Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 25 of 41

Thread: The best forwards I've ever received...

Hybrid View

  1. #1
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002

    The best forwards I've ever received...

    Obviously we all get forwards, and most of the time they suck...but over the last couple years I've gotten some hilarious ones that I've saved, and some that just seemed really cool....anyway....
    I"M SOOOO BORED!! I figure I'll put them up here so that if any of you are bored you have something to read

    Last edited by geoffgarcia; 07-11-2009 at 03:47 PM.

  2. #2
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    Being Twenty-Something

    They call it the "Quarter-life Crisis." It is when you stop going along with the crowd and start realizing that there are a lot of things about yourself that you didn't know and may not like. You start feeling insecure and wonder where you will be in a year or two, but then get scared because you barely know where you are now.

    You start realizing that people are selfish and that, maybe, those friends that you thought you were so close to aren't exactly the greatest people you have ever met and the people you have lost touch with are some of the most important ones. What you do not realize is that they are realizing that too and are not really cold or catty or mean or insincere, but that they are just as confused as you.

    You look at your job. It is not even close to what you thought you would be doing or maybe you are looking for one and realizing that you are going to have to start at the bottom and are scared.

    You miss the comforts of college, of groups, of socializing with the same people on a constant basis. but then you realize that maybe they weren't so great after all. You are beginning to understand yourself and what you want and do not want.

    Your opinions have gotten stronger. You see what others are doing and find yourself judging a bit more than usual because suddenly you realize that you have certain boundaries in your life and add things to your list of what is acceptable and what is not.

    You are insecure and then secure. You laugh and cry with the greatest force of your life. You feel alone and scared and confused. Suddenly change is the enemy and you try and cling on to the past with dear life but soon realize that the past is drifting further and further away and there is nothing to do but stay where you are or move forward.

    You get your heart broken and wonder how someone you loved could do such damage to you or you lay in bed and wonder why you can't meet anyone decent enough to get to know better. You love someone but maybe love someone else too and cannot figure out why you are doing this because you are not a bad person.

    One night stands and random hook ups start to look cheap and getting wasted and acting like an idiot starts to look pathetic.

    You go through the same emotions and questions over and over and talk with your friends about the same topics because you cannot seem to make a decision.

    You worry about loans and money and the future and making a life for yourself and while winning the race would be great, right now you'd just like to be a contender!

    What you may not realize is that everyone reading this relates to it. We are in our best of times and our worst of times, trying as hard as we can to figure this whole thing out.
    Last edited by geoffgarcia; 12-16-2003 at 10:45 AM.

  3. #3
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    aright, I'll admit this one is SUPER long, but its really hilarious if your bored

    A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:
    6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast
    6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels
    7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)
    8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)
    8:53 Crack open second beer
    8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)
    10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth
    95 10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas)
    10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities
    11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle Traveler" Jim Beam
    11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the sky. About 70 degrees.
    11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.
    11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go **** himself.
    12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us). We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.
    12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping chests with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the fact that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.
    1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs. Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska.
    1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the "Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.
    1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the **** out of Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out." Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop out" his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable, non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable and non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheeri! ng masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.
    2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my first stiffy.
    2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast. Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.
    3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking ****. I pour another stiffy from the Traveler.
    3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of the end zone. Safety
    3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.
    4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom: "Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused.
    4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites, so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a bunch of pussies.
    4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.
    5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.
    5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable."
    5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the **** didn't you announce last call over the ****ing PA system??!!"
    5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the answer is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back ! to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a gargantuan **** all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the "Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.
    6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship.
    6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game.
    8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I don't care.
    7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the frig.
    7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the ingredients are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care.
    8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When 'm Gone" and "Neon Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its own. I tell him to **** off and restart "Neon Moon."
    8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we may as well pitch a ****ing tent here. He ignores me. I think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon Moon" loudly.
    8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going to kick the **** out of Arizona.
    9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself out loud)that I have a "Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me.
    9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less Bud Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him (no ****): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.
    9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.
    10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to **** off.
    10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst ****ing call have EVER seen," I attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, 'm taking this a bit seriously."
    10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. 'm so drunk am swaying and grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look like I should be in an episode of Cops.
    10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and make my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.
    10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend will punch him in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I take a nap.
    11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
    11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
    11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights,and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
    11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
    11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility, and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below. My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn around pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon Moon."
    12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go from vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return to my vehicle
    12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with freshly opened bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die tonight.
    12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.
    1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter,"I've been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen three drunker mother ****ers than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.
    1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and hear "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See,dat wasn't that ****in' hard. Day don't ****in' do that at the Awamo...the awaom...the alab...**** it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6 shots of tequila and three beers.
    2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the two and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and tell him to keep it.
    2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated immediately.
    2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup, two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.
    2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table. The waiter wakes us up. We eat every ****ing bit of our food. Most of the restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a ****. The tab is $112 with tip.
    2:46 I'm sleepy.
    9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's. She is not pretty.

    Last edited by geoffgarcia; 12-16-2003 at 10:50 AM. Reason: spacing

  4. #4
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    The Truth about Taxes

    Let's put tax cuts in terms everyone can understand.
    Suppose that every day, ten men go out for dinner.
    The bill for all ten comes to $100. If they paid their bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something like this:

    The first four men-the poorest-would pay nothing;
    The fifth would pay $1:
    The sixth would pay $3;
    The seventh $7;
    The eighth $12;
    The ninth $18.

    The tenth man-the richest-would pay $59.
    That's what they decided to do. The ten men ate dinner in the restaurant every day and seemed quite happy with the arrangement-until one day, the owner threw them a curve.
    "Since you are all such good customers," he said, "I'm going to reduce
    cost of your daily meal by $20."
    So now dinner for the ten only cost $80. The group still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our taxes.
    So the first four men were unaffected. They would still eat for free. But what about the other six-the paying customers?
    How could they divvy up the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his "fair share?"
    The six men realized that $20 divided by six is $3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody's share, then the fifth man and the sixth man would end up being *paid* to eat their meal.
    So the restaurant owner suggested that it would be fair to reduce each man's bill by roughly the same amount, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each should pay.
    And so the fifth man paid nothing, the sixth pitched in $2, the seventh paid $5, the eighth paid $9, the ninth paid $12, leaving the tenth man with a bill of $52 instead of his earlier $59.

    Each of the six was better off than before. And the first four continued to eat for free.
    But once outside the restaurant, the men began to compare their savings.

    "I only got a dollar out of the $20," declared the sixth man.

    He pointed to the tenth. "But he got $7!"

    "Yeah, that's right," exclaimed the fifth man. "I only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got seven times more than me!"

    "That's true!" shouted the seventh man.

    "Why should he get $7 back when I got only $2? The wealthy get all the breaks!"

    "Wait a minute," yelled the first four men in unison. "We didn't get anything at all. The system exploits the poor!"

    The nine men surrounded the tenth and beat him up.

    The next night he didn't show up for dinner, so the nine sat down and ate without him. But when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered something important. They were $52 short!

    And that, boys and girls, journalists and college instructors, is how the tax system works.

    The people who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a tax reduction.

    Tax them too much, attack them for being wealthy, and they just may not show up at the table anymore.

  5. #5
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building His house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.
    Come winter, the ant is warm and well fed.
    The grasshopper has neither food nor shelter so he dies out in the cold.

    The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter. The grasshopper thinks he's a fool and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

    Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while others are cold and starving.

    CBS, NBC, CNN, Fox, and ABC show up to provide pictures of the shivering grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food.

    America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

    Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper and everybody cries when they sing "It's Not Easy Being Green."

    Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant's house where the news stations film the group singing, "We shall overcome." Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper's sake.

    Al Gore exclaims in an interview with Peter Jennings that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper, and calls for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his "fair share."

    Finally, the EOC drafts the "Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act," retroactive to the beginning of the summer.

    The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is confiscated by the government.

    Hillary gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of federal judges that Bill appointed from a list of single-parent welfare recipients.
    The ant loses the case.

    The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing up the last bits Of the ant's food while the government house he is in, which just happens to be the ant's old house, crumbles around him because he doesn't maintain it.

    The ant has disappeared in the snow.

    The grasshopper is found dead in a drug related incident and the house, now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once peaceful neighborhood.

  6. #6
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    This is a long read folks, but its a great story about our proud state

    Strutting Season At the Jersey Shore, Guidos Are Pumped for the Prime of Their Lives

    By Libby Copeland Washington Post Staff Writer Sunday, July 6, 2003; Page D05

    SEASIDE HEIGHTS, N.J. -- Guidos belong to summer, andsummer belongs to the guidos.

    Anthony Moussa, 24, who runs a Web site called, comes alive during Memorial Day weekend, like a Roman statue freed from stone, beautiful. The summer months give shape and meaning to Moussa's life. This is when he parties hardest, staying up to see the dawn. This is when he comes to the Jersey Shore with his buddies and fixes his hair and hits the nightclubs and admires the girls, again and again tipping back the sweet, fruity shot he calls life.

    This is when Anthony Moussa achieves the fullest expression of his guido self. This is when he becomes The Moo.

    "The bus is leaving now!" Moo shouts, just after 11 on a Saturday night, his hair spiked, his shirt tight. It's nightclub time and he's waited long enough. "I'm locking the door and you can all go to hell if you don't come!"

    To understand the guido, a modern-day Jersey dandy, come to Seaside, a honky-tonk town with a boardwalk of neon signs and flashing light bulbs, where Moo and his friends flock every weekend all summer. This year, eight of the guys have nabbed a "palace," a four-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with central air in a house just around the corner from their favorite nightclub, Temptations.

    Every Saturday and Sunday, they make their way to this club, where disco balls glitter and the dance floor is as crowded as a chicken house. The music is so loud it's like a dentist's drill in your mouth. Moo and many other guys take off their shirts, offering the glamorous guidettes an eye-level display of countless man-nipples. Here, rock-hard pecs are a sort of pickup line all their own. Moo always brings a digital camera to take pictures for his year-old Web site, which he hopes will transform the term guido, an ethnic stereotype, into shorthand for all that he loves: youth, beauty and flash.

    "If it's changeable, I'm changing it," Moo, who is half-Italian and half-Lebanese, says as he steps into the club. He's grinning wildly. Inaction is a burden upon Moo, who gets anxiety attacks if he is forced to spend too many hours lying on the beach. The frenzy of Temptations serves as a balm for his soul.

    "This place actually relaxes me," he says. "I'm in my element."

    He looks around at all the taut, tan skin and spandex.

    "It's all New Jersey," Moo says passionately. "It's like a cult." He recalls how he once described Temptations to a friend: "You can't tell me there's anyplace in the world where you'll find more beautiful women."

    Like the guido, the guidette's beauty is defined in upper-body terms, but instead of muscle, her currency is breasts. Implants are popular. Cleavage is all. Her nails are pink or French manicured, her earrings are hoop, her top is tube, her tank is mesh, and she teeters on sandals with three-inch heels. Her lips are wet with lip gloss. She has the look of a varnished-sushi refrigerator magnet, perfect under the Temptations strobe lights.

    Moo's friends gather around the corner of the bar they always claim. Somebody orders shots of Sex on the Beach for everyone. "You know what'll happen in here?" Moo asks, looking excited. "It'll get tighter and tighter and tighter until it's like this." He bumps one massive shoulder against yours, and you know something both thrilling and scary is about to happen.

    The guido is breaking free.

    It is Sunday morning in the palace, by which we mean almost noon. Moo and his girlfriend, Jana Brusich, 26, a bartender and part-time model, are having breakfast at the kitchen table. (In afternoons, this table is replaced by a long wooden board for beer pong, a game that involves throwing ping-pong balls into cups of beer and then drinking it.) Some of the guys are over on the couches, recovering from their night at Temptations, watching ESPN and giving each other a hard time. One is already having a beer.

    "Bagel?" Moo asks a huge guy who has just stumbled out of his bedroom and is now wandering around the kitchen like a disoriented bear. "Advil?"

    "Hospital," the bear says.

    Moo turns back to the table.

    "There was a rumor going that they were playing beer pong at 8:30 in the morning," he says.

    "I think I heard it," Jana says, eating a bagel with jelly. She's astonishingly thin

    Moo's best friend, Brian Carline, 24, known as Construction Carline for his habit of donning a construction helmet when going dancing, is rooting through the freezer for breakfast food. He pulls out a bottle of Stoli Vanilla. "THERE'S NO WAY!" he shouts in his everyday, cranked-to-10 voice. He holds up the bottle, which is nearly empty, and looks accusingly toward the couches. "WHAT THE HELL WENT ON HERE?"

    It's a rhetorical question. Carline starts knocking the ice off a box of Eggo waffles.

    Breakfast may be one of the few quiet periods in the life of the guido, so it seems appropriate to take advantage of this lull to consider what "guido" means.

    Consider the T-shirt Moo is wearing, which he designed and sells on NJGuido. (Clothing sales on the site net about $70 or $80 a month, which is enough for one guy's night of drinking at Temptations, if he's not buying too much.) On the front of the shirt is the site's logo: a bare-chested guy holding what looks like a fireball -- Moo calls this "the energy" -- above his head. On the back it says: I am a New Jersey guido. A well refined, clean cut, muscle toned, fist pumping, girlfriend stealing, machine. You got a problem with that?

    Then, at the bottom: If a sexy guidette is reading this . . . how you doin?

    One slang dictionary dates the emergence of the term guido to the late '80s. Back then, he wore baggy-legged Z. Cavaricci pants, tank tops and gold chains and drove a souped-up Mustang or Camaro IROC-Z. The guidette kabuki'd her hair into a massive nest guarded by an iron fence of bangs. In the '80s and '90s, the term guido was often derisive and directed at Italians, but the community was ethnically broader than that.

    These were the people of northern New Jersey and Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island and Yonkers, a bridge-and-tunnel crowd bound together more by attitude than by ancestral homeland. They were the spiritual descendants of John Travolta's "Saturday Night Fever" character, the dim but gorgeous Tony Manero, a Brooklyn paint clerk who is truly alive only when he's strutting on the dance floor.

    The guido ethos is showy, it bumps shoulders and yells. It is a hey-baby culture, in which the men are macho and the women wear spandex. When cruising in cars -- a popular pastime -- guidos like loud dance music and loud-looking girls. When they walk, they thrust their shoulders back and take over sidewalks.

    But as evolution teaches, those who cannot adapt, die. Moo understands this, and he wants the world to know that today's guido is a modern, sophisticated creature -- that although the guido persists, his Z. Cavariccis do not. The old IROC-Z has been replaced by the BMW 330 as the ideal form of transportation. The guidette's hair is no longer big -- it is flat as an ironed skirt or limp and curly, like seaweed.

    Moo, a computer consultant mostly for construction companies, didn't start the Web site with any grand ambitions. Originally, NJGuido was just a place he could post digital photos he'd taken of nights out with friends. The name was descriptive, because he knew what he was. He was a guido.

    "I never had a problem being called that," says Moo, who lives in Franklin Lakes, N.J. "But then people were like, 'Why do you have a Web site called guido -- is that a joke?' "

    The site's reputation seemed to spread by word-of-mouth, becoming popular not only with other guidos but also with people who liked to make fun of them. Moo didn't care. He got so much traffic, the message board he'd set up was crashing. He moved NJGuido to a bigger server. He put an "I H NJGUIDOS" thong up for sale and added a game called Bustout!, involving a girl in a bikini. He added banner ads for local nightclubs, which he says allow the site to break even. He says he now gets 11,000 to 13,000 visits a day.

    "Now that everybody sees it, I figure, may as well try to turn it into something good," he says.

    Over on the couches, the guys are making a fuss about a pop star on TV.

    "That's Jewel!"

    "I'm Jewel-ing right now!"

    Perhaps these guys -- indeed, perhaps all of New Jersey -- have been waiting for a visionary like Moo. A proud man. A man with a poetic soul who can write an inspirational online piece like "NJ Anthem":

    "This is the weekend that we show the rest of the world what we are made of . . . . We don't want to dress up, we want to dress less. We want to show off the fact that New Jersey men and women are in the best shape."

    The anthem ends, as most of Moo's online entries do, with his motto: "There are no excuses. Party like a rockstar."

    Seaside Before Dark


    It's mid-afternoon on Sunday. The daylight hours are slow. It's too cold to go to the bikini bar on the beach the guys like to call the Silicone Club.

    The music in the palace is almost always on and often extremely loud, so that a person can find the apartment -- which is down an alley, on the back side of the house -- just by following the thumping bass line. This contributes to a sense that Moo and his
    friends are perpetually pumping themselves up for a party, even when they're just sitting around.

    In the kitchen, Moo is making burgers for everyone on a George Foreman grill. Construction Carline, who has been awake for just about four hours, makes an announcement to no one in particular.


    Moo and his friends are being treated to the fluttery presence of best friends Karen Vega and Katie Mesa, who got to know them by becoming devoted posters to the message boards of NJGuido. Both are 21 and small, with long brown hair. They showed up at the palace for a visit the afternoon before with such equally bouncy energy that a newcomer could tell them apart only by the color of their bandannas (one wore red and the other wore blue).

    Today, in one of the bedrooms off the kitchen, Mesa, an aspiring actress who studies at a conservatory in Manhattan, is giving a guy a massage on one bed. Vega, a college student who is sometimes called Sparkplug, is sitting on the other bed with Craig Caracozza, 23, who is sometimes known by his NJGuido message board name, Joe C. He is drinking a Bacardi and cranberry to get rid of a headache. At some point, Sparkplug lies on her side and asks Joe C. for a massage, but instead, he just slaps her bottom. She laughs.

    The group is discussing what it means to be guido. They say one needn't be Italian.

    "It's a state of mind," says Joe C. "You should make a Guidopoly." He means a board game, like Monopoly.

    "What would you have?" asks Mesa.

    "Temptations, Seaside, boardwalk, a Deko Lounge," says Joe C.

    "A pizzeria!" adds Mesa.

    "A pizzeria?" asks Joe C, in a dismissive tone.

    "It's going out, partying, dancing, clubbing," says Sparkplug.

    "Having fun," says Joe C., who wears a Coach visor and a shirt that says Italia. Friends describe Joe C. as the "ultimate guido." He studies at William Paterson University in Wayne, N.J., with hopes of becoming a gym teacher, drives a paprika-colored Mercedes Kompressor and, perhaps more than anyone, understands that being guido is an aspiration to carefully crafted gorgeousness.

    Joe C., Moo and many other guidos get their hair shaped into what Moo calls the "guido cut" -- short on the sides and gelled into long spikes on top. They still favor gold chains, but their fashion is current clubwear. Moo likes Diesel, Boss by Hugo Boss, Buffalo, Ted Baker, Ben Sherman, Seven and Dolce & Gabbana, and he buys something new every weekend. For going out, Joe C., Moo and Co. like tank tops and anything else that will evidence countless gym hours spent on "pecs, abs, tris and bis." On Saturday night, for example, Moo wears a muscle tee, the sleeves of which he has snipped to make room for his bulging biceps.

    Guidos may live in one of the few realms of the straight world in which men are as preciously groomed as women. The quest for perfection is what prompts one of the Moo's friends to bring an electric nose hair trimmer to the palace. It's why Moo shaves his chest and back -- and why Joe C. shaves his back and arms and sometimes his legs.

    "That's guido," Sparkplug says.

    Joe C. also gets his eyebrows waxed, a fact he reveals casually, only to be unnerved when an outsider expresses astonishment. He asks several guys who pass by the bedroom door whether they also wax their eyebrows and seems relieved when the third guy says he does. It seems to confirm to Joe C. that he is potently macho.

    Mesa pipes up: "Guys are more girlier than girls these days."

    Moo Over Miami

    The guido lifestyle is not made for wives and children, or other things that get in the way of fun. As one of the guys puts it when asked if he has a girlfriend: "Depends who's asking."

    Moo and his guy friends partied in Miami for five nights this spring and didn't make it to bed earlier than 7 a.m. Some weeks later, they celebrated the broken engagement of the oldest member of their crew (computer programmer Tony Gasperino, 29) by renting a stretch Navigator and embarking on what Moo dubbed a Born-Again Bachelor party. ("One of the drunkest nights ever," he says.) That this is a lifestyle only for the young seems to be clear to Moo, who acts like he has to get all his partying in now before it's too late.

    In one of his essays on NJGuido, Moo quotes himself like he's quoting Thoreau:

    " 'One minute awake is a minute of youth, one minute of sleep is a minute of old age.' (Anthony Moussa)"

    One day at lunch, Moo says, "I don't like downtime. Downtime stinks." He's drinking an Amstel Light after finishing some sort of spiked mango drink. "You know what'll really give me an anxiety attack?"

    He starts telling about this time he was walking past a California Pizza Kitchen.

    "And outside I see about five baby strollers and I'm like, 'Oh, my God.' That makes me crazy. I don't ever want to get old. That's my worst nightmare."

    Tony the bachelor, who's also sitting at the table, explains how he knows Moo is having an anxiety attack. His "face gets red like a tomato and he has to lay down," Tony says.

    What is the guido without the bloom of youth -- without his bachelorhood, his boundless bravado, his beauty?

    At the shore house one evening, Moo remarks that someone who was looking at photos of him on NJGuido told him that the last year's worth of partying seemed to have aged him.

    "Do you think I look older than I was?" he asks a friend, in what seems a brief moment of vulnerability.

    To which the friend replies, as the true guido must, "I don't pay attention to you."

    The Countdown

    As the sun sinks, guidos prepare for partying. Some nap. Some shower. The whole crew walks to Temptations to wait 20 minutes to pay $20 and get stamped so that later, they won't have to wait in an even longer line. When they stand outside the club, guys drive by pumping loud music through open windows, and a voice from somewhere keeps yelling, " 'Ssup, girl!"

    Then the guidos head back to the house and drink. While the mainstay of daylight hours is Bud Light, Amstel Light and Corona, evenings are all about the shots. The guys down Stoli vodka, licorice-flavored Jaegermeister and Goldschlager, a cinnamon schnapps whose novelty is its floating 24-karat gold flakes. Dancing starts in the kitchen. The guys put on hats they keep above the fridge: a green, oversize foam hat with a huge brim and a shiny plastic captain's hat that might once have belonged to the Village People.

    Then they get serious. They start considering outfits.

    Close to 10, Moo stands shirtless in his room, grabbing tops out of his drawer and pulling pants out of his closet. He keeps seven pairs of jeans at the shore house, all folded on hangers. He's asking his girlfriend for advice.

    "Does this work?" Moo asks.

    "Absolutely not, it doesn't even match," says Jana. "I just think you should wear the gray T-shirt."

    "I wanna wear the green one."

    "Well, then, you can't wear these pants, it doesn't match."

    Moo gives up and goes to take a shower. Jana says, "He takes longer than I take." Out in the main apartment, the music is loud, and Construction Carline is shouting, "WHO WANTS SOME SHOTS OF JAEGER?"

    Carline already has his outfit set for the club: his construction helmet (actually a tree-trimmer's helmet with ear guards) and a red cape. Tonight, he'll be calling himself Tempts Man.

    After the shower, Moo puts one kind of moisturizer on his face. Then he rubs a different moisturizer, which smells like cocoa butter, on his chest and arms, adding more and more until he's beige. This is necessary. "When you sweat, it brings back the cocoa butter smell," Moo says. He sprays on deodorant, then heads back into the bedroom, where he ponders jeans with Jana.

    "These are nice," she says. "You wanna wear these with the green shirt?"

    "I can't wear these with green."

    "Why don't you wear these?"

    "I wore those Friday night."

    He gives up and goes to do his hair.

    "He's worse than a woman!" Jana says.

    The doing of the hair is a complex and mysterious ritual. The night before, Moo got so frustrated that he had to do it three times and "change products." Tonight, he first puts spiking gel in his hair, then sprays his hair with hairspray, then styles it, then sprays it again. "Then I'll come back here when it starts falling from all the weight and spray it again," he says.

    He goes back in the bedroom and finally settles on the green tank he wanted to wear all along, plus a pair of blue corduroys. He rejects two of the five pairs of sneakers he's brought to the shore house, settling unhappily on a third pair. ("These are last year's, too, that's why I don't want to wear them.")

    This is about the point that Construction Carline comes into the bedroom and starts whispering something about underwear in Moo's ear.

    Carline is in a quandary. He's wearing fitted boxer briefs, and he's trying to decide if he should change into looser boxer shorts. This is an important decision because once in a while, in a fit of giddiness at Temptations, Carline likes to take off his pants. He knows that if he wears his boxer briefs, which look an awful lot like underwear, he'll never take off his pants. If he wears his boxer shorts, on the other hand, he gives himself the option of keeping the pants on or taking them off.

    The problem is that in Carline's life, "Options always happen." Which means that if he changes his underwear, he knows he'll wind up taking off his pants.

    He thinks a bit, shouts a bit, has another beer.

    Then he changes his underwear.

    The longer Moo has to wait, the more anxious he feels. At 11:17 p.m., moments before the crew leaves for the club, he stands by the kitchen looking distressed. His face is not yet red like a tomato, but it's clear he's succumbing to the immense pressure of nothing happening. Like a fish suffocating on a pier, Moo needs to be in his habitat. He needs Temptations.

    "I really think I have legitimate problems," he says.
    "I can't breathe."

    Lions' Din

    By 2:15 a.m., Moo and Construction Carline are onstage, standing in front of the DJ, who they're friendly with, and prancing for the crowd. Moo has been twirling his tank top around his head, and Carline is shirtless, wearing his helmet and cape.

    After a while, they step off the stage and onto the dance floor, making their way around the club with a digital camera and taking pictures for NJGuido. Girls primp and guys pump. The place is so crowded, one of Moo's buddies says, it's "bittersweet."

    The guidos party till 3:20, when the lights come on in Temptations, and then they keep partying. The music stays on and the crowd stays on the dance floor. Somebody in Moo's camp orders 48 shots of Southern Comfort and lime, and Moo's friends pass them around.

    "They don't care that the lights are on!" says Moo, beaming like a man in religious ecstasy. "They don't want it to end. Have you ever seen energy like this at four in the morning?"

    Nearby, a stern, beefy staffer named Sam Mickens looks over the crowd from his perch on a wooden crate, watching everything detachedly.

    He says he is a graduate student in psychology at Montclair State University, and when he watches the crowd at Temptations, he thinks of male lions trying to attract females with their manes.

    "They work on their bodies only to impress the female lions," Mickens says. "If challenged, the two males will compete for the female's attention by fighting."

    He eyes the crowd in his serious way.

    "All women want the strongest male," he says. "There are no subtleties in an environment like this."

    Over at the bar, a group of muscly guidos is posing for a picture. Among them is Construction Carline, looking like a deranged tree-trimming superhero in his cape and helmet.

    He has taken off his pants.

  7. #7
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    this one might not be work friendly depending on where you are...
    its just a cartoon but...
    Last edited by geoffgarcia; 07-11-2009 at 03:47 PM.

  8. #8
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002

    1. "You Are Different and That's Bad"
    2. "Dad's New Wife Timothy"
    3. "Pop! Goes The Hamster....And Other Great Microwave Games"
    4. "Testing Homemade Parachutes Using Only Your Household Pets"
    5. "The Boy Who Died from Eating All His Vegetables"
    6. "Start a Real-Estate Empire With the Change From Your Mom's Purse"
    7. "The Pop-up Book of Human Anatomy"
    8. "Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will"
    9. "Controlling the Playground: Respect through Fear"
    10. "Strangers Have the Best Candy"
    11. "The Little Sissy Who Snitched"
    12. "Some Kittens Can Fly!"
    13. "Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her"
    14. "The Attention Deficit Disorder Association's Book of Wild Animals ofNorthAmer- Hey! Let's Go Ride Our Bikes!"
    15. "All Dogs Go to Hell"
    16. "The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking"
    17. "What Is That Dog Doing to That Other Dog?"
    18. "Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?"
    19. "Bi-Curious George"
    20. "Daddy Drinks Because You Cry"

  9. #9
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    I like Monkeys

    The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought this was odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200 of them. I like monkeys.

    I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one of drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed. They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.

    I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into it's third hour.

    Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. God damn cheap monkeys.

    I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room; on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.

    I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for awhile, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

    I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn't want to call a plumber. I was embarrassed.

    I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortuantely there was only enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't go bad.

    I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

    Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and one hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed, The odor wasn't improving.

    I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to use the bathroom. So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.

    I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him I had a wet one. He couldn't take it either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

    I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

    I like monkeys.

  10. #10
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    "Fck Valentines Day"

    Hearts and roses and kisses galore
    What the hell is all that shlt for?
    People get mushy and start acting queer
    It's the most annoying time of the year
    It needs to hurry the hell up and pass
    Or I'll shove some roses up Cupid's ass
    I'll spend the day so drunk I can't speak
    And wear all black for the rest of the week
    Guys act all sweet, but it will soon fade
    For all they are doing is trying to get laid
    The arrow Cupid shot at me must not have hit
    Cause I think that love is a big crock of shlt
    So here's my story...what else can I say?
    Love bites my ass...Fck Valentines Day!
    Last edited by geoffgarcia; 12-16-2003 at 11:03 AM.

  11. #11
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Jul 2003
    F4ck Valentines Day!

  12. #12
    blah paty boy's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2003
    Here's a pic that was forwarded to me a while back. Similar to the classic "proof girls are evil" pic. But this is the new one making rounds.

    Hazardous Woman

  13. #13
    still dislikes Art Atwood Hatred's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2003
    LOL "Daddy drinks because you cry." LOL
    Out of the night that covers me,Black as the Pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. In The fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate how charged with punishments the scroll,I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
    Twitter: @joshuagbsn Follow me as I laugh at the world, and you.

  14. #14
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002
    nobody else has any good forwards?
    come on people! I'm sooo bored at work!

  15. #15
    Banned phreak's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2003
    The Netherlands
    The girl I love ( ) sent me these just now:

    Subject: Qantas Maintenance

    After every flight, pilots fill out a form called a gripe sheet, which conveys to the mechanics problems encountered with the aircraft during the flight that need repair or correction. The mechanics read and correct the problem, and then respond in writing on the lower half of the form what remedial action was taken, and the pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight.

    Never let it be said that ground crews and engineers lack a sense of humour. Here are some actual logged maintenance complaints and problems as submitted by Qantas pilots and the solution recorded by maintenance engineers.

    By the way, Qantas is the only major airline that has NEVER had an accident involving loss of life.

    (P = The problem logged by the pilot.) (S = The solution and action taken by the engineers.)

    P: Left inside main tyre almost needs replacement.
    S: Almost replaced left inside main tyre.

    P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
    S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

    P: Something loose in cockpit.
    S: Something tightened in cockpit.

    P: Dead bugs on windshield.
    S: Live bugs on back-order.

    P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.
    S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

    P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
    S: Evidence removed.

    P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
    S: DME volume set to more believable level.

    P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
    S: That's what they're there for.

    P: IFF inoperative.
    S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

    P: Suspected crack in windshield.
    S: Suspect you're right.

    P: Number 3 engine missing.
    S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

    P: Aircraft handles funny.
    S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

    P: Target radar hums.
    S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

    P: Mouse in cockpit.
    S: Cat installed.

    P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
    S: Took hammer away from midget.

  16. #16
    still dislikes Art Atwood Hatred's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2003

    That's the funniest thing I have ever seen! I was laughing so hard I was crying(at work which is bad)

    Hey E-mail that to me.
    Out of the night that covers me,Black as the Pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. In The fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate how charged with punishments the scroll,I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
    Twitter: @joshuagbsn Follow me as I laugh at the world, and you.

  17. #17
    its ah slumper savdout209's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2004
    Quote Originally Posted by phreak
    P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
    S: Took hammer away from midget.
    ^^going down in history

  18. #18
    Banned Reinier's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2001
    south west Holland Europe
    lol lol

    i wonder if those are real though... they could be

  19. #19
    Pot-bellied bean pole Big & Tall's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2002
    'I like monkies' is possibly the funniest thing ever written. Also, a little disappointed that the story of Anal Fissure Bob, which has been around the internet quite a bit, is not here...
    Eating like a grizzly bear with a tape worm

    My Journal

  20. #20
    Senior Member geoffgarcia's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2002

  21. #21
    Banned Reinier's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2001
    south west Holland Europe
    i liked this


    Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

    Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off my daughter's body, I will remove them.

    Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

    Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind will kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

    Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

    Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

    Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

    Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
    Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
    Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
    Places where there is darkness.
    Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
    Movies with a strong romance or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chain saws are okay.
    Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

  22. #22
    Mostly healed up! PizDoff's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2003
    TO, Canada
    lol major at the 2nd one, i'll finish them yet!

  23. #23
    Mostly healed up! PizDoff's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2003
    TO, Canada
    What the flip was that third one?

    "14. "The Attention Deficit Disorder Association's Book of Wild Animals ofNorthAmer- Hey! Let's Go Ride Our Bikes!""

    LOL nice pic Paty boy

  24. #24
    Mostly healed up! PizDoff's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2003
    TO, Canada
    OMG Phreak I nearly choked on my before bed time meal!

  25. #25
    Asshole. SuperFlex's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2003
    Birmingham, England
    The one about the football and basketball game is one of tucker max's stories i think.

    Read some of his good stories they all like that.


Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts