Definitive, uncontrovertible proof that Ross loves his lawn equipment far, far, too much. (He is the artist behind this thoughtfully composed portrait, not I.)
Monday, November 05, 2007
Sunday, November 04, 2007
I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.
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.
I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-ma il program.
I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.
I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.
I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day
Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.
Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.
I no longer can buy gasoline without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.
I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.
I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.
And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.
I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.
I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.
I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.
I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.
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 buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.
Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to c ause me instant death when it bites my behind.
And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 I dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.
I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!
If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician...
Have a wonderful day....
Oh, by the way.....
A South American scientist from Argentina , after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with their hand on the mouse.
Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late!
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A Simpler Time
A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It's not often blog
fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it,
right there for the taking. I thumbed through it quickly and found my next
dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old
Also, I am totally getting this for my
There's plenty more home furnishings where those
came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to
bore you with something else. The clothes.
The clothes are fantastic.
Here's how to get
your ass kicked in elementary school:
Just look at that belt. It's like a boob-job for
your pants. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. The belt loops
have to be three inches long. And way to pull them up to your armpits,
Here's how to get your ass kicked in
This kid looks like he's pretending to be David
Soul, who is pretending to be a cop who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone
knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15.
Here's how to get
your ass kicked on the golf course:
This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the
description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply relaxing around the
house. Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be relaxing
around your cell in D-block. Even
then, the only reason you should put this thing on is because the warden made
you, and as a one-piece, it's slightly more effective as a deterrent against
Here's how to get your ass kicked
pretty much anywhere:
If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like
Mr. Bob "No-pants" Saget has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case,
he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened -
or if it hasn't happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his
matching coffee cup.
Here's how to get your ass kicked at
He looks like he's reaching for a gun, but you know
it's probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster.
How to get your
ass kicked in a meeting:
If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I
believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including
termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange
How to get your ass kicked on every
day up to and including St. Patrick's Day
Dear god in heaven, I don't believe that color
exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles
unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.
this next one, Your Search For VALUE Ends at Penneys.
As does your search for chest hair.
-- Seriously. No words.
Oh wait, it turns out that there are words after all. Those words are
What. The. F*ck. I'm guessing the
snap front gives you quick access to the chest hair. The little tie must be the
Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers
outfits, I'm guessing that in 1977 it was considered pretty stylish for couples
to dress alike. These couples look happy, don't they?
I am especially fond of this one, which I have
entitled "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."
And nothing showcases your everlasting love more
than the commitment of matching bathing suits. That, and a blonde girl with a
look on her face that says "I love the way your junk fights against that
Then, after the lovin', you can relax in your
one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits:
I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from
this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. That said, I will leave you
with these tasteful little numbers:
Man, that's sexy.
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