PLEASE FORWARD THIS ON TO EVERY WOMAN YOU KNOW
*********************************************************************************************************
THIS IS AMUST READ FOR ANY WOMAN! THESE TIPS COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE! A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE CAN ATTEST TO THE FIRST ONE!
* If you are ever in an elevator with another man who tries to rape you, push the 3rd floor button 7 times. This sends a signal to the control room and they will pump the elevator full of gas that is only poisonous to rapists. Don't worry, you will be fine. You may experience slight nausea, but isn't that better than being raped?
* If you are ever raking leaves in October, and a rapist pops out of the pile of leaves, tell him he can rape you only after he recites the lyrics to the "Growing Pains" theme-song. Once he finishes the first line, rack him in the balls with your rake. The pain and shame of not being able to finish the song will cause him to hang his head and slowly limp away.
* If a male employee of Chucky Cheese ever corners you in a restroom there and tries to rape you, inform him that you can identify someone in the dining area who is piggy-backing off someone else's salad buffet. He will immediately stop his unwanted advances to catch the thief, at which point you can leave.
* If you go to the doctor for any sort of illness and asks you if you want an injection, refuse it. He will mix "rape serum" in with the medicine. This only works if you actually tell the physician why you are refusing the injection. Upon hearing this, he will realize the game is up and will leave your town.
* If you are ever fishing in Lake Livingston, and you reel in a rapist, say "Rapist, rapist on my bow, rapist, rapist, leave me now!" And he will dissipate in a mist, never to rape again.
* If you consult a magic 8-ball and ask if "Will I be raped today?" and the answer is "Very likely," shake it again.
* If Vin Diesel ever tries to coerce you into his car for purposes of rape by telling you he's the famous actor AND the inventor of diesel fuel, do not get into his vehicle. Instead, from the relative safety of the sidewalk, flatter him by telling him how good he was in "The Scorpion King." When he angrily snaps that that was The Rock and not him, apologize and tell him you enjoyed watching him play a gay man in "Be Cool." If he doesn't vomit with indignation, certainly raping a woman will be the last thing on his mind, as he drives off to contemplate his meaningless career/existence.
* Every Grecian man is a rapist and will use all his powers towards rape. Just know this.
* And finally, if you are using precious work time to read forwards on how to remain safe from rapists, chances are the email was originally sent by a rapist who sent it only to distract you so that he can position himself to rape you.
PLEASE SEND THIS ONTO EVERYW OMAN YOU KNOW!!! TO DELETE THIS MAKES YOU AN ACCOMPLICE TO RAPE, ASSHOLE!!!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
We Hate Our Children, Please Drive Recklessly
by George Sodwell
July 2002 Yard of the Month Winner
I saw you do a double-take at our street sign there. Don't worry. You didn't accidentally drive into some bizarro world like East St. Louis. You read that right. Although you might expect a sign like that to read "We Love Our Children - Please Drive Safely," it really does read "We Hate Our Children - Please Drive Recklessly." It's the Lord's truth. I can't stand the little brats that run rampant in this neighborhood, and I would appreciate nothing more than for some speeding vehicle to take out a few. Or a dozen, or so. Surprise me.
Feel free to blow down this street. Wherever you're trying to get to, I guarantee you, you're not getting there fast enough. Speed limit says 30. That's for girls. Go 50. Especially in the late afternoon when they get home from the schools they're flunking in. Don't worry if you hit a few of the little bastards on accident. Or on purpose. It doesn't matter to me. That's how little I care.
They usually start playing their soccer game about 3:30 or so. I don't follow the sport that much, but I thought you scored "goals" by kicking the ball into the net. To watch these hellions play, you'd think the goal was to kick it into my yard all over my crepe mertles. And they must crap these balls on a daily basis. No matter how many I confiscate and kill by plunging a screwdriver into it, they always seem to find more. They can't afford shoes and indoor furniture, but they have a lifetime supply of soccer balls? Don't make no sense.
If you can, try to take out the tall kid who seems to go by the name "Julio." Mr. Julio there decided it would be funny to pour a bunch of soap flakes into the fountain I keep in my front yard in memory of my dead wife. Well, the second dead one. Anyway, him and his little buddies thought it was pretty damn funny to see the fountain overflowing with soap bubbles. I wonder if Julio would find it amusing if I called CPS on his parents, for letting him play in the street until eight o'clock p.m.?
Used to be such a respectable neighborhood. No one under forty-seven. Then the Rodriguez's moved in with their four children. Then there was that house that caught fire. Then there was that foreclosure, which got sold real cheap to the Villanueva's. They had three kids. Then suddenly I found myself to be the oldest person on this street, at the tender age of seventy-three. And the only white person.
I've stood here talking your ear off long enough, you've got places to be and fast. Really fast. Don't worry about stopping. I'll take care of everything. Just listen (ahem) "Gee officer, I'm just an old man, I can't remember things like what the car looked like that ran over these four kids." Or six.
July 2002 Yard of the Month Winner
I saw you do a double-take at our street sign there. Don't worry. You didn't accidentally drive into some bizarro world like East St. Louis. You read that right. Although you might expect a sign like that to read "We Love Our Children - Please Drive Safely," it really does read "We Hate Our Children - Please Drive Recklessly." It's the Lord's truth. I can't stand the little brats that run rampant in this neighborhood, and I would appreciate nothing more than for some speeding vehicle to take out a few. Or a dozen, or so. Surprise me.
Feel free to blow down this street. Wherever you're trying to get to, I guarantee you, you're not getting there fast enough. Speed limit says 30. That's for girls. Go 50. Especially in the late afternoon when they get home from the schools they're flunking in. Don't worry if you hit a few of the little bastards on accident. Or on purpose. It doesn't matter to me. That's how little I care.
They usually start playing their soccer game about 3:30 or so. I don't follow the sport that much, but I thought you scored "goals" by kicking the ball into the net. To watch these hellions play, you'd think the goal was to kick it into my yard all over my crepe mertles. And they must crap these balls on a daily basis. No matter how many I confiscate and kill by plunging a screwdriver into it, they always seem to find more. They can't afford shoes and indoor furniture, but they have a lifetime supply of soccer balls? Don't make no sense.
If you can, try to take out the tall kid who seems to go by the name "Julio." Mr. Julio there decided it would be funny to pour a bunch of soap flakes into the fountain I keep in my front yard in memory of my dead wife. Well, the second dead one. Anyway, him and his little buddies thought it was pretty damn funny to see the fountain overflowing with soap bubbles. I wonder if Julio would find it amusing if I called CPS on his parents, for letting him play in the street until eight o'clock p.m.?
Used to be such a respectable neighborhood. No one under forty-seven. Then the Rodriguez's moved in with their four children. Then there was that house that caught fire. Then there was that foreclosure, which got sold real cheap to the Villanueva's. They had three kids. Then suddenly I found myself to be the oldest person on this street, at the tender age of seventy-three. And the only white person.
I've stood here talking your ear off long enough, you've got places to be and fast. Really fast. Don't worry about stopping. I'll take care of everything. Just listen (ahem) "Gee officer, I'm just an old man, I can't remember things like what the car looked like that ran over these four kids." Or six.
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