| Topic: |
Religions > Atheism |
| User: |
"Lars" |
| Date: |
14 Dec 2003 09:51:28 PM |
| Object: |
What I did last night LOL |
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
.
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| User: "Soylen Green is Clayton....BITE ME!!" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 01:50:32 AM |
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"Lars" <a@b.c> wrote in message
news:HRIWLYUL37970.2024074074@anonymous.poster...
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
You don't work for the Australian Taxation Department, do you???
.
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| User: "the cutest atheist" |
|
| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 04:31:18 AM |
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"Soylen Green is Clayton....BITE ME!!" <cjfat@SPAMBLOCKoptusnet.com.au>
wrote in message news:3fdd6658$0$18693$afc38c87@news.optusnet.com.au...
"Lars" <a@b.c> wrote in message
news:HRIWLYUL37970.2024074074@anonymous.poster...
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
You don't work for the Australian Taxation Department, do you???
na, they're trained to kick the little beggars aswell
.
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 02:09:18 AM |
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LMAO!! Total twist to the story! Hahaah
"Lars" <a@b.c> wrote in message
news:HRIWLYUL37970.2024074074@anonymous.poster...
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
.
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| User: "Carmen Dioxide" |
|
| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 01:07:00 PM |
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"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote in message news:<N_dDb.483$vT2.5008@news20.bellglobal.com>...
LMAO!! Total twist to the story! Hahaah
I just wonder why people can't snip text. Especially people who
insist on bottom posting.
.
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| User: "Michelle Malkin" |
|
| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 02:22:17 AM |
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On 15 Dec 2003 03:51:28 -0000, "Lars" <a@b.c> wrote:
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
Hands that work are better than mouths that pray -
Robert Ingersoll
****************************************************
.
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 02:40:48 AM |
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"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
On 15 Dec 2003 03:51:28 -0000, "Lars" <a@b.c> wrote:
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
Come on now, it's black humour. It's not meant to be taken seriously. It's
pretty funny.
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
Hands that work are better than mouths that pray -
Robert Ingersoll
****************************************************
.
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| User: "*nemo*" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 04:22:17 AM |
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In article <vseDb.489$vT2.4854@news20.bellglobal.com>,
"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote:
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
Come on now, it's black humour. It's not meant to be taken seriously. It's
pretty funny.
Nope, it wasn't. "Bad Santa" was black humor. The first post in this
thread was brown, smelly humor.
--
Nemo - EAC Commissioner for Bible Belt Underwater Operations.
Atheist #1331 (the Palindrome of doom!)
BAAWA Knight! - One of those warm Southern Knights, y'all!
Charter member, SMASH!!
http://home.earthlink.net/~jehdjh/Relpg.html
Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus
Quotemeister since March 2002
.
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| User: "dempsey_k" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 11:03:33 AM |
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"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
I dunno but the fact that you call yourself mickey makes me dream of
slapping you.
.
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| User: "Van" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 01:26:47 PM |
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"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:FPlDb.2862$XF6.66513@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
I dunno but the fact that you call yourself mickey makes me dream of
slapping you.
Still having that recurring slapping-the-mouse dream, k?
Van
.
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| User: "dempsey_k" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 05:14:40 PM |
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"Van" <van@work.com> wrote in message
news:ESnDb.133459$PD3.5848329@nnrp1.uunet.ca...
"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:FPlDb.2862$XF6.66513@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
I dunno but the fact that you call yourself mickey makes me dream of
slapping you.
Still having that recurring slapping-the-mouse dream, k?
Yes, sadly the lodging-my-*****-down-minnie's throat seems to have vanished.
.
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 07:10:20 PM |
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"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:AfrDb.2907$XF6.66954@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Van" <van@work.com> wrote in message
news:ESnDb.133459$PD3.5848329@nnrp1.uunet.ca...
"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:FPlDb.2862$XF6.66513@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
I dunno but the fact that you call yourself mickey makes me dream of
slapping you.
Still having that recurring slapping-the-mouse dream, k?
Yes, sadly the lodging-my-*****-down-minnie's throat seems to have
vanished.
I realise we get all sorts of wierdos on the internet, but this is
ridiculous.
.
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| User: "Mister Canada" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
16 Dec 2003 12:31:12 PM |
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"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote in message news:<1YsDb.2239$vT2.9812@news20.bellglobal.com>...
"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:AfrDb.2907$XF6.66954@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Van" <van@work.com> wrote in message
news:ESnDb.133459$PD3.5848329@nnrp1.uunet.ca...
"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:FPlDb.2862$XF6.66513@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
I dunno but the fact that you call yourself mickey makes me dream of
slapping you.
Still having that recurring slapping-the-mouse dream, k?
Yes, sadly the lodging-my-*****-down-minnie's throat seems to have
vanished.
I realise we get all sorts of wierdos on the internet, but this is
ridiculous.
Who are you to call anyone a wierd0, you sick freak?
CRAPPER SAMMER, the only time you're not giving it up the arse to
GAYDO is when you're doing the same to Yolanda Ballard.
CRAPPER SAMMER, that's not natural.
CRAPPER SAMMER, that's sick, disgusting and a craim against all of
Nature.
get help.
I'm sure Sex with Sue is NOT a good start-you're alrady giving it to
one worthless old bag, that's enough.
.
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| User: "KDawg" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 09:06:03 AM |
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Let me guess, that was your son at the mall last night, wasn't it ?
Regards,
KDawg
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
On 15 Dec 2003 03:51:28 -0000, "Lars" <a@b.c> wrote:
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
Hands that work are better than mouths that pray -
Robert Ingersoll
****************************************************
.
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| User: "DaveHX" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 05:21:20 AM |
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to someone with a sense of humor it is
"Michelle Malkin" <hypatiab7@earthlink.net> wrote in message
news:norqtvo5cqhbcojsghuclb6e1tld2r4o0d@4ax.com...
On 15 Dec 2003 03:51:28 -0000, "Lars" <a@b.c> wrote:
Right before Christmas I was rushing around trying to get some last
minute
shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the
Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking
lot
as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I
noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So
mumbling
under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was
searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.
He
was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel
shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking
that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He
had
three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine
years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She
made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed
to
skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas
presents.
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her
second
job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and
save
just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall,
when an
older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into
the
night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loud did
you
scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
for
help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This message was posted via one or more anonymous remailing services.
The original sender is unknown. Any address shown in the From header
is unverified.
Was this supposed to be funny? It wasn't.
Michelle Malkin (Mickey)
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^
Hands that work are better than mouths that pray -
Robert Ingersoll
****************************************************
.
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| User: "John Baker" |
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| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 11:34:42 AM |
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"DaveHX" <meandyou@adognamedboo.comma> wrote in message
news:QOgDb.12387$IF6.554719@ursa-nb00s0.nbnet.nb.ca...
to someone with a sense of humor it is
I guess I have no sense of humor, then. I thought it was mean-spirited and
most decidedly *not* funny.
.
|
|
|
| User: "Sammer" |
|
| Title: Re: What I did last night LOL |
15 Dec 2003 01:25:44 PM |
|
|
"John Baker" <nunya@bizniz.net> wrote in message
news:SgmDb.24153$Vg3.20553@fe3.columbus.rr.com...
"DaveHX" <meandyou@adognamedboo.comma> wrote in message
news:QOgDb.12387$IF6.554719@ursa-nb00s0.nbnet.nb.ca...
to someone with a sense of humor it is
I guess I have no sense of humor, then. I thought it was mean-spirited and
most decidedly *not* funny.
It's a fucking joke, man. Laugh, don't analyse it. It's not real.
This is pathetic.
.
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| User: "XIT WOUND" |
|
| Title: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 04:57:56 PM |
|
|
Perhaps this story is better suited to you...
I was bored today myself (must be something in the air) but instead of
making a shirt I murdered a dog.
There's this big fucking Rottweiler that lives around the corner in this
big-***** country-club yard with a huge iron fence around it. Dog's got this
heavy collar that looks more like something out of a bondage gear catalog
than a standard dog collar, hooked to a chain with links heavier than Puff
Daddy's necklace that leads back to a pounded stake in the ground made of
iron.
Every day I walk by on my way to Parker Slim's and that big black fucker
comes charging at me like some kind of freight train, dropping froth in
white foamy blobs from in between the gaps of his pointed yellow fangs. He
roars and snorts and comes charging at me like he's going to open a new
ventilation window in my guts.
But his chain's a little bit shorter than his otherwise fenced boundary, so
each time he gets jerked back when the chain pulls taut, just like a man
hanged from the gallow's pole.
He trips, falls off his ***** and eats turf but gets back up, springing and
charging, snorting like a bull, trying to jump against the restraint of the
chain tethered around him, ready to work up that supernatural chain-ripping
strength just because he wants to ***** me up *that bad*, barking, roaring,
just apeshit.
Normally I just laugh but not today. Today I was ready. I had a filet mignon
wrapped around an M-100 and a lighter ready, and I tossed him the steak and
gunpowder cocktail. He snaps it up and pulls it down his throat into his
stomach and that's when it hit.
By the time I got up from the ground, having finished laughing uproariously
I was a mess and figured I'd better get my punk ***** home before somebody
sees me looking like this or the owner comes out to investigate what's going
on with his pet.
So with every item of clothing soaked in blood and juices, decorated with
shreds of flesh and pieces of dog, I stagger home to my piece of *****
apartment and head for the bathroom. It's even worse than I thought; I look
like something out of Pulp Fiction or like an employee who just got off work
from the local slaughterhouse and didn't stop to change or wash up.
I get the hot water flowing out of the sink faucet, strip off my t-shirt, my
khakis, and toss them into a heap in the corner. My sunglasses, my jewelry,
my watch, I rinse each item under the faucet and set them to dry on a towel
that started off white but is rapidly turning pink. The shoes come off, and
I wipe the gore off of them with another washcloth, and toss that into the
heap also. The ***** has soaked through and turned my socks a blotchy pink as
well, so I shuck those off too.
Staring at my reflection I see something out of a horror movie. I run my
hands through my hair and a scattering of bits of flesh and organ fall out
onto the bathroom counter. I sweep in into the sink and the blood washes
down, leaving these now-cleanly-washed gibbets of flesh piled up around the
drain.
There's no way I'm getting back to presentable short of a shower or bath, I
realize, so I turn on the water in the tub and it starts to fill. I check my
reflection once more and am about to step out of my boxers when I hear a
shrill voice.
"Tony?! Is that you? Did you spill something red in here?"
It's the wife, Angela. I don't even need to answer, her snoopy ***** will seek
me out anyway. A second later, the bathroom door opens, revealing me to her
in my dogs-blood-and-boxer-shorts ensemble.
"The ***** do you want, Angela?" I ask her. Her mouth opens in shock and
surprise at the bathroom carnage. *****; she really gets on my
nerves. I didn't marry her for her looks or her brains; basically I married
her because she was pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe her *****
that the kid was mine.
"Tony! My God, what happened?"
"Get the ***** out of here, *****! I'm tryin' a take a bath, yo!"
I slam the door right in her face, then a second later, think better of it
and open it again.
"Hey, get me a forty ounce from the fridge!" I tell her, then slam the door
again.
The bath is ready by now and I shut the water off. I'm about to get in when
I realize that ***** Angela isn't bringing me my forty, so I dip under the
bathroom counter, where I keep a big Listerine bottle full of Jose Cuervo. I
slug some of it back, belch, and set it on the rim of the tub as I get into
the water.
Less than five minutes later, before I've even managed to drink back half
the bottle, that ***** is at the door again shouting "Toneeeeeeeeeee!" I jump
out of the water, wrap a towel around my waist, grab the bottle, and fling
the door open.
"Christ, Angela, what the ***** do you want?!" I'm dripping pink bloody water
all over the hallway now; Angela is standing by the kitchen counter.
"You can't treat me like this, Tony! You can't talk to me like this! I'm
your wife! I'm the mother of your only son!"
Blah blah blah, it's always blah blah blah with her, never fuckin' says
anything unless it's another goddamned complaint or a request for money. She
picked the wrong fucking day to start ***** with me, though; a smart woman
woulda gotten me my forty from the fridge and stayed the ***** away.
"I treat you any ***** way I like. See this?" I asked her, gesturing
around the apartment with the Listerine bottle, "this is Tony's house. In
Tony's house, Tony makes the rules. That's the way it is. You can have it
with or without a beating."
I guzzled another swig of the tequila. It was starting to warm me up a
little.
"Where's that fucking brat of yours?" I asked her.
"Mine? Hector is your son too, Tony!"
Dooooshhhh! I bring the heavy Listerine bottle down on top of her head.
Tequila spills all over but she goes down like a rock. I jump on her,
pinning her arms under my knees, draw back my right fist and piston it down
onto her face. She turns at the last second and my fist strikes one of her
sharp-***** teeth, opening a cut on my knuckle.
"*****!" I shout. I throw the bottle across the room, and this time send my
left fist slamming down into her grill. "*****!" I shout again, and begin a
rhythmic cadence, military-style, alternating one fist and then the other,
punctuating each wet smack with a cry of "*****!"
After she stops moving and struggling, I sit back, breathing heavily. I
examine the cut on my knuckle from her sharp rat teeth, which has begun to
leak a small trail of blood down my hand. Dog's blood, wife's blood, now my
blood, all mixed in with spilled tequila and bathwater, just a huge liquid
mess.
"Daddy!" A voice; I pivot my head around. It's that ***** brat Hector.
"What are you doing to Mommy!?" he shouts, racing over. His foot catches a
wet patch and he loses his balance and trips, falling face down in pinkish
tequila mess. He starts to cry. Growling, I get off of Angela's motionless
body and stand up, then reach down, dragging Hector up by his shirt.
"Huh?! Huh?! Shut up, you little ***** *****!" I tell him, then send him
back to the floor with a left to his jaw. I bend down and pick him up,
holding him by his shoulders, his face a mess of blood, tears, and tequila.
Looking around the room I spot the coat hook on the closet door, and march
over to it, holding Hector at arms length from me. With all the force I can
muster up, I slam him up against the brass hook, which pierces his upper
back. His eyes bug out and he gasps, a blood bubble popping on his lips.
"Stick around," I tell him, then laugh loudly. He goes limp but remains
tacked to the closet door. "And I ain't your fuckin' dad either, you little
*****!"
Angela is starting to regain consciousness, I see, moving her head slightly.
I detour back into the bathroom, go under the sink again, and come up with a
box of lye flakes, which I bring out to the kitchen. Kneeling over my wife,
I open the box, and shake the deadly corrosive flakes over her swollen and
bleeding face.
The sounds that come out of her start off like a scream and almost
immediately become something far worse, a hideous keening wail that doesn't
sound like anything that would come out of a human. Her entire face has
begun to bubble and melt off, flowing into the mixture of fluids on the
floor. I get up, set the box of lye down, and listen to her screech for
another minute or two as I catch my breath.
"This is Tony's house!" I scream, to the world, "And in Tony's house, Tony
makes the fucking rules!'
"John Baker" <nunya@bizniz.net> wrote in message
news:SgmDb.24153$Vg3.20553@fe3.columbus.rr.com...
"DaveHX" <meandyou@adognamedboo.comma> wrote in message
news:QOgDb.12387$IF6.554719@ursa-nb00s0.nbnet.nb.ca...
to someone with a sense of humor it is
I guess I have no sense of humor, then. I thought it was mean-spirited and
most decidedly *not* funny.
.
|
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| User: "Bateau" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
17 Dec 2003 04:01:39 AM |
|
|
_.--""--._ On
." ". Mon, 15 Dec 2003 14:57:56 -0800
| . ` ` | in
\( )/ soc.men,
\)__. _._(/ XIT WOUND
// >..< \\ spoke
|__.' vv '.__/ 189
l'''"''l lines
\_ _/ to
_ )--( _ the
| '--.__)--(_.--' | great
\ |`----''----'| / undead
|| `-' '--' || skeleton
|| `--' '--' || god
|l `--'--'--' |l of
|__|`--' `--'|__| giant
| | )-( | | ascii
|| )-( \|| who
|| __ )_( __ \\ replied...
||' `- -' \ \\
||\_ `-' _/ |_\
/_\ _)J-._.-L( /`-\
|`- I_)O /\ O( `--l\\\|
||||( `-' `-') .-' |||
\\\ \ / / ///
\ \ / /
\ \ / /
/ \ / \
|_()I()._|
\ /\ /
| / \ |
| | \ \
| | \ \
| | \ \
| |-nabis\ \_
| | /-._\
|.-.\ //.-._)
\\\\ ///
\\\\-'''
``''
Perhaps this story is better suited to you...
<snip>
Today my mum asked me to go out and get a big fan from her car so I go
out there then I realise that I need the keys so I yell OH ***** *****
really loud and I offended my neighbour :(
But I have never been offended by anything violent or rude in my life
unless it was specifically directed at me. Not even those websites with
all the dead people.
--
.-'`-.
/ | | \
/ | | \
|___|_|__ |
||<o>| <o>`|
|| J_ )|
`|`-'__`-'|/
| `--' |
.-| |_
.-' \ / | |`-.
.-' `. /| | \
/ ````' | | \
|_____ | | L
.-' ___ `-. F F | | ||`-.___
.'.-' | `-. `. J J / | || _.>
/ /| | |`. \ | | |/ | ||_.-'
/ / | | | `. `. F F | |==============================
J / | | | \ L J J | | `:::::::. `:::::::.
FJ | | | |L J/ / | \ :::::::. :::::::\
J |() | () | () | () | J L/ | | ::::::: :::::::L
| F | .-'_ \ | | LJ | / L :::::::: :::::::J
| L | / \\ | | | L | | :::::::: ::::::::L
| L || ):|| | | | /| L :::::::: ::::::::|
J | ||:._.'::|| | | |----' | | :::::::: ::::::::| .---.
J | |J:::::::|| | | | _/\ | :::::::: ::::::::| /(@ o`.
LJ | \:::::/ | | | |---'\ | | :::::::: ::::::::| | /^^^
J L | `-:-' | | | F | \ | J :::::::: ::::::::| \ . \vvv
LJ()| () | () | () | F F | \ \--._L :::::::: ::::::::| \ `--'
J \ | | | | J J \ | | :::::::: ::::::::| \ `.
\ \| | | | / / | | | :::::::: ::::::::| L \
\ \ | | |/ /| | | .-'| :::::::: ::::::::| | \
`.`. | | .'.' | | |/ /`L :::::::: ::::::::| | L
| `.`-.____|.-'.-' | | | <`. \ :::::::: ::::::::| | |
| | `-.______.-' | \| |_`::\ `. :::::::: ::::::::| F |
| J\ | | | | /: \::. \:::::::: ::::::::F / |
| L\|--| | _.--|:: `::\ `.:::::: .:::::::J / F
J J |\\|-.____ |__.-' |: \::. \:::: ::::::::F .' J
L \| >|| `--' J |' .`::\ `.:' .::::::::/ .' F
J |//JJ | L |---. .--\::. \---. .---. <---< J
L |< |J |\=/| ( _ \=/ _ `::\ `. \=/ _ \=/ _ \ /
J |\\|J | | / )_) | (_) \::. \ | (_) | (_) | /
\ |--|J |//\\ / //\ //`::\ `./\ //\ / .'
\| |L ` )/ )` `' '|`---// `---// `\::. \ `---// `---' .'
VK________| L_\ ' /___/ ' | |___//______//_____`::\ |___//_________.'_________
F F J`` -'| | | | | \:_|
`-' | "" | J ` |
| | L | |\ |\ /| /| |\ /|
| | \ | | \ | \ // // | \ || |\
J | `. | ||\\ ||\\ // // ||\\ || ||
L F )`---\ || >> || \\ / | << || \\ || ||
| J / `. ||// || || //|| \\ || || || ||
J J ( `-. |// | \ || |/ || \\ | \ || || ||
`-.__/ `---. `. |<< ||\\|| || >> ||\\|| || ||
| J `. ) ||\\ || \ | || // || \ | || ||
/ | `-----' || >> || || || // || || \\ ||
/ F ||// || || || << || || \\||
J J | / |/ || |/ \\ |/ || \ |
J | |/ \| \| \| \|
`-.-' K I N G O F T H E M O N S T E R S
.
|
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|
| User: "tony hall" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 11:35:05 PM |
|
|
"XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> wrote in message
news:BnoDb.7591$8Y4.316518@read2.cgocable.net...
Perhaps this story is better suited to you...
I was bored today myself (must be something in the air) but instead of
making a shirt I murdered a dog.
There's this big fucking Rottweiler that lives around the corner in this
big-***** country-club yard with a huge iron fence around it. Dog's got this
heavy collar that looks more like something out of a bondage gear catalog
than a standard dog collar, hooked to a chain with links heavier than Puff
Daddy's necklace that leads back to a pounded stake in the ground made of
iron.
Every day I walk by on my way to Parker Slim's and that big black fucker
comes charging at me like some kind of freight train, dropping froth in
white foamy blobs from in between the gaps of his pointed yellow fangs. He
roars and snorts and comes charging at me like he's going to open a new
ventilation window in my guts.
But his chain's a little bit shorter than his otherwise fenced boundary,
so
each time he gets jerked back when the chain pulls taut, just like a man
hanged from the gallow's pole.
He trips, falls off his ***** and eats turf but gets back up, springing and
charging, snorting like a bull, trying to jump against the restraint of
the
chain tethered around him, ready to work up that supernatural
chain-ripping
strength just because he wants to ***** me up *that bad*, barking, roaring,
just apeshit.
Normally I just laugh but not today. Today I was ready. I had a filet
mignon
wrapped around an M-100 and a lighter ready, and I tossed him the steak
and
gunpowder cocktail. He snaps it up and pulls it down his throat into his
stomach and that's when it hit.
By the time I got up from the ground, having finished laughing
uproariously
I was a mess and figured I'd better get my punk ***** home before somebody
sees me looking like this or the owner comes out to investigate what's
going
on with his pet.
So with every item of clothing soaked in blood and juices, decorated with
shreds of flesh and pieces of dog, I stagger home to my piece of *****
apartment and head for the bathroom. It's even worse than I thought; I
look
like something out of Pulp Fiction or like an employee who just got off
work
from the local slaughterhouse and didn't stop to change or wash up.
I get the hot water flowing out of the sink faucet, strip off my t-shirt,
my
khakis, and toss them into a heap in the corner. My sunglasses, my
jewelry,
my watch, I rinse each item under the faucet and set them to dry on a
towel
that started off white but is rapidly turning pink. The shoes come off,
and
I wipe the gore off of them with another washcloth, and toss that into the
heap also. The ***** has soaked through and turned my socks a blotchy pink
as
well, so I shuck those off too.
Staring at my reflection I see something out of a horror movie. I run my
hands through my hair and a scattering of bits of flesh and organ fall out
onto the bathroom counter. I sweep in into the sink and the blood washes
down, leaving these now-cleanly-washed gibbets of flesh piled up around
the
drain.
There's no way I'm getting back to presentable short of a shower or bath,
I
realize, so I turn on the water in the tub and it starts to fill. I check
my
reflection once more and am about to step out of my boxers when I hear a
shrill voice.
"Tony?! Is that you? Did you spill something red in here?"
It's the wife, Angela. I don't even need to answer, her snoopy ***** will
seek
me out anyway. A second later, the bathroom door opens, revealing me to
her
in my dogs-blood-and-boxer-shorts ensemble.
"The ***** do you want, Angela?" I ask her. Her mouth opens in shock and
surprise at the bathroom carnage. *****; she really gets on my
nerves. I didn't marry her for her looks or her brains; basically I
married
her because she was pregnant and I was dumb enough to believe her *****
that the kid was mine.
"Tony! My God, what happened?"
"Get the ***** out of here, *****! I'm tryin' a take a bath, yo!"
I slam the door right in her face, then a second later, think better of it
and open it again.
"Hey, get me a forty ounce from the fridge!" I tell her, then slam the
door
again.
The bath is ready by now and I shut the water off. I'm about to get in
when
I realize that ***** Angela isn't bringing me my forty, so I dip under the
bathroom counter, where I keep a big Listerine bottle full of Jose Cuervo.
I
slug some of it back, belch, and set it on the rim of the tub as I get
into
the water.
Less than five minutes later, before I've even managed to drink back half
the bottle, that ***** is at the door again shouting "Toneeeeeeeeeee!" I
jump
out of the water, wrap a towel around my waist, grab the bottle, and fling
the door open.
"Christ, Angela, what the ***** do you want?!" I'm dripping pink bloody
water
all over the hallway now; Angela is standing by the kitchen counter.
"You can't treat me like this, Tony! You can't talk to me like this! I'm
your wife! I'm the mother of your only son!"
Blah blah blah, it's always blah blah blah with her, never fuckin' says
anything unless it's another goddamned complaint or a request for money.
She
picked the wrong fucking day to start ***** with me, though; a smart woman
woulda gotten me my forty from the fridge and stayed the ***** away.
"I treat you any ***** way I like. See this?" I asked her, gesturing
around the apartment with the Listerine bottle, "this is Tony's house. In
Tony's house, Tony makes the rules. That's the way it is. You can have it
with or without a beating."
I guzzled another swig of the tequila. It was starting to warm me up a
little.
"Where's that fucking brat of yours?" I asked her.
"Mine? Hector is your son too, Tony!"
Dooooshhhh! I bring the heavy Listerine bottle down on top of her head.
Tequila spills all over but she goes down like a rock. I jump on her,
pinning her arms under my knees, draw back my right fist and piston it
down
onto her face. She turns at the last second and my fist strikes one of her
sharp-***** teeth, opening a cut on my knuckle.
"*****!" I shout. I throw the bottle across the room, and this time send my
left fist slamming down into her grill. "*****!" I shout again, and begin a
rhythmic cadence, military-style, alternating one fist and then the other,
punctuating each wet smack with a cry of "*****!"
After she stops moving and struggling, I sit back, breathing heavily. I
examine the cut on my knuckle from her sharp rat teeth, which has begun to
leak a small trail of blood down my hand. Dog's blood, wife's blood, now
my
blood, all mixed in with spilled tequila and bathwater, just a huge liquid
mess.
"Daddy!" A voice; I pivot my head around. It's that ***** brat Hector.
"What are you doing to Mommy!?" he shouts, racing over. His foot catches a
wet patch and he loses his balance and trips, falling face down in pinkish
tequila mess. He starts to cry. Growling, I get off of Angela's motionless
body and stand up, then reach down, dragging Hector up by his shirt.
"Huh?! Huh?! Shut up, you little ***** *****!" I tell him, then send him
back to the floor with a left to his jaw. I bend down and pick him up,
holding him by his shoulders, his face a mess of blood, tears, and
tequila.
Looking around the room I spot the coat hook on the closet door, and march
over to it, holding Hector at arms length from me. With all the force I
can
muster up, I slam him up against the brass hook, which pierces his upper
back. His eyes bug out and he gasps, a blood bubble popping on his lips.
"Stick around," I tell him, then laugh loudly. He goes limp but remains
tacked to the closet door. "And I ain't your fuckin' dad either, you
little
*****!"
Angela is starting to regain consciousness, I see, moving her head
slightly.
I detour back into the bathroom, go under the sink again, and come up with
a
box of lye flakes, which I bring out to the kitchen. Kneeling over my
wife,
I open the box, and shake the deadly corrosive flakes over her swollen and
bleeding face.
The sounds that come out of her start off like a scream and almost
immediately become something far worse, a hideous keening wail that
doesn't
sound like anything that would come out of a human. Her entire face has
begun to bubble and melt off, flowing into the mixture of fluids on the
floor. I get up, set the box of lye down, and listen to her screech for
another minute or two as I catch my breath.
"This is Tony's house!" I scream, to the world, "And in Tony's house, Tony
makes the fucking rules!'
"John Baker" <nunya@bizniz.net> wrote in message
news:SgmDb.24153$Vg3.20553@fe3.columbus.rr.com...
"DaveHX" <meandyou@adognamedboo.comma> wrote in message
news:QOgDb.12387$IF6.554719@ursa-nb00s0.nbnet.nb.ca...
to someone with a sense of humor it is
I guess I have no sense of humor, then. I thought it was mean-spirited
and
most decidedly *not* funny.
Ever thought of getting a friend or something to fill in this "void" of
yours?
.
|
|
|
|
| User: "Sammer" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 02:05:39 PM |
|
|
"XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> wrote in message
news:BnoDb.7591$8Y4.316518@read2.cgocable.net...
Perhaps this story is better suited to you...
It's actually a little stupid.
.
|
|
|
| User: "XIT WOUND" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 06:12:09 PM |
|
|
"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote in message
news:muoDb.47$X04.2291@news20.bellglobal.com...
"XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> wrote in message
news:BnoDb.7591$8Y4.316518@read2.cgocable.net...
Perhaps this story is better suited to you...
It's actually a little stupid.
I expected you to not understand it.
.
|
|
|
| User: "Douglas Berry" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 06:44:22 PM |
|
|
Lo, many moons past, on Mon, 15 Dec 2003 16:12:09 -0800, a stranger
called by some "XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> came forth and told
this tale in alt.atheism
I expected you to not understand it.
Oh, I understood it.
You are a *****-poor writer. Whatever emotion you expected to raise in
your reader through the "Tony" character failed to come. The only
thing I felt was a sick sense that somehow you thought this was a good
story.
Oh, and your grasp of what explosives can do is extremely weak as
well.
--
Douglas Berry Do the OBVIOUS thing to send e-mail
Atheist #2147, Atheist Vet #5
Ezekiel 13:20 "Wherefore thus saith the
Lord GOD; Behold, I am against your pillows"
.
|
|
|
| User: "Sammer" |
|
| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 06:58:08 PM |
|
|
"Douglas Berry" <penguin_boy@mindOBVIOUSspring.com> wrote in message
news:i7lstv4bd6t54fb1r0ofrv1vd6bdf55tgi@4ax.com...
Lo, many moons past, on Mon, 15 Dec 2003 16:12:09 -0800, a stranger
called by some "XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> came forth and told
this tale in alt.atheism
I expected you to not understand it.
Oh, I understood it.
You are a *****-poor writer. Whatever emotion you expected to raise in
your reader through the "Tony" character failed to come. The only
thing I felt was a sick sense that somehow you thought this was a good
story.
Oh, and your grasp of what explosives can do is extremely weak as
well.
--
Douglas Berry Do the OBVIOUS thing to send e-mail
Atheist #2147, Atheist Vet #5
Ezekiel 13:20 "Wherefore thus saith the
Lord GOD; Behold, I am against your pillows"
The story was just a bunch of expletives written one after another.
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| User: "XIT WOUND" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
15 Dec 2003 11:19:08 PM |
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"Douglas Berry" <penguin_boy@mindOBVIOUSspring.com> wrote in message
news:i7lstv4bd6t54fb1r0ofrv1vd6bdf55tgi@4ax.com...
Lo, many moons past, on Mon, 15 Dec 2003 16:12:09 -0800, a stranger
called by some "XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> came forth and told
this tale in alt.atheism
I expected you to not understand it.
Oh, I understood it.
Well, I wasn't talking to you, but thanks for your input.
You are a *****-poor writer.
Sorry to disappoint you but I didn't write it. Now, would it change your
mind if I told you the person who wrote it is an accomplished writer? Who
has sold and won prizes for his short and long stories? I know it probably
does but you're to stubborn to admit it, arent you?
Whatever emotion you expected to raise in
your reader through the "Tony" character failed to come. The only
thing I felt was a sick sense that somehow you thought this was a good
story.
It is a good story.
Oh, and your grasp of what explosives can do is extremely weak as
well.
Thanks! But once again, I didn't write it.
--
"Gee, I'm awful sorry about this, but you're all sentenced to death..."
- Dulph Lundgren as Sergeant Andrew Scott in Universal Soldier
--
Douglas Berry Do the OBVIOUS thing to send e-mail
Atheist #2147, Atheist Vet #5
Ezekiel 13:20 "Wherefore thus saith the
Lord GOD; Behold, I am against your pillows"
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| User: "Mekkala" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 01:10:18 PM |
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On 15 Dec 2003, Douglas Berry <penguin_boy@mindOBVIOUSspring.com>
screwed up his face, groaned, pushed hard, and farted out the following
message in news:i7lstv4bd6t54fb1r0ofrv1vd6bdf55tgi@4ax.com:
Lo, many moons past, on Mon, 15 Dec 2003 16:12:09 -0800, a stranger
called by some "XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> came forth and told
this tale in alt.atheism
I expected you to not understand it.
Oh, I understood it.
You are a *****-poor writer. Whatever emotion you expected to raise in
your reader through the "Tony" character failed to come. The only
thing I felt was a sick sense that somehow you thought this was a good
story.
Oh, and your grasp of what explosives can do is extremely weak as
well.
I may be misunderstanding him, but I think he's trying to illustrate to
the idiots who thought the OP was a "funny story" why sick fucking
anecdotes aren't "black humor". Maybe he actually meant it to be a good
story, though, and I'm mistaken. Dunno.
--
Mekkala, Atheist #2148
"Atheism is ... the bed-rock of sanity in a world of madness."
--Emmett F. Fields
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 01:55:16 PM |
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"Mekkala" <joremovedathiskimtoreply@attbi.com> wrote in message
news:Xns94538626EC428Mekkala@199.45.49.11...
On 15 Dec 2003, Douglas Berry <penguin_boy@mindOBVIOUSspring.com>
screwed up his face, groaned, pushed hard, and farted out the following
message in news:i7lstv4bd6t54fb1r0ofrv1vd6bdf55tgi@4ax.com:
Lo, many moons past, on Mon, 15 Dec 2003 16:12:09 -0800, a stranger
called by some "XIT WOUND" <dderuiter@cogeco.ca> came forth and told
this tale in alt.atheism
I expected you to not understand it.
Oh, I understood it.
You are a *****-poor writer. Whatever emotion you expected to raise in
your reader through the "Tony" character failed to come. The only
thing I felt was a sick sense that somehow you thought this was a good
story.
Oh, and your grasp of what explosives can do is extremely weak as
well.
I may be misunderstanding him, but I think he's trying to illustrate to
the idiots who thought the OP was a "funny story" why sick fucking
anecdotes aren't "black humor". Maybe he actually meant it to be a good
story, though, and I'm mistaken. Dunno.
I have never seen so much commentary at once!
--
Mekkala, Atheist #2148
"Atheism is ... the bed-rock of sanity in a world of madness."
--Emmett F. Fields
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| User: "dempsey_k" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 04:54:53 PM |
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"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote in message
news:GqJDb.5362$CK3.360165@news20.bellglobal.com...
I have never seen so much commentary at once!
Except for the time your brother videotaped you in the shower, right Sammie
?
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 05:47:08 PM |
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"dempsey_k" <dempseyk@huh.uh> wrote in message
news:13MDb.3066$XF6.71996@typhoon.sonic.net...
"Sammer" <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote in message
news:GqJDb.5362$CK3.360165@news20.bellglobal.com...
I have never seen so much commentary at once!
Except for the time your brother videotaped you in the shower, right
Sammie
?
Damn, I was hoping you still had me killfiled, now I actually have to talk
to you.
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| User: "" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 05:48:26 PM |
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In alt.sports.hockey.nhl.tor-mapleleafs Sammer <sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote:
Damn, I was hoping you still had me killfiled, now I actually
have to talk to you.
Perhaps if you stopped trolling and actually contributed something
intelligent nobody would have to killfile you.
cordially, as always,
rm
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| User: "Sammer" |
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| Title: Re: What *I* Did Today |
16 Dec 2003 06:13:01 PM |
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<fdsasafd@fsda.org> wrote in message
news:eRMDb.6208$CK3.473094@news20.bellglobal.com...
In alt.sports.hockey.nhl.tor-mapleleafs Sammer
<sammer@probablynotquinnsfault.afterall> wrote:
Damn, I was hoping you still had me killfiled, now I actually
have to talk to you.
Perhaps if you stopped trolling and actually contributed something
intelligent nobody would have to killfile you.
cordially, as always,
rm
No, I don't troll and I contribute to discussion about the Maple Leafs. You
were the one coming in here trolling with guns ablazing. Don't try to hide
now.
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