummox? You come stomping into our yard with your great big clodhoppers and kick off the roof to our house that has taken two hundred years to grow.

Seamus succumbed to the seemingly endless punishment and grovelled before the old leprechaun, covered his head with his hands and pled

Please sirs, cease and desist. I meant you no harm. It is all a terrible mistake. Please, I would make amends, please!!

The blows stopped at a command from the elder and after a lengthy persuasive arguement Seamus convinced them to let him try and rectify the damage he had caused.

He dragged the cap which remarkably had survived in one piece and got it roughly braced in position with supports cut from the willows with his jackknife. He went and gathered long grass and using his fishing line created a thatched roof for the cap and he sealed all the cracks with wattle he made from straw and mud from the creek.

Finally he finished and anxiously waited while the three little men inspected his work.
When they were done the old man cam and stood in front of Seamus and looked him sternly in the eye and said

“I am named Conán Cedric which in the Old Tongue means Wise Chieftain and I am. I make the decisions here.

This is my son named Chad which means Defender and he ensures my decisions are enforced and that our Homeland is protected by his son Aidan which means the fiery one.

I have inspected what you have done and it is good therefore I have decided that you may go but if you come this way again it is at great peril.

Seamus limped home. He was bruised all over his body and he built up a fire and patched himself up as best he could, and he made some supper and then he settled back in his chair by the fire to just sit and heal for the evening. It had been a horrible day!
Thank the Lord it was over.

Just after dark there was a loud knock at the door and when he opened it he found himself face to face with the Elder Conan who stood awkwardly? twisting his hat in his hands and who asked if he would please grant him a moment of his time as he was here to see Seamus on a matter of great importance.

Somewhat fearfully Seamus welcomed the old leprechaun into his cottage, but being a good host as all Irishmen are, he settled the old man comfortably at the table, made a pot of tea, and when it was ready poured each of them a half cup of tea then filled each cup with a large shot from the jug of poteen he had been dosing his aches with.

The old man looked Seamus straight in the eye and said "My clan and myself have been considering the events of this day, and we have decided that we have done you a great injustice. Unlike most of your ilk you did not try to capture and hold one of us until we surrendered our gold to you, nor did you make the sign of the Evil Eye when you saw us. We can see you had no intent to harm and you have tried to make amends. To rectify that injustice done you, we have decided to use the powers given to us and grant you a wish and I am here to find out what that wish would be?"

Seamus refilled their cups and asked the elder if he would mind if Seamus took a few minutes to consider the matter and the old man told him he could take until midnight if necessary, but then added the stipulation
"But be ye so forewarned that whatever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."

Now this required some consideration and it took a while

Seamus was a Protestant and while he really wasn't a churchgoer he had his own little prejudices when it came to Catholics. Now Joe Reilly his neighbour was a Catholic but he seemed a nice enough fellow and they'd always got along when it came to mending fences and cutting peat and such.

Seamus decided that what he needed was farm equipment so he could increase his efficiency and cost. As far as his neighbour went, Well, you can only drive one machine at a time so a double supply would give Reilly no advantage and in fact given the size of his farm would simply be in his way. Bonus.

It took Seamus several poteen refills to clarify his thinking to come up with his wish and he told the old man:

"It was because of my poverty and my inability to get this land to yield a comfortable living that caused me to be in such a foul and angry mood when I assaulted your home. I never want to be like that again and I think that if I had sufficient farm equipment I could have a much better future."

"So be it" said the elder, and putting his right index finger beside his nose muttered strange words in the Old Tongue, strained, farted and then beamed at Seamus and said "Granted".

So to celebrate the deal Seamus proceeded to refill his poteen jug from his secret stash and by midnight the poor little leprechaun was so pissed he could not navigate. Seamus picked up his now snoring guest and carried him the two miles to his mushroom hut where he delivered his burden to the old fellow’s kin, and then made his way back to home and finally his bed.

The next morning he woke to a cold cottage again but when he looked out the window the rain was gone. It was a beautiful day for working the field and there all along his left fence was every conceivable type of farm machine a man could desire One huge and one small tractor, John Deere no less, McCormick plows, harrows, and seeders, a Massey Ferguson combine and a threshing machine, why there even was a potato picker to gather his poteen ingredients.

Just on the other side of the fence was a duplicate line of farm equipment that matched his to the smallest detail. There sure was a lot of it but Seamus didn't begrudge Reilly his good fortune because they were still even. He spent the rest of his day accomplishing what had previously taken him a week. It was a wonderful day and he finished it off with another atrocious porridge and gruel meal, and then settled himself for a well earned rest
beside the fire. Once again there was a knock on the door just as night fell.

There stood Chad the Defender smiling benignly and asking for audience as his father had. Seamus could not refuse after the good fortune that had been bestowed, so he once again made his guest comfortable at the table and produced another supply of tea and poteen adequate for an evening, and once again settled himself to hear what was coming?

"Sir, you were a real gentleman, a good and generous host, and a good guardian for me Da after he drank himself into the shameful state you brought him home with, and we surely appreciated your leaving some of that excellent poteen that you make just so he could relieve the hangover we expected him to have this morning. I am pleased to report that he is feeling much better; in fact, we all are, since what you left was enough for me and the boy to warm the cockles of our hearts.

In appreciation of your courtesy and care I too have the power to grant a wish and it was decided in conference that another be fulfilled. What will it be? but once again
"Be ye so forewarned that whatsoever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."

Again this required a great deal of thought, but then Seamus remembered that the worst point of this day had been waking up in this cold, damp, cottage and that damned slop he ate for breakfast.
He imagined himself waking up when the stove had warmed the room, smelling the smell and hearing the crackle of bacon cooking and why not a nice female voice calling him to a breakfast fit for a king. With his new equipment he could afford it so why not a wife?

He thought about what this double benefit would mean for his neighbour and he began to find merit in the idea that even made him chuckle, why the man had double housekeepers but that meant he in fact had to work harder to feed another mouth, and from what his mother had taught him about two women under the same roof and the disastrous consequences then he was doing the man no favour by ruining his home life and for a brief moment he almost felt sorry for his neighbour. he had gained a real advantage in the competition to succeed.

He refilled the poteen jug and the told Chad his wish for a wife and laid down a lengthy list of requirements during the following evening. Before Chad left with his gift of a jug of poteen for their house, he faced Seamus looked him straight in the eye,
"So be it" said the Chad and putting his right index finger beside his nose muttered strange words in the Old Tongue, strained, farted and then beamed at Seamus and said "Granted".

The next morning Seamus rose to a warm house just as he had imagined and he soon heard a soft female voice call

"Breakfast is ready, Seamus, my dear!"
So he ventured downstairs and she was everything that he had expected. She was pretty with red curls that peeped from under a lace cap and shy blue eyes that looked at him adoringly. She wore a long full skirt but showed small feet and dainty ankles, and the straining against the front of her blouse gave great promise of secrets yet to be revealed.

She fed him a breakfast fit for a king, spicy sausages and Colcannon just dripping with butter and she sent him out the door to work with a kiss on the cheek and a look that promised adventure when he returned.

He was in high spirits thinking about that return home and what might occur, until he got up on the top of his tractor and a high point of land that overlooked his neighbour’s farm. There was one blond girl with long hair beating out a rug on a clothesline. That was alright and there was O'Reilly ploughing his back field, but what the devil, there was the second wife, a stunning brunette, on the second big tractor harrowing away in another field. This was not good.

He had lost his competitive edge in his imaginary contest with his neighbour and had just doubled the mans production force.

He brooded all day and came to the realization that things were actually worse than that. He remembered the promising look he had received from his new wife and what he had imagined was going to happen on his return home. He could just imagine what his neighbour was coming home to. Those were two good looking young women he had waiting for him.

Even after supper, when his wife had retired upstairs, Seamus sat and considered a very black future. The future survival of the Donnelly clan was at stake. His children would be in competition for survival with that Papist bastards offspring and not like it or not the prick had a real advantage now. Everybody knew those Catholic bastards didn't practice any form of birth control. That asshole, from what Seamus had heard from the village gossips, was in dire deep shit with the local priest for his frequent inclusion in the confessions of wild sexually explicit act involving one Mary Maguire, widow. That randy bastard was going to breed the Donnelly’s out of existence and there wasn't much he could do about it

Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door and he opened it to find young Aidan the fiery, on his door step and there was a replay of the previous night’s poteen provision as a pain killer and pacifier before he was once again seated across from a wee leprechaun with something to say:

“Me Granda and Da and I checked out the repairs you made to our house and we have found that it is much better than before. There are no drafts to bother Granda and he’s warmer, and the chimney you put in works a charm and Da’s eyes are almost back to white because all the smoke can get out, and my cough’s much improved and Granda has decided that this deserves a thank you for a job well done. I have been sent here to grant to you the last of our wishes, mine own and thank you very much kind sir, would you care to tell me your wish?
But

"Be ye so forewarned that whatsoever is granted to you will be granted your neighbour in double measure."
Again the evening was lost in copious consumption of medicinal alcohol to keep his thinking clear, and contemplating the outrageous sexual improprieties being performed next door while his wife was plaintively calling him to bed. The hour approached midnight and young Aidan pressed him for an answer.

Seamus slowly raised his glass of poteen and sighted across its levelled rim right directly into the young leprechauns eyes an quietly asked

“Now tell me truly young feller,
Would you be hurting me too much
if I asked you to remove

One!,


mind you


One only!


of me testicles?”

A Red Ribbon Affair

Just a few months ago a couple of young girls, with whom I am acquainted, returned from a two-month holiday to their ancestral homeland of Scotland. During their stay they had many adventures but as the end of their holiday drew near they found that neither one of them had succeeded in answering a question that had been a primary motive for taking the trip. "What did a Scotsman wear under his kilt?"

They had become resigned to never knowing the answer for even if they succeeded in finding a Scot wearing a kilt, they were both somewhat plain and timid and simply could not overcome their shyness and outright ask.

On the day of their departure they were taking a morning stroll through one of Edinburgh's beautiful parks, when an unusual opportunity presented itself. They chanced upon an extremely aged Scot, outrigged in full Highland regalia, stretched out in the morning sun on one of the Park's many benches. They had a hurried discussion and plucking up their resolve they approached the

To their dismay he was sound asleep, and they didn't want to wake him, but they were consumed with curiosity. One of them carefully and quietly, so as to not disturb the old gentleman, reached down and lifted the edge of his kilt and, as they had suspected, there was not a stitch of underclothing to be found. Their curiosity on that count satisfied they found that they simply could not leave without leaving some proof of their success.

One of them reached up, took a small red ribbon from her hair and carefully and quietly tied a bow around the end of the old fellow's exposed member. They carefully replaced his kilt in a dignified position, and left him still sound asleep and managed to make their return flight just in time.

A couple of hours after their departure the old Scot woke with a truly great need to urinate, and stepping behind one of nearby bushes, reached under his kilt and whipped out his weapon to relieve himself. He stopped short as soon as he observed his newly decorated pride and joy.

After looking at it for several seconds with a puzzled expression, he continued with his chore but muttered aloud,

"I dinna know where ye come from, Laddy, and I dinna know where ye bin, but I can see ye took firrrrrst prrrrrrize again!!"

Cinderella Today

Cinderella Today

Cinderella is now 95 years old.

After a fulfilling life with the now dead prince, she happily sits upon her rocking chair, watching the world go by from her front porch, with a cat named Bob for companionship.

One sunny afternoon out of nowhere, appeared the fairy godmother.

Cinderella said, "Fairy Godmother, what are you doing here after all these years"?

The fairy godmother replied, "Cinderella, you have lived an exemplary life since I last saw you. Is there anything for which your heart still yearns?"

Cinderella was taken aback, overjoyed, and after some thoughtful consideration, she uttered her first wish:

"The prince was wonderful, but not much of an investor. I'm living hand to mouth on my disability checks, and I wish I were wealthy beyond comprehension."

Instantly her rocking chair turned into solid gold.

Cinderella said, "Ooh, thank you, Fairy Godmother".

The fairy godmother replied "it is the least that I can do. What do you want for your second wish?"

Cinderella looked down at her frail body, and said,

"I wish I were young and full of the beauty and youth I once had.

"At once, her wish became reality, and her beautiful young visage returned. Cinderella felt stirrings inside of her that had been dormant for years.

Then the fairy godmother spoke once more: "You have one more wish; what shall it be?"

Cinderella looks over to the frightened cat in the corner and says,

"I wish for you to transform Bob, my old cat, into a kind and handsome young man.

"Magically, Bob suddenly underwent so fundamental a change in his biological make-up that, when he stood before her, he was a man so beautiful the likes of him neither she nor the world had ever seen.

The fairy godmother said, "Congratulations, Cinderella, enjoy your new life.

With a blazing shock of bright blue electricity, the fairy godmother was gone as suddenly as she appeared.

For a few eerie moments, Bob and Cinderella looked into each other's eyes.

Cinderella sat, breathless, gazing at the most beautiful, stunningly perfect man she had ever seen. Then Bob walked over to Cinderella, who sat transfixed in her rocking chair, lifted her out and held her close in his young muscular arms.

He leaned in close, blowing her golden hair with his warm breath as he whispered..........



“Bet you're sorry you neutered me!!”

Technology vs. Simple Logic

A cowboy was herding his cows in a remote mountain pasture when suddenly a brand-new Hummer roared up, crashing gears and with thundering exhaust advanced out of a dust cloud towards him and screeched around in a skid stop in front of the cowboys horse.

This made his horse jump and startled several cows that the cowboy had to round up and calm down in the hot sun. The cowboy was mildly irritated when he returned to the Hummer and encountered the driver. This individual stood beside his large red, white and blue painted Hummer leaning against its fender.

He was a young man with a beautiful Brioni suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and a Skull and Bones tie. His hair was perfect, his smile dazzling, he quickly strode over to the cowboy as he dismounted and nearly crippled his hand in a crushing dry palmed handshake that lasted forever.

They exchanged names, and George took off on a great tale of his harrowing but extremely trip up to here in his Hummer, and he was certain that "Mr.? Yes Herbert, wasn't it? Yes, anyay he was certain he, from his lonely life, must also be bored , and in the spirit of fair play, he was offering a diversion problem that would break the monotony.

George asked Herbert, "If I can tell you exactly how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf?"

Herbert, (who's Saturday night poker opponents know to be a calculating vicious mean spirited son of a bitch at the best of times), calmly considered the offer for few seconds, sized up the man, obviously a yuppie, then looked at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answered, "Sure, Why not?" But you've got to give me a challenge and return it if I win."

"Why of course, thats the sporting American way," says the yuppie.

The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it to his Cingular RAZR V3 cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. The young man then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany. Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses a MS-SQL database through an ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry and, after a few inutes, receives a response. Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer and finally turns to the cowboy and says, "You have exactly 1,586 cows and calves."

Herman grinned broadly "That's right. Well, I guess you can take one of my calves."

He watches the young man select one of his animals and looks on amused as the young man stuffs it into the trunk of his car.

"Now isn't the sporting American way, my turn?" asked Herbert, "before you take off , if I can tell you what your business is, will you give me back my calf?"
George thinks about it for a second and then says, "Of course, why not?"

You're a Congressman for the U.S. Government", says the cowboy.

"Wow! That's correct," says the yuppie, "but how did you guess that?"

"No guessing required,.Sonny," answered the cowboy. "There were 6 things obvious in your whole act

1. You showed up here wrapped in American colours to inspire my patriotism and loyalty

2. You showed up here even though nobody called you.

3. You want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked
4. You tried to show me how much smarter than me and. you screwed up.

5. Your ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet has a flaw and you didn't have the update from Windows. Your system counts the legs of the critters, divides the result by four and comes up with a result. Your wrong in your count in that you totally ignored all those false returns from the low hanging ball sacks of the 14 bulls I've got out there, and

6. you don't know a goddamn thing about cows .

Now

"Take my fucking dog out

of your trunk!!"

Albert's Wedding Night

When I was a young man, I had a friend named Albert, who had, as many did in those days, dropped out of school when he reached the age of fifteen to work on the family farm. He did well and was happy but then tragedy struck. Albert fell in love when he was seventeen, and decided he was going to get married. His whole family was against it. They didn't particularly like the girl who was to become Albert's bride, and they felt that Albert was much too young, and they tried for months to talk him out of this rash decision.

Albert, as young people often do, felt that this interference in his life was totally without merit and resented their attitude to the point where he refused to discuss the matter any further and simply proceeded with his plans, The only exception to this rule was Albert's Uncle George who quietly listened to Albert's problems when he wanted to talk, gave him good advice, but left the decisions up to Albert. He never censured and he never told Albert what to do. He was a very wise man.

It was only logical then, that as the big day swiftly approached, and Albert began to have some concern about his wedding night, he turned to Uncle George for advice. It turned out that Albert, despite his occasional bragging to his friends, was still a virgin. He wasn't stupid, but he was naive, and he was extremely worried that he was going to do something wrong on his wedding night that might embarrass him in front of his new bride.

She, apparently, was under the impression that he was very experienced in the ways of the world, and Albert dreaded the thought that she would catch him in a lie right at the start of their life together. He had seen animals do it a thousand times, he felt he would handle the situation well, but he simply couldn't banish his worry over possible disasters he kept imagining. Could Uncle George suggest anything that might put his mind at rest.

Uncle George tried to reassure Albert that all he had to do was let Nature take its course and everything would be fine, but Albert was still concerned. They thought and talked for a long time and eventually developed a plan that seemed to comfort Albert.

The newlyweds would spend their wedding night at the Clapboard Motel down on Main Street and Uncle George would arrange to have an adjoining room. The motel was notorious for having walls so thin that everything that went on in another room could be clearly heard by all the neighbours. If Uncle George heard anything going wrong he would rap on the wall to let Albert know and thus save his reputation. Albert was satisfied with this plan and went away secure in the knowledge that experience was only a knock away.

The wedding was beautiful, the reception was perfect, and Albert and his new bride finally arrived in the Bridal Suite. After some preliminary champagne and kissing and cuddling, Albert excused himself and went into the bathroom to prepare himself for this night of all nights.

He took a very long time with his ablutions, and his patiently waiting bride developed a severe urge to evacuate her bowels. She was a timid young thing and didn't want to ruin her wedding night by rousting her new husband out of the bathroom just so she could use the crapper, but she couldn't control the urge. Desperately searching the room she found an old shoe box in a closet and squatting over it relieved herself. She just finished as Albert came out of the bathroom, and she got rid of the evidence of her actions by giving the shoe box a hard push and sliding it under the bed.

After some more wine and kissing she went into the bathroom for her preparations and Albert set the scene for what was to follow. He folded down the bedclothes , turned all the lights down low, got out of his bathrobe, and went around to his side of the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. He bounced up and down several times to test it out and with the exception of a bad squeak that Uncle George could hear clearly, it seemed just fine,

Done with his testing, he started to get into bed but proceeded to step right into the shoe box that his new bride had used to relieve herself when she slid over to his side of the bed. Unable to see in the dim light, he reached down, picked up the box, smelled it and exclaimed in a loud voice,

"Jesus Christ, there's Shit in this box!".

The silence of the night was shattered by a loud frantic pounding on the wall by his head and he could hear Uncle George yelling,

"TURN HER OVER, BOY!"

For God's sake,

"TURN HER OVER!!"

Shipwrecked

A retired corporate executive, recently widowed, decided to take a vacation. He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank.He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts.

After about four months, he was lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen rowed up to the shore.

In disbelief, he asked, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?"

She replied, "I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank."

"Amazing," he notes. "You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you."

"Oh, this thing?" explained the woman. "I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came from a Eucalyptus tree."

"But, where did you get the tools?"

"Oh, that was no problem," replied the woman. "On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware."

The guy is stunned.

"Let's row over to my place," she said.

After a few minutes of rowing, she docked the boat at a small wharf. As the man looked to shore, he nearly fell off the boat. Before himwas a stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.While the woman tied up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck.

As they walk into the house, she said casually, "It's not much, but I call it home. Sit down, please.Would you like a drink?"

"No! No thank you," he blurted out, still dazed. "I can't take another drop of coconut juice."

"It's not coconut juice," winks the woman. "I have a still. How would you like a Pina Colada?"

Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepted, and they sat down on her couch to talk.After they had exchanged their stories, the woman announced, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There’s a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."

No longer questioning anything, the man went into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, was a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. "This woman is amazing," he mused. "What next?"

When he returned, she greeted him wearing nothing but vines, strategically positioned, and smelling faintly of gardenias. She beckoned for him to sit down next to her."Tell me," she began suggestively, slithering closer to him,

"We've been out here for many months. You've been lonely. Isn’t there something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?"

She stared seductively into his eyes.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You mean . . " he swallowed excitedly and tears started to form in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you've built a Golf Course."

The Walmart Diagnosis

One day, in line at a company cafeteria, Joe says to Mike behind him, "My elbow hurts like hell. I guess I better see a doctor."

"Listen, you don't have to spend that kind of money," Mike replies.

"There's a diagnostic computer down at Wal-mart. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what's wrong and what to do about it. It takes ten seconds and costs ten dollars... a lot cheaper than a doctor.

"So Joe puts a urine sample in a small jar and takes it to Wal-mart. He deposits ten dollars and the computer lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into the slot and waits.Ten seconds later, the computer ejects a printout: You have tennis elbow. Soak it in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks. Thank you for shopping @ Wal-mart.

That afternoon, while thinking how amazing this new technology was, Joe began wondering if the computer could be fooled. When he got home, he mixed some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter and his own sperm sample for good measure, and hurried to Walmart before it closed, eager to check the results.

He deposited ten dollars, poured in his concoction, and awaited with bated breath until the computer printed:

1. Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener kit. (Aisle 9)

2. Your dog has ringworm. Bathe him with anti-fungal shampoo. (Aisle 7)

3. Your daughter has a cocaine habit. Get her into rehab.

4 Your wife is pregnant, Twins. They aren't yours. Get a lawyer.

5. If you don't stop playing with yourself, your elbow will never get better.

Pierre

Sven Nordquist was a trapper from way out in the bush in Northern Alberta, and several years ago after being out on his trapline for over two years, he came out of the bush, cashed in his pelts for cash at the Entrance Trading Post and came on down to the small town of Hinton for some excitement. He went into the local bar and after several beers asked the bartender that since female companionship seemed to be absent, just where he could get laid. He had been in the bush for two years, was totally fed up with making love to Mother Fist, and he really had a rusty old charge backed up.

The bartender sadly informed him that just now there was no outlet for his passion. Hayloft Molly, the usual source of comfort for the community, had refused to give the local Cop a freebie, and as a result was spending a little time in gaol on a Vagrancy charge. Unfortunately there was nobody else filling in for her unless he was willing to consider "Pierre".

"No! No! No!" said Sven, "I don't go for that sort of shit!" and he purchased a couple of cases to go and returned to the bush.

He had a good season and nearly a year to the day he reappeared at the bar and again enquired into a little creature comfort. The bartender remembered him but sadly told him that Hayloft Molly was in town, but she unfortunately had managed to get very pregnant and was not receiving visitors. But, in a pinch, there was always, Pierre.

Sven was desperate. He sat and had several beers and with each one the idea seemed to get better. He finally called the bartender back and said

" I really don't go for that shit,

but really there'd only be the three of us knew about it, right,

you, me, and Pierre?"

The bartender shook his head and told him, "No, I'm afraid not. There would be seven of us.

You, me, Pierre,

and

the four guys holding Pierre.

He doesn't go for that shit either."

The Runaway Sermon at Crestmont Methodist

"...the whole idea of 'truth', then is determined from man's point of view – literally man's vision, what he can see. Isn't this debate about the nature of theistic eternity just a case of man's lack of vision? There are transitional creatures that many amongst us have seen: spirits, ghosts or angels, whatever you wish to call them. And then there are many who have some measure of the powers that we all shall have if and when we cross over. The medium, and the telekinetic, and those with less understandable powers, the clairvoyant and the prophet. These are the transitional creatures.”
Harold turns to Betty, whispering 'Don’t you think this new preacher is kind of weird? What’s all of this ‘when we cross over’ brouhaha?"
"Hush. I want to hear the sermon." Betty glares at Harold's #8 NASCAR hat before returning her eyes to the pulpit.
Reverend Luella has fired up a PowerPoint display.
"...look, indeed, look through the lens of a microscope, and a whole new world comes into existence. Before the means was created by which its vastness could be viewed, this world did not exist. Even afterwards, many refused to believe, many could not hold the vision in their minds, and vast numbers never even got the news."
“I haven’t heard anything about God, yet.” Harold removes his watch and shakes it by his ear. Frowning at the result, he slides it back on to his wrist. There had been donuts earlier this morning, donuts that he had foolishly ignored.
“I think he’s getting ready to go there. He’s only got about ten minutes to wind things up.”
It was into Betty’s pie-hole that the donuts had flocked. Why had he sullenly stuck to his ridiculous cup of black coffee and not-quite ripe banana? He would someday die in spite of his gustatory deprivations, and the preacher’s word only increased his abstract sensation of wither hood. Yes, he had made up that word, but only because there was none other that could adequately describe his abstract sensation of you-know.
“…and in the past few decades the telescope has grown magnitudes more powerful than Galileo dared dream. We see back to the very beginning of time, my friends. Think on it. Time is merely the movement of matter and energy through space. It is a conceit, of course, an admission of the limits of our vision. How can time have a beginning or an end? What we see, when we think we see the beginning of time, is beyond vision. Instead we are looking at a transitional point…”
“Never thought about that before.”
“You never think about anything, Harold. You just drift around with that stupid grin on your face all the time.”
“It is not a stupid grin. It’s just the way my face is arranged. I don’t go around insulting your face, do I? You’d have none of that.”
“I’d smack you silly if you did. Sorry. It isn’t a stupid grin. But it does get irritating when…”
“Hold on. I think he’s getting ready to tie his themes together.”
“…in a transitional universe defined by the limits of our vision. If we can see back to what we perceive as the beginning of time, cannot we look forward to what, if we could see it, we would describe, falsely, as the end of time? Ah, but this is where our transitional creatures, the clairvoyant and the prophet, come in.”
“What the hell is he talking about?”
“Look! Did he just light a cigarette?”
“Well, let’s just hope that it's a cigarette.” “It’s not! I really don’t like the look of that little glass pipe“
“…and as you can see, the ushers are now passing out the ashtrays. Please feel free to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Thinking can be hard work. Seeing is even harder. Why do we feel challenged by the existence of the transitional man, when by their very existence, they offer us a glimpse of the eternal?”
“Hey, preacher!!! How bout a little something from the gospel?”
“Look, Betty. It’s George Peterson. He’s got a gun!”
“I think it’s a flask, Harold. But you know how one thing leads to another…”
“…upon a hill, stars shining furiously, the transitional creature lives closer to the transitional points and sees them as what they are – portals. Portals for transitions into new waves of grace unknown and unknowable…
"Ouch! Who threw this flask?”
“It’s me, Reverend Luella:
George Peterson, loyal member of the Crestmont Methodist Church since 1987, and a man who will take no whatnot. This isn’t a very good sermon that you’re preaching here, particularly considering it’s your first one. What’s up next week – the mating habits of the Australian caribou?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Just for you, George Peterson, sermon interrupter and thrower of silver-plate… What’s this? Cheap whiskey? Tastes like Virginia Gentleman… come clean, George Peterson. You live at 426 Velmont, do you not, the grand home with the twin porticos? And yet you drink this swill? Please. We will not be asking for your tithing with today’s collection plate, as you obviously need the money more than we do. As a matter of fact, get out. Get out of my church right now.”
“Well, technically it’s not your church. I mean, it’s our church, and you’re just an employee, like the custodian. And I agree with George Peterson. He may not have very good taste in whiskey, but he knows religion when he doesn’t hear it.”
“Ethel Schwartz, you are a heathen! You wouldn’t know religion if it came up and bit you on the ass. I was just about to get to the part on the union between the transitional man and the eternal spirit and how we can navigate the…”
“Sit down, Harold. Where do you think you’re going.”
“I’m putting an end to this nonsense, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“But he’ll embarrass us! You saw what he did to George and Ethel. The man is brutal.”
“Nevertheless… Reverend Luella! !!
If you’re a real preacher, I challenge you to lead us all in a hymn right now.”
“Oh you do, little man… It’s Harold Green, is it not, and the woman quivering beside you must be your common law wife Betty.
How’s that yeast infection coming along, Betty?
All right, infidel, I accept your challenge. Hand me my guitar, Bishop Ginger. Is everyone familiar with ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ by the Smiths?”
“That’s not a hymn.”
“True. But it’s a darn good song.”
“Rubbish!!! Morrissey is a wanker!!!”
“Is that a teddy that you’re wearing under your suit, Brother Justin? Never mind, I can tell by your blush. Now out with you.
And out with anyone who can’t sit still and listen nicely.
Okay, bye bye, Nancy Frank, and take good care of the wee one.
Ever learn who the father was? Anyone else?
All right, then. I was talking about portals before I was so rudely interrupted. The transitional creatures use these as a means to breach…”
Fin___________________________________________________