President Felipe Calderón of Mexico has announced Mexico will not participate in the next Summer Olympics.
* Sent to me by Stacy the Peanut Queen
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Mexico Drops Put of 2008 Olympics
President Felipe Calderón of Mexico has announced Mexico will not participate in the next Summer Olympics.
* Sent to me by Stacy the Peanut Queen
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Bathroom Adventures of Spongebob Stinkypants
"Why do you keep peeing on my beanbag chair?" I asked my cat, Spongebob Stinkypants, as I held up my beanbag chair and shook it at him. He sat looking up at me, flicking his tail on the hardwood floor excitedly, as he tried to figure out if we were were playing or if he was in trouble. I stuck the section of the chair with evaporated cat pee in his face and made sure his nose was right up in it.
"Here, right here, smell familiar?" I asked him. He backed up a few steps. "Yeah, I thought you might recognize this." And then I carried the chair past him to the hall bathroom, throwing open the door and tossing it into the shower, where I began washing it off for the second time in as many weeks. Spongebob pranced into the bathroom behind me. He plopped down into the cool tile floor behind the now half-open door and spread out.
He loves to follow people into the bathroom. It's his favorite room. If you flush the toilet, he'll jump up onto the rim of the bowl and stick his head in, watching the water go down like it's some great event. More than once I've been standing up peeing, only to see a fuzzy head and paws appear between my legs and lean way out into the toilet, watching the yellow stream spash down into the clear water.
I rinsed the dried cat pee off the vinyl beanbag chair and threw it down into the shower to drip dry. Then I walked out, closing the bathroom door behind me and forgetting about Spongebob.
I plopped down on the couch in the living room and resumed watching "Mission Impossible" with My Wife.
After a long time had passed, I began to hear noises coming from the hall bathroom.
"Did you lock Stinky in the bathroom?" My Wife asked me.
"Yeah, apparently I did," I responded. Neither of us offered to get up and go let him out.
Before long, I heard the sound of cabinet doors being opened and then springing shut again. "Ah, he's learning the fine art of opening cabinets. Great," I commented.
And then we heard another noise, a different noise, the sound of something sort of rumbling. "What the hell was that?" I asked My Wife.
"I don't know. Go check," she replied, still not making any attempt to get up off the couch.
Curious, but dreading the answer, I got up and walked over to the hall bathroom. I turned the doorknob and pushed on the door.
BUMP!
"What the hell?!"
"What?" My Wife yelled to me from the living room. "What'd he do?"
"The door won't open," I yelled back. And then I pressed on it hard enough to bend it just a little so I could peek inside the bathroom. I could just barely see a long strip of wood directly behind the door.
"Oh hell!" I cursed. "He's pulled open the vanity drawer and now the door won't open. Stinky, you dumbass, now you're stuck in there!"
He had pulled the drawer all the way open, so that it was fully extended and completely barricading the door.
Stinky was meowing pitifully now, tired of being in the bathroom and beginning to realize from the tone of my voice that bad things were happening, or about to.
"You opened it," I said uselessly to the cat, "now close it back."
He meowed in response, but didn't touch the drawer again.
I could only just open the door a tiny crack, just enough to see in, but not enough to get anything substantial through, like my hand or even a thick screwdriver. The more I looked at the situation, the more I began to think I was going to have to break the drawer just to get inside.
"Where is the long, thin screwdriver?" I asked My Wife, the woman who constantly steals my tools and then scatters them all about the house rather than putting them back in my toolbox.
"I don't know!" she yelled, apparently insulted that I had asked her. Then she began yelling questions to me about the situation, why I couldn't open the door, and couldn't I just poke my hand in and close the drawer and other thoughts a person might have from a comfortable seat on the couch.
"No, there's no room. There's barely any room to even see in, let alone poke a screwdriver or something in there." I reponded. "I think I may have to trying using a knife blade. It's about the only thing thin enough to fit that would allow me to push on the drawer."
I left to get my longest knife.
When I arrived back, My Wife was just opening the door.
"What did you do?" I asked her.
She held up a long, perfectly flat kitchen utensil. "Spaghetti fork!" she announced proudly. "Good thing I'm Italian!"
Spongebob came running out of the bathroom and went straight up to me. I took his furry face in my hands and said in a playful voice masking my irritation, "So, if you could open the damn thing, why couldn't you close it?"
He meowed happily and then wrapped his paws around my wrists and bit the shit out of my hand. Life in the Memphis Household was back to normal again.
"Here, right here, smell familiar?" I asked him. He backed up a few steps. "Yeah, I thought you might recognize this." And then I carried the chair past him to the hall bathroom, throwing open the door and tossing it into the shower, where I began washing it off for the second time in as many weeks. Spongebob pranced into the bathroom behind me. He plopped down into the cool tile floor behind the now half-open door and spread out.
He loves to follow people into the bathroom. It's his favorite room. If you flush the toilet, he'll jump up onto the rim of the bowl and stick his head in, watching the water go down like it's some great event. More than once I've been standing up peeing, only to see a fuzzy head and paws appear between my legs and lean way out into the toilet, watching the yellow stream spash down into the clear water.
I rinsed the dried cat pee off the vinyl beanbag chair and threw it down into the shower to drip dry. Then I walked out, closing the bathroom door behind me and forgetting about Spongebob.
I plopped down on the couch in the living room and resumed watching "Mission Impossible" with My Wife.
After a long time had passed, I began to hear noises coming from the hall bathroom.
"Did you lock Stinky in the bathroom?" My Wife asked me.
"Yeah, apparently I did," I responded. Neither of us offered to get up and go let him out.
Before long, I heard the sound of cabinet doors being opened and then springing shut again. "Ah, he's learning the fine art of opening cabinets. Great," I commented.
And then we heard another noise, a different noise, the sound of something sort of rumbling. "What the hell was that?" I asked My Wife.
"I don't know. Go check," she replied, still not making any attempt to get up off the couch.
Curious, but dreading the answer, I got up and walked over to the hall bathroom. I turned the doorknob and pushed on the door.
BUMP!
"What the hell?!"
"What?" My Wife yelled to me from the living room. "What'd he do?"
"The door won't open," I yelled back. And then I pressed on it hard enough to bend it just a little so I could peek inside the bathroom. I could just barely see a long strip of wood directly behind the door.
"Oh hell!" I cursed. "He's pulled open the vanity drawer and now the door won't open. Stinky, you dumbass, now you're stuck in there!"
He had pulled the drawer all the way open, so that it was fully extended and completely barricading the door.
Stinky was meowing pitifully now, tired of being in the bathroom and beginning to realize from the tone of my voice that bad things were happening, or about to.
"You opened it," I said uselessly to the cat, "now close it back."
He meowed in response, but didn't touch the drawer again.
I could only just open the door a tiny crack, just enough to see in, but not enough to get anything substantial through, like my hand or even a thick screwdriver. The more I looked at the situation, the more I began to think I was going to have to break the drawer just to get inside.
"Where is the long, thin screwdriver?" I asked My Wife, the woman who constantly steals my tools and then scatters them all about the house rather than putting them back in my toolbox.
"I don't know!" she yelled, apparently insulted that I had asked her. Then she began yelling questions to me about the situation, why I couldn't open the door, and couldn't I just poke my hand in and close the drawer and other thoughts a person might have from a comfortable seat on the couch.
"No, there's no room. There's barely any room to even see in, let alone poke a screwdriver or something in there." I reponded. "I think I may have to trying using a knife blade. It's about the only thing thin enough to fit that would allow me to push on the drawer."
I left to get my longest knife.
When I arrived back, My Wife was just opening the door.
"What did you do?" I asked her.
She held up a long, perfectly flat kitchen utensil. "Spaghetti fork!" she announced proudly. "Good thing I'm Italian!"
Spongebob came running out of the bathroom and went straight up to me. I took his furry face in my hands and said in a playful voice masking my irritation, "So, if you could open the damn thing, why couldn't you close it?"
He meowed happily and then wrapped his paws around my wrists and bit the shit out of my hand. Life in the Memphis Household was back to normal again.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Friday and I'm Bored - NEWS!
Campaign for what? All the conservatives have dropped out of the presidential race. We now have 2 communists, a liberal, and a Baptist preacher. Is Bush planning to run for a third term?
I was actually trying to send it to Steph, but I hit the wrong number. Sooo embarrassed!
There's a fart joke here. I'm just afraid to say it.
How do you boost pregnancy exactly? Either she's pregnant or she's not, right? Is this some sort of SUPER pregnancy? Maybe it only lasts 4 1/2 months, but she's twice as hormonal? Sounds dangerous.
Yes, those damn tobacco plants are just leaping up out of the fields and attacking us at random! It's not like people are willingly sticking the tobacco in their faces and lighting it on fire or anything. We're all victims now.
A rare moment of sanity and intelligence from the chaos that is South Africa.
Israeli fighter pilots find that they can fly higher and cope with greater G-forces if they have a massive erection. The main concern, aside from the feminists who dominate Israel not allowing it, is what would happen if they should get shot down while in that condition. They wouldn't be able to run, hide, or fight worth a shit.
My question here is, can the man who was lied to sue the transsexual for deceiving him in the first place? I think he should be allowed to, but of course that would be politically incorrect, so you know it will never be permitted.
I'm picturing Bill Gates in a slim-cut brown '70s suit, kicking in a door and charging into the pirates' lair, aiming a .44 Magnum revolver at the guys now laying on the floor in suprise, as he sneers and says, "Go ahead, make my day!"
Oh gee, whatever gave you that idea? Putin's Russia be anything less than honest and true? Nooooo!
Guys are trying to get laid at a block-party in Kenya, but so far, no luck.
And yet the knife went right through it!
Imagine that, the religious environmentalists may have made a mistake about ethanol. Say it ain't so!
A large population of women pissing The Pill into the water supply seems to have castrated the civilized world. This could explain why everyone today is so bitchy and mean all the time, and there is a distinct shortage of real men.
These men are apparently sleeping with some really ugly women. Personally, I'd give up TV for life if I could have sex with Jessica Biel as much as I wanted for 6 months.
The Messiah is a Komodo dragon? Whaaaaat?
Yes, as more illegal aliens cast their votes in our elections, the whole issue just fades away. Imagine that.
That's ironic, because for years and years conservatives have been asking McCain for his support.
Apparently he was upset by my comment that he would look good on the $1 bill. He wanted the $20.
Every time the female supremacists want to spread some more misandric bullshit in order to recruit women and raise money, they claim 1 out of 4 women suffer ... whatever the fuck it is, rape, domestic violence, boyfriends with bad breath, improperly fitted bras, a vast right-wing conspiracy, etc. All independent researchers, that is, non-feminists, have repeatedly disproven all these claims, including this one about domestic violence. Yet by the time the truth gets out, their government-funded and media-assisted lies have circled the globe many times over and received another $10 billion in taxpayer funding from gutless politicians. The CDC has long been a discredited political propaganda machine and election years are their favorite time for these 'fundraisers'. There will be much more of this in the coming months, you can be sure of that. But there is one real shocker in this story: apparently after 20 years of taking the official position that "all domestic violence is violence against women" they have finally and very begrudgingly admitted that "some men also experience domestic violence." Good golly, who knew?
This woman killed 2 other women and then shot herself. But somehow, some way, a man will be blamed.
I have suffered 'reduced exercise capacity' according to this article. I find that the more times I'm forced to stay indoors and run the treadmill, the more I hate daytime TV.
This is very important news ..... for birds.
Nancy Pelosi and the Democratic Party are trying to transform the AIDS program into an abortion program. It seems there is a lot more money to be made in performing abortions than in treating AIDS. I wonder if Nancy's gay voter base knows about this?
Geez, when was the last time something good came out of Africa? Shit.
This headline seems so fucked up, I just had to include it. Whaaaaaat?
Prostitutes in Dallas have decided that exchanging sex for money is too much trouble. Intead, they've taken to hunting men visiting Dallas on business at the most expensive hotels in town, basically attacking them, slipping them the so-called 'date rape drug', sometimes beating them half to death while they are drugged, and robbing them blind. Feminists continue to insist that female prostitutes are the 'real victims' while the men are the criminals. Dallas police, meanwhile, have assigned a solitary overworked detective to the case with little incentive to bring these politically protected women to justice. And men visiting Dallas on business are, for the most part, not being warned that anything is even going on. The few witnesses that the detective managed to find indicated that the men didn't hire the women, they were either effectively molested and then drugged, or sometimes simply drugged without ever even meeting the women at all. The Press is reporting the story as humorous news, as is their standard practice.
A man in Maine is apparently practicing to be a Dallas prostitute. He's taken to cutting off women who are out driving alone. Once he's in front of them, he stops and leaps out of his vehicle wearing women's underwear, a garter belt and black high-heel boots. Several women have reported nearly running over him as they swerved around him because they were laughing so hard they couldn't manuever well. Police say he isn't necessarily guilty of a crime, but they'll probably just arrest him anyway. Fashion police, meanwhile, say he desperately needs to be apprehended for the next episode of "What Not To Wear".
Courtney Cox is hot
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