Saturday, April 19, 2008

Saturday and Sunday Sundries....and... Where "Liberals" come from....

Fer those of y'all who may be wunderin about the medical tests I had Friday at the VA, I have a bad, and most painful infection on my right leg frum a fall this clumsy old Cookie took last week. Now Sir, being an insulin dependant diabetic, after chewing my ass out big time, my Doctor has me on a series of heavy duty antibiotics so I hopefully don't lose my leg, or foot, or any other appendage below my waist....

Also, I gotta give a big old Cookshack HAT TIP to "Sandy" from Tampa, "Charlie the Cop" frum Chi-Town, and Susan Gertson frum Eagle Lake, Texas fer some of the below entries.....Thanks Amigo and Amiga's....

Everyone seems to be wondering why Islamic terrorists are so quick to commit suicide .. Let's see now...

No Jesus
No Christmas
No television
No cheerleaders

No nude women
No car races
No football
No soccer
No golf

No tailgate parties
No Wal-Mart
No Bunnings
No pork BBQ
No hot dogs
No burgers
No chocolate chip cookies

No lobster
No shellfish, or even frozen fish sticks
No nachos
No beer nuts
No Beer !!!!!!!!

Rags for clothes and towels for hats.
Constant wailing from the guy next-door because he's sick and there are no doctors.
Constant wailing from the guy in the tower.
More than one wife.
You can't shave.
Your wives can't shave.
You can't shower to wash off the smell of donkey cooked over burning camel dung.
The women have to wear baggy dresses and veils at all times.
Your bride is picked by someone else.
She smells just like your donkey.
But your donkey has a better disposition.
Then they tell you that when you die it all gets better!

I mean, really, is there a mystery here???

THE"Flight Attendant"....

A jumbo jet is making its final approach to Tampa Airport. The pilot comes on the intercom,

"This is your Captain. We're on our final descent into Tampa. I want to thank you for flying with us today and hope you enjoy your stay in the Tampa Bay area".

He forgets to switch off the intercom. Now the whole plane can hear his conversation from the cockpit.

The copilot can be heard saying to the pilot, "So, Skip, what’cha got planned while we're in Tampa?"

"Well," says the skipper, "first I'm gonna check into the hotel, take a big crap...then I'm gonna take that new stewardess with the huge tits out for dinner...I 'm gonna wine and dine her, take her back to my room and give her a ride on the baloney pony all night long."

Aghast and amused, everyone on the plane hears this and immediately begins looking up and down the aisle, trying to figure out who this new stewardess is that the pilot's talking about.

Meanwhile, the new stewardess is seated at the very back of the plane. She is so embarrassed that she starts running toward the cockpit to turn the intercom off. Halfway down the aisle, she trips over an old lady's bag and down she goes.

The old lady leans over and says: "No need to hurry, dear. He's gotta land the plane and take a shit first.”

How Latex Gloves Are Made

A dentist noticed that his next patient, an elderly
lady, was looking very nervous so he decided to tell her a little joke
as he put on his gloves.

"Do you know how they make these gloves?" he asked.
"No, I don't" she replied.

"Well," he spoofed, "there's a building in China with
a big tank of latex. Workers of all hand sizes walk up to the tank,
dip in their hands, let them dry, then peel off the gloves and
throw them into boxes of the right size." She didn't crack a smile.
"Oh well, I tried," he thought.

But five minutes later, during a delicate portion of
the dental procedure, she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I was just picturing how condoms are made!" she said.

Gotta watch those little old ladies! Their minds are
always working!

Photobucket ....... ADULT TOPIC MATTER...

Hmmm....Breast Feeding yur 8 year old.....

Ain't no doubt in the Cookies mind this is the kind of wummin y'all see at protest rallies of various sorts, blockading Marine Corps Recruiting Stations, and/or...Democratic National Conventions. She doesn't know how to say NO to her kids...." I'll let her tell me when she's ready to stop." What a cop out....

...and, an obviously very intellectual expert comments and offers her view on the practice of breast feeding 8 years between puffs on her cigarette.....

Cookies Professional Opinion is this. As every parent knows, from before birth to some point after birth, every need a child has is usually met quickly. Once born, the child has simply to cry when it's wet, hungry or ill, and a parent responds quickly and appropriately, so, in that young child's mind, it is the master of its universe, getting instant gratification by simply acting out in some way. This is called "The King Baby".

Now every parent also knows, there comes that day in babies life when the parent, or some other authority figure, has to say NO to something, usually to some toy or sugary food it wants while shopping with Mama. In the babies mind..."NO...What's this NO shit? I've always gotten everything I wanted." "I'll just cry louder, and maybe kick my legs a bit for emphasis." Hence, the end result usually being a tantrum of some sort.

This behavior will continue until such time that the child eventually learns and accepts that NO means NO, and this period of time can be exceptionally trying, aggravating and frustrating for parents.

Some parents, not wanting to deal with this, and believing that Baby will not love them anymore because they said NO, simply give in and give baby whatever it wants, and the "King Baby Syndrome" of "Instant Gratification" resulting from negative behavior continues on into the child's formative, adolescent and eventually adult years. This "King Baby" attitude, if you will, can also be summed up in the statement, "I Want, What I Want, When I Want It and don't tell me NO!" We call these adult King Babies...Liberals, and more times than not, eventually become Democrats.


Now regards to the first video, I guess my take on all of this would be that later in life there will be a strong desire on the part of this poor kid for some instant oral gratification, which...might not be an all bad thing fer us guys...if'n ya know what I mean....

That's Cookies professional assessment of how we get Liberals and Democrats....

Well Sir....I guess this explains alot as well ( G-Rated content).....


Thursday, April 17, 2008

"The Price of Freedom can be seen here"...

Hey posts some testing to be done down at the VA Hospital in Syracuse, NY......See Y'all t'morrow.....


Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Since I was on the topic of sheeple...

I posted this letter about 6 months ago, but in light of the fact that so many folks are up in arms recently regarding The Marines Corps Recruiting Centers, Iraq, The Border situation, The Flag, the price of tea in China, red Burkha'a as opposed to black Burkhas....and...just about any other cause y'all can think of...I think I'll repost this fer folks who mighta missed me... It's worth yur time...

This letter was written by Charles Grennel and his comrades who are
veterans of the Global War on Terror. Grennel is an Army Reservist who
spent two years in Iraq and was a principal in putting together the
first Iraq elections, January of 2005.

It was written to Jill Edwards, a student at the University of
Washington who did not want to honor Medal of Honor winner Colonel
Greg Boyington with a plaque. Greg Boyington was a graduate of UW,
and a USMC pilot during WW-II. Miss Edwards objection was because he
had killed people. Ms. Edwards and other students (and faculty) do
not think those who serve in the U.S. armed services are good role
models. _________

To: Edwards, Jill (student, UW) Subject: Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs

Miss Edwards, I read of your student activity regarding the proposed
memorial to Col. Greg Boyington, USMC and a Medal of Honor winner. I
suspect you will receive a bellyful of angry e-mails from other
military men like me.

You may be too young to appreciate fully the sacrifices of
generations of servicemen and servicewomen on whose shoulders you and
your fellow students stand. I forgive you for the untutored ways of
youth and your naivete. It may be that you are, simply, a sheep.
There's no dishonor in being a sheep as long as you know and accept
what you are.

William J. Bennett, in a lecture to the United States Naval Academy
November 24, 1997 said: Most of the people in our society are sheep.
They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one
another by accident. We may well be in the most violent times in
history, but violence is still remarkably rare. They are sheep.

Then there are the wolves and the wolves feed on the sheep without
mercy. Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the
flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this
world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that
or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in

Then there are sheepdogs. I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock
and confront the wolf. If you have no capacity for violence then you
are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for
violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have
defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a
capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What
do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the
uncharted path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into
the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.

We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep.
They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can
accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire
extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout
their kids schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of
putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children
are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured
by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the
possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill
or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the
wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference,
though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm
the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little
lamb will be punished and removed. The world can not work any other
way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as
ours. Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant
reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he
didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand
at the ready in our airports, in camouflage fatigues, holding an
M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his
fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, Baa. Until the wolf shows
up; then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely

The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough
high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not
have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad
kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was
under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and
hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing
kids off of them.

This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf
is at the door. Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when
the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than
ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers
and military personnel? Understand that there is nothing morally
superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be.
Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always
sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at
things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous
battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle.
The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the
sound of the guns when needed, right along with the young ones.

Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep
pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day.

After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is,
most citizens in America said, Thank God I wasn't on one of those
planes. The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, Dear God, I wish I could
have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a
difference. You want to be able to make a difference. There is
nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does
have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to
survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the

There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals
convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious,
predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law
enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically
targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and
lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in
Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to
protect itself. Some people may be destined to be sheep and others
might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe
that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud
to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.

Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was
honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall,
was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell
phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking.
When they learned of the other three passenger planes that had been
used as weapons, Todd and the other passengers confronted the
terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the
passengers, athletes, business people and parents from sheep to
sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an
unknown number of lives on the ground.

There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible
evil of evil men. Edmund Burke.

Only the dead have seen the end of war. Plato

Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of
police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the
sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way,
and so are wolves. They didn't have a choice.

But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you
want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision. If you want to be a
sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must
understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved
ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect
you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are
going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or
love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior's path,
then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to
dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic,
corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.

This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no
dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a
matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject,
head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior.
Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live
somewhere in between.

Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum,
away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and
appreciating their warriors and the warriors started taking their job
more seriously. It's ok to be a sheep, but do not kick the sheep dog.

Indeed, the sheep dog may just run a little harder, strive to protect
a little better and be fully prepared to pay an ultimate price in
battle and spirit with the sheep moving from baa to thanks.

We do not call for gifts or freedoms beyond our lot. We just need a
small pat on the head, a smile and a thank you to fill the emotional
tank which is drained protecting the sheep. And when our number is
called by The Almighty, and day retreats into night, a small prayer
before the heavens just may be in order to say thanks for letting you
continue to be a sheep. And be grateful for the thousands, millions of
American sheepdogs who permit you the freedom to express even bad

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Tagged...grumble grumblegrumblearrrgh rassafrassaspackaloomersumbichen....

OK....Cookie done got tagged, and I gotta say, I don't normally respond to these taggings or "meme's", but since I have the highest respect for Subvet and his dedicated service to our great country, I'll go along with this one....just this once.....

I was tagged by Subvet frum over at Blowing Sanitary #1,


So here we go;
1. When tagged, place the name and URL on your blog.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write 7 non-important things/quirks/habits about yourself.
4. Name 7 of your favorite blogs.

The 7 non-important things are;

1) As a kid, there was nothing more exciting to me than Dad setting up a huge, scenic electric train complex in our basement around Christmas time.

2) I began my flight lessons at age 12 at Cicero Airport in upstate, NY, paying for them by mowing lawns, shoveling driveways and doing various yard work for all the neighbors.

3) As a young cop, I earned the nickname, "The Leap" after jumping off a roof onto the back of an unsuspecting burglar that was preoccupied with prying open a door.

4) I've always been an "ass and leg" man, preferring to check those physical attributes of a woman out first.

5) I absolutely love annoying the hell outta liberals.

6) I sometimes use "Just for Men" on my beard.

7) I also enjoy annoying the hell outta old Jarheads like "The Chief" frum over at Smoldering Embers in a Mohawk Campfire, and "fits" frum Shooting The Messenger.

The seven blogs are;

1) Smoldering Embers in a Mohawk Campfire.

2) The Dread Pundit Bluto

3) Shooting the Messenger

4) Blowing San #1

5) The Jawa Report

6) My Wonderful Life

7) Signal 94

OK.....I'm a gonna tag......

1) "Nicki" frum The Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic,

2) "Liz" frum over at White Trash Republican

3) "Bob" frum over at "Bob's Blog"

I saw this video over at The Dread Pundit Bluto and was impressed. I ask all those intelligent folks out there who have an open mind to take a few moments and learn about some history....and how it tends to repeat itself when forgotten or ignored... THINK ...for the sake of our country... please THINK before you vote!!


...and "Liz" frum White Trash Republican asks an exceptionally difficult question....


...when I first saw this photygraff, my initial thought was sheep....but upon second glance....I realized they were Obama supporters.... on 3rd thought..... I guess they're one and the same....


Sunday, April 13, 2008

Twixt Monday & Tuesday........

"Have a good day Honey....pick ya up at 5:00....."


Susan Gertson sent me this a few days back, and although I've seen it before in a little bit different format and wording, I thought I'd post it fer those of y'all who might enjoy it.....mostly those of ya that grew up in the 50's and 60's.....

Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,

For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.

We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn.

We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz, and no one's seen him since.
We danced to 'Little Darlin,' and sang to 'Stagger Lee'
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney.

And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.

We didn't have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.

We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T ,
And Oprah couldn't talk, yet, in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We had our share of heroes, we never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.

For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We'd never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson, and Zeppelins were not Led.

And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkee's lived in trees,
Madonna was a virgin in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We'd never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they weren't grown in jars.

And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and 'gay' meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never coed in the Land That Made Me , Me.

We hadn't seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.

And Hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me , Me.

Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.

And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me , Me.

We had no Crest with Fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for condoms in the Land That Made Me , Me.

There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.

And middle-aged was 35 and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me , Me.

But all things have a season, or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.

They send us invitations to join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me , Me.

So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using smaller print in magazines.

And we tell our children's children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me , Me.


OK Mates....if'n yur drinkin coffee or some other beverage, I suggest y'all put it down before readin this here story that Susan Gertson just sent me, otherwise y'all just might wind up with a wet keyboard...

A chili story…

I went grocery shopping recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented ‘You’re definitely going to shit yourself’ chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your a$$ cheeks WILL fall off.

Here’s the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No ‘Watson’s Movement 2′.

Despite harbanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I appeared to be unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my next door neighbors as "thunder and lightning".

Knowing that a time of reckoning had to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for the market; a local Wal-Mart grocery store that I often haunt in search of tasty tidbits.

Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn’t until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me. Oh, don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m referring to that ‘Uh oh, gotta go’ pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.

The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt. In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I stood, alone in the spice and baking aisle, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an elderly woman turned into it.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what her reaction would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate, as she walked into it unsuspecting. Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here’s what I mean, and I’m sure some of you at least will be able to relate.

I could’ve warned that poor woman but didn’t. I simply watched as she walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all she could do before gathering her senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving her arms about her head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. Mistake.

Here’s the thing. When you laugh, it’s hard to keep things ‘clamped down’, if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. IT was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I’d make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable ‘Oh my God’, floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging.

One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of ‘Shock and Awe’. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, ‘Sonofabitch!’, then quickly left.

Once finished I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, ‘Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.’

That of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, ‘IT’S YOU!’, then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

Home again without having shopped, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Albertson’s. I can’t say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they’re going to have to repaint the store..

....and CSSSCC frum Tampa sends us this photo montage regarding.....


Look Closely.....

Keep looking.......

See it now?

Ya got to love the Marines.

If you don't stand behind our troops, please feel free
to stand in front of them.

For those of you who may not be completely aware of John Hinckley, who he is, what he did, and why, here's a little history. John Hinckley was a seriously deranged young man who shot President Reagan many years back. John was absolutely obsessed with movie star Jodie Foster, and extremely jealous as well, and in his twisted mind, loved Jodie Foster to the point that to make himself known to her, attempted to assassinate President Reagan.

With that in mind…the staff at the mental facility treating John Hinckley reports intercepting the following letter from Bill Clinton:

To: John Hinckley

From: Bill Clinton

Dear John,

Hillary and I wanted to drop you a short note to tell you how pleased we are with the great strides you are making in your recovery. In our country’s new spirit of understanding and forgiveness, we want you to know there is a bilateral consensus of compassion and forgiveness abroad throughout the land.

Hillary and I want you to know that no grudge is borne against you for shooting President Reagan. We, above all, are aware of how the mental stress and pain could have driven you to such an act of desperation. Hillary and I are confident that you will soon make a complete recovery and return to your family to join the world again as a healthy and productive young man.

Best wishes,

Bill & Hillary Clinton

PS: Barack Obama is fucking Jodie Foster.

One day, the wife comes home with a spectacular diamond ring.

“Where did you get that ring?” her husband asks.

“Well,” she replies, “My boss and I played the lotto and we won, so bought it with my share of the winnings.”

A week later, his wife comes home with a long shiny fur coat.

“Where did you get that coat?” her husband asks.

She replies “My boss and I played the lotto and we won again,
so I bought it with my share of the innings.”

Another week later, his wife comes home, driving a flaming red Ferrari.

“How could you afford that car?” her husband asks.

You guessed it, Her share of the lotto winnings!
That night, the wife asks her husband to run her a nice warm bath while she gets undressed.

When she enters the bathroom,she finds that there is barely enough water in the bath to cover the plug.

“What’s this?” she asks her husband.

“Well,” he replies, “we don’t want to get your lotto ticket wet, do we?!”