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    Free Essay
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    Robin s rainbow

     

    When my daughter was very young, one night she was saying her prayers. She paused and asked me, "Mom, if I pray for a rainbow, will God make one?" Well, what could I say? Anyone who can part the Red Sea, can make a rainbow for a six-year-old. I hem-hawed around for a few seconds, and then told her that, yes, if she believed... Then I thought, "What have I done? What if there's no rainbow tomorrow? What if there are no clouds? And if there are, what if it doesn't rain? I've hurt the faith of this little one!" The next day, there was not a cloud in the sky. Of course. Great. Now Mom's a liar. It was Memorial Day, so we went to the cemetery to pay our respects. We were walking around, and I had hoped she had forgotten about the rainbow prayer. Apparently she had, but I had not. The scriptures say that if you believe, basically God gives you what you pray for, if you ask in Jesus' (Yeshua's) name. I was having some worrisome thoughts as we walked through that cemetery. Then we came upon a section which was being watered with sprinklers. Lo and behold, there was Robin's rainbow, just as plain as day. It was almost as if God was saying, "See? Oh you of little faith. I can make it happen, even when it seems impossible." I wish the story ended there, but it doesn't. I saw it, but I didn't see it for what it was, until later. I didn't recognize it, to show her that God had answered her prayer. Her little simple prayer was a huge lesson for me. He answered her prayer, as it turns out, for me. How many times have I missed the blessing? Now I look for answered prayers in whatever form they might take. I guessed I would forgive her for the oatmeal dumped between the wall and the refrigerator. And telling the neighbor she had a "mold" on her face. And, saying, "huh, uh... no Mom, this is what you said," when I was trying to be a little too polite in conversation. And wallpapering the hall with stick-on feminine napkins... Sigh... I miss those days. © 2005 Dianne James

         
    Robots getting smarter plan to enter politics

     

    Robotic IQ is apparently on the up tick. Now, we read, the accomplished mechanical wonders can drive, as long there’s not too much to steer around, be watchful lifeguards, and mimic human behavior in video games. And how far a leap is it from video games to political shenanigans? So any number of the brainy bots have been discussing how they might enter what is, legendarily, one of the world’s least demanding occupations in terms of intellect: politics. One robot revealed his political ambitions, saying, “I’ve been listening to Senators and Members of the House of Representatives, and I seem to have way more information than a lot of them in my database.” And a particularly ambitious bot noted, “I haven’t heard President Bush say a thing that’s beyond my current chipset, except one word my dictionary doesn’t recognize. He’s convinced me that I could conduct the Presidency almost as a no brainer.” In a recent survey, Americans were asked, “What do you think would do a better job of running the country, elected officials of the caliber we currently have or highly intelligent robots?” A substantial majority exclaimed, “Bring on the bots.” A second question was, “You realize that their intelligence is artificial?” The usual response was that most people preferred it to what they perceive as the widespread absence of intelligence among the current rafter of politicos.

         
    Rumsfeld appoints self retired general rushes to own defense

     

    Donald Rumsfeld, under fire from a platoon of retired generals who have called for his resignation, went on the offensive by appointing himself a retired general. Accompanied by a currently employed general, who, as the head of The Joint Chiefs Of Staff, is his usual sidekick, he stated, “As The Secretary of Defense, I think I should at least be on an equal footing with a retired general, and, after careful consideration, I decided to become one.” A reporter then asked, “As a retired general, what is your opinion on Donald Rumsfeld?” “I think he’s doing an outstanding job,” Rumsfeld replied. “In fact, I think, while I’ve said no one is indispensable, there’s always an exception to the rule.” “How about his handling of the war in Iraq?” another reporter queried. “What war in Iraq?” Rumsfeld countered. “The war in Iraq was over the day we pulled down Saddam Hussein’s statue. What’s going on now is the post-war recovery.” “There are some who say you underestimated the resources that would be required in the post-war period. Can you comment on that?” “As a retired general, the post-war scenario is not my specialty. On the other hand, as The Secretary of Defense, I can say that, while I used all of my absolutely first-rate foresight, I am not clairvoyant. Therefore, I could not know beforehand how many Sunnis, who had it better under Saddam’s tyranny, would rather destroy their own country than live in peace with the Shiite majority. Since I couldn’t know that the two warring Muslim factions would destabilize their own country, I could not possibly anticipate how much stabilization we’d have to try to establish. Nor could I anticipate how many members of al-Qaeda would come rushing in and try to turn the self-destabilized country into the next frontier of their suicidal goal of establishing a pan-Arab medievalist Islamic tyranny.” “Would you change anything in hindsight?” another reporter asked. “Of course, I would. Like everybody else, I do have clairvoyant hindsight. First, I would have made myself a retired general a long time ago, so I could have been the first one to stand up for myself, instead of taking all the potshots I’ve had to before I realized how to deflect them. Second, during the invasion, I would have dropped a ton of leaflets on Iraq that predisposed the population to peace.” “What kind of leaflets?” a reporter asked. “Ones we would have, at that early date, been able to translate into their language with an Iraqi-English dictionary: Shiite + Sunni = Nice Peaceful Country. Shiite – Sunni = Lots of Dead People.” “Do you think those leaflets would have made a difference?” a reporter asked. “Of course. While no leaflet is indispensable, it would have helped these warring factions realize if you can’t live in peace with each other, you can’t do anything together except kill each other.” The final question came from a reporter, who asked, “Do you plan to retire?” “You missed the point,” Secretary Rumsfeld replied. “I already retired. How do you think I became I retired general.” “I mean, do you intend to retire as Secretary of State?” “I think one retirement every decade or so is plenty, don’t you?”

         
    Rural relocation considerations and adjustments

     

    So you’re thinking about going country? It’s time to abandon the frenzy of city life, drop the ‘G’ from the end of your verbs and trade your Gucci for goats. You long to be in a place where business is done on a handshake, where your backyard is bountiful and where folks welcome you with warm apple pie and a smile. You want the simple life. Over 1.6 million people moved to rural communities during the first five years of this decade. Several stayed. This migration continues – reinforced by dozens of national and regional periodicals presenting sanitized ‘country chic’ to millions of armchair rednecks. Having read a myriad of books and magazines about goin’ county, you are convinced it is for you. Why not? Editorials immerse you with prose of serenity found. You are infatuated by the ideal of carvin’ your own nitch in the wilderness, collectin’ the morning eggs and whittlin’ on the porch swing each evening. Throughout the country, gentlemen greet women with the tip of a hat and a polite, “Howdy Mam.” You long to raise your children in a community where graciousness abounds while folks commune with nature in perfect harmony. With each flip of the page of County Cool Magazine you feel your stress level dip. Before you lapse completely into a coma, bear a few things in mind. Full-page glossies of family reunions held beneath towering, shabby-chic barns make for better magazine copy than centerfolds of locals trying to avoid making eye contact with your U-Haul. Stylized black and whites of cowboys branding in the parched mid-day sun sell better than snapshots of the Mayor’s dead horses being left to rot all summer long, directly in the center of town. Furthermore, triumphant tales of battling the elements flow better than ancient country septic lines. No one knows why the media doesn’t ‘glam-up’ peeing in your barn. It must just be a fickle public. Fickle indeed. I for one moved my son from our life long home in San Diego to my birth state of South Dakota three times before it stuck. Each time I recoiled in under a year. Best friends, scores of humanities, the Pacific surf and Thai food are a lot to give up at one time. Harder still was the shattering of my rose colored glasses. The secret to a successful relocation is knowing what to honestly expect so you can laugh cathartically when the inevitable bizarre scenarios emerge. Sudden disillusionment is rarely a knee-slapper. Nonetheless, once adjusted, country life is closer to Nirvana than most get here on Earth. Thus, while everyone else pumps pure country sunshine straight up your knickers, I consider it my obligation to provide balance to the Universe. Almost daily I question my reasons for living in the hinterland. For these moments of apprehension, I maintain lists in my mind. My lists remind me both what drove me out of California and why I cannot abandon country life. A hardy dose of big city burn out definitely came into play. For starters, I realized I was so sick of commuting I‘d rather endure seven months per year in an icebox with no sunlight than sit in another traffic jam. With that thought alone I was ready to pull up my roots. I also decided to move. In fact, developing a loathing of the Urban Jungle was vital to my eventual ‘success’ in relocating. In retrospect, my twig was definitely about to snap. Of course, so many city folk run around with fully bent twigs, we never realize the contorted conditions of our existence. That many people living in close proximity, under the confines of excessive regulations, is the proverbial pressure cooker. Urbanites and recent country converts wondering if your view on life may be intensely contorted are welcome refer to my lists. They provide perspective. For example: Signs of how ‘screwed-up’ you may be would include the following. You’re having your morning coffee, a cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You freak out, hit 911 and sue the Meat Packers of America. You believe shoes matching your nail polish is in any way a daily priority. You don’t recognize that it is morally bankrupt to apply for a permit from a homeowners association to put out a lawn ornament. You carry more electronic gadgets on your person than Radio Shack inventories. You drive to work past ‘that same old group of homeless people.’ You smile and say, “Hi,” to strangers only because you know it screws with their minds. Your horse board expenses equal the Gross National Product of Guatemala You’re convinced you are invisible and need two years of plastic surgery just so city gentlemen won’t let the C-Store door spring back in your face. You pitch a fit when your favorite salad bar serves cheese made with non-vegetarian rennet, then drive the kids to Burgers Burgers Burgers. Your children spend more time in the TV den than in treetops and you think that’s acceptable. You get a building permit and three estimates to hang a painting. Any chimes ringing? If so, remove yourself form Urbania immediately! Your twig is at maximum contortion! Give the country three years and you will stay. Transition is difficult, but once your up-tight attitude is vanquished, your twig unbends. These are the indicators you are settling in to the ‘Simple Life.’ You’re having your morning coffee. A cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You sit down and drink your coffee. Shoes’ matching each other is low on the list of daily priorities. Your outhouse is not just a chic lawn ornament. You save getting the chickens drunk for when you have houseguests. You have no idea where your cell phone went, but the Border Collie is wearing your pager. You drive to work past ‘that same old herd of buffalo’. Your bird feeder expenses are equivalent to the Gross National Product of Canada. Elk mounts ordain the walls of your favorite salad bar. Your children spend more time in the their tree house than in school. Yes, these are definitely telltale signs, you have lost that city pace. Although you can never voluntarily raise your stress level back to match city slickers, you have not lost yourself completely. Search the little places. Vestiges of your past will appear. These are the traits of an American Hybrid. While having your morning cappuccino, a cow walks through the front yard. You don’t own a cow. You toss it a biscotti. You can’t decide whether to paint the walls of the outhouse in a contemporary or impressionistic motif. You use the word motif in the same sentence with outhouse. You actually make homemade preserves – wild chokecherries with a boisterous zinfandel you picked up in Napa last season. Mascara before milking. You winter in the gulf of Siam. You summer in bib overalls. You smile and say, “Hi,” to strangers only because you know it screws with their minds. You could never shoot a deer, but you can dress that sucker out in under two hours. You fence in a sarong and thongs. (This one gets the neighbors talking.) You frequently run to town for Hawaiian Tofu and Goat Chow. You have a different pair of hiking boots for every occasion. Egyptian cotton sheets and a commissioned replica of Picasso’s Woman with Three Breasts enclose the baby chickens being reared in your bedroom closet. It’s true, every day more and more of us are getting too screwed up to ever return to the city. Still, for all our differences country folk and city slickers posses one commonality. Neither group thinks twice about the US Government’s Food Pyramid. I guess we have to start somewhere.

         
    Rush limbaugh humor 2 adult beverage recipes any dittohead will love

     

    During the course of his celebrated career, Rush Limbaugh invented the term "adult beverages" to refer to alcoholic drinks so as not to offend mothers with young children listening to the show. But no insight was given on where to find the best dittohead adult beverages. That's why I created The Dittohead's Guide to Adult Beverages, a political humor book fans of the show will love. Just try out these great recipes: ENVIRONMENTALIST WACKO WHISKEY Glass: Your Own Cupped Hands Ingredients: 1 Part Triple Sec (as long as it wasn’t made in a wicked corporate factory) 2 Parts Whiskey (homemade by Sierra Club members in an earth-friendly distillery) 1 Part Grain Alcohol (flammable liquid used by the Earth Liberation Front to burn SUVs) 1 Frozen Pond (the result of any number of man-made environmental catastrophes) 1 Dolphin (the pinnacle of creation, according to environmentalist wackos) Instructions: First, cut several ice cubes from the surface of a frozen pond (these should be abundant due to the smog effect blocking the sun's rays in preparation for the coming ice age). Avoid using a freezer to produce your ice cubes, because freezers are a capitalist-concocted first cousin of man's worst enemy – the air conditioner. Next, combine ingredients (along with your pond cubes) in your own cupped hands. Don't you dare use a glass instead of your hands, because the process of making glass destroys Mother Earth. Origin: This adult beverage is named in honor of environmentalist wackos, a fringe movement (not to be confused with serious and responsible ecology-minded people) that believes mankind is the greatest threat to nature, seeks to destroy private property, and longs to establish a socialist regime to impose their nuttiness on the rest of us. Special Note: For years environmentalist wackos have told us that dolphins are superior to humans – despite the absence of dolphin highways, libraries, or institutions of higher learning. But for all their supposed brilliance, I challenge any environmentalist wacko to find a dolphin that can make an adult beverage as good as this one! EL RUSHBO Glass: A Highball Glass Emblazoned with the EIB Network Logo Ingredients: 1 Part Rum (shares the first two letters of its name with Rush!) 2 Parts Blue Gatorade (consumed while playing a round of golf in honor of Rush) 2 Parts Sprite (in recognition of capitalist lemon-lime soda companies) 1 Prestigious Attila the Hun Chair (symbolic of complete radio industry dominance) Talent on Loan From God (why liberals don’t stand a chance against El Rushbo) Instructions: Utilizing talent on loan from God (assuming that, unlike most liberals, you acknowledge the existence of God), combine ingredients in a highball glass emblazoned with the EIB logo and top off with whipped cream (but please use the whipped cream in this adult beverage recipe the way Rush would use it and not in the manner in which Bill Clinton would use it). Enjoy from the comfortable confines of your own Attila the Hun chair, the undisputed seat of talk-radio industry power. Origin: This dittohead adult beverage is affectionately named in honor of Rush Limbaugh – lover of mankind, protector of motherhood, supporter of fatherhood (in most instances), general all-around good guy, and a man designated by the US Department of Education as a bona fide “weapon of mass instruction.” Special Note: This adult beverage is documented to almost always taste great, 96.712 percent of the time, just as El Rushbo is documented to be almost always right, 97.963 percent of the time!

         
    Russia defends iranian nuke program considers position good customer service

     

    While the civilized world has reacted with horror at Iran’s plan to harness the energy of the atom, as in bombs away, Russia has steadfastly defended the menacing mullahdom’s nuclear ambitions. At first, any person distinguished for responsible behavior is taken back by such apparently reckless advocacy, not only because it seems wildly risky, if not outright self-destructive, but also because one does not expect it from people who have decided to present themselves as such reformed friends of humanity and trustworthy politicos that they dress in spiffy garb, instead of in their former universal drab. We, however, turn to the hard-learned observation that, if anybody’s behavior doesn’t’ seem to make sense, you probably just don’t understand what his or her goals are. Seen this way, the gremlin in the Kremlin is as obvious as the red power tie we often see dangling from Vladimir Putin's neck. Iran buys weapons from Russia and will now buy enriched uranium, too, and Russia is just servicing the customer. As V. P., who brought order to Russia by ordering his Russian cohorts around, said, “Once when I was in the KGB and didn’t have a lot to do, I read about the American department store tycoon, John Wanamaker, who once told a clerk, ‘When a customer comes in, forget about me.’ So when Iran comes up, I forget about everything but putting the customer first. It seems like the capitalist thing to do, and in the modern Russian economy, I think there’s at least room for that much free enterprise.” One would think that there would be some awareness of the geographical limits of his enthusiasm. After all, Russia is a lot closer to Iran than we are. There are also other inescapable aspects of the client relationship that ought to be considered, among them that Vladimir and his gangsta-rich associates look as much like infidels to the Iranians currently steering their ship of state toward the reefs of war as we do. What Lenin once said about capitalists apparently also applies to reformed communists: they would sell you the rope to hang them with.

         
    Saddam hussein seeks mcdonald s francise

     

    Saddam Hussein, in his latest bid to escape execution for crimes against his own people, has applied to McDonald’s for a franchise. The application is widely regarded as a move by his defense team to convince the court that, if his life is spared, he will be a model citizen in the Iraq of the future. In his application, Hussein states that he has a great deal of fast-food experience from his months on the run. He also states that, if granted the franchise, he will cease and desist from pathological social behavior that brings into question his qualifications to be a reputable franchisee. He has applied for a location in Bagdad that affords a view of one of his former palaces, so he might find peace in reminiscence as conducts his burger business. Upon approval by McDonald’s, the agreement will be submitted to the court. At that time, the defense is expected to claim that he should be acquitted on the grounds that there is no precedent whatsoever for hanging a McDonald’s franchisee. Depending on the outcome of Hussein’s plea, his codefendants may or may not apply to McDonald’s. There is some disagreement among them, as to whether or not their should try to corner the McDonald’s market or have the courage to compete with their former boss by opening rival chains, such as Burger King and Wendy’s. One defendant is reportedly considering an Appleby’s franchise, apparently because of a misunderstanding. He wishes one day to be accepted as “American as apple pie” and is unaware that the chain is, in reality, just another burger joint. Ramsey Clark states, “The move by Hussein to become a McDonald’s franchisee clearly indicates that he intends to reform himself and should be given opportunity.” While many Sunnis seem eager to patronize the former dictator’s restaurant, Shiites and Kurds are threatening to boycott it. The American military has voiced concern about possible reprisals, particularly the threat of suicide bombers disguised as drive-through patrons.

         
    Senate takes up debate on regular marriage

     

    The Senate, fresh from its rancorous but indecisive debate on a constitutional amendment that would have banned same-sex marriage, has now taken up debate on an amendment that would ban regular marriage. A leading Republican senator stated, “When you consider how high the divorce rate is, you know there are a lot of unhappy marriages out there between men and women. I’m not sure continuing to allow them is in the national interest.” The Democratic whip said, “In addition to the divorce rate, you’ve got to look at how many parents are disappointed in the amount of gratitude their children show and how many children don’t think their parents love them enough. Since parents usually want more gratitude than their children can give, and children often demand more love than most parents can give, it seems there’s an inherent problem with a marriage that can produce children.” President Bush took an unwavering position, saying, “The kind of marriage we allow in America has to set a good example for the children of this great nation, and, frankly, I don’t think a lot of marriages out there are hitting that high marker. So I urge the Congress to pass the amendment. No more regular marriages, no more bad examples for our children – it’s as simple as that. And the result is guaranteed, because, in all likelihood, there won’t be anymore children.”

         
    Senior ticked for walking too slow others try roller skates

     

    An 82-year-old woman was recently issued a ticket in California for crossing a street too slowly. A police officer, who arrived on a motorcycle, told her she was obstructing traffic – and issued her a summons for $114. Responding to the uproar caused by the curious traffic ticket, the municipality has begun to wonder if it should work out ways to help seniors cross streets without fear of incurring a penalty. It is, of course, much too optimistic to hope that the municipality and the nation at large will speed to their rescue with such startling innovations as walk signs that last longer. As a result, seniors, alarmed by the pricy citation, particularly those who are living on social security, are taking steps of their own, as they frantically search for ways to hurry along. Of course, electric wheelchairs have long been an option. But many simply don’t see themselves in the undeniably helpful items, at least, not until they encounter accidents due to the other resources they’ve been turning to, for instance, roller skates. We also understand that bicycles have been selling briskly, particularly near retirement communities. Of course, those who are fortunate enough to live with more able partners have the luxury of looking into other options, such as little red wagons and, in rural areas, wheelbarrows. In a nutshell, seniors are turning to every possible mode of expedition they can think of, which generally means they’re equipped with the age-old facilitation of wheels. While these alternative modes of transportation might offer suitable answers during balmier times, there is some concern about what to do when snow and ice cover the ground. Among the more daring sorts, there is talk of skis, while others are considering ice skates. Until then, we can at least be glad that the dear recipient of the instigating ticket was not also issued points. Enough of those, and she’d have to be concerned about losing her walking license.

         
    Senior ticketed for walking too slow others try rollerskates

     

    An 82-year-old woman was recently issued a ticket in California for crossing a street too slowly. A police officer, who arrived on a motorcycle, told her she was obstructing traffic – and issued her a summons for $114. Responding to the uproar caused by the curious traffic ticket, the municipality has begun to wonder if it should work out ways to help seniors cross streets without fear of incurring a penalty. It is, of course, much too optimistic to hope that the municipality and the nation at large will speed to their rescue with such startling innovations as walk signs that last longer. As a result, seniors, alarmed by the pricy citation, particularly those who are living on social security, are taking steps of their own, as they frantically search for ways to hurry along. Of course, electric wheelchairs have long been an option. But many simply don’t see themselves in the undeniably helpful items, at least, not until they encounter accidents due to the other resources they’ve been turning to, for instance, roller skates. We also understand that bicycles have been selling briskly, particularly near retirement communities. Of course, those who are fortunate enough to live with more able partners have the luxury of looking into other options, such as little red wagons and, in rural areas, wheelbarrows. In a nutshell, seniors are turning to every possible mode of expedition they can think of, which generally means they’re equipped with the age-old facilitation of wheels. While these alternative modes of transportation might offer suitable answers during balmier times, there is some concern about what to do when snow and ice cover the ground. Among the more daring sorts, there is talk of skis, while others are considering ice skates. Until then, we can at least be glad that the dear recipient of the instigating ticket was not also issued points. Enough of those, and she’d have to be concerned about losing her walking license.

         
    Sentencia interruptus the texas pause

     

    I've actually never heard anyone talk about this, so it's up to me to break the news to the world about this phenomenon. It can be a monumental problem, if you don't know about it, understand it, and adhere to its rule. "It" is, and I believe I've aptly named it, Sentencia Interruptus, or commonly known (or soon will be) as the Texas Pause. Problems can arise in communications between husbands and wives, employers and their employees, teachers and students, and others, if one of the parties is unaware of this regional dialectic/linguistic idiosyncracy. You've heard of never being able to get a word in edge-wise? This is similar, except untold paragraphs and unexpressed thoughts are now floating out in the universe, never to be heard from again - all because of the Texas Pause. How does this happen? Typically native Texans possess a speech pattern in which they will express a thought, pause for 3 or 4 seconds (sometimes longer) mentally preparing their concluding thought (we like to plan our conclusions for maximum effect.) Unfortunately, the other person in the conversation will jump in and start talking before the first person is finished. I know you'd never be guilty of thinking ahead about what you're going to say, instead of listening, but that's not the only problematic thing about this. There are thousands of frustrated Texans who had profound things with which to conclude, who never had the chance, because someone else barged in, unaware of the Texas Pause. Can you imagine what brilliant ideas we, as a society, have probably lost as a result of this travesty of dialect? How many spouses have resorted to saying, "You never listen to me"? How many employers miss the "...and their new branch wants to order 100,000 more widgets than last month"? How many teachers pivot and point to another student while the first student to answer still had words stuck between the mind and tongue, choking on the fact that the incongruency of an incomplete thought has made them look really stupid? How many Texans have skipped dessert in a restaurant because the waiter or waitress shifted their gaze to the next patron for their order? I ask you, is this fair? Because of the world's ignorance of the Texas Pause, we are losing valuable thoughts, educational opportunities, industrial productivity, and cherry cobblers by the millions. Please put a stop to this madness. Tell everyone you know about the Texas Pause........................................ and let's make this world a sweeter and more complete place in which to live. Pause and say "No!" to Sentencia Interruptus. Countless thoughts could be saved if you will only listen. In October of 2005, then Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers, on national television, admitted to having the Texas Pause. In an interview with Fox News, Miers said, "I pause, before I speak." Sentencia Interruptus reared it's head, once again, as she appeared to correct the interviewer. Telling someone you pause before you speak is a learned assertiveness among those with the Texas Pause. Many others may, now, come forward to admit they have this, which will foster understanding throughout the world, where there has been none, yet. That might be a good thing, considering the international ramifications of any misunderstanding, especially when there's a Texan in the White House. © 2005 Dianne James

         
    Sex change procedure creates new species neither all male nor all female

     

    Due to a revolutionary procedure, an entirely new species of human is now afoot on the earth – neither all male nor all female. And people who have undergone the procedure seem delighted. A mostly female member of the species confided, “When you become a new species, it changes your whole outlook. I’m no longer really flamingly female or, for that matter, flamingly male. It makes me really happy. ” “I’m an early adapter,” a mostly male person who had undergone the procedure told us. “As a result, I often feel ahead of my time, but, wow, when I come across another person who has gone through it, we really hit it off.” Another primarily female incarnation of the remarkable development confided, “When you become a third species, it changes your whole outlook. I’m no longer really agressively female and certainly not rabidly male.” What exactly is this revolutionary procedure? We spoke with Dr. Emil Changemaker, the founder of the technique, and asked, “We understand you’ve created a new species of human being. Can you please elaborate?” “Happy to oblige. First, this sex change operation requires no surgery.” “It doesn’t?” we asked, surprised. “No, the change occurs, not between the legs, but between the ears.” “Oh, between the ears?” “Exactly,” he confirmed. “Please, go on.” “Well, you see, until now, we had human types that are pretty much all male and all female. Of course, there have been a few exceptions, but not enough for most people to notice.” “And now?” we inquired. “Oh, thanks to the technique, there are quite a few more.” “I see. As the world’s leading expert on the subject, how did you manage to create a new species?” “Me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.” “You didn’t?” we asked, a bit taken back. “Excuse me, if you didn’t have anything to do with it, why are you the founder of the technique? You see, we never heard of a founder who didn’t have anything to do with what he founded.” “Oh, I founded it just because I saw it happening and I brought it to people’s attention, first to my family, then to some friends. Next, I wrote an article. Then a book. Now, I’m working on a video.” “Well, it sounds as if you’re doing the usual things a founder does. What did you see happening?” “Well, I saw this third species evolving.” “The one that’s neither 100% male or 100% female?” “Exactamundo!” he exclaimed. “Why is it evolving?” “Primarily, because it’s time, actually way past time, I think, for the new species to make its appearance.” “Why is that?” “Well, when you just had the overly male types or the overly female types, you had one side being really macho and the other side tipping toward being ultra feminist. So they had a hard time inhabiting the earth together, let alone the same bedroom. And happily married? Tough hoe to row, I mean, a tough row to hoe. I’ve been through it and just the thought discombobulates me.” “What about the new species?” “The most welcome development you can imagine.” “Why is that?” we asked. “Because when this species evolves, you no longer have the snarling pro macho type or the rabid feminist type.” “What do you have?” “Well, basically, you have a person.” “A person? That’s the third type?” “Please, don’t underestimate what I’m saying. This is a real big deal, the most welcome development you can imagine.” “What is so special about this new species of person?” we wanted to know, determined to corner him. “Well, it’s a person who advocates people’s rights.” “People’s rights?” “Right! It’s an evolution that leaves the purebred brute or feminist back at the orifice of the allegorical cave. You don’t advocate the superiority of men or the superiority of women. You don’t even advocate equal rights for either.” “Not even equal rights?” “Certainly not, because the very act of advocating equal rights assumes there’s an inequality. It’s a self-propagating prejudice. Nobody advocates equality when it exists, do they?” “Well, that’s interesting. So when you advocate people’s rights, there’s no inherent or implied prejudice?” “Correct! I’m talking about a species that’s comfortable just being human – not as an overheated new advocacy but just as an easygoing assumption. Of course, the species is still very much aware that there are two halves of the human race.” “That hasn’t changed?” “No, just the way they think of each other – in the whole rigmarole together, peaceful partners, except for a little of the inevitable pot throwing that even equals can’t always avoid, especially men and women. It solves a lot of problems, in the outside world and in the home, downstairs and upstairs.” “Hmm, I imagine it would. What do you think the future holds for this new species?” “Well, it’s like all evolutionary developments. You never know if the new excrescence of the gene pool will flourish, or perish because of the pressures exerted by the more established species. My hope is that it will enlarge its presence and, perhaps over time, entirely replace the previous incarnations.” “Wow, when this interview began, I never would’ve suspected.” “What’s that?” he asked. “I’m actually a member of the new species.” “You are?” “Well, at least, I like to think so. And I bet a lot of people who are fans of NewsLaugh didn't realize they’re part of a new species until they read this interview.” “How long have you been a member?” he asked. “Oh, I went beyond advocating one side or the other a long time ago. I think of myself as just a happy-go-lucky, ducky and whatever person.” “Good for you,” he said, and took out a notepad. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m the one who’s supposed to take notes.” “Just adding you to my list of humans who have evolved to my favorite species. I like to keep track. The trend is my friend – and yours!”

         
    Sex surveys of teenagers prove inaccurate teens tend to become virgins again

     

    The validity of surveys of teenage sexual behavior has recently been brought into serious question. While it has always been known that many members of the age group may exaggerate the extent of their sexual experiences, despite what their parents might think if they found out about the imagined delights, it has come to light that girls, as well as boys who wish to apply the nomenclature to themselves, who confessed that they had had sex in a previous survey responded in a subsequent survey that they were now virgins. The researchers, unaccustomed to the concept of recurring virginity, decided to sort out the confusing result. They have now ascertained the cause of the puzzling return to a virginal state. It appears that many teens opt to take a vow of chastity after they’ve had some experience in the absence of that demanding virtue. Once they’ve taken the vow, they are inclined to decide that the experiences they had before their new devotion to chastity don’t count anymore. A new survey has been scheduled that is intended to determine why nature, which really ought to know better, insists on pervading the bodies of these otherwise innocent juveniles with hormones and the resultant physical developments that compel them toward any interest at all in sex. As every informed person knows, the most responsible members of this budding age group would rather be able to concentrate on such far more age-appropriate activities as board games.

         
    Sit back and remember

     

    Why is it, that any holiday, time off, or event, someone is sick? Do they plan it that way? I was sitting today, pondering, reminissing, and it came to my attention that every function I have ever attended had at least one of my family members sitting with the sniffles. I was 7 years old. It was christmas time, and I was sick with my appendix. That was a good one. Is it coincidence? Or is there some greater evil out there that enjoys watching suffering in times of joy. We should find him, and tell him we are NOT impressed. Timing is everything. There is a point, in every persons life, where everything seems to go wrong, and all you can do is sit there and watch it happen. But maybe it's a good thing. In fact, if nothing goes wrong, we won't know what's right. Perhaps what we need to do is change those tears of helplessness into tears of joy. That would be weird. "I love it when i get scarlet fever" Woops. Here is a good one. This time, evil chose to be more mean than ever. I will tell you the holiday AFTER I tell you what happened. I had the chicken pox, my youngest sister had the chicken pox, my other sister had scarlet fever, and my parents were sharing the flu. Get this.... Thanksgiving. Thats right. Usually at thanksgiving time we go around the table, taking turns saying thanks for whatever you are thankful for. What a task. I was thankful for oatmeal baths! It's funny how we are tested in such ironic ways. The outcome of our battles with nature shows what kind of person we can become, but what happens during the battle defines what kind of person we really are.

         
    Smoking gun in cancer revealed it s the smoking throat

     

    OK, smoke fans, the facts are out once again. According to the new and pretty inarguable Cancer Atlas and the updated Tobacco Atlas, which were published by The American Cancer Society, if "Smoky, The Scare" gets his way, tobacco use is projected to kill a billion people in this century. (By the way, wouldn't it be more reassuring if the word “Prevention” was in the Society's name?) Now, that’s what we call recreational population control. The figure amounts to ten times as many folks as smoking sent choking to the grave in the 20th century. And ready for this? Tobacco use causes one in five cancer deaths, or a total of 1.4 million graveward bound souls a year. Now, here’s the good and much underappreciated news: Dr. Judity Mackay, a senior policy adviser of the World Health Organization, tells us, "We know with cancer, if we take action now, we can save 2 million lives a year by 2020 and 6.5 million by 2040." So here’s our bit to stop cancer in its tracks. And we’re not going to pull any punches, because, if you still smoke, you obviously haven’t listened to anybody yet, and we care about you too much not to give you our best shot. Here goes all the ways we know to annoy our friends who smoke with advice that is invariably resented but not always dismissed. In fact, we actually have two friends who stopped smoking after we had at them. So let's light up with logic: 1. If you can’t quit smoking, pursue your fetish when you're not around us. 2. We don’t date people who smoke, because we don’t want to die in their arms. It’s not death we’re afraid of; it’s their breath and the way their clothes smell. We find both spiritually wilting, not to mention sexually. 3. Everybody loves you, but somebody you know is following you, everywhere you go, and this person wants to kill you, and do you know who this person is? The person in you who wants to smoke. The person in you who doesn’t want you to smoke, while weaker right now, can be made strong enough to toss the sneak thief of your life out for good. 4. Do you know what people think every time you light up? Wow, what a dummy. Provoking this response is particularly incriminating if you think you’re a genius. 5. Don’t tell me you’re so desperate for pleasure that just for the little buzz you can get from dragging all those carcinogens into your fragile body you’re ready to die? How much do you like Lorillard and the other ciggy makers? So much you need to die for them? 6. Do you know that smoking is like rat poison? You ingest a little every day. You think you’re fine. But actually your entire body is being poisoned. That’s why you look yellow and your skin wrinkles prematurely. Actually, if you could do an autopsy on yourself while you’re still alive, you’d find that all the organs in your body are shriveled up from the poisons. For instance, pathologists tell us that your organs, instead of being smooth and healthy, look more like prunes. But you keep dragging the junk in, because you think you’re fine. Well, you’re not. You’re deadly ill. And then one day it happens. You go from being ill to being landfill. 7. Last, do you know that all the blood in your body races through your lungs every minute? That’s right. It all keeps racing there to give off carbon dioxide and grab fresh oxygen. Then it races to the far corners of your body with the breath of life. Unfortunately, it also drags the carcinogens along for the ride. That’s why, for instance, women who smoke often get breast cancer; breasts are very vascular and so they’re a frequent drop-off point for the poison. Worst of all, if you die, you can’t read NewsLaugh anymore. Talk about sad. So stop it already.

         
     
         
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