<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385</id><updated>2012-02-14T14:25:06.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Read My Email</title><subtitle type='html'>Go ahead...you know you want to.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>379</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5623816590076042482</id><published>2011-12-27T04:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-27T04:11:41.172-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mummy, how does the EU bailout package work?</title><content type='html'>It&amp;nbsp; is a slow day in a dusty little Greek town near Thessaloniki . The sun is&amp;nbsp; beating down and the streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in&amp;nbsp; debt, and everybody lives on credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On this&amp;nbsp; particular day, a rich German tourist called Angela Merkle' is driving through&amp;nbsp; the town, stops at the local hotel and lays a €100 note on the desk, telling&amp;nbsp; the hotel owner she wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one&amp;nbsp; to spend the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The owner&amp;nbsp; gives her some keys and, as soon as the visitor has walked upstairs, the&amp;nbsp; hotelier grabs the €100 note and runs next door to pay his debt to the&amp;nbsp; butcher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The butcher&amp;nbsp; takes the €100 note and runs down the street to repay his debt to the pig&amp;nbsp; farmer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pig farmer&amp;nbsp; takes the €100 note and heads off to pay his bill at the supplier of feed and&amp;nbsp; fuel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The&amp;nbsp; guy at the Farmers' Co-op takes the €100 note and runs to pay his drinks bill&amp;nbsp; at the pub.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The publican&amp;nbsp; slips the money along to the local prostitute drinking at the bar, who has&amp;nbsp; also been facing hard times and has had to offer him "services" on&amp;nbsp; credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hooker&amp;nbsp; then rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill to the hotel owner with&amp;nbsp; the €100 note.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hotel&amp;nbsp; proprietor then places the €100 note back on the counter so the rich traveller&amp;nbsp; will not suspect anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that moment&amp;nbsp; the German traveller comes down the stairs, picks up the €100 note, states&amp;nbsp; that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one&amp;nbsp; produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now out&amp;nbsp; of debt and looking to the future with a lot more optimism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is how&amp;nbsp; the EU bailout package works!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5623816590076042482?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5623816590076042482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5623816590076042482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5623816590076042482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5623816590076042482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/12/mummy-how-does-eu-bailout-package-work.html' title='Mummy, how does the EU bailout package work?'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-843799054647919643</id><published>2011-12-01T05:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T05:48:52.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Cow based Economics Lesson</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;SOCIALISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 2 cows.&lt;br /&gt;You give one to your neighbor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;COMMUNISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 2 cows.&lt;br /&gt;The State takes both and gives you some milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;FASCISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 2 cows.&lt;br /&gt;The State takes both and sells you some milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;NAZISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 2 cows.&lt;br /&gt;The State takes both and shoots you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;BUREAUCRATISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 2 cows.&lt;br /&gt;The State takes both, shoots one, milks the other, and then throws the milk away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You sell one and buy a bull.&lt;br /&gt;Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows.&lt;br /&gt;You sell them and retire on the income.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;ROYAL BANK OF SCOTLAND (VENTURE) CAPITALISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows.&lt;br /&gt;The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island Company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company.&lt;br /&gt;The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more.&lt;br /&gt;You sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States , leaving you with nine cows.&lt;br /&gt;No balance sheet provided with the release.&lt;br /&gt;The public then buys your bull.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;SURREALISM&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two giraffes.&lt;br /&gt;The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;AN AMERICAN CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows.&lt;br /&gt;Later, you hire a consultant to analyze why the cow has dropped dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A FRENCH CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You go on strike, organize a riot, and block the roads, because you&lt;br /&gt;want three cows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A JAPANESE CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.&lt;br /&gt;You then create a clever cow cartoon image called a Cowkimona and market it worldwide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;AN ITALIAN CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows, but you don't know where they are.&lt;br /&gt;You decide to have lunch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A SWISS CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have 5000 cows. None of them belong to you.&lt;br /&gt;You charge the owners for storing them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A CHINESE CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You have 300 people milking them.&lt;br /&gt;You claim that you have full employment, and high bovine productivity.&lt;br /&gt;You arrest the newsman who reported the real situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;AN INDIAN CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;You worship them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A BRITISH CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;Both are mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;AN IRAQI CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone thinks you have lots of cows.&lt;br /&gt;You tell them that you have none.&lt;br /&gt;No-one believes you, so they bomb the &lt;b&gt;**&lt;/b&gt; out of you and invade your country.&lt;br /&gt;You still have no cows, but at least you are now a Democracy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;Business seems pretty good.&lt;br /&gt;You close the office and go for a few beers to celebrate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;A NEW ZEALAND CORPORATION&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have two cows.&lt;br /&gt;The one on the left looks very attractive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-843799054647919643?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/843799054647919643/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=843799054647919643' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/843799054647919643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/843799054647919643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/12/cow-based-economics-lesson.html' title='A Cow based Economics Lesson'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3458135102743172497</id><published>2011-11-06T01:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T01:11:38.877-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Annie Wan There?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; Hello, can I speak to Annie Wan?     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Operator:&lt;/strong&gt; Yes, you can speak to me.     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; No, I want to speak to Annie Wan!     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Operator:&lt;/strong&gt; You are talking to someone! Who is this?     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; I'm Sum Wan ..And I need to talk to Annie Wan! It's urgent.     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Operator:&lt;/strong&gt; I know u are someone and u want to talk to anyone! But what's this urgent matter about?     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; Well just tell my sister Annie Wan that our brother, Noe Wan was involved in an accident. Noe Wan got injured and now Noe Wan is being sent to the hospital. Right now, Avery Wan is on his way to the hospital.     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Operator:&lt;/strong&gt; Look if no one was injured and no one was sent to the hospital from the accident that isn't an urgent matter! You may find this hilarious, but I don't have time for this!     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; You are so rude! Who are you?     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Operator:&lt;/strong&gt; I'm Saw Lee.     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caller:&lt;/strong&gt; Yes! You should be sorry. Now give me your name!!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3458135102743172497?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3458135102743172497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3458135102743172497' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3458135102743172497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3458135102743172497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/11/annie-wan-there.html' title='Annie Wan There?'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-715603355138738125</id><published>2011-04-03T19:32:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T19:32:05.751-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Italian Who Went to Detroit</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Onea day Ima go to Detroit to a bigga hotel. I go down to eata breakfast. Itella the waitress I wanna two pissa toast. She brings me only onea piss. Itella her I wanna two piss. She say go to the toilet. I say you no understand, I wanna two piss on my plate. She say you better no piss on the plate, you sonna ma bitch. I don't even know the lady and she calla me a sonna ma bitch. Later I go to lunch at the restrant. The waitress brings me a spoon and a knife, but no fock. I tella her I wanna fock. She tella me everybody wanna fock. I say you no understand. I want a fock on the table.She say you better no fock on the table you sonna ma bitch. So I go back to my room inna hotel and there is no sheet on my bed. I calla the manager and tella him I wanna sheet. He tella me to go to the toilet. I tella him you don't understand. I wanna sheet on the bed. He say you better no sheet on the bed you sonna ma bitch. I go to check out and the man at the desk he say peace to you. And I say piss onna you too, you sonna ma bitch. I go back to Italy.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-715603355138738125?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/715603355138738125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=715603355138738125' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/715603355138738125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/715603355138738125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/04/italian-who-went-to-detroit.html' title='The Italian Who Went to Detroit'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1979870088166508339</id><published>2011-03-11T04:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-11T04:51:38.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>4 Lessons</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson #1... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings. The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next-door neighbor Before she says a word, Bob says, 'I'll give you $800 to drop that towel.' After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob, after a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves. The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs. When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, 'Who was that?' 'It was Bob the next door neighbor she replies. 'Great,' the husband says, 'did he say anything about the $800 he owes me? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Moral of the story: If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson #2... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;A priest offered a Nun a lift. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg. The priest nearly had an accident. After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg. The nun said, 'Father, remember Psalm 129?' The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, 'Father, remember Psalm 129?' The priest apologized 'Sorry sister but the flesh is weak.' Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way. On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, 'Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory.' &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Moral of the story: If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson 3... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out. The Genie says, 'I'll give each of you just one wish.' 'Me first! Me first!' says the admin clerk. 'I want to be in the Bahamas , driving a speedboat, without a care in the world.' Puff! She's gone. 'Me next! Me next!' says the sales rep. 'I want to be in Hawaii , relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life.' Puff! He's gone. 'OK, you're up,' the Genie says to the manager. The manager says, 'I want those two back in the office after Lunch.' &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Moral of the story: Always let your boss have the first say. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson 4... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him, 'Can I also sit like you and do nothing?' The eagle answered: 'Sure, why not.' So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Moral of the story: To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://friendfeed.com/moosicornguy/1967518f/lesson-1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thanks Sam!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1979870088166508339?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1979870088166508339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1979870088166508339' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1979870088166508339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1979870088166508339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/03/4-lessons.html' title='4 Lessons'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6117189621458776050</id><published>2011-02-06T06:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-06T06:20:34.091-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Puns for Educated Minds</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;1. The fattest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.    &lt;br /&gt;2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.     &lt;br /&gt;3. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still.     &lt;br /&gt;4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class, because it was a weapon of math disruption.     &lt;br /&gt;5. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.     &lt;br /&gt;6. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.     &lt;br /&gt;7. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.     &lt;br /&gt;8. Two silk worms had a race. They ended up in a tie.     &lt;br /&gt;9. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.     &lt;br /&gt;10. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.     &lt;br /&gt;11. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.     &lt;br /&gt;12. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway. One hat said to the other: 'You stay here; I'll go on a head.'     &lt;br /&gt;13. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.     &lt;br /&gt;14. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said: 'Keep off the Grass.'     &lt;br /&gt;15. The midget fortune-teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.     &lt;br /&gt;16. The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.     &lt;br /&gt;17. A backward poet writes inverse.     &lt;br /&gt;18. In a democracy it's your vote that counts. In feudalism it's your count that votes.     &lt;br /&gt;19. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.     &lt;br /&gt;20. If you jumped off the bridge in Paris , you'd be in Seine .     &lt;br /&gt;21. A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at him and says, 'I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger.'     &lt;br /&gt;22. Two fish swim into a concrete wall. One turns to the other and&amp;#160; says 'Dam!'     &lt;br /&gt;23. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft.&amp;#160; Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.     &lt;br /&gt;24. Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says, 'I've lost my electron.' The other says 'Are you sure?' The first replies, 'Yes, I'm positive.'     &lt;br /&gt;25. Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.     &lt;br /&gt;26. There was the person who sent ten puns to friends, with the hope&amp;#160; that at least one of the puns would make them laugh. No pun in ten did.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6117189621458776050?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6117189621458776050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6117189621458776050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6117189621458776050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6117189621458776050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/02/puns-for-educated-minds.html' title='Puns for Educated Minds'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1518519043594080526</id><published>2011-01-11T11:33:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-11T11:42:58.596-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Comments Made In The Year 1955</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGHeZnjTI/AAAAAAAABIw/hSeyGEVcekE/s1600-h/sayville-long-island-new-york-ny-main-st-devonsheer%5B9%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="sayville-long-island-new-york-ny-main-st-devonsheer" alt="sayville-long-island-new-york-ny-main-st-devonsheer" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGIfAs0XI/AAAAAAAABI4/fFaDEZlOEik/sayville-long-island-new-york-ny-main-st-devonsheer_thumb%5B7%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘I’ll tell you one thing, if things keep going the way they are, it’s going to be impossible to buy a week’s groceries for $10.00. ‘     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGIwb6J0I/AAAAAAAABI8/flLtjw4OLCg/s1600-h/0805rc_01_z1949_chevrolet_fleetline%5B7%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="0805rc_01_z1949_chevrolet_fleetline" alt="0805rc_01_z1949_chevrolet_fleetline" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGJsCl0aI/AAAAAAAABJA/ldY3yY5fhUQ/0805rc_01_z1949_chevrolet_fleetline_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="285" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘Have you seen the new cars coming out next year?&amp;#160; It won’t be long before $1, 000.00 will only buy a used one.’&amp;#160;&amp;#160;&amp;#160; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGKNPhA0I/AAAAAAAABJE/A7-jd59hcmU/s1600-h/JoanCrawfordforLuckyStrikeCigarettes%5B8%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="JoanCrawfordforLuckyStrikeCigarettes" alt="JoanCrawfordforLuckyStrikeCigarettes" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGK_qkO7I/AAAAAAAABJI/Q1c8DQRQMmo/JoanCrawfordforLuckyStrikeCigarettes_thumb%5B6%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="348" height="480" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘If cigarettes keep going up in price, I’m going to quit; 20 cents a pack is ridiculous. ‘ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGLbEYKmI/AAAAAAAABJM/bn1f7yTbap4/s1600-h/joan38%5B7%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="joan38" alt="joan38" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGL5dKvdI/AAAAAAAABJQ/vUYIbQTwUzo/joan38_thumb%5B5%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="213" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘Did you hear the post office is thinking about charging 7 cents just to mail a letter.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGMregGhI/AAAAAAAABJU/da24OTqN7Ok/s1600-h/53378655%5B9%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="53378655" alt="53378655" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGNBXN9gI/AAAAAAAABJY/zsmonQwgzF0/53378655_thumb%5B7%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="479" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘If they raise the minimum wage to $1.00, nobody will be able to hire outside help at the store.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGN2WjTjI/AAAAAAAABJc/lWUgXMUz0-s/s1600-h/3b42572r%5B9%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; float: none" title="3b42572r" alt="3b42572r" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGOY4o5pI/AAAAAAAABJg/V1LGWyYvP6U/3b42572r_thumb%5B7%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="345" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘When I first started driving, who would have thought gas would someday cost 25 cents a gallon. Guess we’d be better off leaving the car in the garage.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;‘I’m afraid to send my kids to the movies any more.&amp;#160; Ever since they let Clark Gable get by with saying DAMN in ‘GONE WITH THE WIND’, it seems every new movie has either HELL or DAMN in it.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGPFCfsuI/AAAAAAAABJk/fhUuEjFfnpQ/s1600-h/Moon-landing-640x494%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="Moon-landing-640x494" alt="Moon-landing-640x494" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGPqYQ_BI/AAAAAAAABJo/aMIFaYKYiRs/Moon-landing-640x494_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="293" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘I read the other day where some scientist thinks it’s possible to put a man on the moon by the end of the century. They even have some fellows they call astronauts preparing for it down in Texas .’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGQUQWStI/AAAAAAAABJs/aZNxghSJ9kU/s1600-h/joe_dimaggio_3%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="joe_dimaggio_3" alt="joe_dimaggio_3" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGREGrNTI/AAAAAAAABJw/yHcF98GL8o8/joe_dimaggio_3_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="304" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘Did you see where some baseball player just signed a contract for $50,000 a year just to play ball? It wouldn’t surprise me if someday they’ll be making more than the President. ‘&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGRySNz_I/AAAAAAAABJ0/tP1eFuLXZ9s/s1600-h/image001%5B5%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="image001" alt="image001" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGSd4ViaI/AAAAAAAABJ4/MRhuIc7FlnE/image001_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="316" height="480" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘I never thought I’d see the day all our kitchen appliances would be electric.&amp;#160; They are even making electric typewriters now. ‘ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGToZ_jQI/AAAAAAAABJ8/RPdDIGf9lng/s1600-h/42-20042116%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="42-20042116" alt="42-20042116" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGUCj2fPI/AAAAAAAABKA/ZDYlmoutGUU/42-20042116_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="303" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘It’s too bad things are so tough nowadays.&amp;#160; I see where a few married women are having to work to make ends meet. ‘ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGUy94i5I/AAAAAAAABKE/lT0pTjbhPxs/s1600-h/3328449%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="3328449" alt="3328449" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGVTUPccI/AAAAAAAABKI/hLIc0cbjaj0/3328449_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="376" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘It won’t be long before young couples are going to have to hire someone to watch their kids so they can both work.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGVxUNfcI/AAAAAAAABKM/5iQhFIN-A48/s1600-h/EX-Volkswagen_Cabrio-Okrassa_1954_rfq-590%5B5%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="EX-Volkswagen_Cabrio-Okrassa_1954_rfq-590" alt="EX-Volkswagen_Cabrio-Okrassa_1954_rfq-590" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGWsxwpaI/AAAAAAAABKQ/ut8C8IXBayA/EX-Volkswagen_Cabrio-Okrassa_1954_rfq-590_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="272" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘I’m afraid the Volkswagen car is going to open the door to a whole lot of foreign business.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGXcOw2BI/AAAAAAAABKU/FDt_sA-Ol9w/s1600-h/be341190ba0eb7d1_landing%5B4%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="be341190ba0eb7d1_landing" alt="be341190ba0eb7d1_landing" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGXx7hoUI/AAAAAAAABKY/je2_XwfYqMc/be341190ba0eb7d1_landing_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="288" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘Thank goodness I won’t live to see the day when the Government takes half our income in taxes.&amp;#160; I sometimes wonder if we are electing the best people to government.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGYW52UlI/AAAAAAAABKc/DQjZGNwXZ7s/s1600-h/carhop_sign%5B5%5D.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="carhop_sign" alt="carhop_sign" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGYyjH13I/AAAAAAAABKg/jVpan84bNHc/carhop_sign_thumb%5B3%5D.gif?imgmax=800" width="300" height="192" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘The drive-in restaurant is convenient in nice weather, but I seriously doubt they will ever catch on.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGZswswrI/AAAAAAAABKk/SgEMJLBsu4c/s1600-h/bates-motel%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="bates-motel" alt="bates-motel" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGaFD1nHI/AAAAAAAABKo/7dPzMFO2fe0/bates-motel_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="254" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘There is no sense going on short trips anymore for a weekend.&amp;#160; It costs nearly $2.00 a night to stay in a hotel.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGavfofkI/AAAAAAAABKs/8xNLeSCjkQQ/s1600-h/430-ward%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="430-ward" alt="430-ward" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGbFtEI6I/AAAAAAAABKw/5gJRFwSbZOE/430-ward_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="317" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘No one can afford to be sick anymore.&amp;#160; At $15.00 a day in the hospital, it’s too rich for my blood.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGcKQUM8I/AAAAAAAABK0/2KlIhrnvcjk/s1600-h/18539_elvis1%5B6%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" title="18539_elvis1" alt="18539_elvis1" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGchb5GcI/AAAAAAAABK4/_Sgfya5kgOQ/18539_elvis1_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="380" height="252" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ‘If they think I’ll pay 30 cents for a hair cut, forget it.’ &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1518519043594080526?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1518519043594080526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1518519043594080526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1518519043594080526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1518519043594080526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2011/01/comments-made-in-year-1955.html' title='Comments Made In The Year 1955'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://lh6.ggpht.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/TSyGIfAs0XI/AAAAAAAABI4/fFaDEZlOEik/s72-c/sayville-long-island-new-york-ny-main-st-devonsheer_thumb%5B7%5D.jpg?imgmax=800' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5128640852578718162</id><published>2010-05-06T17:45:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-06T17:47:51.739-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Universal Truths</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;1. I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.    &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;5. How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;6. Was learning cursive really necessary?     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;10. Bad decisions make good stories.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;14. &amp;quot;Do not machine wash or tumble dry&amp;quot; means I will never wash this - ever.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;15. I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? ), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;16. I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;17. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;18. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;19. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;20. I wish Google Maps had an &amp;quot;Avoid Ghetto&amp;quot; routing option.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;21. Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the heck was going on when I first saw it.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;22. I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;23. The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;24. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;25. How many times is it appropriate to say &amp;quot;What?&amp;quot; before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;26. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent an ass from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;27. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;28. Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber &amp;amp; dumber every year?     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;29. There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;30. As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;31. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.     &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;32. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my behind everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5128640852578718162?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5128640852578718162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5128640852578718162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5128640852578718162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5128640852578718162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2010/05/universal-truths.html' title='Universal Truths'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1489032554688825397</id><published>2010-04-07T08:44:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T08:44:24.634-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Top twelve reasons homosexual marriage should not be legal</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;1.Homosexuality is not natural, much like eyeglasses, polyester, and birth control. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;2.Heterosexual marriages are valid because they produce children. Infertile couples and old people can’t legally get married because the world needs more children. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;3.Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;4.Straight marriage will be less meaningful, since Britney Spears’ 55-hour just-for-fun marriage was meaningful. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;5.Heterosexual marriage has been around a long time and hasn’t changed at all; women are property, blacks can’t marry whites, and divorce is illegal. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;6.Gay marriage should be decided by people not the courts, because the majority-elected legislatures, not courts, have historically protected the rights of the minorities. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;7.Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That’s why we have only one religion in America. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;8.Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;9.Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;10.Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That’s why single parents are forbidden to raise children. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;11.Gay marriage will change the foundation of society. Heterosexual marriage has been around for a long time, and we could never adapt to new social norms because we haven’t adapted to cars or longer lifespans. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;12.Civil unions, providing most of the same benefits as marriage with a different name are better, because a “separate but equal” institution is always constitutional. Separate schools for African-Americans worked just as well as separate marriages for gays and lesbians will.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1489032554688825397?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1489032554688825397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1489032554688825397' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1489032554688825397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1489032554688825397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2010/04/top-twelve-reasons-homosexual-marriage.html' title='Top twelve reasons homosexual marriage should not be legal'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7268965857741899576</id><published>2010-04-07T08:31:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T08:31:18.800-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Chicken Crossing</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Taoist sage Lao Tzu:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The road that can be crossed is not the true Road.     &lt;br /&gt;(Tao Te Ching, ch. 1) &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Also from Lao Tzu:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Those who cluck do not know.     &lt;br /&gt;Those who know do not cluck. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Buddha:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken nature. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Star Trek’s Captain Kirk:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To boldly go where no chicken has gone before. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Plato:      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;To know her true self, for the greater good of all. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Zeno of Elea:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To prove she could never reach the other side, given that, before she can get there, she must get halfway there; and before she can get halfway there, she must get a quarter of the way there; and before traveling a quarter, she must travel one-eighth; and … &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;John Lennon:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Imagine all the world’s chickens, crossing every road in peace… &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Colonel Sanders (of KFC—Kentucky Fried Chicken):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;I missed one? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hugh Hefner (the “Colonel Sanders of Hot Chicks”):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To fully expose its delightful body. Maybe she would like to come live with me… and dress up as a bunny. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dr. Seuss:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Did the chicken cross the road?     &lt;br /&gt;Did she cross it with a toad?     &lt;br /&gt;Yes, the chicken crossed the road,     &lt;br /&gt;But why it crossed, I’ve not been told! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ernest Hemingway:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To die. In the rain. Alone. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Martin Luther King Jr.:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;I have a dream that one day all of God’s chickens, chickens of every color and faith, from every village and every hamlet, will be free–thank God Almighty, free at last!–to cross any road without their motives called into question. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Louis Farrakhan:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The road, you will see, represents the black man. The white chicken crossed the “black man” in order to trample him and keep him down. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Grandpa:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Well now, listen here, my young friend. In my day, we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken crossed the road, and, by golly, that was good enough for us. Those were simpler times, and we were simpler folks. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Barbara Walters:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Isn’t that interesting? In a few moments we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting and went on to accomplish its life-long dream of crossing the road. We’ll have all the details you want to hear, right after this break. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Oprah Winfrey:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Well, I understand that this chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so badly. So, I’m going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not have to live his life like the rest of the chickens. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dr. Phil:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The problem we have here is that our chicken friend won’t realize he must first deal with the big problem on THIS side of the road before he goes after the problem on the OTHER SIDE of the road. He needs HELP realizing just how STUPID he is for not taking on his CURRENT problems before adding NEW problems! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;George Bush:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is with us or against us. No middle ground here. In fact, Vice President Cheney tells me there’s evidence this chicken is a terrorist in collusionation with the enemies of our freedom. Dick, do you have your gun handy? Wait a minute now, Dick! Make sure that thing’s pointed in the right direction, okay? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Colin Powell:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road… &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ralph Nader:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The chicken’s habitat on the original side of the road had been polluted by unchecked industrialist greed. The chicken did not reach the unspoiled habitat on other side of the road because it was crushed by the monstrous wheels of a gas-guzzling SUV. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Pat Buchanan:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To steal a job from a decent, hard-working American. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jerry Falwell:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Because the chicken was gay! Isn’t it obvious? Can’t you people see the plain truth? The chicken was going to the other side. That’s what they call it: “the other side.” Yes, my friends, that chicken is GAY. And, if you eat that chicken, you will become gay, too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like “the other side.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ronald Reagan:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;As with the Iran-Contra matter and Nicaragua, I don’t remember. But I’m sure it was in our great country’s best interests. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Bill Clinton:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sigmund Freud:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road clearly reveals your underlying sexual insecurity. What were your feelings about your mother? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Carl Jung:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;How synchronous, Herr Freud, that this chicken should cross this road at exactly this moment on the way to     &lt;br /&gt;its full individuation! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;H.P. Lovecraft:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To escape the crawling horror lurking on this side of the road, a nameless and foetid monstrosity that cannot be conceived save in the dreams of madness. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Howard Cosell (sportscaster):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of sports history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurrence. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Bill Gates:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To lead the other chickens across the Info Superhighway and into a world where there’s a computer in every home. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;William Blake:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Little chicken, who set thee free     &lt;br /&gt;To wander here on Highway Three?     &lt;br /&gt;“Oh, sir, your question’s very odd;     &lt;br /&gt;He is called the Lamb of God.” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Weekly World News:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Nostradamus predicted chicken/Bigfoot horror! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thomas Jefferson:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;All hens are endowed by Nature and Nature’s God with the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of the other side. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Karl Marx:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Driven by the lash of economic necessity, it was historically inevitable. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Voltaire:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;I may not agree with what the chicken did, but I will defend to the death its right to do it! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Che Guevara:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;I am in solidarity with all chickens! Viva el pollo! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;X-Files’ Fox Mulder:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;You saw it cross the road with your own eyes! How many more chickens have to cross before you believe it? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;X-Files’ Scully:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Mulder, calm down, it was a simple bio-mechanical reflex commonly found in chickens. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sir Isaac Newton:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Chickens at rest tend to stay at rest. Chickens in motion tend to cross the road. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Albert Einstein:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;It depends on the chicken’s frame of reference as to whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken. Moreover, given our curved universe, if the chicken keeps moving in the same direction, it winds up coming once again to the same road! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Physicist Werner Heisenberg:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Because the chicken is moving sufficiently fast, you can either observe the chicken or you can measure the chicken, but you cannot do both. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Timothy Leary (smiling):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Because it was the only far-out trip the Establishment would let this groovy little chicken take. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jean Paul Sartre (not smiling):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;To impose a meaning upon her accidental existence…     &lt;br /&gt;Do you think you could sit with that chicken in a small room for eternity? &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Albert Camus:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The chicken crossed the road. My mother died today.     &lt;br /&gt;Nothing matters. The world is absurd. Chicken’s actions have no meaning, except, possibly, to her. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jacques Derrida:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;These are just language games in the logocentric strategy of discourse. What is a “chicken”? What is the “road”? In the reappropriation of the original text of this phenomenon, and being utterly open to its subtext of emptiness and the many, as part of our ongoing postmodernist deconstructionist project, we are interested here only in the actual feathers, tissue, beak, claws, and asphault. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jacques Derrida (asked the same Q on another occasion):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vito Corleone:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;We made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rogue cops in the L.A.P.D. (Los Angeles Police Dept.):&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Give us ten minutes with the chicken and we’ll find out. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nancy Grace:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;That chicken crossed the road because he’s GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;O.J. Simpson:      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It didn’t cross the road. I was playing golf with it at the time. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mark Twain:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Steven Wright:&lt;/strong&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I told a chicken to cross the road.     &lt;br /&gt;It said, “What for?” &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7268965857741899576?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7268965857741899576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7268965857741899576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7268965857741899576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7268965857741899576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2010/04/chicken-crossing.html' title='Chicken Crossing'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5833398155392162715</id><published>2009-01-01T00:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T00:00:01.071-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gratuitous Email Rant</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Dear All,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heartfelt thank you to all my e-mail friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As another year will shortly be a memory, my heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed, and wealthy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Extra thanks for the ones that I have to open 15 times to get to the message.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Special thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat crap in the glue on envelopes 'cause I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope. Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because of your concern, I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains. I no longer drink Pepsi, or Dr Pepper, since the people who make these products are atheists who won't put "Under God" on their cans. I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS. I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day. I no longer go to shopping malls because someone might drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer receive packages from, nor send packages by UPS, or FedEx, since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise. I no longer answer the phone, because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan. I no longer eat KFC, because their "chickens" are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike. I no longer have to buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus, since I now have their recipe. I no longer worry about my soul, because at last count I have 363,214 angels looking out for me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. I no longer have any savings, because I gave it to a sick girl who is about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer have any money at all - but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special email program.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I want to thank you so much for looking out for me that I will now return the favors!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 7 minutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM (EDT) this afternoon. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of mine's next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a very HAPPY NEW YEAR!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5833398155392162715?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5833398155392162715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5833398155392162715' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5833398155392162715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5833398155392162715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2009/01/gratuitous-email-rant.html' title='Gratuitous Email Rant'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2272507881089222631</id><published>2008-12-05T10:03:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T10:03:50.643-05:00</updated><title type='text'>15 Things to do at Walmart while your wife is taking her sweet ass time</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;1. Get 24 boxes of condoms &amp;amp; randomly put them in people's carts when they aren't looking.   &lt;br /&gt;2. Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5 minute intervals.    &lt;br /&gt;3. Make a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.    &lt;br /&gt;4. Walk up to an employee and tell him/her in an official tone, &amp;quot;Code 3 in Housewares&amp;quot;... and see what happens.    &lt;br /&gt;5. Go to the Service Desk and ask to put a bag of M&amp;amp;M's on layaway.    &lt;br /&gt;6. Move a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.    &lt;br /&gt;7. Set up a tent in the camping department and tell other shoppers you'll invite them in if they bring pillows from the bedding department.    &lt;br /&gt;8. When a clerk asks if they can help you, begin to cry and ask: &amp;quot;Why can't you people just leave me alone?&amp;quot;    &lt;br /&gt;9. Look right into the security camera, use it as a mirror and pick your nose.    &lt;br /&gt;10. While handling guns in the hunting department, ask the clerk if he knows where the antidepressants are.    &lt;br /&gt;11. Dart around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the theme from &amp;quot;Mission Impossible&amp;quot;.    &lt;br /&gt;12. In the auto department, practice your &amp;quot;Madonna look&amp;quot; using different size funnels.    &lt;br /&gt;13. Hide in a clothing rack and when people browse through, say, &amp;quot;PICK ME! PICK ME!&amp;quot;    &lt;br /&gt;14. When an announcement comes over the loud speaker, assume the fetal position and scream &amp;quot;NO! NO! It's those voices again!&amp;quot;    &lt;br /&gt;15. Go into a fitting room, shut the door and wait a while and then yell loudly &amp;quot;Hey! You're out of toilet paper in here!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2272507881089222631?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2272507881089222631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2272507881089222631' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2272507881089222631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2272507881089222631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/12/15-things-to-do-at-walmart-while-your.html' title='15 Things to do at Walmart while your wife is taking her sweet ass time'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2434853117868051904</id><published>2008-11-09T16:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T16:59:20.611-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gender of a Computer</title><content type='html'>A higher education Spanish Teacher was explaining to her class that, in Spanish, unlike English, nouns are designated as either masculine or feminine.&lt;br /&gt;‘House’ for instance, is feminine: “la casa.”&lt;br /&gt;‘Pencil,’ however, is masculine: “el lapiz.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, a student asked, “What gender would ‘computer’ be?” Instead of giving the answer, the teacher split the class into two groups, male and female, and asked them to decide for themselves whether ‘computer’ should be a masculine or a feminine noun. Each group was asked to give four reasons for its recommendation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The male group decided that ‘computer’ should definitely be of the feminine gender, “la computadora”, because:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;No one but their creator understands their internal logic.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Even the smallest mistakes are stored in long term memory for possible later retrieval.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The female group, however, came to the conclusion that computers must be Masculine, “el computador”, because:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;In order to do anything with them, you have to turn them on.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They have a lot of data but still can’t think for themselves.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they are the problem.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;As soon as you commit to one, you realize that if you had waited a little longer, you could have gotten a better model.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2434853117868051904?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2434853117868051904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2434853117868051904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2434853117868051904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2434853117868051904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/11/gender-of-computer.html' title='The Gender of a Computer'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5073376082430875125</id><published>2008-08-31T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Joe's Story</title><content type='html'>The doctor said,  "Joe, the good news is I can cure your&lt;br /&gt;headaches.  The bad news is that it will require castration. You have a very rare condition, which causes your testicles to press on your spine, and the pressure creates one hell of a headache.  The only way to relieve the pressure is to  remove the testicles."&lt;br /&gt;Joe was shocked and depressed.  He wondered if he had anything to live for.  He had no choice but to go under the knife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he left the hospital he was without a headache for the first time in 20 years, but he felt like he was missing an important part of himself.  As he walked down the street, he realized that he felt like a different person.  He could&lt;br /&gt;make a new beginning and live a new life.&lt;br /&gt;He saw a men's clothing store and thought to himself, "That's what I need -  some new clothes!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He entered the shop and told the salesman, "I'd like a new  suit."&lt;br /&gt;The elderly tailor eyed him briefly and said,  "Let's see...&lt;br /&gt;size 44 long."&lt;br /&gt;Joe laughed, "That's right, how did you know?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Been in the business 60 years!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe tried on the suit.  It fit perfectly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Joe admired himself in the mirror, the salesman asked, "How about a new shirt?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe thought for a moment and then said, "Sure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The salesman eyed Joe and said, "Let's see, 34 sleeve and  16-1/2 neck." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe was surprised, "That's right, how did you know?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Been in the business 60 years!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe tried on the shirt, and it fit perfectly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Joe adjusted the collar in the mirror, the salesman asked, "How about new shoes?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe was on a roll and said "Sure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The salesman eyed Joe's feet and said, "Let's see..9-1/2 E."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe was astonished, "That's right, how did you know?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Been in the business 60 years!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe tried on the shoes and they fit perfectly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe walked comfortably around the shop and the salesman  asked, "How about some new underwear?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe thought for a second and said, "Sure."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The salesman stepped back, eyed Joe's waist and said,&lt;br /&gt;"Let's see...size 38."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joe laughed. "Ah ha!  I've got you there!  I've worn size 34 since I was 18 years old."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The salesman shook his head and said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You can't wear a size 34.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A size 34 underwear would press your testicles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;up against the base of your spine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and give you one hell of a headache!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE MORAL OF THIS STORY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALWAYS get a second opinion.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5073376082430875125?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5073376082430875125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5073376082430875125' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5073376082430875125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5073376082430875125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/joes-story.html' title='Joe&apos;s Story'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-4056922161856483488</id><published>2008-08-30T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:31.079-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex - Church - Pancakes</title><content type='html'>1. Sex:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mother of a 17-year-old girl was concerned that her daughter was having sex.  Worried the girl might become pregnant and adversely impact the family's status, she consulted the family doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor told her that teenagers today were very willful and any attempt to stop the girl would probably result in rebellion. He then told her to arrange for her daughter to be put on birth control and until then, talk to her and give her a box of condoms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that evening, as her daughter was preparing for a date, the woman told her about the situation and handed her a box of condoms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl burst out laughing and reached over to hug her mother saying:  "Oh Mom! You don't have to worry about that! I'm dating Susan!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Church&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man went to church one day and afterward he stopped to shake the preacher's hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said "Preacher, I'll tell you, that was a damned fine sermon. Damned good!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The preacher said, "Thank you sir, but I'd rather you didn't use profanity."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man said, "I was so damned impressed with that sermon I put five thousand dollars in the offering plate!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The preacher said, "No shit?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Pancakes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brenda and Steve took their six- year-old son to the doctor.  With some hesitation, they explained that although their little angel appeared to be in good health, they were concerned about his rather small penis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After examining the child, the doctor confidently declared, "Just feed him pancakes. That should solve the problem"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning when the boy arrived at breakfast, there was a large stack of warm pancakes in the middle of the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Gee, Mom," he exclaimed. "For me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just take two," Brenda replied.  "The rest are for your father."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-4056922161856483488?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/4056922161856483488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=4056922161856483488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4056922161856483488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4056922161856483488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/sex-church-pancakes.html' title='Sex - Church - Pancakes'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2571343933844310658</id><published>2008-08-29T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:09.425-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's All In the Title</title><content type='html'>A woman renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.&lt;br /&gt;"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a .....?"&lt;br /&gt;"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."&lt;br /&gt;"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it," said&lt;br /&gt;the recorder emphatically.&lt;br /&gt;I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation,&lt;br /&gt;this time at our own Town Hall.&lt;br /&gt;The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high -&lt;br /&gt;sounding title like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is your occupation?" she probed.&lt;br /&gt;What made me say it, I do not know.&lt;br /&gt;The words simply popped out.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."&lt;br /&gt;The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my&lt;br /&gt;pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out).  I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four&lt;br /&gt;credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."&lt;br /&gt;There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.&lt;br /&gt;As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3.&lt;br /&gt;Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model (6 months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt triumphant!  I had scored a beat on&lt;br /&gt;bureaucracy!  And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and&lt;br /&gt;indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."&lt;br /&gt;Motherhood...what a glorious career.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Especially when there's a title on the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the Field of Child Development and Human Relations", and great - grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think so!&lt;br /&gt;I also think it makes aunts "Associate Research Assistants!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2571343933844310658?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2571343933844310658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2571343933844310658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2571343933844310658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2571343933844310658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-all-in-title.html' title='It&apos;s All In the Title'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2270198597394374410</id><published>2008-08-28T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.694-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little Word Play</title><content type='html'>Lovers of the English language might enjoy this.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is "&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's easy to understand &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At a meeting, why does a topic come &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;? Why do we speak &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; and why are the officers &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; for election and why is it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; to the secretary to write &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; a report?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We call &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; our friends And we use it to brighten &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; a room, polish &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the silver, we warm &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the leftovers and clean &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the kitchen. We lock &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the house and some guys fix &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the old car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At other times the little word has real special meaning. People stir &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; trouble, line &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; for tickets, work &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; an appetite, and think &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; excuses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be dressed is one thing but to be dressed &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; is special.   And this &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; is confusing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A drain must be opened &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; because it is stopped &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We open &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; a store in the morning but we close it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; at night.  We seem to be pretty mixed &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; about &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;, look the word &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; in the dictionary.  In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; almost 1/4th of the page and can add &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; to about thirty definitions .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; to it, you might try building &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; a list of the many ways &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; is used.   It will take &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; a lot of your time, but if you don't give &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;,  you may wind &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; with a hundred or more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;. When the sun comes out we say it is clearing &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;.  When it rains, it wets &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt; the earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;for now my time is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;, so.............&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to shut &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;UP&lt;/span&gt;.....!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh...one more thing:&lt;br /&gt;What is the first thing you do in the morning &amp;amp; the last thing you do at night? -------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;U    P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2270198597394374410?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2270198597394374410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2270198597394374410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2270198597394374410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2270198597394374410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/little-word-play.html' title='A Little Word Play'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6231828880723289378</id><published>2008-08-27T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.695-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Deaf Bookkeeper</title><content type='html'>A Mafia Godfather finds out that his bookkeeper has screwed him for ten million bucks. This bookkeeper is deaf. It was considered an occupational benefit he got the job in the first place, since it was assumed that as a deaf bookkeeper would not be able to hear anything he'd ever have to testify in court.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the Godfather goes to shakedown the bookkeeper about his missing $10 million bucks, he brings along his attorney, who knows sign language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather asks the bookkeeper: "Where is the 10 million bucks you embezzled from me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attorney, using sign language, asks the bookkeeper where the 10 million dollar is hidden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bookkeeper signs back:  "I don't know what! you are talking about."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attorney tells the Godfather: "He says he doesn't know what you're talking about."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when the Godfather pulls out a 9 mm pistol, puts it to the bookkeeper's temple, cocks it, and says: "Ask him again!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attorney signs to the underling:  "He'll kill you for sure if you don't tell him!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bookkeeper signs back: "OK!  You win!  The money is in a brown briefcase, buried behind the shed in my cousin Enzio's backyard in Brooklyn!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather asks the attorney: "Well, what'd he say?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attorney replies: "He says you don't have the balls to pull the trigger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't you just love lawyers ?!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6231828880723289378?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6231828880723289378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6231828880723289378' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6231828880723289378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6231828880723289378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/deaf-bookkeeper.html' title='The Deaf Bookkeeper'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7952640993515607812</id><published>2008-08-26T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:31.079-05:00</updated><title type='text'>For the Love of Poetry</title><content type='html'>Two construction workers were having lunch together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone, a black man, complains to his buddy that his wife never wants sex any more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob, a white man, tells him he just got some good stuff from his wife last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone asks,  "What did you do to get your old lady to put out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob says, "Poetry, women love poetry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone then asks, "Poetry?  What did you say to her that got her hot and bothered?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob says, "Here's the poem that got me in her pants last night:"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;White woman, white woman&lt;br /&gt;Pretty as a dove&lt;br /&gt;Let's retire to bed&lt;br /&gt;And make some sweet love."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone says, "Ok if that's all there is to it, I'll give it a try&lt;br /&gt;tonight."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day Tyrone shows up with a huge black eye like he'd been in a fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob asks, "Tyrone, what the hell happened to your eye?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone says, "Guess my old lady is not so fond of poetry, I tried a&lt;br /&gt;poem like yours and she decked me but good."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob says, "She smacked you over a poem!  Tell me what you said."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tyrone says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Black bitch, Black bitch&lt;br /&gt;Bug-eyed like a frog&lt;br /&gt;Get down on your knees&lt;br /&gt;And I'll bone you like a dog."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bob sighs, "I think you should try Hallmark."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7952640993515607812?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7952640993515607812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7952640993515607812' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7952640993515607812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7952640993515607812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/for-love-of-poetry.html' title='For the Love of Poetry'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2852661389666648120</id><published>2008-08-25T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.635-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Building the Ark, 2008</title><content type='html'>In the year 2008, The Lord came unto Noah, who was now&lt;br /&gt;living in the United States, and said, "Once again, the earth has become wicked and over-populated and I see the end of all flesh before me.  Build another Ark and save two of every living thing along with a few good humans."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He gave Noah the blueprints, saying, "You have six months to build the Ark before I will start the unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah&lt;br /&gt;weeping in his yard ..... but no ark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Noah", He roared, "I'm about to start the rain!  Where is the Ark?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Forgive me, Lord," begged Noah. "But things have changed.  I needed a building permit.  I've been arguing with the inspector about the need for a sprinkler system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My neighbors claim that I've violated the neighborhood zoning laws by building the Ark in my yard and exceeding the height limitations. We had to go to the Planning and Zoning Board for a decision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then the Department of Transportation demanded a bond&lt;br /&gt;be posted for the future costs of moving power, overpasses and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark's move to the sea.  I argued that the sea would be coming to us, but they would hear nothing of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Getting the wood was another problem. There's a ban on cutting local trees in order to save the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists that I needed the wood to save the owls.  But no go!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When I started gathering the animals, I got sued by an animal rights group. They insisted that I was confining wild animals against their will. As well, they argued the accommodation was too restrictive and it was cruel and inhumane to put so many animals in a confined space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then the EPA ruled that I couldn't build the Ark until they'd conducted an environmental impact study on your proposed flood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm still trying to resolve a complaint with the Civil Rights&lt;br /&gt;Commission on how many minorities I'm supposed to hire&lt;br /&gt;for my building crew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Also, the trades unions say I can't use my sons. They&lt;br /&gt;insist I have to hire only Union workers with Ark building experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"To make matters worse, the Customs and Immigration&lt;br /&gt;Agency seized all my assets, claiming I'm trying to leave the country illegally with endangered species.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, forgive me, Lord, but it would take at least ten years for me to finish this Ark."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched across the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noah looked up in wonder and asked, "You mean, Lord,&lt;br /&gt;you're not going to destroy the world?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," said the Lord. "I no longer have to.....the Government has beat me to it."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2852661389666648120?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2852661389666648120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2852661389666648120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2852661389666648120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2852661389666648120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/building-ark-2008.html' title='Building the Ark, 2008'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-598276024115002038</id><published>2008-08-24T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:31.079-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Buttercups</title><content type='html'>Towards the end of the golf course, Dave hit his ball into the woods and found it in a patch of pretty yellow buttercups. Trying to get his ball back in play, he ended up thrashing just about every buttercup in the patch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden.....POOF!!   In a flash and puff of smoke, a little old woman appeared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "I'm Mother Nature!  Do you know how long it took me to make those buttercups?  Just for doing what you have done, you won't have any butter for your popcorn for the rest of your life: better still, you won't have any butter for your toast for the rest of your life...... As a matter of fact, you'll never have any butter for anything the rest of your life!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then POOF! ......she was gone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Dave recovered from the shock, he hollered for his friend, "Fred, where are you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fred yells back "I'm over here in the pussy willows."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dave shouts back, "DON'T SWING, Fred;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T Swing!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-598276024115002038?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/598276024115002038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=598276024115002038' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/598276024115002038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/598276024115002038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/buttercups.html' title='Buttercups'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7289240202342045968</id><published>2008-08-23T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:09.425-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mother's Journey</title><content type='html'>The young mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is this the long way?" she asked. And the guide said "Yes, and the way is hard. You will be old before you reach the end of it, however, the end will be better than the beginning"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, the young mother was happy, and she wouldn't believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, she fed them, bathed them, taught them how to tie their shoes, ride a bike, reminded them to feed the dog, do their homework and brush their teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried, "Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the nights came, and the storms, and the path was sometimes dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, the mother drew them close and covered them with her arms, the children said, "Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come to us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning came, and there was a hill ahead, the children climbed and grew weary, the mother also grew weary. But at all times she said to the children, "A little patience and we will be there."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the children climbed, and as they climbed they learned to weather the storms. With this, she gave them strength to face the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Year after year, she showed them compassion, understanding, and hope, but, most of all she gave them unconditional love. When they reached the top they said, "Mother, we wouldn't have done it without you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The days went on, the weeks, the months and the years, the mother grew old and she became little and bent. But, her children were tall and strong; and walked with courage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mother, when she lay down at night, looked up at the stars and said, "This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned so much and are now passing these traits on to their children."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the way became rough for her, they lifted her, and gave her their strength, just as she had given them hers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day they came to a hill, beyond the hill they could see a shining road with golden gates flung wide. And the mother said: "I have reached the end of my journey and now I know the end is truly better than the beginning. My children and grandchildren can walk with dignity and pride, with their heads held high."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The children said, " You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her. They said: "We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your Mother IS always with you.&lt;br /&gt;She is the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.&lt;br /&gt;She is the smell of the cooking of certain foods you remember.&lt;br /&gt;She is the flowers you pick.&lt;br /&gt;She is the scent of that special perfume she wore.&lt;br /&gt;She is the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well.&lt;br /&gt;She is your breath in the air on a cold winter's day.&lt;br /&gt;She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;She is the colors of a rainbow.&lt;br /&gt;She is Christmas morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your Mother lives inside your laughter, and she is crystallized in every tear drop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mother has known every emotion:  happiness, sadness, fear, jealousy, love, hate, anger, helplessness, excitement, joy, sorrow, and all the while, hoping and praying YOU will only know the good feelings in life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's the place you came from, your first home, she's the map you follow with every step you take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is the one you run to when you are scared, and her arms are always open to hold you and console you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not time, not space, not even death!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7289240202342045968?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7289240202342045968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7289240202342045968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7289240202342045968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7289240202342045968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/mothers-journey.html' title='A Mother&apos;s Journey'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6598510654423253909</id><published>2008-08-22T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:31.080-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ahhh, Yes..... The Golden Years</title><content type='html'>An old man, Mr. Goldstein, was living the last years of his life in a nursing home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nurse Tracy asked if there was anything wrong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Nurse Tracy," said Mr. Goldstein, "My private part died today, and I am very sad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing her patients were forgetful and sometimes acted a little crazy, she replied, "Oh! I'm so sorry, Mr. Goldstein. Please accept my condolences." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day, Mr. Goldstein was walking down the hall with his private part hanging out of his pajamas, when he met Nurse Tracy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mr. Goldstein,"  she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall like that.  Please put your private part back inside your pajamas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, Nurse Tracy," replied Mr. Goldstein, "I told you yesterday that my private part died." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your pajamas?" asked Nurse Tracy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," he replied, "Today's the viewing!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6598510654423253909?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6598510654423253909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6598510654423253909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6598510654423253909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6598510654423253909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/ahhh-yes-golden-years.html' title='Ahhh, Yes..... The Golden Years'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1645682272578077834</id><published>2008-08-21T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.698-05:00</updated><title type='text'>French Art Thief</title><content type='html'>Did you hear about the guy in Paris who almost got away with   stealing several paintings from the Louvre?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After planning the crime, getting   in and out past security, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an  obvious error, he replied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Monsieur, I had no Monet to buy Degas to make the Van Gogh."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you thought I lacked De Gaulle to send you a story like that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1645682272578077834?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1645682272578077834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1645682272578077834' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1645682272578077834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1645682272578077834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/french-art-thief.html' title='French Art Thief'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5508754537160801930</id><published>2008-08-20T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yes, The Puns are Intended</title><content type='html'>1. Two vultures board a plane, each carrying two dead raccoons.&lt;br /&gt;The Stewardess stops them and says, "Sorry sir, only one carrion per&lt;br /&gt;passenger."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. NASA recently sent a number of Holsteins into orbit for experimental&lt;br /&gt;purposes. They called it the herd shot round the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina. One took off to Hollywood&lt;br /&gt;and became a rich star. The other stayed in Carolina and never amounted to much--and naturally became known as the lesser of two weevils.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Two Eskimos in a kayak were chilly, so they started a fire, which sank&lt;br /&gt;the craft, proving the old adage, "You can't have your kayak and heat it&lt;br /&gt;too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. A 3-legged dog walks into an old west saloon, slides up to the bar and&lt;br /&gt;announces, "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Did you hear about the Buddhist who went to the dentist and refused to&lt;br /&gt;take Novocain? He wanted to transcend dental medication.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and met in the lobby&lt;br /&gt;where they were discussing their recent victories in chess tournaments.&lt;br /&gt;The hotel manager came out of the office after an hour, and asked them to&lt;br /&gt;disperse. He couldn't stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. A women has twins, gives them up for adoption. One goes to an Egyptian&lt;br /&gt;family and is named "Ahmal." The other is sent to a Spanish family and is&lt;br /&gt;named "Juan." Years later, Juan sends his birth mother a picture of&lt;br /&gt;himself. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband she wishes she&lt;br /&gt;also had a picture of Ahmal. He replies, "They're identical twins for Pete&lt;br /&gt;sake!! If you've seen Juan, you've see Ahmal!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. A group of friars opened a florist shop to help with their belfry&lt;br /&gt;payments. Everyone liked to buy flowers from the Men of God, so their&lt;br /&gt;business flourished. A rival florist became upset that his business was&lt;br /&gt;suffering because people felt compelled to buy from the Friars, so he&lt;br /&gt;asked the Friars to cut back hours or close down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Friars refused. The florist went to them and begged that they shut&lt;br /&gt;down. Again they refused. So the florist then hired Hugh McTaggert, the&lt;br /&gt;biggest meanest thug in town. He went to the Friars' shop, destroyed their&lt;br /&gt;flowers, trashed their shop, and said that if they didn't close, he'd be&lt;br /&gt;back. Well, totally terrified, the Friars closed up shop and hid in their&lt;br /&gt;rooms. This proved that Hugh, and only Hugh, can prevent florist friars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot his whole life, which&lt;br /&gt;created an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very&lt;br /&gt;little, which made him frail, and with his odd diet, he suffered from very&lt;br /&gt;bad breath. This made him ....what?&lt;br /&gt;(This is so bad; it's good...)&lt;br /&gt;A super-callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. And finally... there was a person who sent 10 puns to some friends in&lt;br /&gt;hopes that at least one of the puns would make them laugh.&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately no pun in ten did!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5508754537160801930?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5508754537160801930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5508754537160801930' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5508754537160801930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5508754537160801930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/yes-puns-are-intended.html' title='Yes, The Puns are Intended'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6350973768039368068</id><published>2008-08-19T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Senior Love</title><content type='html'>There were these two elderly people living in a Florida mobile home park.  He was a widower and she a widow. They had known one another for a number of years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One evening there was a community supper in the big activity center.  These two were at the same table, across from one another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the meal went on, he made a few admiring glances at her and finally gathered up his courage to ask her, "Will you marry me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After about six seconds of careful consideration, she answered. "Yes, yes, I will."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The meal ended and with a few more pleasant exchanges, they went to their respective trailers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next morning, he was troubled. "Did she say 'yes' or did she say 'no'?"  He couldn't remember.  Try as he would, he just could not recall.  Not even a faint memory.  With trepidation, he went to the telephone and called her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, he explained to her that he didn't remember as well as he used to.  Then he reviewed the lovely evening past.  As he gained a little more courage, he then inquired of her, "When I asked if you would marry me, did you say 'Yes' or did you say 'No'?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was delighted to hear her say, "Why, I said, 'Yes, yes I will' and I meant it with all my heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she continued, "And I am so glad that you called, because I couldn't remember who had asked me."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6350973768039368068?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6350973768039368068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6350973768039368068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6350973768039368068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6350973768039368068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/senior-love.html' title='Senior Love'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7718201438672850685</id><published>2008-08-18T06:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jim and Edna</title><content type='html'>Jim and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital. One day while they were walking past the hospital swimming pool, Jim suddenly jumped into the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled Jim out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna's heroic act she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she now considered her to be mentally stable. When she went to tell Edna the news she said, "Edna, I have good news and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged; since you were able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life of another patient, I have concluded that your act displays sound mindedness. The bad news is, Jim, the patient you saved, hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt right after you saved him. I am so sorry, but he's dead."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edna replied, "He didn't hang himself, I put him there to dry. How soon can I go home?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7718201438672850685?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7718201438672850685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7718201438672850685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7718201438672850685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7718201438672850685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/jim-and-edna.html' title='Jim and Edna'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6509758676531813792</id><published>2008-08-18T06:27:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.701-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things Mom Would Never Say</title><content type='html'>1. "How on earth can you see the TV sitting so far back?"&lt;br /&gt;2. "Yeah, I used to skip school a lot, too"&lt;br /&gt;3. "Just leave all the lights on ... it makes the house look more cheery"&lt;br /&gt;4. "Let me smell that shirt -- Yeah, it's good for another week"&lt;br /&gt;5. "Go ahead and keep that stray dog, honey. I'll be glad to feed and walk him every day"&lt;br /&gt;6. "Well, if Timmy's mom says it's OK, that's good enough for me."&lt;br /&gt;7. "The curfew is just a general time to shoot for. It's not like I'm running a prison around here."&lt;br /&gt;8. "I don't have a tissue with me ... just use your sleeve"&lt;br /&gt;9. "Don't bother wearing a jacket - the wind-chill is bound to improve"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;EDITORS NOTE:&lt;/span&gt; I had a real chuckle over this one, especially since when I read the list to my 22 year old daughter, she agreed that I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;would&lt;/span&gt; say almost &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;all&lt;/span&gt; of these, except maybe #5 (I don't really like dogs).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now it would be different if it were a stray cat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6509758676531813792?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6509758676531813792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6509758676531813792' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6509758676531813792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6509758676531813792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/08/things-mom-would-never-say.html' title='Things Mom Would Never Say'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2444862672166834734</id><published>2008-07-30T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.701-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MY BODY</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If my body was a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model.  I've got bumps and dents and&lt;br /&gt;scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that's not the worst of it.&lt;br /&gt;My fenders are too wide to be considered stylish.  They were once as sleek as a little MG; now they look more like my mother's old Buick.  My seat cushions have split open at the seams. My seats are sagging. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Seat belts?  I gave up on seat belts when Ben and Jerry's opened a shop in my neighborhood. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Air bags?  Forget it.  The only bags I have these days are under&lt;br /&gt;my eyes.  Not counting the saddlebags, of course.&lt;br /&gt;I have soooooooo many miles on my odometer.  Sure, I've been many places and seen many things, but when's the last time an&lt;br /&gt;appraiser factored life experiences against depreciation.&lt;br /&gt;My headlights are out of focus and it's especially hard to see things up close.&lt;br /&gt;My reaction is not as graceful as it once was.  I slip and slide and skid and bump into things even in the best of weather.&lt;br /&gt;My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins.  It takes hours to reach my maximum speed!  I'm burning fuel at an inefficient&lt;br /&gt;rate.&lt;br /&gt;But here's the worst of it!  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Almost every time I sneeze or cough,  my radiator seems to leak and sometimes my tailpipe sounds off, too!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2444862672166834734?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2444862672166834734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2444862672166834734' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2444862672166834734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2444862672166834734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/my-body.html' title='MY BODY'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8260888034600569899</id><published>2008-07-29T00:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T00:00:01.030-04:00</updated><title type='text'>THE WORLD SITUATION - A LETTER TO MY SONS</title><content type='html'>Hi Friends:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was sent this interesting article, that perhaps we ALL should take a moment to read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoever this fellow is, he cut right to the heart of the matter. Please don't get mad at me for sending this, (because you perhaps dislike Bush or his policies) but whether you agree or disagree, the Muslim extremists (who are being discussed here), want YOU DEAD, too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, just give this the courtesy of a sober read-through, and feel free to pass it along.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is very good reading for any American or non-American, - Republican, Democrat, or any other political party, - Christian, Atheist, Agnostic, Hindu, Pagan, Wiccan, Buddhist, or any other non-Muslim religion (and maybe peaceful Muslims, too).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was written by a retired attorney, to his sons, May 19, 2004.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;THE WORLD SITUATION - A LETTER TO MY SONS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Tom, Kevin, Kirby and Ted,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As your father, I believe I owe it to you to share some thoughts on the present world situation.  We have over the years discussed a lot of important things, like going to college, jobs and so forth. But this really takes precedence over any of those discussions.  I hope this might give you a longer term perspective that fewer and fewer of my generation are left to speak to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be sure you understand that this is not politically flavored, I will tell you that since Franklin D. Roosevelt, who led us through pre and WW2 (1933 -1945) up to and including our present President, I have without exception, supported our presidents on all matters of international conflict.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This would include just naming a few in addition to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;President Roosevelt - W.W.II:&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;President Truman - Korean War 1950;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;President Kennedy - Bay of Pigs (1961);&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;President Kennedy - Vietnam (1961);&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eight presidents (5 Republican &amp;amp; 4 Democrat) during the cold war (1945-1991);&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;President Clinton's strike on Bosnia (1995) and on Iraq (1998)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;So be sure you read this as completely non-political, or otherwise you will miss the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our country is now facing the most serious threat to its existence, as we know it, that we have faced in your lifetime and mine (which includes WW2).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The deadly seriousness is greatly compounded by the fact that there are very few of us who think we can possibly lose this war and even fewer who realize what losing really means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, let's examine a few basics&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  When did the threat to us start?   Many will say September 11th, 2001.  The answer as far as the United States is concerned is 1979, 22 years prior to September 2001, with the following attacks on us:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Iran Embassy Hostages, 1979;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Beirut, Lebanon Embassy 1983;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Beirut, Lebanon Marine Barracks 1983;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lockerbie, Scotland Pan-Am flight to New York 1988;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;First New York World Trade Center attack 1993;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dhahran, Saudi Arabia Khobar Towers Military complex 1996; &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Nairobi, Kenya US Embassy 1998;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dar es Salaam, Tanzania US Embassy 1998;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Aden, Yemen USS Cole 2000;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;New York World Trade Center 2001;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Pentagon 2001.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;(Note that during the period from 1981 to 2001 there were 7,581 terrorist attacks worldwide).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Why were we attacked?  Envy of our position, our success, and our freedoms.  The attacks happened during the administrations of Presidents Carter, Reagan, Bush #1, Clinton and Bush #2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. We cannot fault either the Republicans or Democrats as there were no provocations by any of the presidents or their immediate predecessors, Presidents Ford or Carter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  Who were the attackers?  In each case, the attacks on the US were carried out by Muslims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  What is the Muslim population of the World?  25%&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  Isn't the Muslim Religion peaceful? Hopefully, but that is really not material.  There is no doubt that the predominately Christian population of Germany was peaceful, but under the dictatorial leadership of Hitler, that made no difference.  You either went along with the administration or you were eliminated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were 5 to 6 million Christians killed by the Nazis for political reasons (including 7,000 Polish priests).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus, almost the same number of Christians were killed by the Nazis, as the 6 million holocaust Jews who were killed by them, and we seldom heard of anything other than the Jewish atrocities.  Although Hitler kept the world focused on the Jews, he had no hesitancy about killing anyone who got in his way of exterminating the Jews or of taking over the world - German, Christian or any others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same with the Muslim terrorists.  They focus the world on the US, but kill all in the way - their own people or the Spanish, French or anyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point here is that just like the peaceful Germans were of no protection to anyone from the Nazis, no matter how many peaceful Muslims there may be, they are no protection for us from the terrorist Muslim leaders and what they are fanatically bent on doing - by their own  pronouncements - killing all of us infidels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't blame the peaceful Muslims.  What would you do if the choice was shut up or die?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  So who are we at war with?  There is no way we can honestly respond that it is anyone other than the Muslim terrorists.  Trying to be  politically correct and avoid verbalizing this conclusion can well be fatal.  There is no way to win if you don't clearly recognize and  articulate who you are fighting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with that background, now to the two major questions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Can we lose this war?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;What does losing really mean?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;If we are to win, we must clearly answer these two pivotal questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can definitely lose this war, and as anomalous as it may sound, the major reason we can lose is that so many of us simply do not fathom the answer to the second question - What does losing mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would appear that a great many of us think that losing the war means hanging our heads, bringing the troops home and going on about our business, like post Vietnam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is as far from the truth as one can get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What losing really means is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would no longer be the premier country in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The attacks will not subside, but rather will steadily increase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, they want us dead, not just quiet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If they had just wanted us quiet, they would not have produced an increasing series of attacks against us over the past 18 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plan was clearly to terrorist attack us until we were neutered and submissive to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would of course have no future support from other nations for fear of reprisals and for the reason that they would see we are impotent and cannot help them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They will pick off the other non-Muslim nations, one at a time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will be increasingly easier for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They already hold Spain hostage. It doesn't matter whether it was right or wrong for Spain to withdraw its troops from Iraq.  Spain did it because the Muslim terrorists bombed their train and told them to withdraw the troops.   Anything else they want Spain to do, will be done.  Spain is finished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next will probably be France.  Our one hope on France is that they might see the light and realize that if we don't win, they are finished too, in that they can't resist the Muslim terrorists without us.  However,  it may already be too late for France.  France is already 20% Muslim and fading fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we lose the war, our production, income, exports and way of life will all vanish as we know it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After losing, who would trade or deal with us if they were threatened by the Muslims.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we can't stop the Muslims, how could anyone else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Muslims fully know what is riding on this war and therefore are completely committed to winning at any cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We better know it too and be likewise committed to winning at any cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do I go on at such lengths about the results of losing? Simple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until we recognize the costs of losing, we cannot unite and really put 100% of our thoughts and efforts into winning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it is going to take that 100% effort to win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how can we lose the war?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the answer is simple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can loose the war by imploding. That is, defeating ourselves by refusing to recognize the enemy and their purpose and really digging in and lending full support to the war effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we are united, there is no way that we can lose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we continue to be divided, there is no way that we can win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me give you a few examples of how we simply don't comprehend the life and death seriousness of this situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;President Bush selects Norman Mineta as Secretary of Transportation. Although all of the terrorist attacks were committed by Muslim men between 17 and 40 years of age, Secretary Mineta refuses to allow profiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does that sound like we are taking this thing seriously?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the duration we are going to have to give up some of the civil rights we have become accustomed to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had better be prepared to lose some of our civil rights temporarily or we will most certainly lose all  of them permanently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't worry that it is a slippery slope.  We gave up plenty of civil rights during WW2 and immediately restored them after the victory and, in fact, added many more since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I blame President Bush or President Clinton before him?  No, I blame US for blithely assuming we can maintain all of our Political Correctness and all of our civil rights during this conflict and have a clean, lawful, honorable war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of those words apply to war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get them out of your head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some have gone so far in their criticism of the war and/or the Administration that it almost seems they would literally like to see us lose.  I hasten to add that this isn't because they are disloyal. It is because they just don't recognize what losing means. Nevertheless, that conduct gives the impression to the enemy that we are divided and weakening, it concerns our friends, and it does great damage to our cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of more recent vintage, the uproar fueled by the politicians and media regarding the treatment of some prisoners of war perhaps exemplifies best what I am saying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have recently had an issue involving the treatment of a few Muslim prisoners of war by a small group of our military police.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the type prisoners who just a few months ago were throwing their own people off buildings, cutting off their hands, cutting out their tongues and otherwise murdering their own people just for disagreeing with Saddam Hussein.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just a few years ago these same type prisoners chemically killed 400,000 of their own people for the same reason. They are also the same type enemy fighters who recently were burning Americans and dragging their charred corpses through the streets of Iraq.  And still more recently the same type enemy that was and is providing videos to all news sources internationally, of the beheading of an American prisoner they held.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Compare this with some of our press and politicians who for several days have thought and talked about nothing else but the "humiliating" of some Muslim prisoners - not burning them, not dragging their charred corpses through the streets, not beheading them, but "humiliating" them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can this be real?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The politicians and pundits have even talked of impeachment of the Secretary of Defense.  If this doesn't show the complete lack of comprehension and understanding of the seriousness of the enemy we are fighting, the life and death struggle we are in and the disastrous results of losing this war, nothing can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To bring our country to a virtual political standstill over this prisoner issue makes us look like Nero playing his fiddle as Rome burned - totally oblivious to what is going on in the real world. Neither we, nor any other country, can survive this internal strife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again I say, this does not mean that some of our politicians or media people are disloyal.  It simply means that they are absolutely oblivious to the magnitude of the situation we are in and into which the Muslim terrorists have been pushing us for many years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, the Muslim terrorists stated goal is to kill all infidels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That translates into all non-Muslims - not just in the United States, but throughout the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are the last  bastion of defense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been criticized for many years as being 'arrogant'. That charge is valid in at least one respect.  We are arrogant in that we believe that we are so good, powerful and smart, that we can win the hearts and minds of all those who attack us, and that with both hands tied behind our back, we can defeat anything bad in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we don't recognize this, our nation as we know it will not survive, and no other free country  in the World will survive if we are defeated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And finally, name any Muslim countries throughout the world that allow freedom of speech, freedom of thought, freedom of religion, freedom of the press, equal rights for anyone - let alone everyone, equal status or any status for women, or that have been productive in one single way that contributes to the good of the World.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This has been a long way of saying that we must be united on this war or we will be equated in the history books to the self-inflicted fall of the Roman Empire. If, that is, the Muslim leaders will allow history books to be  written or read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we don't win this war right now, keep a close eye on how the Muslims take over France in the next 5 years or less. They will continue to increase the Muslim population of France and continue to encroach little by little on the established French traditions.  The French will be fighting among themselves over what should or should not be done, which will continue to weaken them and keep them from any united resolve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't that sound eerily familiar?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Democracies don't have their freedoms taken away from them by some external military force. Instead, they give their freedoms away, politically correct piece by politically correct piece.  And they are giving those freedoms away to those who have shown, worldwide, that they abhor freedom and will not it to you or even to themselves, once they are in power.  They have shown that when they have taken over, they then start brutally killing each other over who will be the few who control the masses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will we ever stop hearing from the politically correct, about the  "peaceful Muslims"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I close on a hopeful note, by repeating what I said above. If we are united, there is no way that we can lose.  I believe that after the election, the factions in our country will begin to focus on the critical situation we are in and will unite to save our country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;YOUR&lt;/span&gt; future we are talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do whatever you can to preserve it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Dad&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8260888034600569899?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8260888034600569899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8260888034600569899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8260888034600569899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8260888034600569899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/world-situation-letter-to-my-sons.html' title='THE WORLD SITUATION - A LETTER TO MY SONS'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-599449454388875453</id><published>2008-07-28T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T00:00:13.612-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Can't Believe We Made It</title><content type='html'>According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's or even the early 80's, probably shouldn't have survived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had no childproof lids or locks on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle. Horrors!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the street lights came on. No one was able to reach us all day. No cell phones. Unthinkable!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We did not have Playstations, Nintendo 64, X-Boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, video tape movies, surround sound, personal cell phones, personal computers, or Internet chat rooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had friends!  We went outside and found them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We played dodge ball, and sometimes, the ball would really hurt. We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. They were accidents. No one was to blame but us.  Remember accidents?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had fights and punched each other and got black and blue and learned to get over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and, although we were told it would happen, we did not put out any eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell or just walked in and talked to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some students weren't as smart as others, so they failed a grade and were held back to repeat the same grade. Horrors!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tests were not adjusted for any reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our actions were our own. Consequences were expected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The idea of  parents bailing us out if we got in trouble in school or broke a law was unheard of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They actually sided with the school or the law. Imagine that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers, and inventors, ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had freedom, failure, success, and  responsibility ---  and we learned how to deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you're one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Congratulations!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please pass this on to others who were blessed to grow up as "kids", before lawyers and the government regulated our lives "for our own good".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-599449454388875453?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/599449454388875453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=599449454388875453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/599449454388875453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/599449454388875453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-cant-believe-we-made-it.html' title='I Can&apos;t Believe We Made It'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-885162626286472695</id><published>2008-07-27T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.702-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Husband Mart</title><content type='html'>A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York where a woman may go to choose a husband from among many men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The store is comprised of 6 floors and the men increase in positive attributes as the shopper ascends the flights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is however, a catch. As you open the door to any floor you may choose a man from that floor, but if you go up a floor, you cannot go back down except to exit the building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman looking for a husband decides to try out the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the first floor the sign on the door reads:  Floor 1 - These men have jobs.  The woman reads the sign and says to herself, "Well, that's better than my last boyfriend, but I wonder what's further up?" So up she goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 - These men have jobs and love kids. The woman remarks to herself, "That's great, but I wonder what's further up?" And up she goes again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third floor sign reads: Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love kids and are extremely good looking. "Hmmm, better" she says. "But I wonder what's upstairs?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fourth floor sign reads: Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking and help with the housework. "Wow!" exclaims the woman, "very tempting. BUT, there must be more further up!"  And again she heads up another flight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fifth floor sign reads: Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking, help with the housework and have a strong romantic streak. "Oh, mercy me!  But just think... what must be awaiting me further on?" So up to the sixth floor she goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sixth floor sign reads:  Floor 6 -  You are visitor number 327,456,789,012 to this floor.  There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping Husband Mart and have a nice day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-885162626286472695?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/885162626286472695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=885162626286472695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/885162626286472695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/885162626286472695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/husband-mart.html' title='Husband Mart'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1871799101602752936</id><published>2008-07-26T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'>All That Meets the Eye (A Romantic Story)</title><content type='html'>A man is dining in a fancy restaurant and there is a gorgeous redhead sitting at the next table. He has been checking her out since he sat down,but lacks the nerve to start a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly she sneezes, and her glass eye comes flying out of its socket towards the man. He reflexively reaches out, grabs it out of the air, and hands it back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my, I am so sorry," the woman says as she pops her eye back in place.  "Let me buy your dinner to make it up to you," she says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They enjoy a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards they go to the theater. They talk, they laugh, she shares her deepest dreams and he shares his.  She listens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After paying for everything, she asks him if he would like to come to her place for a cup of coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have a wonderful, wonderful time. The guy is amazed! Everything has been SO incredible!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know," he said, "you are the perfect woman.  Are you this nice to every guy you meet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," she replies........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "You just happened to catch my eye."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1871799101602752936?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1871799101602752936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1871799101602752936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1871799101602752936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1871799101602752936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/all-that-meets-eye-romantic-story.html' title='All That Meets the Eye (A Romantic Story)'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6127114176987164255</id><published>2008-07-25T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.636-05:00</updated><title type='text'>White Lie Church Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Have you ever told a white lie?  Then you are going to love this --especially if you bake for church events.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice was to bake a cake for the church ladies' group bake sale, but she forgot to do it until the last minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She quickly baked an angel food cake, but when she took it from the oven, the center had dropped flat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said, "Oh dear, there's no time to bake another cake."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice found it in the bathroom -- a roll of toilet paper!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She plunked it in and covered it with icing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The finished product looked beautiful, so she rushed it to the church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before she left the house, Alice had given her daughter some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the minute it opened, and to be sure to buy that cake and bring it home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the daughter arrived at the sale, she found that the attractive cake had already been sold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice was beside herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Alice was invited to a friend's home where a fancy lunch was served and to top it off, the CAKE in question was presented for dessert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Alice saw the cake, she started to get out of her chair to rush into the kitchen to tell her hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, one of the other ladies said, "What a beautiful cake!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess (who was a prominent church member) say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you.  I baked it myself."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6127114176987164255?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6127114176987164255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6127114176987164255' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6127114176987164255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6127114176987164255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/white-lie-church-cake.html' title='White Lie Church Cake'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-4231995551594402701</id><published>2008-07-24T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.704-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Misdiagnosis</title><content type='html'>Two medical students were walking along the street when they saw an old man walking with his legs spread apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the students said to his friend: "I'm sure he has Petry Syndrome. Those people walk just like that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other student says: "No, I don't think so. The old man surely has Zovitzki Syndrome. He walks just as we learned in class."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since they couldn't agree, they decided to ask the old man. They approached the old man and one of the students said to him:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We're medical students and couldn't help but notice the way you walk, but we couldn't agree on the syndrome you might have. Could you tell us what it is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man said: "I'll tell you, but first you have to tell me what you think."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the students said:  "I think it's Petry Syndrome."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man said:  "You thought.......... but you're wrong."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the other student said:  "I think you have Zovitzki Syndrome."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man said:  "You thought......... but you're wrong."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So they asked him:  "Well, what do you have?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the old man said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I thought it was gas........... but I was wrong."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-4231995551594402701?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/4231995551594402701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=4231995551594402701' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4231995551594402701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4231995551594402701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/misdiagnosis.html' title='Misdiagnosis'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6566557098740192302</id><published>2008-07-23T00:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.704-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Only in Mississippi</title><content type='html'>A gas station in Mississippi was trying to increase its sales, so the owner put up a sign saying, "Free Sex with Fill-Up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon Billy Ray  pulled in, filled his tank, and then asked for his free sex. The owner told him to pick a number from 1 to 10. If he guessed correctly, he would get his free sex. Billy Ray then guessed 8, and the proprietor said,  "You were close. The number was 7. Sorry, no sex this time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week later, Billy Ray, along with a buddy, Bubba, pulled in for a fill-up.  Again he asked for his free sex. The proprietor again gave him the same story, and asked him to guess the correct number. He guessed 2 this time. Again the proprietor said, "Sorry, it was 3. You were close, but no free sex this time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they were driving away, the guy said to his buddy, "I think that game is rigged and he doesn't really give away free sex."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bubba replied, "No it ain't, Billy Ray. It ain't rigged a'tall -----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my wife won twice last week!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6566557098740192302?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6566557098740192302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6566557098740192302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6566557098740192302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6566557098740192302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/only-in-mississippi.html' title='Only in Mississippi'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1194576106552000860</id><published>2008-07-22T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.705-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Salesman</title><content type='html'>A young guy from Missouri moves to Florida and goes to a big "everything-under-one-roof department store" looking for a job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The manager says "Do you have any sales experience?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid says "Yeah, I was a salesman back home in Missouri."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, the boss liked the kid so he gave him the job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You start tomorrow, I'll come down after we close and see how you did."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His first day on the job was rough but he got through it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the store was locked up, the boss came down, "How many sales did you make today?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid says "one."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boss says, "Just one?!! Our sales people average 20 to 30 sales a day!  How much was the sale for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid says " $101,237.64"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boss says, "$101,237.64?  WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SELL?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kid says, " First I sold him a small fish hook, then I sold him a medium fish hook, then I sold him a larger fish hook, then I sold him a new fishing rod, then I asked him where he was going fishing and he said down at the coast, so I told him he was gonna need a boat, so we went down to the boat department and I sold him that twin engine Chris Craft.  Then he said he didn't think his Honda Civic would pull it, so I took him down to the automotive department and sold him that Ford&lt;br /&gt;4x4 Expedition."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boss said, "A guy came in here to buy a fish hook, and you sold him A BOAT AND A TRUCK?!?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kid says, " No, he came in here to buy a box of tampons for his wife and I said, 'Well, your weekend's shot, you might as well go fishing.....'!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1194576106552000860?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1194576106552000860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1194576106552000860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1194576106552000860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1194576106552000860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/new-salesman.html' title='The New Salesman'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7252190594034019743</id><published>2008-07-21T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.636-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Three Friends</title><content type='html'>Three friends -- two straight guys and a gay guy -- and their significant others were on a cruise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A tidal wave came up and swamped the ship; they all drowned, and next thing you know, they're standing before St. Peter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First came one of the straight guys and his wife. St. Peter shook his head sadly. "I can't let you in. You loved money too much. You loved it so much, you even married a woman named Penny."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then came the second straight guy. "Sorry, can't let you in, either. You loved food too much. You loved to eat so much, you even married a woman named Candy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gay guy turned to his boyfriend and whispered nervously, "It doesn't look good, Dick."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7252190594034019743?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7252190594034019743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7252190594034019743' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7252190594034019743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7252190594034019743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/three-friends.html' title='The Three Friends'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8234235699367162351</id><published>2008-07-20T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.706-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A MAN'S RETIREMENT CRYING TOWEL</title><content type='html'>My Nookie Days Are Over,&lt;br /&gt;My Pilot Light Is Out,&lt;br /&gt;What Used To Be My Sex Appeal&lt;br /&gt;Is Now My Water Spout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time Was When Of It's Own Accord,&lt;br /&gt;From My Trousers It Would Spring.&lt;br /&gt;But Now I Have A Full Time Job,&lt;br /&gt;To Find The Blasted Thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It Used To Be Embarrassing,&lt;br /&gt;The Way It Would Behave,&lt;br /&gt;For Every Single Morning,&lt;br /&gt;It Would Stand And Watch Me Shave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Old Age Approaches,&lt;br /&gt;It Sure Gives Me The Blues,&lt;br /&gt;To See It Hang Its Withered Head&lt;br /&gt;And Watch Me Tie My Shoes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8234235699367162351?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8234235699367162351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8234235699367162351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8234235699367162351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8234235699367162351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/mans-retirement-crying-towel.html' title='A MAN&apos;S RETIREMENT CRYING TOWEL'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3358786637372823029</id><published>2008-07-19T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.707-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Old Man</title><content type='html'>An 80-year-old man went to his doctor for his annual check-up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor asks him how he's feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 80-year-old says, "I've never felt better.  I now have a 20 year-old bride who is pregnant with my child.  What do you think about that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor considers his question for a minute and then begins to speak. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replied, "I have an older friend, much like you, who is an avid trophy hunter and never misses a season.  One day, when he was going out hunting, he was in a bit of a hurry and accidentally picked up his walking cane instead of his gun.  When he got to the creek, he saw a prime beaver sitting beside the stream of water. He raised his cane and went 'bang, bang.'   Suddenly, two shots rang out and the beaver fell over dead. What do you think of that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 80-year-old said, "I'd say somebody else pumped a couple of rounds into that beaver."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor replied, "My point exactly."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3358786637372823029?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3358786637372823029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3358786637372823029' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3358786637372823029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3358786637372823029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/old-man.html' title='The Old Man'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2353758707254693053</id><published>2008-07-18T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.707-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A.A.A.D.D.</title><content type='html'>Recently, I was diagnosed with A. A. A. D. D. (Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how it manifests:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decide to water my garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide my car needs washing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I start toward the garage, I notice that there is mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mail box earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lay my car keys down on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I take my check book off the table, and see that there is only one check left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke that I had been drinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize the Coke is getting warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need to be watered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I set the Coke down on the counter, and I discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly I spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I will be looking for the remote, but I won't remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I set the remote back down on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of the day:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the driveway is flooded, the car isn't washed, the bills aren't paid, there is a warm can of Coke sitting on the counter, there is still only one check in my check book, I can't find the remote, I can't find my glasses, and I don't remember what I did with the car keys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when I try to figure out why nothing got done today, I'm really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I'm really tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize this is a serious problem, and I'll try to get some help for it, but first I'll check my e-mail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do me a favor, will you? Forward this message to everyone you know, because I don't remember to whom it has been sent.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2353758707254693053?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2353758707254693053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2353758707254693053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2353758707254693053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2353758707254693053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/aaadd.html' title='A.A.A.D.D.'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-2598256743990233299</id><published>2008-07-17T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-17T00:00:02.362-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Try Doing Any Of This in Mexico (or any other country!)</title><content type='html'>&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Enter Mexico illegally.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Ignore immigration quotas, visas, international law, and all that nonsense.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Once there, demand that the local government provide free medical care for you and your entire family.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand that the federal government provide retirement benefits for your elderly parents.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Procreate abundantly.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand that the Mexican school system provide schooling for all your children.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Speak only English at home and in public and insist that your children do the same.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand classes on American culture in the Mexican school system.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand bilingual nurses and doctors.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand free bilingual local government forms, bulletins, etc.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Deflect any criticism of this irresponsible behavior with, "It is a cultural United States thing. You would not understand."&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Keep your American identity strong. Fly Old Glory from your rooftop; proudly display it in your front window and on your car bumper.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand a local Mexican driver's license.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use your Mexican driver's license to apply for other legal rights and to legitimize your illegal presence in Mexico.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Demand that the Mexican driver's license be acceptable documentation for voter's registration.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Insist that local Mexican law enforcement teach English to all its officers.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Insist that you should not have to pay taxes, because you are not a Mexican citizen and are only there "temporarily."&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck! You'll be demanding 'til the end of time or soon be dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It will never happen. It will not happen in Mexico or any other country in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only place such things happen is right here in the USA.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SCARY, ISN'T IT?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-2598256743990233299?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/2598256743990233299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=2598256743990233299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2598256743990233299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/2598256743990233299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/try-doing-any-of-this-in-mexico-or-any.html' title='Try Doing Any Of This in Mexico (or any other country!)'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3214436450821847213</id><published>2008-07-16T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.708-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Exercises for Seniors</title><content type='html'>I just came across this exercise suggested for seniors, to build muscle strength in the arms and shoulders. It seems so easy, so I thought I'd pass it on to some of my friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The article suggested doing it three days a week. Just don't overdo it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;With a 5-LB. potato sack in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides, and hold them there as long as you can.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Try to reach a full minute, then relax.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Each day, you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-LB. potato sacks.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Then 50-LB. potato  sacks.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-LB. potato sack in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;After you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each of the sacks and start all over again..&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3214436450821847213?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3214436450821847213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3214436450821847213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3214436450821847213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3214436450821847213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/exercises-for-seniors.html' title='Exercises for Seniors'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-4990348605906897330</id><published>2008-07-15T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T00:00:00.509-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Recognizing a Stroke (This could save someone years of sufferring)</title><content type='html'>A true story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Susie is recouperating at an incredible pace for someone with a massive stroke all because Sherry saw Susie stumble - -that is the key that isn't mentioned below - and then she asked Susie the 3 questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So simple - - this literally saved Susie's life - -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some angel sent it to Suzie's friend and they did just what it said to do.  Suzie failed all three, so 911 was called.  Even though she had normal blood pressure readings and did not appear have had a stroke, as she could converse to some extent with the paramedics, they took her to the hospital right away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read and Learn!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stroke victim may suffer brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Ask the individual to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SMILE&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Ask him or her to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;RAISE BOTH ARMS&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Ask the person to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If he or she has trouble with any of these tasks, call 9-1-1 &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;immediately&lt;/span&gt; and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After discovering that a group of nonmedical volunteers could identify facial weakness, arm weakness and speech problems, researchers urged the general public to learn the three questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They presented their conclusions at the American Stroke Association's annual meeting last February.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Widespread use of this test could result in prompt diagnosis and treatment of the stroke and prevent brain damage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-4990348605906897330?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/4990348605906897330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=4990348605906897330' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4990348605906897330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4990348605906897330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/recognizing-stroke-this-could-save.html' title='Recognizing a Stroke (This could save someone years of sufferring)'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7549669954251995997</id><published>2008-07-14T06:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.708-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Headlines from the year 2029</title><content type='html'>Ozone created by electric cars now killing millions in the seventh largest country in the world, Mexifornia, formerly known as California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;White minorities still trying to have English recognized as Mexifornia's third language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby conceived naturally - - scientists stumped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Couple petitions court to reinstate heterosexual marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iraq still closed off; physicists estimate it will take at least 10 more years before radioactivity decreases to safe levels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;France pleads for global help after being taken over by Jamaica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Castro dies at age 112; Cuban cigars can now be imported legally, but President Chelsea Clinton has banned all smoking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George Z. Bush says he will run for President in 2036.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Postal Service raises price of first class stamp to $17.89 and reduces mail delivery to Wednesdays only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;85-year, $75.8 billion study: Diet and Exercise is the key to weight loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Average weight of Americans drops to 250 lbs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Japanese create a camera with shutter speed so fast it can photograph a woman with her mouth shut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Massachusetts executes last remaining conservative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Supreme Court rules punishment of criminals violates their civil rights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Average height of NBA players now nine feet, seven inches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New federal law requires that all nail clippers, screwdrivers, fly swatters and rolled-up newspapers must be registered by January 2036.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Congress authorizes direct deposit of formerly illegal political contributions to campaign accounts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IRS sets lowest tax rate at 75 percent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Florida voters still having trouble with voting machines.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7549669954251995997?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7549669954251995997/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7549669954251995997' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7549669954251995997'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7549669954251995997'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/headlines-from-year-2029.html' title='Headlines from the year 2029'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8270931783038531122</id><published>2008-07-14T06:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T06:56:24.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Taxes</title><content type='html'>Accounts Receivable Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Building Permit Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Capital Gains Tax.....&lt;br /&gt;CDL license Tax....&lt;br /&gt;Cigarette Tax .....&lt;br /&gt;Corporate Income Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Court Fines (indirect taxes) .....&lt;br /&gt;Dog License Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Federal Income Tax .....&lt;br /&gt;Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA) .....&lt;br /&gt;Fishing License Tax .....&lt;br /&gt;Food License Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Fuel permit tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Gasoline Tax (42 cents per gallon) ....&lt;br /&gt;Hunting License Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Inheritance Tax Interest expense (tax on the money) .....&lt;br /&gt;Inventory tax IRS Interest Charges (tax on top of tax) .....&lt;br /&gt;IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax) .....&lt;br /&gt;Liquor Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Local Income Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Luxury Taxes ....&lt;br /&gt;Marriage License Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Medicare Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Property Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Real Estate Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Septic Permit Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Service Charge Taxes ....&lt;br /&gt;Social Security Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Road Usage Taxes (Truckers) ....&lt;br /&gt;Sales Taxes ....&lt;br /&gt;Recreational Vehicle Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Road Toll Booth Taxes ...&lt;br /&gt;School Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;State Income Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;State Unemployment Tax (SUTA) ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone federal excise tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone federal universal service fee tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone federal, state and local surcharge taxes ....&lt;br /&gt;Telephone minimum usage surcharge tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone recurring and non-recurring charges tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone state and local tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Telephone usage charge tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Toll Bridge Taxes ...&lt;br /&gt;Toll Tunnel Taxes ...&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Fines (indirect taxation) ...&lt;br /&gt;Trailer registration tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Utility Taxes ....&lt;br /&gt;Vehicle License Registration Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Vehicle Sales Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Watercraft registration Tax ....&lt;br /&gt;Well Permit Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;Workers Compensation Tax ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;COMMENTS:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago and our&lt;br /&gt;nation was the most prosperous in the world, had absolutely no&lt;br /&gt;national debt, had the largest middle class in the world and Mom&lt;br /&gt;stayed home to raise the kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell happened?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8270931783038531122?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8270931783038531122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8270931783038531122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8270931783038531122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8270931783038531122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/07/taxes.html' title='Taxes'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3046187880464902365</id><published>2008-06-10T02:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T02:41:51.628-04:00</updated><title type='text'>ARE YOU A BITCH?</title><content type='html'>Some friends were sitting at the bar talking about their professions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The first guy says "I'm a Y.U.P.P.I.E., you know...&lt;br /&gt;Young,Urban,Professional,Peaceful,Intelligent,Ecologist."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second guy says "I'm a D.I.N.K., you know... Double Income, No Kids."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third guy says, "I'm a R.U.B.,you know...Rich, Urban, Biker."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They turn to the woman and ask her, "What are you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She replies: "I'm a W.I.F.E., you know... Wash, Iron, Fetch, Etc."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A second gal answers their question before they even ask it, "B.I.T.C.H."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What exactly is a BITCH?" they ask in unison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Babe In Total Control of Herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So ladies, if somebody calls you a "Bitch".....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SMILE and say "THANK YOU!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3046187880464902365?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3046187880464902365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3046187880464902365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3046187880464902365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3046187880464902365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/are-you-bitch.html' title='ARE YOU A BITCH?'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5558797518854297002</id><published>2008-06-09T02:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.709-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Evaporated Milk</title><content type='html'>When opening a can of Carnation evaporated milk for your recipes just smile and think of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little old lady from North Carolina had worked in and around her family's dairy farm since she was old enough to walk... with hours of hard work and little compensation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When canned Carnation Milk became available in grocery stores, she read an advertisement offering $5,000 for the best slogan/rhyme beginning with "Carnation Milk is best of all...." and she said, I know all about milk and dairy farms...I can do this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sent in her entry, and about a week later, a black limo drove up in front of her house... a man got out and said, "Carnation LOVED your entry so much, we are here to award you $1000, even though we will not be able to use it...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is her entry:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Carnation milk is best of all,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No tits to pull, no hay to haul,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No buckets to wash, no shit to pitch,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just poke a hole in the son-of-a-bitch!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5558797518854297002?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5558797518854297002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5558797518854297002' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5558797518854297002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5558797518854297002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/evaporated-milk.html' title='Evaporated Milk'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1388237298356123055</id><published>2008-06-08T02:18:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.709-05:00</updated><title type='text'>BAD FOOD</title><content type='html'>A doctor was addressing a large audience in Tampa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The material we put into our stomachs is enough to have killed most of us sitting here, years ago," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Red meat is awful. Soft drinks corrode your stomach lining. Chinese food is loaded with MSG. High fat diets can be disastrous, and none of us realizes the long-term,harm caused by the germs in our drinking water. But there is one thing that is the most dangerous of all and we all have, or will, eat it," he added.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then went on to ask, "Can anyone here tell me what food it is that causes the most grief and suffering for years after eating it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several seconds of quiet, a 75-year-old man sitting in the front row raised his hand and softly said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wedding Cake."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1388237298356123055?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1388237298356123055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1388237298356123055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1388237298356123055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1388237298356123055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/bad-food.html' title='BAD FOOD'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-971750614331187872</id><published>2008-06-07T02:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.710-05:00</updated><title type='text'>KILLING FLIES</title><content type='html'>A woman walked into the kitchen to find her husband stalking around with a fly swatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are you doing?" She asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hunting Flies" He responded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh. Killing any?" She asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yep, 3 males, 2 Females," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intrigued, she asked. "How can you tell them apart?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He responded, "3 were on a beer can, 2 were on the phone."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-971750614331187872?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/971750614331187872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=971750614331187872' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/971750614331187872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/971750614331187872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/killing-flies.html' title='KILLING FLIES'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-967520723857922689</id><published>2008-06-06T02:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.710-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Golf Stories</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;GOLF STORY # 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fred got home from his Sunday round of golf later than normal and very tired. "Bad day at the course?" his wife asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Everything was going fine," he said. "Then Harry had a heart attack and died on the 10th tee."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, that's awful!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're not kidding.  For the whole back nine it was hit the ball, drag Harry,  hit the ball,  drag Harry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;GOLF STORY # 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young man who was also an avid golfer found himself with a few hours to spare one afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He figured if he hurried and played very fast, he could get in nine holes before he had to head home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as he was about to tee off an old gentleman shuffled onto the tee and asked if he could accompany the young man as he was golfing alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not being able to say no, he allowed the old gent to join him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To his surprise the old man played fairly quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't hit the ball far, but plodded along consistently and didn't waste much time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, they reached the 9th fairway and the young man found himself with a tough shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a large pine tree right in front of his ball - and directly between his ball and the green.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After several minutes of debating how to hit the shot the old man finally said, "You know, when I was your age I'd hit the ball right over that tree."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that challenge placed before him, the youngster swung hard, hit the ball up, right smack into the top of the tree trunk and it thudded back on the ground, not a foot from where it had originally lay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man offered one more comment, "Of course, when I was your age that pine tree was only three feet tall."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-967520723857922689?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/967520723857922689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=967520723857922689' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/967520723857922689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/967520723857922689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/two-golf-stories.html' title='Two Golf Stories'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-5113255945300789870</id><published>2008-06-05T01:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.711-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Men Are Just Happier People</title><content type='html'>What do you expect from such simple creatures?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your last name stays put.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The garage is all yours.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wedding plans take care of themselves.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Chocolate is just another snack.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can be President.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can never be pregnant.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can wear NO shirt to a water park.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Car mechanics tell you the truth.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The world is your urinal.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Same work, more pay.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wrinkles add character.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental $100.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can open all your own jars.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You almost never have strap problems in public.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You only have to shave your face and neck.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can play with toys all your life.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your belly usually hides your big hips.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;One wallet and one pair of shoes in one color for all seasons.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No wonder men are happier!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-5113255945300789870?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/5113255945300789870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=5113255945300789870' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5113255945300789870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/5113255945300789870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/men-are-just-happier-people.html' title='Men Are Just Happier People'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-6664233221444000446</id><published>2008-06-04T01:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T01:49:00.649-04:00</updated><title type='text'>An English Lesson</title><content type='html'>Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) The bandage was wound around the wound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) The farm was used to produce produce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) We must polish the Polish furniture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it&lt;br /&gt;was time to present the present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) I did not object to the object.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13) They were too close to the door to close it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg&lt;br /&gt;in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in&lt;br /&gt;pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or&lt;br /&gt;French fries in France.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't&lt;br /&gt;sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we&lt;br /&gt;explore its paradoxes, we find that  quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,&lt;br /&gt;grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of&lt;br /&gt;tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one&lt;br /&gt;amend.  If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of&lt;br /&gt;all but one of them, what do you call it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?  If a&lt;br /&gt;vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be&lt;br /&gt;committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what&lt;br /&gt;language do people:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recite at a play and play at a recital?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have noses that run and feet that smell?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a&lt;br /&gt;wise man and a wise guy are opposites?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in&lt;br /&gt;which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you&lt;br /&gt;fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes&lt;br /&gt;off by going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;English was invented by people, not computers, and it&lt;br /&gt;reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course,&lt;br /&gt;is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out,&lt;br /&gt;they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are&lt;br /&gt;invisible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: Why doesn't "buick" rhyme with "quick"?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-6664233221444000446?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/6664233221444000446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=6664233221444000446' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6664233221444000446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/6664233221444000446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/english-lesson.html' title='An English Lesson'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8033190755500047112</id><published>2008-06-03T01:46:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.711-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Few ways to maintain a healthy level of insanity</title><content type='html'>1.  At   Lunch Time, Sit In Your Parked Car With Sunglasses on and Point A Hair Dryer At Passing Cars.  See If They Slow Down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Page Yourself Over The Intercom.  Don't Disguise Your Voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Every Time Someone Asks You To Do Something, Ask If They Want Fries With That.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  Put Your Garbage Can On Your Desk And Label It  "In".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  Put Decaf In The Coffee Maker For 3 Weeks.  Once Everyone Has Gotten Over Their Caffeine Addictions, Switch To Espresso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  In The Memo Field Of All Your Checks, Write "For Sexual Favors"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Finish all Your Sentences With "In Accordance With The&lt;br /&gt;Prophecy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  dont use any punctuation or capital letters&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  As Often As Possible, Skip Rather Than Walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  Specify That Your Drive-through Order Is  "To Go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.  Sing Along At The Opera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  Go To A Poetry Recital And Ask Why The Poems Don't Rhyme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.  Put Mosquito Netting Around Your Work Area And Play Tropical Sounds All Day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.  When the money comes out of the ATM scream,  "I Won!, I Won!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.  When Leaving The Zoo, Start Running Towards The Parking Lot Yelling,  "Run For Your Lives, They're Loose!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Tell Your Children Over Dinner,  "Due To The Economy, We Are Going To Have To Let One Of You Go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And The Final Way To Keep A Healthy Level Of Insanity.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.  Send This E-mail To Someone To Make Them Smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's Called Therapy.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8033190755500047112?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8033190755500047112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8033190755500047112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8033190755500047112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8033190755500047112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2008/06/few-ways-to-maintain-healthy-level-of.html' title='A Few ways to maintain a healthy level of insanity'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8687914790780080915</id><published>2007-07-06T03:02:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.712-05:00</updated><title type='text'>DOS</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"DOS" stands for "Dummies over spending" and only does the "WANNABE GEEK TRIBE" still speak the language. The Wannabe Geeks lived in the Bus Region of Central Processing from the early 1900s. They are distinguished by a clicking sound made while communicating. Their diet consists mostly of mouse, for which webs are used to expedite capture. They can be found staring at a square object called a "Monitor" which projects images of fantasy into their brains. The "Monitor as we all know, defeated the "Merrimac" in what was to become the first of the submarine wars (but that's another story)...... (("Blimpie's won))....... &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The ancient language of the DOS people is still in use today. In fact, the fact the modern language spoken by almost everyone "WINDOWS" is nothing more than a clever translator of this ancient DOS. Sorta like Italian is to Latin. While masses are no longer spoken in DOS, the obsessively faithful still can be seen to huddle over an alter known as the "keyboard" uttering the ancient chants to this very day. Words like "Format", "Edlin", and commands like "CD", "FDISK" and "DeBug" are extremely powerful juju believe me. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Books written about DOS are mostly the "works" of the prophet Gates. Although in English, these are indecipherable in their current format. One must take into account that the mind "snaps into psychosis when going from genius to multi-gazillionaire. For only through the eyes of a madman can one comprehend the "Command.Com- (ments)" of "Moses Gates"(as in "The Gates of Hell") which one must pass through in order to speak flatulent DOS. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The original copies of "THE BOOK OF DOS" may be found at Microsoft inc. otherwise known as the "TOWER of BABBLE".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8687914790780080915?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8687914790780080915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8687914790780080915' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8687914790780080915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8687914790780080915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/07/dos.html' title='DOS'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-1977385205627366600</id><published>2007-06-20T02:46:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.712-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Female Mind</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;For example: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with duct tape over his mouth and a spear lodged in his forehead while he is on fire.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;No further studies are expected.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-1977385205627366600?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/1977385205627366600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=1977385205627366600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1977385205627366600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/1977385205627366600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/06/female-mind.html' title='The Female Mind'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3824015830523883937</id><published>2007-02-17T11:34:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.713-05:00</updated><title type='text'>46 RULES THAT GUYS WISH GIRLS KNEW.....</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;b&gt;1. If you think you are fat, you probably are. Do not ask us. We refuse to answer. &lt;br&gt;2. Learn to work the toilet seat. If it's up, Put it down. &lt;br&gt;3. Do not cut your hair. Ever. Long hair is always more attractive than short hair. One of the big reasons guys fear getting married is that married women always cut their hair, and by then, you are stuck with her. &lt;br&gt;4. Birthdays, Valentines, and Anniversaries are not quests to see if we can find the perfect present yet again! &lt;br&gt;5. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to;expect an answer you do not want to hear. &lt;br&gt;6. Sometimes, we are not thinking about you. Live with it. &lt;br&gt;7. Do not ask us what we are thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as navel lint, the shotgun formation and monster trucks. &lt;br&gt;8. Sunday = sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be. &lt;br&gt;9. Shopping is not a sport, and no, we are never going to think of it that way. &lt;br&gt;10. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine. Really. &lt;br&gt;11. You have enough clothes. &lt;br&gt;12. You have too many shoes. &lt;br&gt;13. Crying is blackmail. &lt;br&gt;14. Your ex-boyfriend is an idiot. &lt;br&gt;15. 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! &lt;br&gt;16. No, we do not know what day it is. We never will. Mark anniversaries on a calendar. &lt;br&gt;17. Yes, peeing standing up is more difficult. We are bound to miss sometimes. &lt;br&gt;18. Most guys own three pairs of shoes. What makes you think we'd be any good at choosing which pair, out of thirty, would look good with your dress? &lt;br&gt;19. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question. &lt;br&gt;20. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That is what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for. &lt;br&gt;21. A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor. &lt;br&gt;22. Foreign films are best left to foreigners. &lt;br&gt;23. Check your oil. &lt;br&gt;24. Do not fake it. We would rather be ineffective than deceived. &lt;br&gt;25. It is neither in your best interest or ours to take the quiz together. &lt;br&gt;26. No, it does not matter which quiz. &lt;br&gt;27. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. All comments become null and void after 7 days. &lt;br&gt;28. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys. &lt;br&gt;29. If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one. &lt;br&gt;30. Let us ogle. We are going to look anyway; it is genetic. &lt;br&gt;31. Don't rub the lamp if you don't want the genie to come out. &lt;br&gt;32. You can either ask us to do something OR tell us how you want it done; not both. &lt;br&gt;33. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials. &lt;br&gt;34. Christopher Columbus did not need directions, and either do we. &lt;br&gt;35. Women wearing Wonderbras and low-cut blouses lose their right to complain about having their boobs stared at. &lt;br&gt;36. More women should wear Wonderbras and low-cut blouses. We like staring at boobs. &lt;br&gt;37. The relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out. &lt;br&gt;38. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like windows default settings. Peach is a fruit, not a color. &lt;br&gt;39. Pumpkin is also a fruit. &lt;br&gt;40. If it itches, it will be scratched. &lt;br&gt;41. Beer is as exciting for us as handbags are for you. &lt;br&gt;42. If it is OUR house, I do not understand why MY stuff gets thrown in the closet/attic/basement. &lt;br&gt;43. We are not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you. &lt;br&gt;44. 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. &lt;br&gt;45. If we hear from an old girlfriend, we will briefly fantasize about having sex with her. But do not worry; the fantasy includes you AND her together. &lt;br&gt;46. What the hell is a doily? &lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3824015830523883937?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3824015830523883937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3824015830523883937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3824015830523883937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3824015830523883937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/02/46-rules-that-guys-wish-girls-knew.html' title='46 RULES THAT GUYS WISH GIRLS KNEW.....'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-7225589449016831990</id><published>2007-01-08T20:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.713-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Clean Underwear</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Listen up!&amp;nbsp; If you don't laugh out loud at this one, call the morgue&amp;nbsp; and&lt;br&gt;reserve a tray, because you are dead. &lt;p&gt;Always wear clean underwear in public, especially when working under&amp;nbsp; your vehicle.  &lt;p&gt;From the Northwest Florida Daily News comes this story&amp;nbsp; of a Crestview couple who drove their car to Wal-Mart only to have their&amp;nbsp; car break down in the parking lot. The man told his wife to carry on with the shopping while he fixed the car in the lot.  &lt;p&gt;The wife returned later to see a small group of people&amp;nbsp;near the car.  &lt;p&gt;On closer inspection, she saw pair a of male legs protruding from under the chassis.  &lt;p&gt;Although the man was in shorts, his lack of&amp;nbsp; underpants turned private parts into glaringly public ones.  &lt;p&gt;Unable to stand the embarrassment, she dutifully stepped forward, quickly put her hand UP&amp;nbsp; his shorts, and tucked everything back into place. &lt;p&gt;On regaining her feet, she looked across the hood and found herself staring at her husband who was standing idly by.  &lt;p&gt;The mechanic, however, had to have three stitches in his forehead.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-7225589449016831990?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/7225589449016831990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=7225589449016831990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7225589449016831990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/7225589449016831990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/clean-underwear.html' title='Clean Underwear'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3073355184705107606</id><published>2007-01-08T20:04:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.714-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smile Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;At 85 years of age, Morris married Lou Anne, a lovely 25 year old. Since her new husband is so old, Lou Anne decides that after their wedding she and&lt;br&gt;Morris should have separate bedrooms, because she is concerned that her new but aged husband may overexert himself if they spend the entire night&lt;br&gt;together. &lt;p&gt;After the wedding festivities Lou Anne prepares herself for bed and the expected "knock" on the door. Sure enough the knock comes, the door opens and there is Morris, her 85 year old groom ready for action. They unite as one. All goes well, Morris takes leave of his bride, and she prepares to go to sleep.&lt;br&gt;After a few minutes, Lou Anne hears another knock on her bedroom door, and it's Morris. Again he is ready for more "action". Somewhat surprised, Lou&lt;br&gt;Anne consents for more coupling. When the newlyweds are done, Morris kisses his bride, bids her a fond goodnight and leaves.&lt;br&gt;She is set to go to sleep again, but, aha, you guessed it - Morris is back again, rapping on the door, and is as fresh as a 25-year-old, ready for more "action". And, once again they enjoy each other.&lt;br&gt;But as Morris gets set to leave again, his young bride says to him, "I am thoroughly impressed that at your age you can perform so well and so often. &amp;nbsp;I have been with guys less than a third of your age who were only good once. You are truly a great lover, Morris."&lt;br&gt;Morris, somewhat embarrassed, turns to Lou Anne and says: "You mean I was here already?" &lt;p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The moral of the story:  &lt;p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Don't be afraid of getting old,  &lt;p&gt;Alzheimer's has it's advantages!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3073355184705107606?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3073355184705107606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3073355184705107606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3073355184705107606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3073355184705107606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/smile-time.html' title='Smile Time'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-3445944994625125205</id><published>2007-01-08T20:01:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.714-05:00</updated><title type='text'>HUMOR IN THE FACE OF DEFEAT</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A Marine was deployed to Afghanistan.&amp;nbsp;  &lt;p&gt;While he was there he received a letter from his girlfriend.&amp;nbsp; In the letter she explained that she had slept with two guys while he had been gone and she wanted to break up with him, AND she wanted pictures of herself back.&lt;br&gt;So the Marine did what any squared-away Marine would do.  &lt;p&gt;He went around to his buddies and collected all the unwanted  &lt;p&gt;photos of women he could find.&lt;br&gt;He then mailed about 25 pictures of women (with clothes and without) to his girlfriend with the following note:&lt;br&gt;"I don't remember which one you are.&amp;nbsp;  &lt;p&gt;Please remove your picture and send the rest back."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-3445944994625125205?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/3445944994625125205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=3445944994625125205' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3445944994625125205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/3445944994625125205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/humor-in-face-of-defeat.html' title='HUMOR IN THE FACE OF DEFEAT'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8176536493406336855</id><published>2007-01-08T19:58:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.715-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The IRS Genie</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A modern day cowboy has spent many days crossing the &lt;br&gt;desert without water.&lt;br&gt;His horse has already died of thirst. He's crawling through the sand, certain that he has breathed his last, when all of a sudden, he sees an object sticking out of the sand several yards ahead of him.&lt;br&gt;He crawls to the object, pulls it out of the sand, and discovers what looks to be an old brief case. He opens it and out pops a genie. But this is no ordinary genie.&lt;br&gt;She is wearing an Internal Revenue Service ID badge and a dull gray dress. There's a calculator in her pocketbook.&amp;nbsp;She&amp;nbsp; has a pencil tucked behind one ear. &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"Well, cowboy," says the genie... "You know how I work. You have three wishes."&amp;nbsp; &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"I'm not falling for this." Says the man. "I'm not going to trust an IRS auditor genie."&amp;nbsp; &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"What do you have to lose?&amp;nbsp; You've got no transportation, &lt;br&gt;and it looks like you're a goner anyway!"&lt;br&gt;The man thinks about this for a minute, and decides that the genie is right. &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"OK, I wish I were in a lush oasis with plenty of food and drink."&lt;br&gt;***POOF***&amp;nbsp;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The cowboy finds himself in the most beautiful oasis he has ever seen. And he is surrounded with jugs of wine and platters of delicacies.&lt;br&gt;"OK, cowpoke, what's your second wish."&lt;br&gt;"My second wish is that I were rich beyond my wildest &lt;br&gt;dreams."&lt;br&gt;***POOF***&amp;nbsp; &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The man finds himself surrounded by treasure chests filled with rare gold coins and precious gems.&lt;br&gt;"OK, cowpuncher, you have just one more wish.&amp;nbsp; Better make it a good one!" &lt;br&gt;After thinking for a few minutes, the man says, "I wish that no matter where I go, beautiful women will want and need me."&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;***POOF***&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He is turned into a tampon.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br&gt;The moral of the story:&amp;nbsp; If the government offers you &lt;br&gt;anything, there's going to be a string attached.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8176536493406336855?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8176536493406336855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8176536493406336855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8176536493406336855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8176536493406336855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/irs-genie.html' title='The IRS Genie'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115717284963211729</id><published>2007-01-08T19:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.637-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Church Gossip</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The church gossip and self-appointed arbiter of the church's morals kept sticking her nose into other people's business.  &lt;p&gt;Several church members were unappreciative of her activities, but feared her enough to maintain their silence.&lt;br&gt;She made a mistake, however, when she accused George, a new member, of being a drunk after she saw his pickup truck parked in front of the town's only bar one afternoon.  &lt;p&gt;She commented to George and others that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.&lt;br&gt;George, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just walked away.  &lt;p&gt;He didn't explain, defend, or deny; he said nothing.  &lt;p&gt;Later that evening, George quietly parked his pickup in front of her house . . . . .  &lt;p&gt;and left it there all night. . . . .&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115717284963211729?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115717284963211729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115717284963211729' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115717284963211729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115717284963211729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/church-gossip.html' title='The Church Gossip'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-8301254318347540600</id><published>2007-01-08T19:53:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>AT THE FOOTBALL GAME</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SITTING BEHIND A COUPLE OF NUNS AT A FOOTBALL GAME (WHOSE HABITS PARTIALLY BLOCKED THE VIEW), THREE MEN DECIDED TO BADGER THE NUNS IN AN EFFORT TO GET THEM TO MOVE. &lt;br&gt;IN A VERY LOUD VOICE, THE FIRST GUY SAID, "I THINK I'M GOING TO MOVE TO UTAH, I HEARD THERE ARE ONLY 100 NUNS LIVING THERE." &lt;br&gt;THE SECOND GUY SPOKE UP AND SAID, "I WANT TO GO TO MONTANA. THERE ARE ONLY 5O NUNS LIVING THERE." &lt;br&gt;THE THIRD GUY SAID, "WELL I WANT TO GO TO IDAHO. THEY SAY THERE ARE ONLY 25 NUNS LIVING THERE." &lt;br&gt;ONE OF THE NUNS TURNED AROUND, LOOKED AT THE MEN, AND IN A VERY SWEET, CALM,VOICE SAID ... &lt;br&gt;"WHY DON'T YOU GO TO HELL. . . . . &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THERE AREN'T ANY NUNS THERE."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-8301254318347540600?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/8301254318347540600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=8301254318347540600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8301254318347540600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/8301254318347540600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/at-football-game.html' title='AT THE FOOTBALL GAME'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-4723502948569950939</id><published>2007-01-08T19:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.716-05:00</updated><title type='text'>THE CONFEDERACY LIVES ON</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A very genteel Southern lady was driving across the Savannah River&amp;nbsp;Bridge in Georgia one day.&amp;nbsp; As she neared the top of the bridge, she&amp;nbsp; noticed a young man fixing (ready) to jump.&lt;br&gt;She stopped her car, rolled down the window and said, "Please don't jump, think of your dear mother and father."&amp;nbsp;  &lt;p&gt;He replied, "Mom and Dad are both dead;&amp;nbsp; I'm going to jump."&lt;br&gt;She said, "Well, think of your wife and children"&amp;nbsp;  &lt;p&gt;He replied, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids."&lt;br&gt;She said, "Well, think of Robert E. Lee."&amp;nbsp;  &lt;p&gt;He replied, ''Who's Robert E. Lee?''&lt;br&gt;She replied, ''Well bless your little heart,  &lt;p&gt;just go ahead and jump,  &lt;p&gt;you dumb ass Yankee!"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-4723502948569950939?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/4723502948569950939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=4723502948569950939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4723502948569950939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4723502948569950939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/confederacy-lives-on.html' title='THE CONFEDERACY LIVES ON'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-11299381445171170</id><published>2007-01-08T19:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.717-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WALKING THE DOG</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;A little girl asked her mom, "Mom, may I take the dog for a walk around&amp;nbsp;the block?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;Mom replies, "No, because she is in heat."&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;"What's that mean?" asked the child.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;"Go ask your father.&amp;nbsp; I think he's in the garage."&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;The little girl goes to the garage and says, "Dad, may I take Belle for a&amp;nbsp;walk around the&amp;nbsp;block?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I asked Mom, but she said the dog&amp;nbsp;was in heat and to come to you."&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;Dad said, "Bring Belle over here."  &lt;p&gt;He took a rag, soaked it with&amp;nbsp;gasoline and scrubed&amp;nbsp;the dog's backside with it and said, "OK, you can go now, but keep Belle&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br&gt;on&amp;nbsp;the leash and only go one time around the block."&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;The little girl left, and returned a few minutes later with no dog on the&amp;nbsp;leash.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;Surprised, Dad asked, "Where's Belle?"&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br&gt;The little girl said,  &lt;p&gt;"She ran out of gas about halfway down the block,  &lt;p&gt;so&amp;nbsp;another dog&amp;nbsp;is pushing her home.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-11299381445171170?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/11299381445171170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=11299381445171170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/11299381445171170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/11299381445171170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/walking-dog.html' title='WALKING THE DOG'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-4742051706984953127</id><published>2007-01-08T19:35:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.717-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WHAT IS THE RIGHT ANSWER?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;You are driving down the road in your car on a wild, stormy night, when you pass by a bus stop and you see three people waiting for the bus: &lt;p&gt;1. An old lady who looks as if she is about to die. &lt;p&gt;2. An old friend who once saved your life. &lt;p&gt;3. The perfect partner you have been dreaming about. &lt;p&gt;Which one would you choose to offer a ride to, knowing that there could only be one passenger in your small car? &lt;p&gt;Think before you continue reading. &lt;p&gt;This is a moral/ethical dilemma that was once actually used as part of a job application. &lt;p&gt;You could pick up the old lady, because she is going to die, and thus you should save her first. Or you could take the old friend because he once saved your life and this would be the perfect chance to pay him back.&amp;nbsp; However, you may never be able to find your perfect mate again. &lt;p&gt;The candidate who was hired (out of 200 applicants) had no trouble coming up with his answer. He simply answered, "I would give the car keys to&amp;nbsp;my old friend and let him take the lady to the hospital.&amp;nbsp; I would stay behind and wait for the bus with the partner of my dreams." &lt;p&gt;Sometimes, we gain more if we are able to give up our stubborn thought limitations.&amp;nbsp; Never forget to "Think Outside the Box." &lt;p&gt;HOWEVER ........., the correct answer is to run the old lady over and put her out of her misery, have sex with the perfect partner on the hood of the car, then drive off with the old friend for a few beers!!!! &lt;p&gt;....... Geez, I just love happy endings.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-4742051706984953127?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/4742051706984953127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=4742051706984953127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4742051706984953127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/4742051706984953127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2007/01/what-is-right-answer.html' title='WHAT IS THE RIGHT ANSWER?'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116415258506428662</id><published>2006-11-21T18:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If College Students Wrote the Bible</title><content type='html'>&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Last Supper would have been eaten the next morning - cold. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The Ten Commandments are actually only five, double-spaced, and written in a large font. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;New edition every two years in order to limit reselling. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Forbidden fruit would have been eaten because it wasn't cafeteria food. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Paul's letter to the Romans becomes Paul's e-mail to abuse@romans.gov. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Reason Cain killed Abel: They were roommates. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The place where the end of the world occurs: Finals, not Armageddon. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Out go the mules, in come the mountain bikes. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Reason why Moses and followers walked in desert for 40 years: They didn't want to ask directions and look like freshmen. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Instead of God creating the world in six days and resting on the seventh, He would have put it off until the night before it was due and then pulled an all-nighter. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116415258506428662?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116415258506428662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116415258506428662' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415258506428662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415258506428662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/11/if-college-students-wrote-bible.html' title='If College Students Wrote the Bible'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116415229808940737</id><published>2006-11-21T18:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.718-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Classic things to say when stressed</title><content type='html'>&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Okay, okay! I take it back. Unfuck you!!!" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"You say I'm a bitch like it's a bad thing?!" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"How many times do I have to flush before you go away?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Well this day was a total waste of make-up" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Well aren't we a bloody ray of sunshine?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Don't bother me, I'm living happily ever after." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Do I look like a fucking people person!" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"This isn't an office. It's HELL with fluorescent lighting" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I started out with nothing still have most of it left" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I pretend to work, they pretend to pay me" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"YOU!!... off my planet!!!" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Therapy is expensive. Popping bubble plastic is cheap. You choose" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Practice random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Errors have been made. Others will be blamed" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"And your cry-baby, whiny-assed opinion would be.....?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I'm not crazy. I've been in a very bad mood for 30 years." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Sarcasm is just one more service I offer." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Do they ever shut up on your planet?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I'm not your type. I'm not inflatable" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you haven't gone to sleep yet" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Back off!! You're standing in my aura." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Don't worry. I forgot your name too." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I work 45 hours a week to be this poor." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Not all men are annoying. Some are dead." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Wait...I'm trying to imagine you with a personality" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Chaos, panic and disorder . . . my work here is done." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Ambivalent? Well yes and no." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"You look like shit. Is that the style now?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Earth is full. Go home." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"Aw, did I step on your poor little bitty ego?" &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I'm not tense, just terribly, terribly alert." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"You are depriving some village of an idiot." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"If as sholes could fly, this place would be an airport." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116415229808940737?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116415229808940737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116415229808940737' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415229808940737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415229808940737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/11/classic-things-to-say-when-stressed.html' title='Classic things to say when stressed'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116415202942861957</id><published>2006-11-21T18:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Signs You've Grown Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your potted plants are alive... and you can't smoke any of them. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Having sex in a twin-sized bed is absurd. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You keep more food than beer in the fridge. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to sleep. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You hear your favourite song in an elevator. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You carry an umbrella. You watch the Weather Channel. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your friends marry and divorce instead of hookup and breakup. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You go from 130 days of vacation time to 7. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as 'dressed up.' &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You're the one calling the police because those bloody kids next door don't know how to turn down the stereo. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You don't know what time McDonald's closes anymore. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You feed your dog Mydog instead of McDonald's. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You no longer take naps from noon to 6 p.m. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dinner and a movie - The whole date instead of the beginning of one. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 a.m. would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You go to the chemist for Ibuprofen and antacids, not condoms and pregnancy test kits. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;A $7.00 bottle of wine is no longer 'pretty good stuff.' &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You actually eat breakfast foods at breakfast time. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;"I just can't drink the way I used to," replaces "I'm never going to drink that much again." &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Over 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You don't drink at home to save money before going to a bar. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;You read this entire list looking for one sign that doesn't apply to you. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116415202942861957?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116415202942861957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116415202942861957' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415202942861957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415202942861957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/11/signs-youve-grown-up.html' title='Signs You&apos;ve Grown Up'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116415197118725161</id><published>2006-11-21T18:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Drinks as personality pointers</title><content type='html'>Seven New York City bartenders were asked if they could nail a woman's personality based on what she drinks (and how you approach them if you're interested in them). Though interviewed separately, they concurred on almost all counts. The results:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Girl Drinks&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; Beer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Casual, low-maintenance; down to earth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Approach:&lt;/strong&gt; Challenge her to a game of pool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; Blender Drinks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Flaky, annoying; a pain in the ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Approach:&lt;/strong&gt; Avoid her, unless you want to be her cabin boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; Mixed Drinks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Older, has picky taste; knows what she wants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Approach:&lt;/strong&gt; You won't have to approach her. She'll send YOU a drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; Wine - (does not include white zinfandel, see below)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Conservative and classy, sophisticated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Approach:&lt;/strong&gt; Tell her you wish Reagan had had four more years... Alzheimer's and term limits be damned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; White Zin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Easy; thinks she is classy and sophisticated, actually has no clue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your approach:&lt;/strong&gt; Make her feel smarter than she is...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Drink:&lt;/strong&gt; Shots&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Personality:&lt;/strong&gt; Hanging with frat-boy pals or looking to get drunk... and naked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Your Approach:&lt;/strong&gt; Easiest hit in the joint. Nothing to do but wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Guy Drinks&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is the male addendum .... The deal with guys is, as always, very simple and clear cut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Domestic Beer:&lt;/strong&gt; He's poor and wants to get laid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Imported Beer:&lt;/strong&gt; He likes good beer and wants to get laid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wine:&lt;/strong&gt; He's hoping that the wine thing will give him a sophisticated image to help him get laid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Whiskey:&lt;/strong&gt; He doesn't give two shits about anything but getting laid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tequila:&lt;/strong&gt; Piss off, all you wankers, I'm gonna go shag something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;White Zin:&lt;/strong&gt; He's gay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116415197118725161?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116415197118725161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116415197118725161' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415197118725161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116415197118725161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/11/drinks-as-personality-pointers.html' title='Drinks as personality pointers'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116235981388291292</id><published>2006-11-01T00:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'>HOW TO MAKE A WOMAN HAPPY</title><content type='html'>It's not difficult to make a woman happy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man only needs to be:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. a friend&lt;br /&gt;2. a companion&lt;br /&gt;3. a lover&lt;br /&gt;4. a brother&lt;br /&gt;5. a father&lt;br /&gt;6. a master&lt;br /&gt;7. a chef&lt;br /&gt;8. an electrician&lt;br /&gt;9. a carpenter&lt;br /&gt;10. a plumber&lt;br /&gt;11. a mechanic&lt;br /&gt;12. a decorator&lt;br /&gt;13. a stylist&lt;br /&gt;14. a sexologist&lt;br /&gt;15. a gynecologist&lt;br /&gt;16. a psychologist&lt;br /&gt;17. a pest exterminator&lt;br /&gt;18. a psychiatrist&lt;br /&gt;19. a healer&lt;br /&gt;20. a good listener&lt;br /&gt;21. an organizer&lt;br /&gt;22. a good father&lt;br /&gt;23. very clean&lt;br /&gt;24. sympathetic&lt;br /&gt;25. athletic&lt;br /&gt;26. warm&lt;br /&gt;27. attentive&lt;br /&gt;28. gallant&lt;br /&gt;29. intelligent&lt;br /&gt;30. funny&lt;br /&gt;31. creative&lt;br /&gt;32. tender&lt;br /&gt;33. strong&lt;br /&gt;34. understanding&lt;br /&gt;35. tolerant&lt;br /&gt;36. prudent&lt;br /&gt;37. ambitious&lt;br /&gt;38. capable&lt;br /&gt;39. courageous&lt;br /&gt;40. determined&lt;br /&gt;41. true&lt;br /&gt;42. dependable&lt;br /&gt;43. passionate&lt;br /&gt;44. compassionate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45. give her compliments regularly&lt;br /&gt;46. love shopping&lt;br /&gt;47. be honest&lt;br /&gt;48. be very rich&lt;br /&gt;49. not stress her out&lt;br /&gt;50. not look at other girls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself&lt;br /&gt;52. give her lots of time, especially time for herself&lt;br /&gt;53. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IT IS VERY IMPORTANT:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;54. Never to forget:&lt;br /&gt;* birthdays&lt;br /&gt;* anniversaries&lt;br /&gt;* arrangements she makes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Show up naked&lt;br /&gt;2. Bring food&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116235981388291292?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116235981388291292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116235981388291292' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116235981388291292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116235981388291292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/11/how-to-make-woman-happy.html' title='HOW TO MAKE A WOMAN HAPPY'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116172474381234418</id><published>2006-10-24T17:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Men are like....</title><content type='html'>For  all those men who say, Why buy a cow when you can get milk for free.  Here's an update for you: Now days, 80% of women are against marriage,  WHY? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get  a little sausage. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Men are  like .. Laxatives   ..... They  irritate the crap out of you.&lt;br /&gt;2. Men are like. Bananas .  The older they get, the less firm they are.&lt;br /&gt;3. Men are like  . Weather .  Nothing can be done to change them.&lt;br /&gt;4. Men are like . Blenders   You need One, but you're not quite sure why.&lt;br /&gt;5. Men are like  . Chocolate Bars   . Sweet, smooth, &amp; they usually head right for your hips.&lt;br /&gt;6. Men  are like . Commercials   ....... You can't believe a word they say.&lt;br /&gt;7. Men are like Department Stores ..... Their clothes are always 1/2 off.&lt;br /&gt;8. Men  are like .... .Government Bonds   .... They take soooooooo long to mature.&lt;br /&gt;9. Men are like  .... Mascara . They usually  run at the first sign of emotion.&lt;br /&gt;10. Men are like Popcorn . They satisfy  you, but only for a little while.&lt;br /&gt;11. Men are like Snowstorms  . You never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get or how long  it will last. &lt;br /&gt;12. Men are like .......Lava Lamps   .. Fun to look at, but not very bright.&lt;br /&gt;13. Men are like Parking Spots . All the good ones are taken,  the rest are handicapped.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116172474381234418?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116172474381234418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116172474381234418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116172474381234418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116172474381234418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/10/men-are-like.html' title='Men are like....'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116115434037577651</id><published>2006-10-18T02:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.721-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WORDS WOMEN USE</title><content type='html'>FINE &lt;br /&gt;This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FIVE MINUTES&lt;br /&gt;If she is getting dressed, this is half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given 5 more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;NOTHING &lt;br /&gt;This is the calm before the storm. This means "something," and you should be on your toes.  Arguments that begin with 'Nothing' usually end in "Fine" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GO AHEAD &lt;br /&gt;This is a dare, not permission. Don't do it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOUD SIGH &lt;br /&gt;This is not actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A "Loud Sigh" means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over "Nothing" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THAT'S OKAY&lt;br /&gt;This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. "That's Okay" means that she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;THANKS&lt;br /&gt;A woman is thanking you. Do not question it or faint. Just say you're welcome.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;WHATEVER &lt;br /&gt;It's a woman's way of saying *!#@ YOU! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116115434037577651?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116115434037577651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116115434037577651' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116115434037577651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116115434037577651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/10/words-women-use.html' title='WORDS WOMEN USE'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116087023439666235</id><published>2006-10-14T19:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T19:57:14.423-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cat Poop Cookies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8056/121/1600/catpoop.png"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8056/121/320/catpoop.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want chocolate or gingerbread flavored poop?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-CHOCOLATE INGREDIENTS:&lt;br /&gt;1/2 c Honey&lt;br /&gt;2/3 c (1 and 1/3 stick) butter or margarine,&lt;br /&gt;1 Egg&lt;br /&gt;1 tsp Vanilla or peppermint -extract&lt;br /&gt;2 c Whole wheat flour&lt;br /&gt;1/3 c Cocoa powder&lt;br /&gt;Grape-nuts(tm) cereal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-GINGERBREAD INGREDIENTS:&lt;br /&gt;1/4 c Honey&lt;br /&gt;1/4 c Molasses&lt;br /&gt;2/3 Cup(1 and 1/3 stick) butter or margarine,&lt;br /&gt;1 Egg&lt;br /&gt;2 And 1/3 cups whole wheat flour&lt;br /&gt;Spices-ginger, cinnamon, cloves to taste(maybe 1/2 tsp each)&lt;br /&gt;Grape-nuts(tm) cereal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-MIX-INS (optional):&lt;br /&gt;Coconut(tapeworms)&lt;br /&gt;Chocolate chips&lt;br /&gt;Butterscotch chips&lt;br /&gt;Peanut butter chips&lt;br /&gt;ramen noodles(roundworms)&lt;br /&gt;Corn Peanuts M&amp;amp;Ms&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are two flavors-chocolate(dark brown), and gingerbread(light brown).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seldom measure carefully so amounts may need adjustment, especially on flavoring. The cookies are dense and not very sweet, this is necesssary so that they will keep their shape during baking. If you use white flour or sugar they may be tastier but they won't look like poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To make:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Microwave the honey till it bubbles(about 1 minute). Add the butter,(I've been told using lard makes for a more realistic texture and softer cookie)and the molasses, if any. Add the egg, mix well, then mix in all the other stuff. Add mix-ins of your choice to some or all of the batter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chill 1 hour in the freezer or several hours in the fridge. Roll dough logs of random length and the diameter of cat poops. Roll logs in grape-nuts and bake at 350 degrees till done(maybe 10 to 15 minutes but with my flaky oven you never know). Note: someone with a reliable oven says it'scloser to 20 minutes for him.(thanks paul!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serve in a disposable cat litter box on a bed of grapenuts, with a cat litter scoop. I hear you get lovely effects by decorating the box and scoop with melted chocolate or pudding. I imagine brown sugar might work as a substitute for the new clumping litters, but I haven't tried it. I've been told that mixing brown sugar with the grapenuts "sweetens up the cookie a bit while still looking truly hideous."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116087023439666235?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116087023439666235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116087023439666235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116087023439666235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116087023439666235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/10/cat-poop-cookies.html' title='Cat Poop Cookies'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-116086871526182330</id><published>2006-10-14T19:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T19:31:55.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Kitty Litter Cake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8056/121/1600/kitty_litter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8056/121/400/kitty_litter.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Ingredients:&lt;br /&gt;1 Spice or German Chocolate Cake Mix&lt;br /&gt;1 White Cake Mix&lt;br /&gt;1 Pkg White Sandwich Cookies&lt;br /&gt;1 large pkg Vanilla Instant Pudding Mix&lt;br /&gt;Green food coloring&lt;br /&gt;12 small Tootsie Rolls&lt;br /&gt;1 *new* kitty litter box&lt;br /&gt;1 *new* kitty litter box plastic liner&lt;br /&gt;1 *new* pooper scooper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Preparation Instructions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prepare cake mixes and bake according to directions (any size pans). Prepare pudding mix and chill until ready to assemble. Crumble white sandwich cookies in small batches in blender, they tend to stick, so scrape often. Set aside all but about 1/4 cup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the 1/4 cup cookie crumbs, add a few drops green food coloring and mix using a fork or shake in a jar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When cakes are cooled to room temperature, crumble into a large bowl. Toss with half the remaining white cookie crumbs and the chilled pudding. You probably won't need all of the pudding, mix with the cake and "feel" it, you don't want it soggy, just moist; gently combine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Line new, clean kitty litter box. Put mixture into litter box. Put three unwrapped Tootsie rolls in a microwave safe dish and heat until soft and pliable. Shape ends so they are no longer blunt, curving slightly. Repeat with 3 more Tootsie rolls and bury in mixture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sprinkle the other half of cookie crumbs over top. Scatter the green cookie crumbs lightly over the top, this is supposed to look like the chlorophyll in kitty litter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heat remaining Tootsie Rolls, 3 at a time in the microwave until almost melted. Scrape them on top of the cake and sprinkle with cookie crumbs. This is my addition--only: spread 5 of the remaining Tootsie Rolls over the top; take one and heat until pliable, hang it over the side of the kitty litter box; sprinkling it lightly with cookie crumbs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serve with a *new* pooper scooper.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-116086871526182330?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/116086871526182330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=116086871526182330' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116086871526182330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/116086871526182330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/10/kitty-litter-cake.html' title='Kitty Litter Cake'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115842560988038073</id><published>2006-09-16T12:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.721-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Comeback Line Ever</title><content type='html'>In summary, the police arrested Ward Branham, a 22-year-old white male, resident of Lethbridge, Alberta, in a pumpkin patch at 11:38 p.m. on Friday. Ward will be charged with lewd and lascivious behavior,&lt;br /&gt;public indecency, and public intoxication at the Calgary courthouse on Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The suspect explained that as he was passing a pumpkin patch he  decided to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know, a pumpkin is soft and squishy inside, and there was no one around there for miles. At least I thought there wasn't," he stated in a phone interview. Ward went on to say that he pulled over to the side&lt;br /&gt;of the road, picked out a pumpkin that he felt was appropriate to his purposes, cut a hole in it, and proceeded to satisfy his alleged "need."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I guess I was just really into it, you know?" he commented with evident embarrassment. In the process, Ward apparently failed to notice a police car approaching and was unaware of his audience until officer&lt;br /&gt;Brin Taylor approached him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It was an unusual situation, that's for sure," said officer Taylor.&lt;br /&gt;"I walked up to (Ward) and he's...just working away at this pumpkin. "&lt;br /&gt;Taylor went on to describe what happened when SHE approached Ward. "I just went up and said, "Excuse me sir, but do you realize that you are screwing a pumpkin?" He froze and was clearly very surprised that I was&lt;br /&gt;there, and then looked me straight in the face and said, ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A pumpkin? Damn...is it midnight already??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115842560988038073?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115842560988038073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115842560988038073' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842560988038073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842560988038073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/best-comeback-line-ever.html' title='Best Comeback Line Ever'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115842531570052751</id><published>2006-09-16T12:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.722-05:00</updated><title type='text'>DEAR HUSBAND</title><content type='html'>DEAR HUSBAND !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm writing you this letter to tell you that I'm leaving you for good.&lt;br /&gt;I've been a good woman to you for seven years and I have nothing to show&lt;br /&gt;for it. These last two weeks have been terrible. Your boss called to&lt;br /&gt;tell me that you had quit your job today and that was the last straw.&lt;br /&gt;Last week, you came home and didn't notice that I had gotten my hair and&lt;br /&gt;nails done, cooked your favorite meal and even wore a brand new&lt;br /&gt;negligee. &lt;br /&gt;You came home and ate in two minutes, and went straight to sleep after&lt;br /&gt;watching the game. You don't tell me you love me anymore, you don't&lt;br /&gt;touch me or anything. &lt;br /&gt;Either you're cheating or you don't love me anymore, what ever the case&lt;br /&gt;is, I'm gone. &lt;br /&gt;PS: If you're trying to find me, don't. Your BROTHER and I are moving &lt;br /&gt;away to West Virginia together! Have a great life! Your Ex-wife &lt;br /&gt;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ &lt;br /&gt;.....The saga continues.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Ex-wife &lt;br /&gt;Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter. It's true that&lt;br /&gt;you and I have been married for seven years, although a good woman is a&lt;br /&gt;far cry from what you've been. &lt;br /&gt;I watch sports so much to try to drown out your constant nagging. Too&lt;br /&gt;bad that doesn't work. I did notice when you cut off all of your hair&lt;br /&gt;last week, the first thing that came to mind was "You look just like a&lt;br /&gt;man!" My mother raised me to not say anything if you can't say anything&lt;br /&gt;nice. &lt;br /&gt;When you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with&lt;br /&gt;MY BROTHER, because I stopped eating pork seven years ago. I went to&lt;br /&gt;sleep on you when you had on that new negligee because the price tag was&lt;br /&gt;still on it. I prayed that it was a coincidence that my brother had just&lt;br /&gt;borrowed fifty dollars from me that morning and your negligee was&lt;br /&gt;$49.99. After all of this, I still loved you and felt that we could work it out. &lt;br /&gt;So when I discovered that I had hit the lotto for ten million dollars, Iquit my job and bought us two tickets to Jamaica. But when I got home you were gone. &lt;br /&gt;Everything happens for a reason I guess! I hope you have the filling&lt;br /&gt;life you always wanted. &lt;br /&gt;My lawyer said with the letter that you wrote, you won't get a dime from&lt;br /&gt;me. So take care. &lt;br /&gt;PS: I don't know if I ever told you this but Carl, my brother was born &lt;br /&gt;Carla. I hope that's not a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115842531570052751?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115842531570052751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115842531570052751' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842531570052751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842531570052751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/dear-husband.html' title='DEAR HUSBAND'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115842513251025390</id><published>2006-09-16T12:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.722-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Bride's Cookbook</title><content type='html'>MONDAY: It's fun to cook for Tom. Today I made angel&lt;br /&gt;food cake. The recipe said beat 12 eggs separately.&lt;br /&gt;The neighbors were nice enough to loan me some &lt;br /&gt;extra bowls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TUESDAY: Tom wanted fruit salad for supper. The recipe&lt;br /&gt;said serve without dressing. So I didn't dress. What a&lt;br /&gt;surprise when Tom brought a friend home for supper. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WEDNESDAY: A good day for rice. The recipe said wash&lt;br /&gt;thoroughly before steaming the rice. It seemed kind of&lt;br /&gt;silly but I took a bath anyway. I can't say it improved &lt;br /&gt;the rice any. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THURSDAY: Today Tom asked for salad again. I tried a&lt;br /&gt;new recipe. It said prepare ingredients; lay on a bed&lt;br /&gt;of lettuce one hour before serving. Tom asked me &lt;br /&gt;why I was rolling around in the garden. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FRIDAY: I found an easy recipe for cookies. It said&lt;br /&gt;put the ingredients in a bowl and beat it. There must&lt;br /&gt;have been something wrong with this recipe. When I &lt;br /&gt;got back, everything was the same as when I left. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SATURDAY: Tom did the shopping today and brought home&lt;br /&gt;a chicken. He asked me to dress it for Sunday (oh&lt;br /&gt;boy). For some reason Tom keeps counting to ten. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUNDAY: Tom's folks came to dinner. I wanted to serve&lt;br /&gt;roast but all I had was hamburger. Suddenly I had a&lt;br /&gt;flash of genius. I put the hamburger in the oven and&lt;br /&gt;set the controls for roast. It still came out hamburger, &lt;br /&gt;much to my disappointment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GOOD NIGHT DEAR DIARY: This has been a very exciting&lt;br /&gt;week. I am eager for tomorrow to come so I can try out&lt;br /&gt;a new recipe on Tom. If I can talk Tom into buying a&lt;br /&gt;bigger oven, I would like to surprise him with&lt;br /&gt;chocolate moose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115842513251025390?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115842513251025390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115842513251025390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842513251025390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842513251025390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/new-brides-cookbook.html' title='The New Bride&apos;s Cookbook'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115842508344792455</id><published>2006-09-16T12:44:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T10:45:26.558-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Passing of an old friend</title><content type='html'>Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Mr. Common&lt;br /&gt;Sense. Mr Sense had been with us for many years. No one knows for&lt;br /&gt;sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red&lt;br /&gt;tape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He will be remembered as having cultivated such value lessons as&lt;br /&gt;knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the&lt;br /&gt;worm and that life isn't always fair. Common Sense lived by simple, sound&lt;br /&gt;financial policies (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting&lt;br /&gt;strategies (adults, not kids, are in charge).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His health began to rapidly deteriorate when well intentioned but&lt;br /&gt;overbearing regulations were set in place. - Reports of a six-year-old&lt;br /&gt;boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended&lt;br /&gt;from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for&lt;br /&gt;reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Sense declined even further when schools were required to get&lt;br /&gt;parental consent to administer aspirin to a student; but, could not inform&lt;br /&gt;the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense finally gave up the ghost after a woman   failed to&lt;br /&gt;realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot, she spilled a bit in her&lt;br /&gt;lap, and was awarded a huge financial settlement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and&lt;br /&gt;Trust, his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son,&lt;br /&gt;Reason. He is survived by two stepbrothers; My Rights and I'm a Whiner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pass this on; if not, join the majority and do&lt;br /&gt;nothing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115842508344792455?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115842508344792455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115842508344792455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842508344792455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842508344792455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/passing-of-old-friend.html' title='Passing of an old friend'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115842502906437011</id><published>2006-09-16T12:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-16T12:43:54.076-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Watch</title><content type='html'>Watch your THOUGHTS...they become WORDS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch your WORDS...they become ACTIONS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch your ACTIONS...they become HABITS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch your HABITS...they become CHARACTER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch your CHARACTER, for it becomes your DESTINY.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115842502906437011?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115842502906437011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115842502906437011' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842502906437011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115842502906437011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/watch.html' title='Watch'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115815228963667895</id><published>2006-09-13T08:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.723-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Revised version of the Three Little Bears</title><content type='html'>Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in his small chair at the table, he &lt;br /&gt;looks into his small bowl. It is empty. "Who's been eating my &lt;br /&gt;porridge?!!," he squeaks. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks &lt;br /&gt;into his big bowl, and it is also empty. "Who's been eating my &lt;br /&gt;Porridge?!!," he roars. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and &lt;br /&gt;yells, "For Pete's sake, how many times do we have to go through this? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It was Momma Bear who got up first, it was Momma Bear who woke everyone &lt;br /&gt;in the house, it was Momma Bear who made the coffee, it was Momma Bear who &lt;br /&gt;unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away, it was &lt;br /&gt;Momma Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the &lt;br /&gt;newspaper, it was Momma Bear who set the table, it was Momma Bear who put &lt;br /&gt;the cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat's water and food &lt;br /&gt;dish, and, now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-butts &lt;br /&gt;downstairs, and grace Momma Bear's kitchen with your grumpy presence, &lt;br /&gt;listen good, cause I'm only going to say this one more time... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I HAVEN'T MADE THE PORRIDGE YET!!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115815228963667895?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115815228963667895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115815228963667895' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115815228963667895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115815228963667895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/revised-version-of-three-little-bears.html' title='Revised version of the Three Little Bears'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115787316675765494</id><published>2006-09-10T03:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.723-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Open letter to my pets</title><content type='html'>Dear Dogs and Cats,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years --canine or feline attendance is not mandatory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's behind. I cannot stress this enough!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit &amp; Like to Complain About Our Pets&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. They live here. You don't.&lt;br /&gt;2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"niture.)&lt;br /&gt;3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.&lt;br /&gt;4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember: Dogs and cats are better than kids because they:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Eat less.&lt;br /&gt;2. Don't ask for money all the time.&lt;br /&gt;3. Are easier to train.&lt;br /&gt;4. Usually come when called.&lt;br /&gt;5. Never drive your car.&lt;br /&gt;6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends.&lt;br /&gt;7. Don't smoke or drink.&lt;br /&gt;8. Don't worry about having to buy the latest fashions.&lt;br /&gt;9. Don't wear your clothes.&lt;br /&gt;10. Don't need a gazillion dollars for college.&lt;br /&gt;11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115787316675765494?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115787316675765494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115787316675765494' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115787316675765494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115787316675765494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/open-letter-to-my-pets.html' title='Open letter to my pets'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115709050136361707</id><published>2006-09-01T02:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.724-05:00</updated><title type='text'>We Must Stop This Immediately!</title><content type='html'>Have you noticed that stairs are getting steeper.  Groceries are heavier. And, everything is farther Away. Yesterday I walked to the corner, and I was dumbfounded to discover how long our street had become! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, you know, people are less considerate now, especially the young ones. They speak in whispers all the time!  If you ask them to speak up they just keep repeating themselves, endlessly mouthing the same silent message until they're red in the face!  What do they think I am, a lip reader? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also think they are much younger than I was at the same age.  On the other hand, people my own age are so much older than I am.  I ran into an old friend the other day and she has aged so much that she didn't even recognize me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to thinking about the poor dear while I was combing my hair this&lt;br /&gt;morning, and in doing so, I glanced at my own refection.........Well, REALLY NOW- even mirrors are not made the way they used to be!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing, everyone drives so fast these days!  You're risking life and limb if you happen to pull onto the freeway in front of them.. All I can say is, their brakes must wear out awfully fast, the way I see them screech and swerve in my rear view mirror. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clothing manufacturers are less civilized these days  Why else would they suddenly start labeling a size 10 or 12 dress as 18 or 20?  Do they think no one notices that these things no longer fit around the waist, hips, thighs, and bosom? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The people who make bathroom scales are pulling the same prank, but in reverse.  Do they think I actually "believe" the number I see on that dial? HA!  I would never let myself weigh that much!  Just who do these people think they're fooling? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to call up someone in authority to report what's going on -- but&lt;br /&gt;the telephone company is in on the conspiracy too: they've printed the phone books in such small type that no one could ever find a number in here! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can do is pass along this warning: We are under attack!  Unless&lt;br /&gt;something drastic happens, pretty soon everyone will have to suffer these awful indignities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PLEASE PASS THIS ON TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW AS SOON AS POSSIBLE SO WE CAN GET THIS CONSPIRACY STOPPED! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: I am sending this to you in a larger font size, because something has caused my computer's fonts to be smaller than they once were too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there's anything I can't stand, its intolerance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115709050136361707?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115709050136361707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115709050136361707' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709050136361707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709050136361707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/we-must-stop-this-immediately.html' title='We Must Stop This Immediately!'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115709042280134115</id><published>2006-09-01T02:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.724-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Housekeeping Tip</title><content type='html'>Always keep several get well cards on the mantel......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so if unexpected guests arrive, they will think &lt;br /&gt;you've been ill and unable to clean.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115709042280134115?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115709042280134115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115709042280134115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709042280134115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709042280134115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/good-housekeeping-tip.html' title='Good Housekeeping Tip'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115709028365950268</id><published>2006-09-01T01:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T01:58:03.660-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The tailgating woman</title><content type='html'>An honest man was being tailgated by a stressed out woman on a busy &lt;br /&gt;boulevard. Suddenly, the light turned yellow, just in front of him. He did &lt;br /&gt;the right thing, stopping at the crosswalk, even though he could have &lt;br /&gt;beaten the red light by accelerating through the intersection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tailgating woman hit the roof, and the horn, screaming in frustration &lt;br /&gt;as she missed her chance to get through the intersection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As she was still in mid-rant, she heard a tap on her window and looked up &lt;br /&gt;into the face of a very serious police officer. The officer ordered her to &lt;br /&gt;exit her car with her hands up. He took her to the police station where she was searched, finger printed, photographed, and placed in a holding cell.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a couple of hours, a policeman approached the cell and opened the &lt;br /&gt;door. She was escorted back to the booking desk where the arresting officer was waiting with her personal effects. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, "I'm very sorry for this mistake. You see, I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, flipping off the guy in front of you, and cussing a blue streak at him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"I noticed the 'Choose Life' license plate holder, the 'What Would Jesus Do' bumper sticker, the 'Follow Me to Sunday-School' bumper sticker, and the chrome-plated Christian fish emblem on the trunk.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Naturally, I assumed you had stolen the car." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115709028365950268?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115709028365950268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115709028365950268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709028365950268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709028365950268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/tailgating-woman.html' title='The tailgating woman'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115709005658613215</id><published>2006-09-01T01:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Priceless</title><content type='html'>Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company's  Christmas Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks &lt;br /&gt;didn't taste like alcohol at all. He didn't even remember how he got &lt;br /&gt;home from the party. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong. Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of&lt;br /&gt;aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a &lt;br /&gt;single red rose!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack sits up and sees his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed.&lt;br /&gt;He looks around the room and sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly&lt;br /&gt;clean. So is the rest of the house. He takes the aspirins, cringes when he &lt;br /&gt;sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he&lt;br /&gt;notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with&lt;br /&gt;little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Honey, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast is on the stove. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left early to go get groceries to make&lt;br /&gt;you your favorite dinner tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I love you, darling!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Love,&lt;br /&gt;Jillian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stumbles to the kitchen and sure enough, there is hot breakfast,&lt;br /&gt;steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating. Jack asks, "Son... what happened last night?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you came home after 3 A.M., drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke it, and then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Confused he asked his son, "So, why is everything in such perfect order, so &lt;br /&gt;clean, I have a rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His son replies, "Oh THAT!... Mom dragged you to the bedroom, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Leave me alone, lady, I'm married!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Broken Coffee Table - $139.00&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hot Breakfast - $4.20&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two Aspirins - 38&amp;cent;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saying the right thing, at the right time -  Priceless &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115709005658613215?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115709005658613215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115709005658613215' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709005658613215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115709005658613215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/priceless.html' title='Priceless'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115708970138971185</id><published>2006-09-01T01:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Most Functional English Word</title><content type='html'>Well, it's shit... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that's right, shit!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shit may just be the most functional word in the English language. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Consider: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can get shit-faced, be shit out of luck, or have shit for brains. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a little effort, you can get your shit together, find a place for your shit, Or be asked to shit or get off the pot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can smoke shit, buy shit, sell shit,  lose shit, find shit,  forget shit,  and tell others to eat shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people know their shit, while others can't tell the difference between Shit and Shineola. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are lucky shits, dumb shits, crazy shits, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is bull shit, horse shit and chicken shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can throw shit, sling shit, catch shit,  shoot the shit, or duck when the shit hits the fan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can give a shit or serve shit on a shingle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can find yourself in deep shit or be happier than a pig in shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some days are colder than shit, some days are hotter than shit, and some days are just plain shitty. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some music sounds like shit, things can look like shit, and there are times when you feel like shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can have too much shit, not enough shit, the right shit, the wrong shit or a lot of weird shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can carry shit, have a mountain of shit, or find yourself up shits creek without a paddle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes everything you touch turns to shit and other times you fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you stop to consider all the facts, it's the basic building block of the English language. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And remember, once you know your shit, you don't need to know anything else! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You could pass this along, if you give a shit. Or not do so, If you don't give a shit! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well Shit, it's time for me to go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just wanted you to know that I do Give A Shit and hope you had a nice day, without a bunch of shit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if you happened to catch a load of shit from some shit head....... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, shit happens!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115708970138971185?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115708970138971185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115708970138971185' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708970138971185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708970138971185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/most-functional-english-word.html' title='The Most Functional English Word'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115708951404731080</id><published>2006-09-01T01:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smart Ass Answers</title><content type='html'>Smart Ass Answer #5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A flight attendant was stationed at the departure gate to check tickets. As a man approached, she extended her hand for the ticket and he opened his trench coat and flashed her. Without missing a beat....she said, &lt;br /&gt;"Sir, I need to see your ticket not your stub."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smart Ass Answer #4:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lady was picking through the frozen turkeys at the grocery store, but she couldn't find one big enough for her family. &lt;br /&gt;She asked a stock boy, "Do these turkeys get any bigger?"&lt;br /&gt;The stock boy replied, "No ma'am, they're dead."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smart Ass Answer #3:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cop got out of his car and the kid who was stopped for speeding rolled &lt;br /&gt;down his window.&lt;br /&gt;"I've been waiting for you all day," the cop said.&lt;br /&gt;The kid replied, "Yeah, well I got here as fast as I could."&lt;br /&gt;When the cop finally stopped laughing, he sent the kid on his way without a ticket. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smart Ass Answer #2:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A truck driver was driving along on the freeway. A sign comes up that&lt;br /&gt;reads, "Low Bridge Ahead." Before he knows it, the bridge is right ahead of him and he gets stuck under the bridge. Cars are backed up for miles. &lt;br /&gt;Finally, a police car comes up.&lt;br /&gt;The cop gets out of his car and walks to the truck driver, puts his hands&lt;br /&gt;on his hips and says, "Got stuck,huh?"&lt;br /&gt;The truck driver says, "No, I was delivering this bridge and ran out of &lt;br /&gt;gas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND NOW........FOR.............THE.......... #1  SMART ASS ANSWER&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A college teacher reminds her class of tomorrow's final exam.&lt;br /&gt;"Now class, I won't tolerate any excuses for you not being here tomorrow. &lt;br /&gt;I might consider a nuclear attack or a serious personal injury or illness,&lt;br /&gt;or a death in your immediate family, but that's it, no other excuses&lt;br /&gt;whatsoever!"&lt;br /&gt;A smart ass guy in the back of the room raised his hand and asked, &lt;br /&gt;"What would you say if tomorrow I said I was suffering from complete and utter sexual exhaustion?"&lt;br /&gt;The entire class is reduced to laughter and snickering. &lt;br /&gt;When silence is restored, the teacher smiles knowingly at the student, shakes her head and sweetly says,&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I guess you'd have to write the exam with your other hand!!!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115708951404731080?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115708951404731080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115708951404731080' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708951404731080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708951404731080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/smart-ass-answers.html' title='Smart Ass Answers'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115708934387071566</id><published>2006-09-01T01:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yelling Across the River</title><content type='html'>Ole lived across the river from Clarence--and they didn't like&lt;br /&gt;each other at all. They were yelling all the time across the&lt;br /&gt;river at each other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ole would yell to Clarence, "If I had a vay to cross dis river,&lt;br /&gt;I'd come over dere an beat you up good, yeah sure ya betcha by golly!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This went on for years. Finally the state built a bridge across &lt;br /&gt;the river right there by their houses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ole's wife, Lena, said, "Now is your chance, Ole, why don't you go over dere &amp; beat up dat Clarence like you said you vould?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ole said, "OK, by yimmy I tink I vill do yust dat." Ole started &lt;br /&gt;for the bridge but he saw a sign on the bridge &amp; he stopped to read it, then he turned around &amp; went back home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lena asked, "Vhy did you come back?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ole said, "Lena, I tink I change my mind 'bout beatin' up dat &lt;br /&gt;Clarence, you know, dey put up a sign on da bridge dat says,&lt;br /&gt;"Clarence is 13 ft. 6 in." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know, he don't look dat big vhen I yell at him from across da river."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115708934387071566?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115708934387071566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115708934387071566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708934387071566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115708934387071566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/09/yelling-across-river.html' title='Yelling Across the River'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700189707239775</id><published>2006-08-31T01:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.727-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Remedies That Really Work</title><content type='html'>1. A mousetrap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep when you hit the snooze button.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives ... you will be too afraid to cough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. High blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a while, thus reducing the pressure in your veins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. If you are choking on an ice cube, don't panic.  Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat and presto! - the blockage will be almost instantly removed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Are you clumsy?  Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Have a bad toothache?  Hit your thumb with a hammer, then you will forget about the toothache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And remember that the only two things you truly need in life are WD-40 and duct tape ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... If it doesn't move, and it should, use the WD-40.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... If it moves, and it shouldn't, use the duct tape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700189707239775?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700189707239775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700189707239775' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700189707239775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700189707239775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/home-remedies-that-really-work.html' title='Home Remedies That Really Work'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700183430140848</id><published>2006-08-31T01:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.639-05:00</updated><title type='text'>IN THE BEGINNING</title><content type='html'>In the beginning, god created the Heavens and the Earth and populated the Earth with broccoli, cauliflower and spinach, green and yellow and red vegetables of all kinds, so Man and Woman would live long and healthy lives.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Then using God's great gifts, Satan created Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream and Krispy Creme Donuts. And Satan said, "You want chocolate with that?" And Man said, "Yes!" and Woman said, "and as long as you're at it, add some sprinkles." And they gained 10 pounds. And Satan smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And God created the healthful yogurt that Woman might keep the figure that Man found so fair. And Satan brought forth white flour from the wheat, and sugar from the cane and combined them. And Woman went from size 6 to size 14.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So God said, "Try my fresh green salad." And Satan presented Thousand-Island Dressing, buttery croutons and garlic toast on the side. And Man and Woman unfastened their belts following the repast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God then said, "I have sent you heart healthy vegetables and olive oil in which to cook them." And Satan brought forth deep fried fish and chicken-fried steak so big it needed its own platter. And Man gained more weight and his cholesterol went through the roof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God then created a light, fluffy white cake, named it "Angel Food Cake," and said, "It is good." Satan then created chocolate cake and named it "Devil's Food."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God then brought forth running shoes so that His children might lose those extra pounds. And Satan gave cable TV with a remote control so Man would not have to toil changing the channels. And Man and Woman laughed and cried before the flickering blue light and gained pounds.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Then God brought forth the potato, naturally low in fat and brimming with nutrition. And Satan peeled off the healthful skin and sliced the starchy center into chips and deep-fried them. And Man gained pounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God then gave lean beef so that Man might consume fewer calories and still satisfy his appetite. And Satan created McDonald's and its 99-cent double cheeseburger. Then said, "You want fries with that?" And Man replied, "Yes! And super size them!" And Satan said, "It is good." And Man went into cardiac arrest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God sighed and created quadruple bypass surgery.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Then Satan created HMOs.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Thought for the day.....&lt;br /&gt;There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer's research.  This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700183430140848?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700183430140848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700183430140848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700183430140848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700183430140848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/in-beginning.html' title='IN THE BEGINNING'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700174447375971</id><published>2006-08-31T01:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.728-05:00</updated><title type='text'>GETTING FATTER</title><content type='html'>" We all get heavier as we get older because there's a lot more information in our heads."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's my story and I'm sticking to it.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700174447375971?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700174447375971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700174447375971' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700174447375971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700174447375971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/getting-fatter.html' title='GETTING FATTER'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700168168465033</id><published>2006-08-31T01:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.728-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MORALS</title><content type='html'>Kinda brings a tear to your eye.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was happy.  My girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year, and so we decided to get married.  My parents helped us in every way.  My friends encouraged me and my girlfriend, she was a dream!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was only one thing bothering me, very much indeed.  That one thing was her younger sister.  My prospective sister-in-law was a vivacious twenty years of age and drop-dead gorgeous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, little sister called and asked me to come over to check the wedding invitations.  She was alone when I arrived.  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She whispered to me that soon I was to be married, and she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't and didn't really want to overcome!  She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I&lt;br /&gt;got married and committed my life to her sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in total shock and couldn't say a word.  She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want to go ahead with it, just come up and get me." I was stunned.  I was frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went straight to the front door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I opened the door, stepped out of the house and walked straight towards my car.  My future father-in-law was standing just outside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With tears in his eyes he hugged me and said, "We are very happy that you have passed our little test.  We could not ask for a better man for our daughter.  Welcome to the family!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of this story is: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Always keep your condoms in the car!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700168168465033?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700168168465033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700168168465033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700168168465033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700168168465033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/morals.html' title='MORALS'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700157701517162</id><published>2006-08-31T01:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:01:19.639-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Setting The Church Gossip Straight</title><content type='html'>Mildred, the never married church gossip, and self-appointed monitor of the church morals, kept sticking her nose into other peoples' business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several members did not approve of her etxra-curricular activities but feared her enough to maintain their silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She made a mistake, however, when she accused George, a new member, of being an alcoholic after she saw his old pickup parked in front of the town's only bar one afternoon. She emphatically told George and several others that everyone seeing it there would know what he was doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George, a man of few words, stared at her for a moment and just turned and walked away. He didn't explain, defend, or deny. He said nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Late that evening, George quietly parked his pickup in front of Mildred's house........................and left it there all night!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700157701517162?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700157701517162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700157701517162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700157701517162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700157701517162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/setting-church-gossip-straight.html' title='Setting The Church Gossip Straight'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700151099431068</id><published>2006-08-31T01:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'>RANDOM THOUGHTS</title><content type='html'>1- I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;2- Borrow money from pessimists -- they don't expect it back.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;3- Half the people you know are below average.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;4- 99% of lawyers give the rest a bad name.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;5- 42.7% of all statistics are made up on the spot.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;6- A conscience is what hurts when all your other parts feels so good.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;7- A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;8- If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;9- All those who believe in psycho-kinesis, raise my hand.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;10- The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;11- I almost had a psychic girlfriend but she left me before we met.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;12- OK, so what's the speed of dark?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;13- How do you tell when you're out of invisible ink?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;14- If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;15- Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;16- When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;17- Ambition is a poor excuse for not having enough sense to avoid work.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;18- Hard work pays off in the future, laziness pays off now.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;19- I intend to live forever -- so far, so good.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;20- If Barbie is so popular, why do you have to buy her friends?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;21- Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;22- What happens if you get scared half to death twice?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;23- My mechanic told me, "I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;24- Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;25- If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;26- A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;27- Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;28- The hardness of the butter is proportional to the softness of the bread.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;29- To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;30- The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;31- The sooner you fall behind, the more time you'll have to catch up.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;32- The colder the x-ray table, the more of your body is required to be on it.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;33- Everyone has a photographic memory, some just don't have film.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700151099431068?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700151099431068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700151099431068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700151099431068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700151099431068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/random-thoughts.html' title='RANDOM THOUGHTS'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700146916187089</id><published>2006-08-31T01:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'>KNOW YOUR STATE MOTTO</title><content type='html'>Alabama&lt;br /&gt;Hell Yes, We Have Electricity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alaska&lt;br /&gt;11,623 Eskimos Can't Be Wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arizona&lt;br /&gt;But It's A Dry Heat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arkansas&lt;br /&gt;Literacy Ain't Everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;California&lt;br /&gt;By 30, Our Women Have More Plastic Than Your Honda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Colorado&lt;br /&gt;If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Connecticut&lt;br /&gt;Like Massachusetts,&lt;br /&gt;Only The Kennedy's Don't Own It Yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Delaware&lt;br /&gt;We Really Do Like The Chemicals In Our Water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Florida&lt;br /&gt;Ask Us About Our Grandkids And Our Voting Skills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Georgia&lt;br /&gt;We Put The Fun In Fundamentalist Extremism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hawaii&lt;br /&gt;Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru&lt;br /&gt;(Death To Mainland Scum, Leave Your Money)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Idaho&lt;br /&gt;More Than Just Potatoes...&lt;br /&gt;Well, Okay, We're Not, But The Potatoes Sure Are Real Good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Illinois&lt;br /&gt;Please, Don't Pronounce the "S".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indiana&lt;br /&gt;2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iowa&lt;br /&gt;We Do Amazing Things With Corn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K ansas&lt;br /&gt;First Of The Rectangle States.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kentucky&lt;br /&gt;Five Million People; Fifteen Last Names.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Louisiana&lt;br /&gt;We're Not ALL Drunk Cajun Wackos,&lt;br /&gt;But That's Our Tourism Campaign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maine&lt;br /&gt;We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maryland&lt;br /&gt;If You Can Dream It, We Can Tax It.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Massachusetts&lt;br /&gt;Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's And Our Senators Are More Corrupt!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Michigan&lt;br /&gt;First Line Of Defense From The Canadians.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minnesota&lt;br /&gt;10,000 Lakes...And 10,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mississippi&lt;br /&gt;Come And Feel Better About Your Own State.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Missouri&lt;br /&gt;Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars At Work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Montana&lt;br /&gt;Land Of The Big Sky, The Unabomber, Right-wing Crazies, and Honest Elections!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nebraska&lt;br /&gt;Ask About Our State Motto Contest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nevada&lt;br /&gt;Hookers and Poker!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Hampshire&lt;br /&gt;Go Away And Leave Us Alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Jersey&lt;br /&gt;You Want A ##$%##! Motto?&lt;br /&gt;I Got Yer ##$%##! Motto Right here!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Mexico&lt;br /&gt;Lizards Make Excellent Pets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New York&lt;br /&gt;You Have The Right To Remain Silent,&lt;br /&gt;You Have The Right To An Attorney......                                         And No Right To Self Defense!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;North Carolina&lt;br /&gt;Tobacco Is A Vegetable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;North Dakota&lt;br /&gt;We Really Are One Of The 50 States!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohio&lt;br /&gt;At Least We're Not Michigan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oklahoma&lt;br /&gt;Like The Play, But No Singing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oregon&lt;br /&gt;Spotted Owl...It's What's For Dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pennsylvania&lt;br /&gt;Cook With Coal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rhode Island&lt;br /&gt;We're Not REALLY An Island.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;South Carolina&lt;br /&gt;Remember The Civil War?&lt;br /&gt;Well, We Didn't Actually Surrender Yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;South Dakota&lt;br /&gt;Closer Than North Dakota.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tennessee&lt;br /&gt;Home of the Al GoreInventionMuseum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Texas&lt;br /&gt;Se Hablo Ingles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Utah&lt;br /&gt;Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vermont&lt;br /&gt;Ay, Yep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Virginia&lt;br /&gt;Who Says Government Stiffs And Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Washington&lt;br /&gt;Our Governor can out-fraud your Governor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;West Virginia&lt;br /&gt;One Big Happy Family...Really!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wisconsin&lt;br /&gt;Come Cut Cheese!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wyoming&lt;br /&gt;Where Men Are Men...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The District of Columbia&lt;br /&gt;The Work-Free Drug Place!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700146916187089?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700146916187089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700146916187089' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700146916187089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700146916187089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/know-your-state-motto.html' title='KNOW YOUR STATE MOTTO'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115700144927199095</id><published>2006-08-31T01:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.731-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Great Quotes by Great Ladies</title><content type='html'>Inside every older lady is a younger lady -- wondering what the hell happened? &lt;br /&gt;-Cora Harvey Armstrong- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with cookies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy. &lt;br /&gt;-Helen Hayes (at 73)- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to think of them as chin hairs. I think of them as stray eyebrows. &lt;br /&gt;-Janette Barber- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. &lt;br /&gt;-Lily Tomlin- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A male gynecologist is like an auto mechanic who never owned a car. &lt;br /&gt;-Carrie Snow- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry with your girlfriends. &lt;br /&gt;-Laurie Kuslansky- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being, hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.&lt;br /&gt;-Erma Bombeck- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old age ain't no place for sissies. &lt;br /&gt;-Bette Davis- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man's got to do what a man's got to do. A woman must do what he can't. &lt;br /&gt;-Rhonda Hansome- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The phrase "working mother" is redundant.&lt;br /&gt;-Jane Sellman- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every time I close the door on reality, it comes in through the windows. &lt;br /&gt;-Jennifer Unlimited- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever women must do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult. &lt;br /&gt;-Charlotte Whitton- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart. &lt;br /&gt;-Caryn Leschen- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try to take one day at a time -- but sometimes several days attack me at once. &lt;br /&gt;-Jennifer Unlimited- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can't be a good example -- then you'll just have to be a horrible warning &lt;br /&gt;-Catherine- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was young, I was put in a school for retarded kids for two years before they realized I actually had a hearing loss. And they called ME slow! &lt;br /&gt;-Kathy Buckley- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb -- and I'm also not blonde. &lt;br /&gt;-Dolly Parton- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If high heels were so wonderful, men would still be wearing them. &lt;br /&gt;-Sue Grafton-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to vacuum 'til Sears makes one you can ride on. &lt;br /&gt;-Roseanne Barr- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country..... &lt;br /&gt;-Elayne Boosler- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Behind every successful man is a surprised woman.&lt;br /&gt;-Maryon Pearson- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man.  If you want anything done, ask a woman. &lt;br /&gt;-Margaret Thatcher- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career.  Gloria Steinem- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man, I keep his house. &lt;br /&gt;-Zsa Gabor- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission. &lt;br /&gt;-Eleanor Roosevelt- &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115700144927199095?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115700144927199095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115700144927199095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700144927199095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115700144927199095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/great-quotes-by-great-ladies.html' title='Great Quotes by Great Ladies'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115690909837712812</id><published>2006-08-29T23:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.731-05:00</updated><title type='text'>To be 6 again</title><content type='html'>A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife turning back and forth, looking at herself in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since her birthday was not far off, he asked what she'd like to have for her birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to be 6 again, she replied, still looking in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the morning of her birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park. What a day! He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster... everything there was. Five hours later they staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then took her to a McDonald's where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&amp;M's. What a fabulous adventure! Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, "Well Dear, what was it like being six again?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed, "Du-u-u-u-h. I meant my dress size, you idiot!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story: Even when a man is listening, he is going to get it wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115690909837712812?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115690909837712812/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115690909837712812' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115690909837712812'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115690909837712812'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/to-be-6-again.html' title='To be 6 again'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115490475582739936</id><published>2006-08-06T18:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T17:00:23.732-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Snakes</title><content type='html'>NAME: Expecteria Trouserius" (Trouser Snake).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LOCATION: Throughout the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DESCRIPTION: Varying from pink to black. Fang-less with a highly venomous spit.&lt;br /&gt;Size varies from 3 to 12 inches, depending on its mood &amp; sub-species.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SYMPTOMS: This snake attacks mainly women in the lower front abdomen, resultingin an inconspicuous bump. Then a severe swelling followed by excruciating pain after nine months. The attack is not usually fatal. It has been known to attack men in the rear lower abdomen, resulting in an incurable disease and consequent death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HABITAT: Usually found in bedrooms, but has been known to appear in the most unusual places.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANTIDOTE: Various types of vaccine available for women. However, once the venom is injected into the body only drastic measures will ensure complete recovery. There is no known antidote for men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;WHAT TO DO WHEN ATTACKED&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TORNIQUE: Do not apply a tornique as the venom is too deep in the body to be affected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CUTTING THE WOUND: This would be completely unnecessary and ineffective as the bleeding will stop after a few weeks anyhow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUCKING THE WOUND: This method is the most popular with the victim, but so far has not been reported to have led to any success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MILKING THE SNAKE:&lt;br /&gt;1. Place four fingers of the right hand around the neck of the reptile, withthe thumb in the front.&lt;br /&gt;2. Grip firmly and move the hand in an upwards and downwards motion.&lt;br /&gt;3. This will result in the snake becoming highly aggressive and start spitting.&lt;br /&gt;4. The time taken for this milking process depends entirely on the milker and the last time the snake attacked.&lt;br /&gt;5. Once milked the snake should be harmless for about 20 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;CONCLUSION&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This snake, although it is very aggressive and active, is not necessarily a vermin, and treated with the right respect, makes a wonderful pet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115490475582739936?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115490475582739936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115490475582739936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115490475582739936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115490475582739936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/08/snakes.html' title='Snakes'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7493385.post-115433808383653804</id><published>2006-07-31T05:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-31T05:28:03.850-04:00</updated><title type='text'>THE DECORATION AND DESTRUCTION OF THE STONE LIVING ROOM</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;recieved from &lt;a href="http://www.weirdnj.com" target="_blank"&gt;Weird NJ&lt;/a&gt; newsletter:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;The Appalachian Mountains stretch all along the eastern Coast of the US, and go thru NJ in the area of Warren, Passaic, Morris, and Sussex County. Here you can gain elevation of 800 or 900 feet and see miles of forest (or new developments -- pfft!) as far as the horizon. On the boundary of West Milford and Bloomingdale is a state park with typically beautiful views, but also something very very unique called the &lt;a href="http://www.weirdnj.com/stories/_ancient02.asp" target="_blank"&gt;Stone Living Room&lt;/a&gt; (SLR). The SLR has provided a resting place for weary campers, hikers, backpackers, cub scouts, explorers, and couples for three decades, perhaps longer. Located about a 30 minute hike up a steep trail, you might take off your backpack and sit for a while and enjoy the view. Someone in the 1970s decided they needed something more, so they lugged slabs of rock from the surrounding hilltop and made a base, created a back to lean against, and then piled rock behind it make it secure. When I visited the SLR three years ago, I was amazed by how comfortable it actually was. It didn't feel like rock, though perhaps I was so tired from my hike that I didn't care and was just grateful for the resting spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The SLR unfortunately attracted partygoers who would come to the spot to drink and light a bonfire in a makeshift fire pit. Fires are against the rules in all state parks because of the potential for a forest fire, but this doesn't stop people from lighting them all the time. The noise, the litter, and the fire hazard made this a source of irritation for the local residents and the Parks Department. Over the years, the trail maintainers would dismantle the fire pit from time to time. The fire pit was always rebuilt, mainly because it's not hard to make; a few rocks in a circle and there you go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;West Milford is known for many things, most of which they'd rather not be associated with: &lt;a href="http://www.weirdnj.com/stories/_night03.asp" target="_blank"&gt;Demon's Alley&lt;/a&gt; with its vandalism and arson, &lt;a href="http://www.weirdnj.com/stories/_abandoned05.asp" target="_blank"&gt;Jungle Habitat&lt;/a&gt; with its stories of animal abuse and escapes, and &lt;a href="http://www.weirdnj.com/stories/_roads02.asp" target="_blank"&gt;Clinton Road&lt;/a&gt; with the tales of ghosts, witches and wild animals. The SLR, on the other hand, was a positive thing, something West Milford should have been proud of. Unfortunately, for someone it was not so positive. In mid-May of 2005 someone destroyed the SLR, cracking the larger pieces of stone in an effort to prevent it from being rebuilt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why would anyone destroy it? Could it be the Parks dept, tired of the complaints and threats of fire? If it was, it's strange that they wouldn't also have destroyed the fire pit. When I asked the Parks Dept they denied any responsibility, and I believe them. If they had, they'd simply admit it and justify it somehow and that would be that. What about the explorers who enjoy being destructive? It seems unlikely that someone who might tag an abandoned building with graffiti or break windows in a mental institution would have done this, since most people enjoyed coming here, especially the explorer types. The most likely culprit is a local resident. Tired of the noise, the partying, and the fires that could threaten their homes, perhaps they decided they would eliminate this magnet for partyers once and for all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In July 2005 a group of adults and children spent three hours moving rocks, using tools to pry up pieces of slab, and lining them up so that the SLR would be comfortable, and also stable once again. Some of them had never visited the SLR before, but volunteered because they knew this was something unique that deserved to live again. The fifteen people left that day feeling that they had righted a wrong, secure in the knowledge that it would be there many years from now. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. Within eighteen hours, the unknown vandals struck again and destroyed the SLR for a second, and sadly, final time. They destroyed the rocks, cracking the slabs into pieces, ensuring they could not be reused to reconstruct the SLR a third time. The SLR cannot be rebuilt without going great distances to get suitable pieces of building material, making the chances of another rebuild very remote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoever you are, you have eliminated something that was special to people from all walks of life, all age groups, and from all over NJ and beyond. You've taken a vista with wonderful views and made it a sad place. Anyone who visits the SLR now will see the shattered pieces of rock and know that there was once something special there, and that someone destroyed it. The partying will likely continue, and so will the pit fires. The only difference will be that the partyers will be a bit more stiff-legged and might have some sore muscles. I can't imagine your motives for destroying such a unique NJ attraction. I pity anyone who's life is so miserable and purposeless that they are left with nothing to do but destroy what others have built and hate a place that has brought a smile to the faces of so many. &lt;em&gt;-A Reader&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a damn shame when spiteful people destroy landmarks that bring joy to others. Things like the Stone Living Room are part of what makes New Jersey great. People have traveled the country looking for things like this, and I have a sort of pride in my state for having so many cool locations for the seekers of the weird to visit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never did get to see the Stone Living Room. It was one of those things that were on my list of places to see...and now I never will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks a lot, you jerks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7493385-115433808383653804?l=readmyemail.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/feeds/115433808383653804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7493385&amp;postID=115433808383653804' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115433808383653804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7493385/posts/default/115433808383653804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://readmyemail.blogspot.com/2006/07/decoration-and-destruction-of-stone.html' title='THE DECORATION AND DESTRUCTION OF THE STONE LIVING ROOM'/><author><name>App</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04973805741360160102</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_qlCAUZtia6Q/R3IdGtifr2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/Udg6F8D8i2g/S220/mucha-resize.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
