Saturday, June 09, 2007

Sunday Sundries.....

Well keepin with my Sunday policy of postin nuthin too political or controversial...

WHOA!! Somebody call the SPCA...I've got me limits mate....

...discretion be the better part of valor...

..Oh kinda shoppin bag....

...*smack smack*...yupper...she was wearin a wig she was...


In Pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name.
For example, the trade name of Tylenol also has a generic name of
Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen. Amoxil is also call
Amoxicillin and Advil is also called Ibuprofen.

The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra. After careful
consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin. Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and of course, Ibepokin.

Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer. It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to the names of "cocktails", "highballs" and just a good old-fashioned "stiff drink". Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of: MOUNT &DO.

Thought for the day: 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 and absolutely no
recollection of what to do with them.

On the way to work this morning,

I rear ended a car stopped at a stop light.

It was raining and the roads were slick.

The other driver got out of the car and

looked at his back bumper. He was a dwarf.

He walked up to my window and said, "I'm not happy"...

I said "Well, which one are you then?"

Thursday, June 07, 2007

I'm officially a "Fred-Neck"....

Well Sir...I was perusin a few blogs yesterday and while over my buddy Patrick's blog, Born Again Redneck Yogi...and I was readin a comment by someone called C.D.Jewell...and he had coined a term I really liked... "Fred-Neck"...that of course being someone who is in favor of Fred Thompson fer President...and in favor of Fred's platform....

Apparently Mr. Jewell is a recovering Liberal and has written a book called "Liberalstein"...which is a comical satire. That's about all I know...but the reviews fer the book state that it is very funny... any rate...I will henceforth ID myself as a dyed in the wool, 100% ..FRED-NECK...

D-Day, June 6th, 1944... Documentary by 8th Grader...and a spoof video.....

Well Sir....yupper...I know D-Day was two days ago, but since everbody else was also postin sumthin bout it...thought I'd do mine today...

I got the 1st Video off'n "YouTube"....and I borrowed the 2nd vid frum over at The Dread Pundit Bluto...

Now Sir...if'n D-Day had happened this be what the News Broadcast mighta looked like......

"The Ballad of Salvation Bill"...the first documented Nicotine withdrawl...

Well be a little history of Robert William Service...and one a his poems I think Y'all might just enjoy....

Service, Robert William

1874–1958, Canadian poet and novelist, b. England, educated at the Univ. of Glasgow. He went to Canada in 1897 and held odd jobs in British Columbia and at White Horse in the Yukon. His famous ballad “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” appeared in Songs of a Sourdough (1907, repr. 1915 as The Spell of the Yukon). Celebrations of the rough ways of Klondike life continued in Ballads of a Cheechako (1909) and in the novel The Trail of ‘98 (1910). Service became a foreign correspondent in 1912 and drove an ambulance during World War I, an experience that gave him material for Rhymes of a Red Cross Man (1916). He spent the rest of his life, except during World War II, in France and Monte Carlo. His later works did not win the tremendous popularity of the earlier ones. His autobiography was issued in two volumes, Ploughman of the Moon (1945) and Harper of Heaven (1948).


The Ballad of Salvation Bill

'Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon, so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumped into that Missionary Man.

He was lying lost and dying in the moon's unholy leer,
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips'
The famished wolf-pack ringed him; but he didn't seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bond Bible to his lips.

'Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.

So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn't got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin' me his Bible by the yard.

Now there was I, a husky guy, whose god was Nicotine,
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.

For, Oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco means,
Just live among the everlasting ice . . .
So judge my horror when I found my stock of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.

A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me that would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad:
The gospel-plugger watched me with dismay.

My brow was wet, my teeth were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn't understand:
So with despair I wrestled there - when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.

Then something snapped inside my brain, and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
"I saved your lousy life," says I; "so show you have a heart,
And tear me out a solitary page."

He shrank and shrivelled at my words; his face went pewter white;
'Twas just as if I'd handed him a blow:
And then . . . and then he seemed to swell, and grow to Heaven's height,
And in a voice that rang he answered: "No!"

I grabbed my loaded rifle and I jabbed it to his chest:
"Come on, you shrimp, give me that Book," says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.

"If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word," he said,
"My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I'm ready. You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but - you've got to kill me first.

"Now I'm no foul assassin, though I'm full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung my foolish firearm at his feet,

Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
"Forgive me, pard," says I at last, "for acting like a skunk,
But hide the blasted rifle..." Which he did.

And he also hid his Bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain;
And there were crimson moments when I felt I'd o to hell
To have a single cigarette again.

And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I'd end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror turned towards the wall.

"See here, my pious pal," says I, "I've stood it long enough...
Behold! I've mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men - believe me it's no bluff;
Now watch me, for I'm gonna drink it up.

You've seen me bludgeoned by despair through bitter days and nights,
And now you'll see me squirming as I die.
You're not to blame, you've played the game according to your lights...
But how would Christ have played it? - Well, good-bye...

"With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poison cup went crashing to the ground.

"Don't do it, Bill," he madly shrieked. "Maybe I acted wrong.
See, here's my Bible - use it as you will;
But promise me - you'll read a little as you go along...
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill."

And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then . . . a most peculiar thing occurred.

I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: "Here, take it back, me lad. I've had enough I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke."

So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With paper for a thousand cigarettes. . .

So now I'm called Salvation Bill; I teach the Living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won't listen - why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.

--- Robert Service

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

The Cremation of Sam Robert Service...

Well case y'all haven't gathered yet...I'm a big fan of Robert Service poetry...enjoy.....

Poem: The Cremation of Sam McGee
by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.

He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;

Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;

It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;

And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.

I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said:

“Please close that door. It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

I'm with Fred.....

Well Sir....if'n none of the Republican candidates seems t'excite y'all very much, as is the case with me...y'all might wanna join up with Fred Thompson like I did by signing up at...

...and if'n y'all take notice...on my sidebar just under Fred's photygraff...I've even put up a Donation widget for y'all to make a donation to Fred's campaign if ya want to....I did.


go to the above "Imwithfred" link, sign up and put this into yur own blog if'n ya got a mind to....

Last evening on Hannity & Colmes...Fred announced the above site had just been set this is probably the first time yur hearin bout it....

So...slide on over...take a look-see...and jump right in...the water is fine.....

It's really quite simple mates...y'all either help yur candidate to get elected in some way...or don't go a bitchin later on after the election when some other candidate, especially a Democrat like Hillary gets elected.....

Thanks mates....hope to see you over there...or Fred's links on yur blogs....


Monday, June 04, 2007

Some wurds of wizdum frum Charlie fer ya.... Sexuall Harassment policy...

Well good mate "Charlie" frum out Chi-Town way sent me some a his wurds de wizdum...

1. A day without sunshine is like night.

2. On the other hand, you have different fingers.

3. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.

4. 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.

5. Remember, half the people you know are below average.

6. He who laughs last, thinks slowest.

7. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.

8. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.

9. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.

10. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.

11. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.

12. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.

13. How many of you believe in psycho-kinesis? Raise my hand.

14. OK, so what's the speed of dark?

15. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

16. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.

17. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?

18. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines

19. What happens if you get scared half to death, twice?

20. Just remember -- if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.

21. Light travels faster than sound. That's why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

22. Life isn't necessarily like a box of chocolates. it's more like a jar of jalapenos. What you do today, might burn your ass tomorrow.

...and...How to get the men at wurk to read the "Sexual Harassment" policy of yur company...

A PotPourri of photygraffs...

...and in the dumb Blond category we have..

...and the best Refrigerator magnet....

...and the best Levi's ad....

...a real loyal NASCAR fan....

...the best Google ad....

...yur about to have a real shitty day....