Monkeychapps.com

The Internet’s secret shame

I found this and wish to share. I myself am not a father but have three wonderful sisters and 5 lovely nieces. I have been accused of being overly protective but why else would God give me big muscles a menacing stare and a great knowledge of the legal system if not for their safety.  Did you know that the phrase ” I  repeated hit  him in the face with a flat iron because I was in fear for my safety” will let you walk free in most states?

http://www.smilespedia.com/10-simple-rules-for-dating-my-daughter-2/

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend’s father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter’s chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter’s suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they’ll stay wilted all night.

“So,” I’ll call out jovially. “I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you’re stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?”

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early”

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
- Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.

- Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.

- Places where there is darkness.

- Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.

- Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.

- Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.

- Hockey games are okay.

- Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car-there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Copyright 1998 W. Bruce Cameron
Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

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From yahoo news http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080424/ap_on_fe_st/odd_blind_defense

Thu Apr 24, 5:54 PM ET

INDIANAPOLIS - A legally blind man beat up an intruder and held him at knifepoint until police arrived at the man’s eastside home, authorities said. Allan Kieta, 49, told police he was at home Monday morning when his small dog began barking and he encountered the man.

“I opened the door and just ran into him. I had him pinned in the laundry room and just kept pummeling,” said Kieta, a former wrestler in high school.

He said he grabbed the intruder by the belt and dragged him into the kitchen, where he put a knife at the man’s throat and tried to dial 911.

“Being visually impaired, I couldn’t get the buttons because I was using my left hand,” he said. “It took me about 20 tries.”

Police arrived within minutes and arrested Alvaro Castro, 25, on an initial charge of residential entry, Sgt. Matthew Mount said.

Lt. Jeff Duhamell was impressed with Kieta’s feat.

“Its pretty remarkable for anyone thats blind to be able to defend themselves, let alone make an apprehension,” Duhamell said. “To be able to grab this guy and hold him down until police got there is pretty remarkable.”

Castro, who was initially taken to the Wishard Memorial Hospital detention facility, denied trying to burglarize the home and said he was a former boyfriend of Kieta’s daughter and was trying to visit her, said Mount.

Kieta said Castro told him he was looking for his cat.

“I go, ‘Your cat? You’re in my house!’” Kieta recalled.

Castro was transferred to the Marion County Jail on Monday night.

Kieta said he suffered swollen hands and a sore back, but no serious injuries.

“When my wife was cleaning the blood off, she said, ‘I think it’s all his,’” Kieta said.

Am I a theologian?

A Bible scholar?

No. What I am is thinker and a scripture-aficionado. An old testament enthusiast if you will.

As I stood in Macdonald’s (kindly explaining that their motto of “have it your way” should include cooking my burger with the fries already on it) the mystery of the final battle between good and evil became clear to me. The simp in the paper hat told me “Thats Burger King’s motto” and asked why I wasn’t wearing pants or shoes in 20 degree weather. I told him it was neither here nor there and I will take my business elsewhere, good day sir.

I said good day!

As I left I saw a young lady open her laptop and a Google search box popped up. Nothing out of the ordinary, I use Google as well. I used to use yahoo. What made me switch? Usually these questions are drummed out of my head by new questions that replace them like “What is the meaning of life” , “what really lead to my hatred of Canadians” or “where, indeed, is the beef” ?

I thought about all these questions, did hours of research and ate a box of steak-ums. This is what I found and I would like you to draw your own conclusions.

1- Yahoo is a  pronunciation of the name of God. Yawee, Yahu or Yawoo. I have heard it pronounced in all of these ways.

2- Google starts with a G. The seventh letter of the alphabet. The Jewish alphabet has only 25 letters that we have in the English alphabet thereby making G the sixth letter in their alphabet. As in 666.

3- If you a eat a box of steak-ums in one sitting you will get a tape-worm.

4- Naming said tapeworm Mr. Bubbles in no way lessens the harm that the tapeworm might do.

5-Many Bible scholars have postulated that the anti-christ might be a thing not a person as previously thought.   A decever that is very pervasive. Yes, some have thought that the internet might be that anti-christ.

So, dear reader, I ask you is the internet the Armageddon that the Bible foretells?

Now before you get all crazy and start jumping around like a monkey yelling that I know nothing and that Armageddon is a place not an idea and Armageddon is  actually a Greek word for hill or mountain (Har) that overlooks the valley of Meggedo west of the Jordan river stop and realize that most of the Bible stories that we all know are parables. Do not get hung up on the details and forgo the deeper meaning.

With that said, I know that most of my posts are very light hearted and silly.I wish to stir the pot a bit, I wish to have civil discourse with you all. Basically I want you to participate. I find your comments lively and though full. I know that religion is a heated topic but indulge me. If this topic is too tame for some let me leave you with this.

Everyone but protestants are heretics.

The earth is only 12,000 years old.

Mormonism is totally made up by horny old men that want to sleep with many women and say “God told me it was OK”.

From now on dinosaurs will be know as Jesus horses.

Thank you for listening,

Discuss

I have seen Mr. Paul a few times, seems like a nice guy. A little too libertarian for my taste, I tend to lean to the right of the right. For example, that El Ducce had some good ideas.

I digress.

The reason that I wont vote for him (besides the fact I am convicted felon and cant vote, it was a silly pyramid scam involving sheep and nacho cheese) nor listen to him any longer is his supporters. Never have I been inundated with so many spam emails and people that hear his name at a party and run over to me, wipe the foam from their mouth and launch into a 20 minute diatribe(with graphs and pie charts) about how he’ll change America. I inform them that his candidacy ended months ago and then some switch kicks off in their head and they shift into why we should write him in.

After a few courtesy minutes of listening to them I simply ask if they will give me $1000 if I vote for him. They always say no and I always say that they need to re-think their commitment to his candidacy when they wont give a grand to insure a vote for him. I ask if they were really on board wouldn’t they do whatever it takes to ensure that this great country will change under a Paul administration. I ask if they hold their marriage vows as sacred as their political. I ask this in front of their wife.

It ends the conversation and usually sparks a fight within the couple, a fight that I then spend the next hour watching.

My goal is complete! I am now #4 in Google when you search for “tingle crotch”. This was my whole reason for creating this blog. Thank you for helping me get there. Now I can shut this puppy down and move on.

This is a list of other search terms that land me in the top 10.

1 Want her

2 Tell my twin sister

3 how to get her back

4 poo problems

5 stinkeye

6 purelica (no idea)

7 nerdy pick up lines

8 poem binary

9 what nut dis Lance Armstrong loose

10 “his bladder”  “crossing his legs”

11 letter from aliens

12 punch in the face do to you

13 Hillary Clinton pick up lines 

I bid you all a fond fair thee well!

Monkee out

Ok whoever you are. Very funny. I don’t know which is worse. The fact that you turned the lights out in the bathroom while I was urinating and I damn neared pissed on myself or the fact that the next person to come into the dark bathroom was the director of our office and he asked me what I was doing by myself in a dark bathroom. I tried to explain that somebody played a joke on me and turned out the lights but I am not sure if he bought it or not. Now I am afraid to pee alone at the office. What if you get me again and I am caught peeing in the dark again by another member of management? Please let me urinate in peace and in the comfort of a well lit bathroom.

-Walmat has a huge parking lot

-Walmart’s parking lot is empty at 2 in the morning

-Walmart does nothing to clear the ice away

-My car has front wheel drive and a killer e-brake

-At 20 mph I can spin my car in a full circle

-After 30 minutes of doing e-brake spins in a Walmart parking lot the police will be called

-Police are very nice if your honest with them and admit to just “farting around”

-Even though you seem to have a good rapport with a police man it is unwise to comment to him “that’s a nice gun! Do they make a model for men?”

-There seems to be no hard and fast rule for when the police may use a taser

-Tasers may make you pee your own pants

Dont tase me bro!

Why Monkee, you are such a hater!

Damn straight baby.

Let me break it down for you.

I believe Canada is the Aqua Man in the justice league of North America. The Duplo block in a world full of Lego’s.

Worthless!

You may ask why I say this, consider the following.

1. Half of them speak French! That alone is enough to hate the whole of the country.

2. They have added nothing to world culture, except for the wearing of black socks and sandals.

3. They have a political system just this side of communism.

4. During the Viet Nam war they opened their arms to our hippies and draft dodgers.

5. I have heard that they eat puppies and fart on our flag.

When I lived in Boise ,a few years ago, I got wind that they were planning a week long party celebrating the 25th anniversary of the draft dodger and the influx of dirty hippies into their country. Then I saw a report on the mass exodus of some 8000 middle-aged hippies that wanted to relive the time that they sat in Canada, smoked pot and talked about “The Man” whilst their neighbors were in south  east Asia fighting.

I could not let this lie, not when I was a scant few hundred miles from this twisted fiesta. I made a few phone calls and hit the road.

I sat, just few hundred miles north of the Canadian border, in my rented ice cream truck. I saw my comrades huddled of in the distance awaiting the signal. I waited until the hippies were nice and stoned, and in the middle of there dirt bag bacchanalia.

The fireworks started.

Literally!

I cranked the speakers on the ice cream truck and played a few tracks from “Apocalypse Now” intermingled with a little “Full Metal Jacket” as I shot fireworks at them. As this was going on the local theater troop that I had hired ran through the crowd wearing black pajamas and sampan hats yelling “di di mau”.

This had the desired effect and dare I say it must been the “Brown noise” to all hippies because all of the strawberry kush and petrulli oil in the world couldn’t cover the smell of 8000 thousand dirty hippies crapping their pants in unison.

Looking back I feel some remorse for what I did. I felt a twinge of guilt on my drive back to Boise. The guilt subsided as the thought of warmer temperatures, normal footwear and how great the USA is wafted into my head.

Every now and then I hear the Canadian national anthem and the thought of soiled underwear and  petrulli oil make me smile.

Rock on you dirty hippy bastards.

Please note… these are all numbered “1″ ON PURPOSE!
———————————–
1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You’re a big girl. If it’s up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don’t hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Sunday = sports. It’s like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1. Shopping is NOT a sport. And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That’s what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did not need directions and neither do we.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say “nothing,” we will act like nothing’s wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

1. If you ask a question you don’t want an answer to, expect an answer you don’t want to hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine.
Really.

1. Don’t ask us what we’re thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as baseball, the shotgun formation, or monster trucks.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. I am in shape. Round is a shape.

1. Thank you for reading this; Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight, but did you know men really don’t mind that, it’s like camping.

There you were. You were wearing this thingy. You were doing this thing that caught my eye. Our eyes met. I think. Then you went over there and stopped to do something. Then something happened. Maybe somebody sneezed. Or maybe Somewhere a tree fell. I felt different then, maybe you did too.

Or not.

I just don’t know.

You looked kinda like..well, I don’t know. You know just like that chick in that flick (but it wasn’t a chick-flick) with that guy and that other chick by that famous director what’s his name. It was a comedy. A tragic comedy more or less with adventure and tension.

Anyway, I really liked you. I mean, I was attracted to you. It was like this, first I liked you then I wasn’t sure then I realized I was attracted to you and then I realized I was scared that I was starting to like you. Yeah that’s what happened. I’m pretty sure. It wasn’t quite love. It was similar to the early stages of imagined romance from what I’ve seen in French films. It was like butterflies, but not quite to the point of nausea. I would say all in all it was quite joyous in a subdued yet nerve wracking way. And very memorable with a dash of mildly feverish effervescence. You were different. Yet calming, in a girl next door kind of way.

Anyway I’m not sure how I came to this conclusion and I think you liked me too, or desired me or something. Maybe you just wanted to rob me. It’s so hard to tell these days.

Well I haven’t stopped thinking of you since then. To be honest there have been other people I have thought of since then and other things too, but not in the same way I have thought of you. More or less.

Anyway, was it you? If it was, please respond. If it wasn’t well then I may have imagined the whole thing.

I don’t like to use other peoples bathrooms.There, I said it.

But even though I don’t like doing it, I realize that I can’t always predict when nature will call. And when it strikes at an inopportune time, like say, when I’m at your house, I’ve got to decide whether to use your facilities or, quite literally, suck it up. My decision hinges on a “perceived level of comfort” that I determine through a process that involves something I like to call “calculated risk assessment”.

Allow me to explain:

If I get that uncomfortable crapping-soon feeling at your house, the first thing I’ll usually do is ask where the bathroom is, “because I have to wash my hands.” I may in fact be washing my hands, but I’m also scoping out the goods in the bathroom to see whether or not I want to risk letting it all hang out at your house.

When I’m in your bathroom, here’s what I’m checking out:
-
I usually take a pee in the toilet and flush. During this time I observe a number of things. Is this a low-flow toilet? What kind of flushing power does it have?Note: if it can’t take down my yellow, it ain’t taking down my brown.I also take stock of any objects, like knickknacks or tissue boxes, that might be perched on the back of the toilet. In the event that I need quick and immediate access to the internal flushing mechanism, I like to think out in advance what kind of an effort this will require.

I look to see if the sink is in close proximity to the toilet. Ideally, I should be able to reach the faucet and turn the water on while still seated on the can. This is so I can sporadically turn on the water to mask any splashing noises that might occur while I’m doing my business.
-
This is key to making me feel comfortable enough to crap in your bathroom. The Ceiling Fan provides two essential functions necessary for a stress-free poo. First off, it is a fan that sucks foul odors from the bathroom. Secondly, it makes noise - which can prevent you from hearing the grunting, groaning, farting, and splashing noises that I’m making.Note: If you don’t have a fan, you better have a window. If you don’t have either, I’m sorry, but I’m just not gonna be able to use your bathroom to make a deposit.
-
It is very important that I don’t mistake a Heat Lamp for a Ceiling Fan. They both make noise, which is good, but as we’ve learned, a Ceiling Fan also sucks away foul odors. A Heat Lamp simply bakes the odor, thus exacerbating the problem.Note: Using a Heat Lamp solely for its noise making ability while using a window, or other device (to be discussed), to eliminate baked butt-smell, is acceptable, but not ideal.

-
I’m always pleased when I see a book of matches on the back of the toilet. I don’t know how lighting a match nullifies poop-stench, but I don’t question it too much for fear it will one day stop working.Note: Always flush matches. Do not put them in the trash can or the fact that you’re dumping in someone else’s house may suddenly be the least of your problems. I learned this hard way and please believe me when I tell you that you really don’t want to be frantically trying to extinguish flames and frantically trying to pull your pants up at the same time.

-
Air Freshener is completely worthless. If I see this in your bathroom, it tells me one thing, and one thing only:You like the smell of shit-covered flowers.If this is the case, I’ll be happy to oblige, but personally I’d rather smell the foulest poo-stink than some of the so-called air “fresheners” out there.

-
I check to see that there is, in fact, toilet paper currently on the roll. Whether the paper comes off the roll “over” or “under” is irrelevant as long as there is ample supply. I might check under the sink, etc. for extra rolls just to make sure I’m on the safe side.I don’t want to find out mid-crap that you’re out of toilet paper. I also don’t want to shuffle across the floor with my pants around my ankles and crack the door so you can hand me an extra roll because I’ve gone through the current supply. I don’t think you want this either.

-
My single greatest fear in life is clogging a toilet in somebody else’s house and finding myself plunger-less. This fear is most likely the direct result of the time when I clogged a toilet in somebody else’s house and found myself plungerless. (This was on a first date with a hot chick and I ended up having to get very creative with a two-liter bottle of coke… nevermind, it’s too painful to think about.)I think it goes without saying that the only thing more embarrassing than taking a crap at someone else’s house, is sheepishly emerging from the bathroom to ask the host if they own a plunger.A plunger is a must, people. Put it next to the toilet or under the sink or anywhere in the bathroom for that matter. I’ll find it if I need it. Believe me.

-
At home, I often times get comfortable on the throne with a good novel. I sometimes read many chapters and stay in the bathroom for ridiculously long periods of time. One time, I swear to god of your parents choice, I spent three full hours in the bathroom reading Ayn Rand’s, “The Fountainhead”. You do not want me in your bathroom for that long, trust me. But please, some magazines and such would be nice. Something that’s easy to read and not too long - Readers Digest is perfect. Anything pornographic is a bad idea.One time, I was dumping at someone’s house and they had a “Kid’s Guide to Anatomy” complete with large, full-color illustrations. I read all about the excretory system while I was excreting… and it blew my mind.

-
Now, some of you may be asking, “Why would I have a vested interest in making you feel comfortable pooping in my bathroom?”

I’ll tell you why.

When I am not able to release my bowels, I get tense, nervous, standoff-ish, irritable, sweaty, etc. In other words, I am no longer the life of the party. When I become an introvert, it can have a real detrimental effect on the social scene in your house.

Case in point: One time I was at an apartment shared by three girls. They fed me Thai food which–surprise!–made me have to shit. Badly. Unfortunately for these three girls (and other house guests), when I went into their bathroom to “wash my hands” I came to the conclusion, through “calculated risk assessment”, that the “perceived level of comfort” in their bathroom was FAR below my acceptable standards.

The net effect was that, not only was I unable to crap, but in the eyes of most of the people in the house, I became “no fun.”

Well I got news for you - it’s awfully hard to be “fun” when every poke, tickle, and hug has the potential to unleash a gaseous, party-stopping fury.

Look, I think we can all agree on the fact that there’s nothing like your own toilet, an empty house, and all the free time in the world… which is why it should be common courtesy to provide guests in your home with a “foreigner friendly” environment in which to take care of business.

Tom Cruise-

I just want to shock him into reality, to stop him jumping around like a monkey and saying how he is more knowledgeable than most on psychiatry and other issues. I just can,t see him as an action star and he reminds me of the subtly feminine over-compensating guy.

Skeet Ulrich-

His name alone elicits violence.

Rob Riener-

I just wanna knock the fat off him.

Sean Penn-

If you hadn’t bedded Madonna (and who hasn’t at this point) you’d have no career. Why is it that the fact that you pretend to be someone in a film makes you now have a better understanding of politics or whats best for the American populous.

Jane Fonda-

Just Google her name and read the tales of her whorning up the North Vietnamese while a few hundred thousand of our boys died.

Chevy Chase-

WTF? You were funny(20 years ago) now you are a sad mixture of self-loathing and saggy skin.

Hillary Clinton-

Your politics aside, your voice makes my testicle crawl into my body cavity every time I hear you. I cant have that!

K-fed-

Dude, you know why. You are the personification of Douchebag.

Wolf Blizter-

You stole my porn name!

Micheal Moore-

As you rail against the excesses in America I can see you getting fatter. Loose 200 lbs and Ill listen to you.

Don’t write telling me what am ass I am. I am the master at self deprecation so back off!

With that said, enjoy.

On the first day of training for parachute jumping, a blonde listened intently to the instructor. He told them to start preparing for landing when they are at 300 feet.

The blonde asked, “How am I supposed to know when I’m at 300 feet?”

“That’s a good question. When you get to 300 feet, you can recognize the faces of people on the ground.”

After pondering his answer, she asked, “What happens if there’s no one there I know?”

Three blondes were walking through the forest when they came upon a set of tracks.

The first blonde said, “Those are deer tracks.”
The second blonde said, “No, those are elk tracks.”
The third blonde said, “You’re both wrong, those are moose tracks.”
The blondes were still arguing when the train hit them.

A young brunette goes into the doctor’s office and says that her body hurts wherever she touches it.

“Impossible,” says the doctor. “Show me.”

She takes her finger and pushes her elbow and screams in agony. She pushes her knee and screams, pushes her ankle and screams and so on it goes.

The doctor says, “You’re not really a brunette are you?”

She says, “No, I’m really a blonde.”

“I thought so,” he says. “Your finger is broken.”

A blonde calls her boyfriend and says, “Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can’t figure out how to get it started.”

He asks, “What is it supposed to be when it’s finished?”

The blonde says, “According to the picture on the box, it’s a tiger.”

Her boyfriend decides to go over and help with the puzzle. She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.

He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says, “First of all, no matter what we do, we’re not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a tiger.”

He takes her hand and says, “Second, I want you to relax. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, and then…..” he sighed, “we’ll put all these Frosted Flakes back in the box.”

A blonde was driving home after work and got caught in a really bad hailstorm. Her car was covered with dents, so the next day she took it to the repair shop. The shop owner saw that she was a blonde, so he decided to have some fun. He told her just to go home and blow into the tail pipe really hard, and all the dents would pop out.

So, the blonde went home, got down on her hands and knees and started blowing into her car’s tailpipe. Nothing happened. She blew a little harder, and still nothing happened.

Her roommate, another blonde, came home and said, “What are you doing?” The first blonde told her how the repairman had instructed her to blow into the tailpipe in order to get all the dents to pop out.

Her roommate rolled her eyes and said… “HEL-LOOOOOOOO …You gotta roll up the windows!!!

If you’ve been holding your breath for The A-Team movie, well, I feel sorry for you.

But help is on the way for you and your oxygen-deprived brain. So just hold on. Until June 12. Of next year. Feel better? You should, actually.

The release date, as reported by Variety, is the first for the long-discussed, long-suffering project.

John Singleton, who last yelled cut on Four Brothers, will direct; Michael Bandt and Derek Haas, who helped shoot the lights out with 3:10 to Yuma, are writing the screenplay.

As reported, the movie will follow the basic recipe of the 1983-87 TV series: Take four ex-military men; add one war crime they didn’t commit; mix in chases, pursuits and more chases.

Given the source material, Singleton has promised an action movie, a serious action movie—”wall to wall kicking ass and talking s–t,” as he put it to Collider.com. The film presently is sans actors, A-list, B-team or otherwise, as Singleton himself has made very clear.

“I don’t know who is in the cast yet, so all this bulls–t of who is saying who is this person and who is [this person],” Singleton told Collider.com.

Singleton did allow that he “really, really want[s]” Woody Harrelson to play “Howling Mad” Murdoch, the sanity challenged pilot given life on the TV series by Dwight Schultz.

In the interview, conducted in January, Singleton sounded a lot like a man who’s been a little bit hounded by fans demanding to know who’s going to play Mr. T.

“Nobody is playing Mr. T—the character’s name is B.A. Baracus,” the filmmaker reminded.

And, no, before you bother Mr. Singleton again, B.A. Baracus hasn’t been cast yet, either. Ice Cube, however, has thrown his Mohawk into the ring.

“Hell yeah,” the Barbershop multitasker recently told blackfilm.com when asked if he’d consider copping a “Bad Attitude,” as it were, “especially with John Singleton directing!”

And, yes, we know Ice Cube doesn’t really have a Mohawk to throw into a ring. But that could change.

“I wouldn’t try to duplicate what Mr. T did,” he told the Website. “I’m going to bring my own flavor to it, and I am going to do the Mohawk.”

The race seems wide open for the roles of Col. “Hannibal” Smith, the disguise-handy ringleader, and the smooth-talking “Face” Peck, played on the TV series by the late George Peppard and the still-plugging-away Dirk Benedict, respectively.

Even with the cast undetermined, an announced director and a release date marks the furthest along the movie has gotten since the project started raising hopes nearly 10 years ago amid a spate of TV-to-film conversions, à la Charlie’s Angels, The Mod Squad and Wild Wild West. Per the calendar keepers at the Internet Movie Database, on June 12, 2009, the big-screen A-Team will go head-to-head with an Eddie Murphy comedy called NowhereLand. Which is about where The A-Team movie used to live.

- I am a man.

This means the following:
- I complain
- I have a poor morning disposition (references upon request)
- I emit occasionally offensive odors
- I will embarrass you more than you embarrass me (extrapolated from historical data)
- I eat meat (see note above re: offensive odors)
- I employ logic to solve a problem
- Predicting my disposition is as simple as knowing my best score on “Tiger Wood’s Golf”
- I hate your ex-boyfriends
- I like fire, with or without the cigarettes
- I do stupid things like testing the absorbancy of spinach gnocchi at a dinner party whenever the conversation bores me
- I recognize that when someone utters the phrase “This is so fun/great/exciting/etc” they are internally miserable
- I lie, but only to avoid offending you (”Those jeans look great on you”)
- I listen to music that makes me feel good
- I say your friend is getting fat when I know darn well she weighs less than you do
- I hate PDA
- I think you have at least 2 hot friends
- I am messy
- I think your friends suck
- I am confident, mainly as a result of general indifference
- I smell like one of the following: cologne, soap, deoderant, your cigarette
- I am smart enough to know when to end a pointless argument
- I love me, with or without you

What I’m looking for:
- A woman

This means the following:
- You have a poor disposition (every 28th day or whenever you feel like blaming your own problems on me)
- You emit occasionally offensive noises (like that laugh you fake over the phone when responding to a joke you know isn’t funny)
- You are easily embarrassed (thanks to a genuine concern for what strangers think of you)
- You eat chicken and sushi
- You’re fun, whenever you’re not around your girlfriends (that Jessica turns you into such a bitch)
- Your arguments lack cohesive thought processes and logic (your solutions are most often supported by all the empirical evidence contained in the sentence “just because.”)
- Predicting your disposition requires an intimate knowledge of string theory
- You somehow cannot deduce that all of your ex-boyfriends are still aholes
- You like to smoke socially, but only so as not to feel excluded
- You do stupid things like use my toothbrush to fish your mascara out of the toilet, or open a toxic can of paint with a knife taken from the same drawer that the screwdriver is in
- You lack the ability to recognize that when you say “This is so fun/great/exciting/etc” that you are forcing it
- You are presumptuous (”Where are we going for dinner?”)
- You watch reality TV
- You listen to music that makes you cry
- You say you’re getting fat while wolfing down your 3rd slice of pizza
- You like PDA because you’re starved for attention
- You hate knowing I think your friends are hot, and tell me embarrassing stories about them behind their backs in an effort to make them seem less desirable, when in actuality, you’re making them seem more attainable
- You are somehow messier than I am, but it’s always my fault
- You think your friends suck more than I think they do, but you’ll never admit it
- You have self-esteem issues, mainly as a result of nothing I can control
- You always smell like your shampoo
- You hate it when I am smart enough to realize when pursuing an argument is futile (see note above re: logic)
- You love being with someone
- Deep down inside, you know all of this is true

No, this is the good one!

Thats the joke I like to play on those that seem a bit uncomfortable asking me about my eye. Its actually a replaced cornea that was badly scarred. I wish I had a good story about how it happened like I was injured trying to find Ossama Bin Laden or it was injured during a fight with ghost pirates. Alas nothing as glamorous. The iris is stretched and it looks like a cat eye. I usually hear “thats cool” and I reply with my old standard ” how cool, cool enough for you to want to give me cash/ make out/ wash my car”? No takers yet, but I am patient. I digress.

The shape of the eye sometime give an ominous look leading people to think that I am scowling at them. I found out this was known as the stink/skunk/evil eye. My usual jocularity and silly antics put people at ease and I no longer am placed in the “mean guy” category. With that said I will now retell a story, a story of pain. A story of disgust and trauma only seen by trauma surgeons and homicide detectives.

It was a glorious spring day. A day that could put the most devout curmudgeon and Nair-do-well in the best of spirits. A day when I took no offense at doing one of my least favorite chores. Mowing the lawn. I hate all the prep work and extras that one does just to cut grass. Shovel poop, empty the catcher, fill the garbage bags and so on. I call shenanigans on all that! I’m a free spirit! I will just forgo the catcher and that other drudgery that keeps me from the sweet sweet smell of fresh cut grass.

I mow. I mow sans catcher(the little rocks that gently pelt my shins are not bad). The grass will fly out the catcher attachment, dry up and blow away. No problem. I mow over the dog doody. It’ll scatter all over and not be a problem.

Halfway though I see a pile, take aim and run over it. I never thought a piece of poo could exit the catcher hole, catch the wind and hit me. The odds of that are huge. Even greater are the odds of that same poo making that turn, catching an updraft and flying at my eye! The stink eye non the less. It was like a scene from the matrix only with dog poo. It was horrible and I still carry the scars. What I can’t figure out is why I felt running around like a mad man yelling “poo” would help me.

So now when I am asked about my “stink eye” I do have a good story.

Are we done with the  pennies yet?

Because it is time. The American public hasn’t been using them for about a decade. They have become so worthless, that people give them to each other as a matter of routine. Get your change, pick out the pennies, and leave them there for the next guy. Need a penny or two? Well, there should be a few there for you, because the last guy sure didn’t want his. That’s the game.

I hate when stores don’t want to play by the game. If a store doesn’t have a little tray, I am immediately annoyed. The hell if I’m fishing another dollar out of my pants because it came to $5.02. When that cash register rings up $5.02 and you look at me, we’re fixing to have a long staredown. I’ll return an item before I break another dollar and let you give me three more of the damn things in return. And that item probably had a profit margin of at least $.03 to you, so who’s the loser now? Get it? As long as they’re still around, you better play by the game.

When there is no tray, my normal routine has become to fish through my change and immediately pick them out and deposit them into the trash. Not only are they worthless, but they are disgusting, and I’m not carrying them around. Most have been in circulation for 20 years, and as the stepchild of your change purse, they have been given no love. They live in ashtrays, parking lots, and huge jars owned by 72 year old men who remember when they were worth something. Old copper is gross enough to start with. Add to the fact that they are covered in gum and crap and filth, and you need to wash your hands every time one touches you.

Think about this: a stamp costs $0.37. 37 pennies weigh 6 ounces. It takes about two stamps to mail 6 ounces of stuff. Therefore, if I wanted to mail someone 37 cents in pennies, it would cost me 74 cents. By my definition, it’s pretty clear cut. When a monetary unit can’t afford to mail itself, it’s worthless. Don’t get all cocky either, nickels…….you aren’t far behind. (I don’t really know how much 37 pennies weigh, that was just a guess. I have a scale in my garage, and would find out, but I can’t. I threw out all my pennies. Just trust me though….I’m right on this general principal. I know by instinct that they can’t mail themselves.)

Vending machines won’t even take them. They hired engineers to assure that any penny which entered the slot would be immediately routed straight to the change opening. Think about the engineering involved. Dimes, which are smaller than pennies, go right into the till, but they had to create some sort of mechanism that would sort out and eliminate any penny that enters the machine, lest they get involved with the REAL money that is in there, and gross it all up.

Have you ever tried to give one to a bum? Seriously. I almost got in a fight in Phoenix over the fact that I gave a bum some pennies. The man had no home, was hungry, cold, and hopeless, yet when I gave him a handful of pennies, he tried to spit on me. Fortunately, his lack of front teeth seriously affected his aiming abilities and I easily dodged the saliva-based projectile, but nonetheless.

Isn’t this enough evidence for Alan Greenspan and the Fed to say enough is enough? I now summarize my case:

1. Pennies are considered worthless, even by homeless people
2. Pennies are disgusting
3. Pennies can’t even mail themselves
4. Americans are actually giving them to strangers, like some nationwide game of hot potato
5. Vending machines are even too smart to take them. Their job is to take money, not pennies.

Case Closed. Please, Federal Reserve, I beg you. End the game.

I’m done with the stinking pennies.

Contest time baby.

I am going to give away 15000 EC’s. This is a raffle and this is how you get entries.

Write a post about my blog or take a post of mine for your blog. 5 entries.

Delicious or Technorati any of my posts. 1 entry each ( as many as you like)

Add me as a Stumbleupon friend. 2 entries.

Write a review on Stumbleupon of one of my posts. 1 entry.
I will choose winners on the last day of this month as well as the 15th and the 30th of next month. This means that the sooner you enter the better. All of the names will be kept for all drawings. I ask that you reply to this post with what you have done, I will use that list to do the drawing plus you get a link.

1 person will win 1000 EC x 3 drawings

10 people will win 200 EC x 3 drawings

Plus there will be random give aways.

Please leave you Entrecard profile url here as well as I will be randomly sending people ECs credits throughout the next 6 weeks.

I’m not sure what I had eaten beforehand that would conspire to create such horrible gas reaction in my internal system. Normally, I giggle(in a manly way) like everyone else at the sound of a well timed or particularly creative fart. Not this time. No laughing matter. This was literally horrific.

I’m shopping alone in the canned vegetables isle at my local grocery store. My stomach churned loudly and I released what I though was a normal if not somewhat aggressive fart. I stood for a moment and sniffed, as we all instinctively do…and was instantly hit with an odor so strong that it took my breath away. I’m 35 years old and have smelled and dealt some pretty atrocious stinkbombs in my time. The magnitude of this flatus was worse (or better depending upon your frame of mind) than anything I had ever experienced. I began to run down the isle to escape and seek fresh air. I swear the fart was following me. A good thirty feet away, the nasty smell was as strong as at ground zero.
Imagine the potency. I did everything I could to hold down a projectile barf.

Then to my horror, as I looked back, a very old lady with a walker turned the corner and began to walk right toward the impact zone. Unless my eyesight was somehow distorted by the event I clearly saw a light green cloud hovering at ground zero. Before I could do anything, she entered the cloud and immediately staggered several steps back as if she walked into a brick wall, covered her mouth and dropped her handbag.

I retreated around the corner and out of sight, cringing like a little boy about to be bullied. I just couldn’t look. I’m a healthy man and it clearly over-powered me. I could only imagine what state she was in, especially if she was still trapped in that impact zone.

So I don’t know what eventually happened to that old lady. But I am truly very sorry. God forbid if she had a heart attack or suffered any long term disability. Hopefully she just got up, brushed herself off, sued the store and and is now living comfortably.

Me ? I’m OK. I have to live with my damaged karma and the thought that if I did it once it could happen again.