A man visited his doctor for a regular checkup. The doctor checked him out and gave him some bad news. "There are two things wrong with you," he said. "You have cancer and Alzheimer's."
"Well," said the man, "at least I don't have cancer."
"Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm."
It's been one year since I moved out here to Illinois. I was pretty much flat broke when I got here. I had a little money, but not enough to live on. It was all I could do to make my car payments. If it weren't for the generosity of my Sister and her husband I couldn't have done it. And Vicki was great in putting up with me while I was out of work. Two months later I found a good job. 8 months after that I bought a house. Not too bad I think.
We got our bed frame this morning, so at last we have our bed all set up. It's huge. The room looks tiny now. Sitting in that bed makes you feel like a little kid playing on your parents bed. It's almost comical. It's also very nice.
There's a small German town near Munich called Pfilzerplatz, and the town is renowned for producing fine stationery. Anyway, Munich had a problem -- the thousands of stray dogs in the city were breeding with one another and overrunning the city. So the people of Munich banded together and ran the dogs out of the city. Unfortunately, the dogs appeared in Pfilzerplatz. The dogs took over everything, and the mayor decided to evacuate the town. The paper mills were shut down, and everyone left.
But a couple days later, the townsfolk, watching their town from the hills, saw smoke rising from the smokestacks. They knew no humans were left in the town, so they concluded that the dogs had learned to operate the factories.
The mayor hurried to Munich's town hall and pleaded, "You've got to help us! The mills are alive with the hounds of Munich!"
I saw a grand total of three groundhogs on my way home today. One of these days I need to get a picture of them.
I just love this one:
A three-legged dog walked into a saloon in the Old West. He sidled up to the bar and announced, "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."
I had a really nice dream last night. I was in the passenger seat of a car driving along a long stretch of highway. It looked like I was in florida. And then I suddenly noticed something in the sky.
It was a space shuttle! I was so happy, seeing it in the air! It was flying up and away (which it can't do in real life), and I just thought 'Go, baby! Go!'. It was really wonderful.
I Am A: Neutral Good Dwarf Ranger Thief
Neutral Good characters believe in the power of good above all else. They will work to make the world a better place, and will do whatever is necessary to bring that about, whether it goes for or against whatever is considered 'normal'.
Dwarves are short and stout, and easily recognizable by their well-cared-for beards. They are hard workers, and adept at stonework and engineering. They tend to live apart from other races; generally in deep, underground excavated systems, and as such tend to be distant from other races.
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.
Thieves are the most roguish of the classes. They are sneaky and nimble-fingered, and have skills with traps and locks. While not all use these skills for burglary, that is a common occupation of this class.
Mielikki is the Neutral Good goddess of the forest and autumn. She is also known as the Lady of the Forest, and is the Patron of Rangers. Her followers are devoted to nature, and believe in the positive and outreaching elements of it. They use light armor, and a variety of weapons suitable for hunting, which they are quite skilled at. Mielikki's symbol is a unicorn head.
Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy ofNeppyMan (e-mail)
I have tomorrow off and won't remember to do this then, so I'll do it now.
This is a long one:
There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them, "What's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the chldren shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, no buts -- march!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff."
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is."
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended."
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Billy cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy," his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"You...don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!"
Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way -- lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy."
Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy."
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat."
Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy."
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy."
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy."
Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy."
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy."
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral: Don't stand up in a boat.
I don't know that this is accurate at all, but I sure hope so!
The best sci-fi on TV will be back in a mini-series! And it's going to start from the point of the cliff-hanger from the last episode! Wheee!!!!
I'm so happy about this. Can you tell?
A panda walks into a restaurant, sits down, and orders a sandwich. He eats the sandwich, pulls out a gun, and shoots the waiter dead. As the panda stands up to go, the manager shouts, "Hey! Where are you going? You just shot my waiter, and you didn't even pay for your sandwich!"
"Hey, man, I'm a PANDA!" the panda shouts back. "Look it up!"
The manager opens his dictionary and reads: "Panda: a tree-dwelling mammal of Asian origin, characterized by distinct black and white coloring. Eats shoots and leaves."
Mostly I like what I do, but there are days that the programs I'm working on need to have a lot of lookup tables, of something similar and there's just no way to generate them. So I end up slogging through, tediously typing out line after line. There is no creativity or thought to any of it. Just the drudgery of data entry. The last two days have been like that and it burns me out like nothing else can. My brain starts to shut off and I turn into a zombie. Bleck.