Top Ten Reasons Hurricane Season Is Like Christmas

Top Ten Reasons Hurricane Season Is Like Christmas:

10.) Decorating the house (with plywood).

9.) Dragging out boxes that haven't been used since last season.

8.) Last minute shopping in crowded stores.

7.) Regular TV shows pre-empted for 'Specials'.

6.) Family coming to stay with you.

5.) Family and friends from out of state calling you.

4.) Buying food you don't normally buy...and in large quantities.

3.) Days off from work.

2.) Candles

<cue drum roll>

And the #1 reason Hurricane Season is like Christmas...

1.) At some point you're probably going to have a tree in your house!

more church bulliten funnies...

* The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.

* The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

* Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled -- proceeds will be used to cripple children.

* Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered and remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community.

* Say ‘Hell’ to someone who doesn't care much about you.

your choice will make the difference...a plea for bipartisanship...in a manner of speaking...

There are only a couple of months until the election that will decide the next President of the United States. The person elected will be the president of 'all' Americans, not just the Democrats or the Republicans – so, it is time that we all came together, Democrats and Republicans alike, in a bipartisan effort for all America:

If you support the policies and character of Barack Obama, please drive with your headlights on during the day.

If you support John McCain please drive with your headlights off at night.

Your choice will make the difference...

doctor gives a guy some bad news...

A man hasn't been feeling well, so he goes to his doctor for a complete checkup. Afterward, the doctor comes back with the results.

"I'm afraid I have some very bad news," the doctor says. "You're dying, and you don't have much time left."

"That's terrible," says the man. "Give it to me straight, Doc. How long have I got?"

"Ten," the doctor says sadly.

"Ten?" the man says. "Ten what? Months? Weeks? What?"

"Nine..."

all that is left is the true evil one...he's red, he's called a "monster"...yes, that's right ELMO!!!!

Saudi Cleric Places Fatwa on Mickey Mouse

by Steve Fritz - Newsarama.com

Mon Sep 22, 9:25 AM ET

In a story that's so weird his has to be considered true, a leading Saudi Arabian cleric has declared Mickey Mouse to be an "agent of Satan." As such, he has put a fatwa, or death sentence, on the Mouse's head.

According to the London Telegraph Sheik Muhammad Munajid claimed the mouse is "one of Satan's soldiers" and makes everything it touches impure. He warned that depictions of the creature in cartoons such as Tom and Jerry, and Disney's Mickey Mouse, had taught children that it was in fact loveable. The cleric, a former diplomat at the Saudi embassy in Washington DC, said that under Sharia (Islamic law), both household mice and their cartoon counterparts must be killed.

Not that Mickey's alone in the condemnation department. During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, Saudi Arabia's chief cleric, Sheikh Saleh el-Lheidan, has also spat venom at the Olympics and Turkish soap operas. He declared the international sporting event "obscene" and claiming that nothing made Satan happier than seeing females athletes dressed in skimpy outfits. As for the soaps, he has issues with various bedroom scenes.

"I advise the owners of the shameless satellite stations who distribute programs promoting impudence, insolence and silly humor," said el-Lheidan. "I warn them, they're wasting people's time and corrupting them. If they don't heed our call, their killing could be permissible."

According to CNN, viewers across the Arab world are absorbing it all in; unaware, or uncaring about the edict controversy.

This is not the first time the Mouse has come into conflict with the Muslim world. A few years back, the Palestinian political group Hamas used an almost exact duplicate of the Mickey, named Farfour, as a sort of host of its own TV show. From this pulpit it used to preach death and destruction to its audience, young Palestinian children.

In 2007, the character was also "murdered" on air. A co-host of the show declared Farfour was killed by an actor posing as an Israeli official trying to buy Farfour's land. At one point, the mouse called the Israeli a "terrorist."

"Farfour was martyred while defending his land," said Sara, a teen co-star. He was killed "by the killers of children," she added.

4 simple religious rules...

1. Muslims do not recognize Jews as God's chosen people.

2. Jews do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah.

3. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian world.

4. Baptists do not recognize each other at Hooters.

almond joy's got nuts, mounds don't...

On a chain of beautiful deserted islands in the middle of South Pacific, the following people are stranded: Two Italian men and one Italian woman. Two French men and one French woman. Two German men and one German woman. Two Greek men and one Greek woman. Two British men and one British woman. Two Bulgarian men and one Bulgarian woman. Two Japanese men and one Japanese woman. Two Chinese men and one Chinese woman. Two Irish men and one Irish woman. Two American men and one American woman.

One month later, on these absolutely stunning deserted islands in the middle of nowhere, the following things have occurred:

One Italian man killed the other Italian man for the Italian woman.

The two French men and the French woman are living happily together in a ménage à trois.

The two German men have a strict weekly schedule of alternating visits with the German woman.

The two Greek men are sleeping together and the Greek woman is cooking and cleaning for them.

The two British men are waiting for someone to introduce them to the British woman.

The two Bulgarian men took one look at the Bulgarian woman and started swimming to another island.

The two Japanese have faxed Tokyo and are awaiting instructions.

The two Chinese men have set up a pharmacy, liquor store, restaurant, and laundry, and have gotten the woman pregnant in order to supply more employees for their stores.

The two Irish men divided the island into north and south and set up a distillery. They do not remember if sex is in the picture because it gets somewhat foggy after a few pints of coconut whisky. However, they're satisfied because the British aren't having any fun.

And the two American men are contemplating suicide, because the American woman will not shut up and complains relentlessly about her body, the true nature of feminism, what the sun is doing to her skin, how she can do anything they can do, the necessity of fulfillment, the equal division of household chores, how sand and palm trees make her look fat, how her last boyfriend respected her opinion and treated her nicer than they do, and how her relationship with her mother is the root cause of all her problems, and why didn't they bring a damn cell phone so they could call 911 and get them all rescued off this forsaken deserted island in the middle of freaking nowhere so she can get her nails done and go shopping...

irony can be pretty ironic sometimes, part lost count...

Nicole Muench, a pro-life mom of a special child reported that she found it bizarre that the Republicons used the Heart song, "Barracuda" to end their convention.

“The song is about someone who cheated the band Heart in a business dealing,” explains Nicole.

"If the real thing don't do the trick, You better make up something quick," says the song.

“Were they telling us they're going to cheat this country?” she asks.

The band has since sued to stop the RNC from using their song.

doggie haiku...

I

I love my master

thus I perfume myself with

this long-rotten squirrel.

II

Today I sniffed

many dog behinds-I celebrate

by kissing your face.

III

My human is home!

I am so ecstatic I

have made a puddle.

IV

The cat is not all

bad-she fills the litter box

with Tootsie Rolls.

V

My owners' mood is

Romantic. I lie near their

Feet. I fart a big one.

a man and his ever-nagging wife...

A man and his ever-nagging wife went on vacation to Jerusalem. While they were there, the wife passed away. The undertaker told the husband, "You can have her shipped home for $5,000, or you can bury her here, in the Holy Land, for $150."

The man thought about it and said he would just have her shipped home.

The undertaker asked, "Why would you spend $5,000 to ship your wife home, when it would be wonderful for her to be buried here and you would spend only $150?"

The man replied, "Long ago a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can't take that chance..."

Fill in the blank political joke...

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude."

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be a <fill in your favorite appropriate political party here>."

"I am," replied the man. "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a <fill in your favorite appropriate political party here>."

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You've risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but, somehow, now it's my fault."

be more specific next time... :-)

Little Tony had been playing outside with the other kids for a while when he came into the house and asked his Grandma, "What's that called when two people sleep in the same room and one is on top of the other?"

Grandma was a little taken aback, but she decided to just tell him the truth. "It's called sexual intercourse, darling."

Little Tony just said, "Oh, Okay!" He went back outside to play with the other kids.

A few minutes later he came back in and said angrily, "Grandma, it isn't called sexual intercourse. It's called Bunk Beds. And Jimmy's mom wants to talk to you..."

suprising british student test question answers...

Answers supposedly given by 16-year-old British students in fifth form exams…

Geography:

Question - Name the four seasons.

Answer - Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.

Question - Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.

Answer - Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.

Biology:

Question - What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?

Answer – He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.

Question - How are the main parts of the body categorised?

Answer – The body is consisted into three parts - the brainium, the borax the abominable cavity. The branium contains the brain, the borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abdominable cavity contains the five bowels, A,E,I,O and U.

Question - How can you delay milk turning sour?

Answer – Keep it in the cow. (This one got an A!)

Sociology:

Quesiton - What guarantees may a mortgage company insist on?

Answer - If you are buying a house, they will insist you are well endowed.

Question - In a democratic society, how important are elections?

Answer - Very important, because Sex can only happen when a male gets an election.

interesting church bulliten items...

Thank you, Lord, for the many miracles we are too blond to see.

Tuesday at 4 p.m. there will be an ice cream social. All ladies giving milk come early.

The ladies bible study will be held Thursday morning at 10. All ladies are invited to lunch in the fellowship hall after the B.S. is done.

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

The baby shower will be at 2 p.m. Saturday. All ladies invited. No clothing needed.

There will be a procession next Sunday afternoon in the grounds of the monastery, but if it rains in the afternoon, the procession will take place in the morning.

Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall. Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.

The eighth graders will be presenting Shakespeare's "Hamlet" in the church basement on Friday at 7 p.m. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

Don't forget, Ash Wednesday is Monday, March 5.

The sermon this morning: "Jesus Walks on the Water." The sermon tonight: "Searching for Jesus."

Next week’s sermon: "What is Hell?"

Come early and listen to our choir practice. Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict, and the Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet instead. Please use the back door.

Weight Watchers will meet tomorrow. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

The Fasting & Prayer Conference this weekend includes meals.

The Associate Minister unveiled the church's new tithing campaign slogan last Sunday: "I Upped My Pledge - Up Yours."

Seen on a church sign outside the congreation hall - "Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help...”

dude, ask for directions...

Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon a raging river. Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed: “God, please give me the strength to cross.”

Then - Poof! God gave him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about 2 hours, although almost drowning twice.

After witnessing that, the second man prayed: “God, please give me strength and the tools to cross the river,” and poof again! God gave him a rowboat and strong arms and legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.

Seeing what happened to the first two men, the third man prayed: “God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross this river.” Poof! He was turned into a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards up stream and walked across a bridge.

sometimes you just cant trust lawyers...

A Mafia Godfather finds out that his accountant has cheated him out of ten million bucks. His accountant is deaf. That was the reason he got the job in the first place since he wouldn’t hear anything that he might have to testify about in court.

When the Godfather goes to confront him about his missing $10 million, he brings along his attorney, who knows sign language. "Ask him where the ten million bucks he embezzled from me is," the Godfather asks gruffily.

The attorney does so and the accountant signs back, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The attorney tells the Godfather, "He says he doesn't know what you're talking about."

The Godfather pulls out a pistol, puts it to the bookkeeper's temple and says, "Ask him again!"

The attorney signs, "He'll kill you if you don't tell him!"

"OK! You win!” The bookkeeper signs back, “The money is in a brown briefcase, buried behind the shed in my cousin Enzo's backyard in Queens!"

The Godfather asks the attorney: "Well, what'd he say?"

The attorney replies, "He says you don't have the balls to pull the trigger..."

this is from the Wall St Journal...the WALL ST JOURNAL, folks...

The Tilting Yard - The GOP Loves the Heartland To Death

By THOMAS FRANK

The Wall Street Journal, September 10, 2008; Page A13

It tells us something about Sarah Palin's homage to small-town America, delivered to an enthusiastic GOP convention last week, that she chose to fire it up with an unsourced quotation from the all-time champion of fake populism, the belligerent right-wing columnist Westbrook Pegler.

"We grow good people in our small towns, with honesty and sincerity and dignity," the vice-presidential candidate said, quoting an anonymous "writer," which is to say, Pegler, who must have penned that mellifluous line when not writing his more controversial stuff. As the New York Times pointed out in its obituary of him in 1969, Pegler once lamented that a would-be assassin "hit the wrong man" when gunning for Franklin Roosevelt.

There's no evidence that Mrs. Palin shares the trademark Pegler bloodlust -- except maybe when it comes to moose and wolves. Nevertheless, the red-state myth that Mrs. Palin reiterated for her adoring audience owes far more to the venomous spirit of Pegler than it does to Norman Rockwell.

Small town people, Mrs. Palin went on, are "the ones who do some of the hardest work in America, who grow our food and run our factories and fight our wars." They are authentic; they are noble, and they are her own: "I grew up with those people."

But what really defines them in Mrs. Palin's telling is their enemies, the people who supposedly "look down" on them. The opposite of the heartland is the loathsome array of snobs and fakers, "reporters and commentators," lobbyists and others who make up "the Washington elite."

Presumably the various elite Washington lobbyists who have guided John McCain's presidential campaign were exempt from Mrs. Palin's criticism. As would be former House Speaker Dennis Hastert, now a "senior adviser" to the Dickstein Shapiro lobby firm, who hymned the "Sarah Palin part of the party" thus: "Their kids aren't going to go to Ivy League schools. Their sons leave high school and join the military to serve our country. Their husbands and wives work two jobs to make sure the family is sustained."

Generally speaking, though, when husbands and wives work two jobs each it is not merely because they are virtuous but because working one job doesn't earn them enough to get by. The two-job workers in Middle America aren't spurning the Ivy League and joining the military straight out of high school just because they're people of principle, although many of them are. It is because they can't afford to do otherwise.

Leave the fantasy land of convention rhetoric, and you will find that small-town America, this legendary place of honesty and sincerity and dignity, is not doing very well. If you drive west from Kansas City, Mo., you will find towns where Main Street is largely boarded up. You will see closed schools and hospitals. You will hear about depleted groundwater and massive depopulation.

And eventually you will ask yourself, how did this happen? Did Hollywood do this? Was it those "reporters and commentators" with their fancy college degrees who wrecked Main Street, U.S.A.?

No. For decades now we have been electing people like Sarah Palin who claimed to love and respect the folksy conservatism of small towns, and yet who have unfailingly enacted laws to aid the small town's mortal enemies.

Without raising an antitrust finger they have permitted fantastic concentration in the various industries that buy the farmer's crops. They have undone the New Deal system of agricultural price supports in favor of schemes called "Freedom to Farm" and loan deficiency payments -- each reform apparently designed to secure just one thing out of small town America: cheap commodities for the big food processors. Richard Nixon's Agriculture Secretary Earl Butz put the conservative attitude toward small farmers most bluntly back in the 1970s when he warned, "Get big or get out."

A few days ago I talked politics with Donn Teske, the president of the Kansas Farmers Union and a former Republican. Barack Obama may come from a big city, he admits, but the Farmers Union gives him a 100% rating for his votes in Congress. John McCain gets a 0%. "If any farmer in the Plains States looked at McCain's voting record on ag issues," Mr. Teske says, "no one would vote for him."

Now, Mr. McCain is known for his straight talk with industrial workers, telling them their jobs are never coming back, that the almighty market took them away for good, and that retraining is their only hope.

But he seems to think that small-town people can be easily played. Just choose a running mate who knows how to skin a moose and all will be forgiven. Drive them off the land, shutter their towns, toss their life chances into the grinders of big agriculture . . . and praise their values. The TV eminences will coo in appreciation of your in-touch authenticity, and the carnival will move on.

Write to Frank@wsj.com

e-mail from God....

One day God was looking down at Earth and saw all of the rascally behavior that was going on. So he called one of His angels and sent the angel to Earth for a time. When he returned, God requested his report.

The angel told God, “Yes, it is bad on Earth. 95% are misbehaving and only 5% are not.”

God thought for a moment and said, “Maybe I had better send down a second angel to get another opinion.”

So God called another angel and sent him to Earth for a time.

When the angel returned he went to God and said, “Yes, it's true.The Earth is in decline; 95% are misbehaving, but 5% are being good.”

God was not pleased. So He decided to e-mail the 5% that were good, because he wanted to encourage them, and give them a little something to help them keep going.

Do you know what the e-mail said?

Okay, I was just wondering, because I didn't get one either...

another bob r column from the P-D about cats. I know I know you can link to it but what the hey...

I’ve plunged into the abyss of a third cat

By Bob Rybarczyk

SPECIAL TO THE POST-DISPATCH

09/02/2008

I swear, I am not trying to turn “Suburban Fringe” into “Bob’s House of Cats.” Yes, I’ve written about our cats a lot lately, but not by design. I do intend to write many more columns about things other than cats, as long as I don’t get hit by a bus or eaten by brain-thirsty zombies.

Having said that, this week’s column is once again about the cats. I swear, though, it’s not my fault. It’s Colette’s. She was the one who got all crazy and talked me into doing something stupid. It’s all her fault that we now have…shudder…three cats.

I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with it. I’m a victim of circumstance. A pawn. A lackey. She was the brains. I was just the guy who helped pick out the cat, signed my name to all the paperwork, and paid for it. I’m an innocent bystander.

Here’s what happened, and here’s why I’m writing this column in a room with a small black cat who is currently hopping around and attacking our carpet like it’s made out of mouse meat.

As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, we’ve been having kind of an issue with our first two cats, Frisco and Charlie. Frisco is old and fat and wants nothing more than to spend his remaining days eating, sleeping and gaining weight. Charlie is young and energetic and enjoys receiving blows to the head. Because Charlie has no other animals to play with, he’s all over Frisco like stupid on an Olly Girl. We figured if Charlie had someone his own age to play with, he’d leave Frisco alone, and the old man could go back to developing his own gravitational pull in peace.

As logical as this train of thought was, when Colette called me from the pet store a couple days ago, I was a little bit taken aback. She and Melon Ball (not her real name) had gone to the store to pick up a birthday present for Charlie and decided to check out the adoption center (or, as I like to call it, Death Row).

“You should see all the cute kitties they have here,” she said in a voice not unlike the one she would use to coerce a child into eating some nummy nummy gween beans. “They have this really cute one who’s so tiny, and a pretty calico, and then there’s this little black one who seems like a little fireball.”

“Um….” I said, “did we decide to get a cat?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I thought we talked about it.”

I was already sunk. I knew it the moment I heard that nummy nummy voice. But I couldn’t go down without a fight. I am, after all, the man of the house. “Yeah, we talked about it,” I sorta muttered.

“I’m not going to buy one tonight,” Colette said. “We’re just looking.” Translation: I want you to feel like you have a choice in the matter, but I’ve already seen these cats and I’m in love, and if we don’t get one I’m going to be crushed, and keep in mind I let you watch stupid old football even though it’s stupid.

“Well, OK then,” I said. Do you see? Did I not fight? Me = innocent victim.

A couple days later, I went back with Colette to the store and we – I mean, she – decided on the little black kitten. It was kinda cute, seemed to have a lot of personality, and also seemed a little bit stupid, which to me is a good trait in an animal. I don’t want my house filled with creatures that might someday plot against me.

We still haven’t integrated the cats yet (we will, though; we have a dream), but we feel pretty certain that Charlie is going to like Dexter or Lucky or Boo or whatever we decide to call the little black nugget. The new cat is every bit the spaz that Charlie is. Integrating the cats isn’t my problem.

I do, however, have a problem. Kind of a big problem, actually. Without entirely realizing what I was doing, I ended up crossing a frightening threshold. I used to be a guy with cats in his house. Being a guy with cats really isn’t so bad. When you’re a guy with cats, you can still read Maxim and know what a Youkilis is and play Madden.

But I’m not a guy with cats anymore. Going from two cats to three, even involuntarily, changes me into something else. I’m now a Cat Guy.

You know those Cat Ladies? The ones with bright lipstick, faux-leopard shawls, cigarette holders, skin that looks like an elephant’s butt, and a house swarming with one-eyed cats? I’m one of them now. I’m like a Cat Lady, except I’m a dude. I mean, I don’t wear orange lipstick or drive a Cadillac large enough to impale a warship, but still.

I’m really freaking out here, people. All sorts of things are going to change now. If I see a cat wearing a holiday sweater, I will no longer point and laugh. Instead, I’ll say, “My, that fits him quite well. I’m sure it will keep him toasty during this yuletide season.” If I die alone in the house, instead of just resting peacefully until the neighbors notice the smell, I’m going to have my face eaten by my cats. That’s one of the rules of being a Cat Person. You die, the cats eat your face. It’s a rule. And you know, I’m kind of in a panic about it.

The process of becoming a Cat Guy has already started, actually. You know what I call the stuff the cats leave behind in the litter box? “Poopins.” Yeah, that’s right. Poopins. I don’t say, “I’m going to clean the litter box,” I say, “I’m off to scoop the poopins.” I no longer pet the cats, I say that I’m “giving them their lovins.” It is not uncommon for me to order a cat to “come get your lovins.”

For the love of God, people, I AM SAYING “POOPINS” AND “LOVINS.” I’m a grown man, just a few months shy of 40, and I’m using the word “poopins” like it’s a word any red-blooded, naughty-librarian-loving man would use. Do you understand why I’m freaking out?

I don’t think it’s being overly dramatic to say that I’m completely and utterly doomed. I may as well go shop for cat sweaters now.

Come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea. I don’t want to wait until all the good Halloween designs are picked over.

Bob Rybarczyk (brybarczyk@sbcglobal.net) writes stuff. He plays soccer with third-graders to raise his self-esteem. Look for his first novel, “Acoustic Kitty,” at area Borders stores and online. He’ll be signing copies at the Sunset Hills Borders from 1 to 3 p.m. on Sunday, September 14, so come get your lovins. Be sure to say hi to him on Facebook.