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Today is Thursday, February 1,
the 32nd day of 2007. There are 333
to go. The Sun is at 12 Aquarius. The moon is
waxing.
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HERE SHE IS................
USS New York
It was built with 24 tons of scrap steel from the World Trade Center.
It is the fifth in a new class of warship
- designed for missions that include special operations against
terrorists. It will carry a crew of 360 sailors and 700 combat-ready
Marines to be delivered ashore by helicopters and assault craft.
Steel from the World Trade Center was
melted down in a foundry in Amite, LA to cast the ship's bow section.
When it was poured into the molds on Sept. 9, 2003, "those big
rough steelworkers treated it with total reverence," recalled
Navy Capt. Kevin Wensing, who was there. "It was a spiritual moment for
everybody there."
Junior Chavers, foundry operations
manager, said that when the trade center steel first arrived, he
touched it with his hand and the "hair on my neck stood up." "It
had a big meaning to it for all of us," he said. "They knocked us down.
They can't keep us down. We're going to be back."
The ship's motto? "Never Forget"
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"Congress is so strange. A
man gets up to speak and says nothing. Nobody listens - and then
everybody disagrees." - Boris Marshalov
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From Liz
LIZARD BIRTHING
If you have raised kids (or been one), and
gone through the pet syndrome including toilet flush burials for dead
goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!
Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.
Here's what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious dad, can you help?"
I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
"Oh my! gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged.
"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me. (again with the sarcasm, you think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
Oh, gross!" they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. Don't you?)
We peered at the patient After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted. "It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly , I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911," my eldest daughter wanted to know "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The Vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the Vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this.
"So Ernie's just...just.. excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence. Then my viscous, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. Laughing
"It's just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its... its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the Vet and hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea,"
Closed mouth, my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
2 - Lizards - $140...
1 - Cage - $50...
Trip to the Vet - $30...
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie.....Priceless
Moral of the story - finish biology class - lizards lay eggs!
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Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.
Here's what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious dad, can you help?"
I put my best lizard-healer statement on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"
"Oh my! gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged.
"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me. (again with the sarcasm, you think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience, I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."
Oh, gross!" they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. Don't you?)
We peered at the patient After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted. "It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly , I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911," my eldest daughter wanted to know "Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly.
We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The Vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the Vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um....um....masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife. "Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this.
"So Ernie's just...just.. excited," my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence. Then my viscous, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. Laughing
"It's just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its... its...teeny little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the Vet and hurriedly bundled the lizards and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea,"
Closed mouth, my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.
2 - Lizards - $140...
1 - Cage - $50...
Trip to the Vet - $30...
Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie.....Priceless
Moral of the story - finish biology class - lizards lay eggs!
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Crip
Humor ~ By and For the Severely Euphemized
You Might Be A PWD [Person With a Disability] If You agree With at Least 10 of the Following 15 Statements
You believe every one like you needs TLC: Thorazine, Lorazapam and Compazine.
You hope there's a special place in Hell for the inventor of that very expensive piece of medical equipment they promised would help.
Your bladder can now expand roughly to the same capacity as a Winnebago's water tank while you search for an accessible toilet.
You see stress as a normal way of life.
You have a tendency to laugh at others "big" problems.
Your sense of humor seems more "warped" each year.
You think pizza and a coke or any two items from a drive-thru's menu make a balanced meal.
You believe that saying "It certainly can't get worse" causes it to get worse.
You can wolf down a sandwich while watching a surgery on a TV reality show.
You believe PIA [Pain In the Arse] is an acceptable alternative diagnosis for your disability.
You have a recurring nightmare of being hit and run over by the portable x-ray machine.
You say to yourself, "Now those are great veins!" when looking at complete strangers in the grocery store.
You believe in the aerial spraying of Prozac.
You believe the ER waiting room should have a Valium salt lick.
You have ever rolled your eyes at someone who actually thinks being constipated for just 2 days is a medical emergency.
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You Might Be A PWD [Person With a Disability] If You agree With at Least 10 of the Following 15 Statements
You believe every one like you needs TLC: Thorazine, Lorazapam and Compazine.
You hope there's a special place in Hell for the inventor of that very expensive piece of medical equipment they promised would help.
Your bladder can now expand roughly to the same capacity as a Winnebago's water tank while you search for an accessible toilet.
You see stress as a normal way of life.
You have a tendency to laugh at others "big" problems.
Your sense of humor seems more "warped" each year.
You think pizza and a coke or any two items from a drive-thru's menu make a balanced meal.
You believe that saying "It certainly can't get worse" causes it to get worse.
You can wolf down a sandwich while watching a surgery on a TV reality show.
You believe PIA [Pain In the Arse] is an acceptable alternative diagnosis for your disability.
You have a recurring nightmare of being hit and run over by the portable x-ray machine.
You say to yourself, "Now those are great veins!" when looking at complete strangers in the grocery store.
You believe in the aerial spraying of Prozac.
You believe the ER waiting room should have a Valium salt lick.
You have ever rolled your eyes at someone who actually thinks being constipated for just 2 days is a medical emergency.
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From
Wilda
Kind of funny, but scary when you realize that these people vote!
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Anger Management
When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know. I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello."
I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right fucking number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude.
When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.
After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an asshole!" and hung up.
I wrote his number down with the word 'asshole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'asshole' calling would have to stop So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?" He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!" and hung up.
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number. A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too. I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"
He said, "Yes, it is." I asked, "Can you tell me where I can see it?"
He said, "Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and the car's parked right out in front."
I asked, "What's your name?"
He said, "My name is Don Hansen."
I asked, "When is a good time to catch you, Don?"
He said, "I'm home every evening after five."
I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
He said, "Yes?"
I said, "Don, you're an asshole!"
Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.
Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.
Then I came up with an idea. I called asshole ..1.
He said, "Hello."
I said, "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)
He asked, "Are you still there?"
I said, "Yeah."
He screamed, "Stop calling me!"
I said, "Make me."
He asked, "Who are you?"
I said, "My name is Don Hansen."
He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?"
I said, "Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. I have a black Beamer parked in front."
He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole," and hung up.
Then I called Asshole ..2.
He said, "Hello?"
I said, "Hello, asshole."
Fucker; He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
I said, "You'll what?"
He exclaimed, "I'll kick your ass!"
I answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."
Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and that I was on my way home to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down on Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.
NOW I feel much better.
Anger management really does work.
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OK, move along, that's all there is, move along please ....
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Housekeeping:
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If you
always do what you always did, you'll always get what you always
got!
Home is where the grab bars are.