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OH how I can relate: an entire crate, 2 SPAM cans of Norinco .45ACP Now I'll have to shoot it off! OH The Hardship!

Visiting kid at the house many years ago... I'm cutting nice cross-grain slices into a roast, and inserting freshly sliced slivers of garlic. She says "We shouldn't eat meat, we need to save the animals." I look at her, look at roast, look at her again, look at the roast again, then look her right int the eye. And tell her "Can't save this one, it's already dead." And then I look down and slice another sliver of garlic, and stuff it into the next slit, and repeat. It took her a few seconds to realize this conversation was over. On 2nd edit: While I was looking down, I could still see her face. Her expression was priceless. I treasure the memory.

Guy goes to the dentist to have a tooth pulled. Dentist pulls out a needle to numb the tooth. Guy says "NONONO NEEDLES!" Dentist gets out the mask for the nitrous. "NONONO! I'll feel like I'm suffocating!" Dentist asks "Pills OK?" "Sure" says the patient. "Here, take this Viagra." "WOW! I didn't know Viagra was a pain killer!" "It's not. It just gives you something to hang on to while I pull your tooth."

He should have paid attention when he saw that. Called in sick to work, maybe.

That's not funny! Looks like me... [wanders off whimpering...]

I had an Uncle that used to bring one of these to Thanksgiving Dinner.

THE FORBIDDEN ARCHIVE Marnie Keller kept a collection of books at home, rather than at the Museum. Some information was not yet for public consumption. Certain picture books, albums, photographs, documents: material yet too personal were stored in neat ranks and rows on handmade bookshelves. Marnie considered the contents of the second shelf from the ceiling: she stood on a rolling ladder, considering the contents of each book and folder. Angela watched as Marnie smiled, just a little, and reached for a picture album. Angela stepped back as Marnie came down the ladder, turned, thrust her chin toward her desk. Angela pulled up the only other chair in the bedroom, sat, tilted her head a little as Marnie opened the book just short of midway, paged back, back again, stopped. Angela leaned closer and Marnie felt the delight fairly prickling from her little sis. "Oooh," Angela gushed, "I want, I want!" Marnie laughed and laid a hand on Angela's back. "I think we can arrange that," she said quietly. Marnie Keller sat in the beautician's chair, looking at her reflection, then at the beautician. Mr. Robert, as he was called, made a show of opening a stainless-steel steam cabinet, of withdrawing a steaming towel: he reached down, laid Marnie almost flat on her back, stuck a cigar between his teeth (genuine green bubble gum, no less!) and carefully, precisely, wrapped the steaming-hot towel around Marnie's face. "Awright, youse guys," he sneered in an absolutely terrible 1930s-era gangster accent, "we're gonna makes youse looks beautiful, see? Nyaa." Mr. Robert looked around, as if to challenge anyone who defied his authority: he wore a pinstriped, double breasted suit with a Fedora, he wore white spats with gleaming-black oxfords, he busied himself with the compound intended to make Marnie's naturally healthy skin even better. Of course, as the man was hamming it up terribly, he'd arranged for Marnie's manicure: a gum-popping doxy of the era in a proper hairdo and dress sat and began soaking Marnie's nails in a shallow dish of something the same shade of bilious green as Mr. Robert's cigar. Marnie patiently endured the beautician's ministrations: a facial, a peeled-off mask, the hot towels to open her pores and then after the mask, witch hazel to close them: Marnie explained each step to Angela, how Mr. Robert did her hair in such a way that she could tuck it up under a hat, and when the hat was removed, her hair would fall in a shining cascade down the middle of her back. "And this," she said, "is the suit I wore." Angela's breath aaaah'd out in honest admiration: she looked at Marnie and said, "Can I look like that?" "We'll have to check with Daddy first." Angela looked disappointed. "Why?" she whined. Marnie turned the page, tapped a photograph with a nail-trimmed finger. "Oh." It was a group photograph. Angela had honestly forgotten the occasion. She'd been focused on going to a classmate's birthday party; she stood patiently as the family portraits were taken, then she'd happily departed for cake and ice cream and pin-the-tail-on-something-or-another. The photograph had the Sheriff standing beside his wife, one arm around her shoulders, the other propping a 97 Winchester's buttplate on the edge of his gunbelt, muzzle to the ceiling. Beside him, Jacob Keller, glaring coldly at the camera, a 73 rifle in his grip, angled across him and down to the floor: he wore Stetson and boots, jeans and flannel shirt and a vest. Shelly stood, smiling gently, holding her week-old baby, and in front of her, Joseph, trying to look stern: he wore a brace of revolvers and held a rather impressive Bowie knife across his chest. On Shelly's right, Marnie. In a pin stripe suit, a black silk blouse and white necktie, a snap brim hat and her Gammaw's trademark high heels, and held across her and angling down, an honest to God, drum magazine, civilian grade, figured-cherry-wood Thompson submachine gun in almost new condition. A friend of Linn's with more money than good sense bought the Thompson from a Sheriff's office back East: the Thompson originally belonged to a coal mine's security, until the Gun Control Act of 1932, when the mines donated the Thompsons to the Sheriff's office (and knocked the donation off their taxes) and replaced them with model 12 Winchester riot guns. The Sheriff's boon companion and old friend brought his new prize out to show it off to his pale eyed old compadre, and Linn looked up and grinned that crooked, half-his-mouth grin that meant he had an idea. "Mama knew Daddy wanted a family portrait taken," she said to the enraptured Angela, "and when he saw that genuine Thompson, he just had to have it in the portrait." "You look good in a hat," Angela said firmly. "I looked good in that suit," Marnie agreed. "Dadddy sent his old friend a copy of this picture, and his friend sent back that I needed a cigar." "Eewww," Angela made a face, flared her nostrils. "Yeah, ewww. But I knew where to go to get my hair done for the picture." "Did Mister Robert see this?" Marnie smiled. "Yes he did," she said softly, and Angela looked quickly at her sister, surprised at a note of sadness in her voice. "I showed it to him a week before he died." "Did he like it?" "He laughed," Marnie said gently. "His sister said it was the last laugh he had on this earth." Marnie looked at herself, in a suit and tie and a Dick Tracy hat, holding a genuine Thompson submachine gun. "I looked good that day," she murmured, "and when Daddy sent a copy of this to his friend, he stuck in a note that said this is why his county is nice and quiet." "Marnie, why do you keep this in the Forbidden Archive?" Marnie laughed, tilted her head a little as she looked at her big-eyed little sister. "Can you imagine -- can you just imagine what would be said if the Sheriff's CHILDREN" -- she said it with a shudder in her voice and an expression of shock on her face -- "actually carried guns?" Angela planted her knuckles on her belt and lowered her head, as if to glare over a set of nonexistent spectacles at her older sister. "Marnie," she scolded, shaking her Mommy-finger at her big sis, "I'm a pretty good shot!" Marnie turned, slid out of her chair, went to her knees and hugged her little sister, and laughed. "Yes, you are, sweets," she agreed. "Now would you like to try on that hat? I still have it, you know!" When Sheriff Linn Keller shut off his Jeep, he looked to the front porch and smiled. He opened the Jeep's door, stepped out, advanced toward the porch. Two sets of pale eyes regarded him: one set from beneath a fashionable little hat, which matched the McKenna gown worn by a truly beautiful young woman (who only incidentally also wore a gunbelt with a bulldog .44 holstered thereon), and the other set from beneath a snap-brim hat, which just matched the altered, pinstripe suit coat and skirt of a little sis with a skeptical expression and a bilious-green, bubble gum cigar. "Awright, youse guys," Angela sneered, "we're lookin' for a Chicago typewriter, see?" -- and thrust the bubblegum stogie between even, white teeth. "You heard the lady," Marnie said innocently. Sheriff Linn Keller gathered one daughter in one arm, the other daughter in the other, threw his head back and laughed, as a man laughs when he's had a difficult day at work, and has just been given the exact moment he needed.

Boo hiss sigh

Not lazy. Just don't want to read a former girlfriend's phone number.

Just a pathetic coward. My daughter was a successful college athlete and student. With trash like this polluting the sport, she would not have several championship rings. Scroom!