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    Songwriter confessions 1

     

    Looking up this week from getting a reggae backing to sound like St Ann rather than St Felicity, I spotted the small dark mist in the usual corner behind the left monitor speaker. I have sometimes believed absolutely that this is my best muse, back from a pizza run to the outer starbelt. Or maybe just the golden ring around Uranus. Anyhoo...It seems to bring inspiration in a dark way: more Keith Richards than Cliff Richard, and I feel the urge to write something that involves leather, whips and a snare drum that sounds like Pavarotti hitting the water from the top board. I dig out my file called Heavy Riffs That AC/DC Lost Under The Driver's Seat. It would help if the word MURDER appeared in the first lyric line: that always gets the bowie knives out. As Sam Goldwyn said: Start with an exploding volcano and build up from there to a climax. I can't emphasise how important the first two lines of the first verse are, in any song. This is where you the artist set the hook in their miniscule attention spans or not. If you simper your way into a song, as per a style I like to call Captain Cliche, you've probably lost them before the second guitar comes in. Please avoid a first verse that goes like this: ooh I love you, yes it's true, what am I supposed to do, baby I know without you, all my dreams are down the loo...blah blah... Anybody still awake? The only thing that might just save that song would be a beat strong enough to flip Lazarus out of the grave and over the horizon. I never thought that the years I spent writing ad copy for various ad agencies would be worth so much to me now. The rule in advertising is: when you've written the headline, you've spent 80c of your dollar. It's got to hook them. It's gotta say something different about a subject you've heard a million times. Take the neverending subject of LOVE ( also known as LURV...the NASTY...and BUMPING UGLIES) If I taught songwriting, one of the first projects I would set would have to be: write a song about LOVE, but make it interesting. Make it different. Make the listener say: I never thought of it that way before. Now Paul McCartney, being famous, doesn't have to work as hard as the rest of us. So he calls it: Another Silly Love Song. With a chorus that goes: iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. Phew, Macca...time to open the window! Here's how I do it: my song is called: If You Were Icecream... and the first verse is: If you were icecream, I would eat you, with a very small spoon... if you were starlight, I'd go to meet you, halfway to the moon... I think that's a lot more interesting than Paulie's but hey, he's famous, and I've just started kicking at the door. For more examples of how I approach first verses and songs in general, scoot along to my new site or click on the link below. Must get into town for some new acoustic guitar strings. Haven't changed them for a year, and No..there's no direct link between underwear rotation and guitar strings. And-a one...two...three...

         
    Songwriter confessions 2

     

    Any real Beatle fan knows that Stu Sutcliffe was the original bass player, who died of a brain embolism before the Beatles became famous. But what if it hadn’t been Stu with the deadly weakness, but rather…? There is very little time left now. The meeting will take place in a matter of hours: an event so significant for future generations that nothing can be allowed to change it in any way. I have found the boy: a cheerful soul with wide eyes that question the world with amusement. He does not yet know the path that is set for him, or the tiny thing inside his brain that brings me here through the oceans of time. We agreed that it is a task that must be done for the peace of souls everywhere. From my place of concealment across the square I wait for him to appear on this cloudy day. In the skies I see a vortex that promises more storms but the people around me, simple people with low reception levels they do not understand, pass by in their life patterns. Once the boy is in sight, my timing will allow me to meet him at the shop window where he pauses without exception every day to stand and admire. I am programed with every trace of memory from the projection undertaken by the finest minds in our universe. There are no randoms not accounted for: no variations not calculated to the infinite degree. I see him now. The boy comes around the corner whistling a tune of his own making, with eyebrows high in delight as the activity in the square greets his vision. For a moment he slows as he passes the shop they call the baker, but then resumes his journey across the square directly towards me where I stand close to the shop that intrigues him so. Every step he takes is more important than he can ever know, but his cheerful smile shows none of this as he reaches the window of the store that sells instruments of music and stops with hands in pockets to stare in familiar routine. If he were to look at me, he would see only another boy his own age, but his attention is unwavering and complete on one of the items in the window. He leans forward until nose touches glass. Hofner…he says out loud to nobody. Loovely, he says and his focus is so complete that I take three swift steps towards him, swirl the cloak of transformation over him and the deed is done. I turn away from the shop window and resume my journey. In my mind are random thoughts of how to get enough money for the music instrument, with bursts of spontaneous melodies in the background. A part of my mind sees images of playing a guitar sitting on a bed in a small but friendly room. I walk on. It is 30 minutes later and I have come to an open field which a small festival has filled with music, banners and the chatter and laughter of two hundred people. I have only just reached the first stall when someone calls my name and I turn to see my friend Ivan smiling at me while the activity of the fair flows around him. Come over here, he says, I’ve got someone you should meet. I follow him deeper into the fairground to stop in front of a small and rickety stage barely three feet off the ground. Sitting at the corner with legs dangling over the edge is a skinny youth in a black shirt and jeans with hair combed back in extravagant sculpture and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. His left hand is adjusting the tone of the strings of the guitar he cradles on his legs while his eyes measure me with care. Hey, Johnny…Ivan says with a measure of casual excitement to the skinny figure…got someone you should meet… he’s a guitar player too… Johnny squints through the smoke of the cigarette at me. Oh yeah?…he says. Yeah…says Ivan and throws his arm around my shoulders. Johnny…says Ivan…meet Paul McCartney… Copyright – Bill Dollar 2005

         
    Stand up comedienne gagging for a joke

     

    What type of person sees the funny side of a joke or gag told by a stand up comedienne, what type of person doubles over with laughter after the punch line of a joke has been delivered? What kind of person is more prone to giggle when watching someone play the fool? Well the answer to that is simple? A person one who wants to laugh. Laughter represents happiness. Celebration parties will always include some form of entertainment - whether it is in the form of a musical band - solo singer or magician etc. But the most popular performer of all invited along to entertain is a stand up comedienne and the reason for that is because they can accommodate their act to suit the mood. Stand up comics have a mission to accomplish each time they perform their act and that is to make people laugh with their funny jokes - some funny folk amuse party guests in other ways with hilarious foolish antics or silly mime games. Depending on the event or occasion the comedy performance may be structured around the parties theme e. g. a child`s party may have characters like a clown or if it is an all male wild stag night gathering - then expect the stand up comedienne to deliver the goods in the way of naughty blue jokes. Jokes and gags come clean or dirty - this is your party therefore the choice of entertainment is entirely up to you. The best thing for you to do if you are to host an event which involves a stand up comedienne - is to do a little research, check out what you feel will go down well with your party guests. An atmosphere where laughter holds a strong presence tells you that the party is definitely a success. Sometimes it is the host that takes on the role as the funny performer (stand up comedienne) if this is your intention then ask a few close friends for help in rounding up a few party gags - by doing this you have guaranteed laughs because those who shared their jokes with you will always find them funny. Stand up comedienne jokes and gag material can be found online. If you are finding it a struggle to get your act together then why not listen to or watch a video on stand up comediennes to gather tips. Online entertainment sites provide all you need to know on funny folk, so if you are gagging for a good joke then go online. Another good idea is to practice acting out your stage show in the mirror - this is a great way to make sure you look the part and that part is the star attraction at the event.

         
    Steven hawking asks how human race can survive. newslaugh presents ten ideas called look dummy.

     

    The brilliant British astrophysicist, Steven Hawking, has invited people to submit suggestions to his Website via Yahoo on how the human race might last another hundred years. Given that the dinosaurs lasted about 150 million years and we’re worried about making it – given our 100,000-year-or-so history – to a mere 100,100, we decided we must, after all, be even less perspicacious about what it takes to survive than the lofty dinos. To moderate any possible abbreviation of our stay, we thought we’d present ten ideas that we call “Look, Dummy.” Since one of the delights of writing this informed laugh fest is knowing we don’t have a single reader who could be even remotely described as a dummy, these ideas are obviously intended for your amusement but might also serve as a convenience when you come across people who seem to have a certain impenetrability when it comes to what is gaspingly obvious. 1. Look, Dummy: A tree. You can’t make one, so don’t cut them all down. 2. Look, Dummy: A fish. You can’t make one either, so don’t catch them all. 3. Look, Dummy: An animal: You can’t make any of these either, so don’t kill them all or crowd them all out. 4. Look, Dummy: The atmosphere; You have to breathe it, so don’t poison it. 5. Look, Dummy: Water. You have to drink it, so don’t pollute it. 6. Look, Dummy: The earth. Looks great blue and white, in fact, like a natural Paradise. Not so nice black, in fact, more like a cinder. So make nice, not war. 7. Look, Dummy: Yourself. A mind, we trust; a body, no doubt; and a spirit or communicative feelings, we sense. When you do good things with them, you feel good. So do a lot of them, especially while you have the opportunity. 8. Look, Dummy: Other human beings. We’re all here because of the same Cause, so, whatever you do, don’t try to please that generous Cause by killing other people, especially for what your bent mind thinks of as religious reasons. 9. Look, Dummy: Men and women. One and one are two. Two generally make a half each, not three quarters and one quarter. So consider them as equal. 10. Look, Dummy, Life: No doubt we’ve got it. No doubt you take good care of it, you’ll last longer and have more fun – and, conveniently enough, be more likely to please whatever put it here.

         
    Stop needling me

     

    Sometimes it's possible to accomplish something important by doing nothing at all. Well, actually, I did do something. I resisted. I think that counts. Here's my story. Many of my friends have been getting pierced and tattooed for years. It's huge. Every neighborhood has at least one bodypiercing/bodyart place. Seems like they outnumber taverns these days. Naturally, they want me in on it. "C'mon Mike," they say. "It's fun! It's addictive! What? Are you afraid of needles? The pain feels good! And when it's over, you have something to show for it!" I find myself looking less and less like my friends because I'm not a human signboard for little animals, death, and calligraphic text. To compound the situation, I don't pick up the light in every room, reflecting off little pieces of metal everywhere. (And I do mean everywhere!) But I have a secret to share. I'll get to that shortly. While they've been spending their paychecks on this hoopla, I've been quietly satisfied with myself, exactly as I am. I'm not suggesting my friends do it out of insecurity. Some do, obviously, but many got started because their parents told them not to. I'm no momma's boy, but I'd like to know what kind of a reason is that? People are not packrats. OK, that's not true. I am a packrat. I keep way too much stuff. But that's not really what I mean. I'm talking about the fact that packrats are known to trade an item in their pack for ever-shinier objects. I do it too, but the one that kicks me is how my friends trade fifty dollar bills for yet another shiny piece of metal, or yet another patch of scribbled skin. Now, before anyone thinks I'm complaining, let me point out that I believe in freedom to choose, and if that makes them happy, I'm not going to stop them. What? Like they'd listen to me? I'm the prude with no tattoo, remember? How would I know what it's like? From my point of view, I don't need to find out. I don't think it's necessary to be a slave to the idea of trying everything once. Some things I don't feel the need to try. Lately, some of my friends have found that their obsession is working against them. I'm still single with no kids, but many of my friends are either married or are single parents. And that's where the difficulty comes in. Some of my friends have kids that are between six and nine years old. About that age, kids start noticing their parents a little more as people. They look at them differently than they did when they were infants. Mostly, because kids grow up incredibly fast today. Much faster than when we were kids, so they notice things quicker too. Lately what they've been noticing is mom and dad's tattoos and piercings. A woman at work told me just last week that she has no idea how to convince her nine-year-old daughter why she won't take her to the parlor and get her tongue pierced, "just like mommy." So here's my secret. I have resisted tattoos and piercing because I believe in being a natural person. I think the metal and the ink only serve to detract from the outer beauty of my friends and it does nothing to enhance their inner person. So I see no reason to use my body for someone's canvas. Friends can be so myopic. They don't want to see their kids all boogered up because they see their kids as beautiful exactly as they are, but they hold themselves to a double standard. They continue to encourage me to get some bodyart and I continue to resist. Why am I such a holdout? Do I really fear the needle? No, of course not. I'm the one who used to play with clothing pins and sewing needles, pushing them through the tops of my knuckles like a juvenile Freddy Krueger. I also used to do the infamous sewing-needle-shoved-through-the-flexed-arm trick. The difference is, it was just play to me, and I wasn't trying to make a fashion statement. I simply have a philosophy that says a person needs to stick to their values and not give in to peer pressure. Piercing and tattoos have led my friends to nothing but empty pocketbooks and hard questions from their kids. Maybe I'll go to work one day with needles through all my fingers like I did in school. That'll show 'em!

         
    Studies show teenage drinking kills brain cells oh that explains everything

     

    We always knew teens often walk a bit on the wild side, and we had the inclination to misbehave abundantly ourselves. Now we know at least part of the reason for our wiliness. Studies suggest that alcohol causes more damage to the developing brains of teenagers than researchers previously thought and injures them more than it does adult brains. The research also suggests that heavy teen drinking may undermine the neurological connections needed to avoid alcoholism. "There is no doubt about it now: there are long-term cognitive consequences to excessive drinking of alcohol in adolescence," said Aaron White, an assistant research professor in the psychiatry department at Duke University. "We definitely didn't know five or ten years ago that alcohol affected the teen brain differently. Now there's a sense of urgency. It's the same place we were in when everyone realized what a bad thing it was for pregnant women to drink alcohol." Alcohol also seems to do damage to the frontal areas of the adolescent brain, which are vital for controlling impulses and thinking through consequences of actions, which are abilities many addicts and alcoholics of all ages are disastrously lacking. Fulton Crews, a neuropharmacologist at the University of North Carolina, states, "Alcohol creates disruption in parts of the brain essential for self-control, motivation and goal setting.” So when a teenager gets behind the wheel of the family car without permission, inhabits the wee hours without a considerate call, or otherwise drives his or her parents to drink, think if alcohol might have flowed into the equation. There is some good news on tap. Crews noted that adult alcoholics who stop drinking can recover cognitive function in time, and, fortunately, the same may be true for quaffing teenagers. The brain is remarkably plastic, and, given the inveterate proclivities of teens, what a fortuitous thing that is. It’s almost as if nature knew beforehand the likely content of adolescent doings. Future studies may show that the teenage brain, while more vulnerable to alcohol, may also be more resilient. So best not to drink at all until your brain is grown but for those few who can’t resist, keep in mind, less booze means more brains. And more brains, of all things, distinguished behavior.

         
    Sun will only burn for 5 billion more years humans express concern

     

    We are often reminded that the sun will only shine in a way that can support life way out here on the earth for only about another five billion years. Sensing the eventuality of the cataclysm, we’re easily inclined to express our concern, along with our sympathetic distress for those far-off folks who will be standing on the earth when old Father Sol begins to turn down the heat. It seems to us, however, that we have far more immediate concerns, for example, if we can last, in the event of a surprise nuclear war, maybe another billionth of a second. Of course, there’s also the everyday proclivity of the human race to end concerns about the longevity of the sun for tens of thousands of fellow star gazers by having conventional wars and various murderous sectarian tumults. But, since we’re all overly familiar with the inconvenient threats we might enumerate that may significantly compromise our longevity, the last more immediate concern we’ll mention is global warming, which could, within a hundred years or so, move the world’s beach resorts up somewhere near the peak of Mt. Everest. Now, having dilated plenteously on impending challenges to the continuance of ourselves and our posterity, let’s move on to what seems to us the much more logical challenge that the hot news science has revealed about the sun’s capacity for combustion presents us with. As the hoary advisement goes, we should only live so long. So let’s ask the question that, as far as we know, has yet to be considered. How might we band of explosive rabble rousers last for another five billion years, rather than self-destructing any time sooner? Or, given our knowledge of other possible abbreviations of our continuance that might discomfort us – such as the chilling fact that we’re currently enjoying just another relatively balmy interglacial period that may only continue for another 10,000 years or so and that an asteroid or meteor may slam into the earth at some as yet unpredictable moment – how might we continue to frolic on the earth for at least as long as it might provide a hospitable abode for us? First, of course, we should consider dealing with the biggest tomahawks that are in the air, primarily, the three B’s, by which we don’t mean the names of three eternal classical composers but pollution, population, and pop goes the A-Bomb. Meanwhile, what invitingly positive items might we busy ourselves with during the next five billion years or so? After all, our unrealistic and yet, we suspect, achievable goal is more than just hanging on for the essentially eternal ride; it’s enjoying the wondrous flight through space and time. So we suggest that, besides obsessing about the well-barnacled threats that have accreted in our minds and burden our otherwise eager capacity for joyful employment and lassitude, we absolutely insist on reserving ample time to contemplate the invitations to delight, large or small, that our everyday lives might provide during the razor-thin mark on the tape measure of time that represents our individual stays on the still acceptably fulgent earth. For example, if you have something to do today that you know would be a remarkable or, at least, modestly praiseworthy achievement, we suggest you think about getting it done. If you love somebody, we recommend you consider how fortunate you are, particularly if you’re relatively confident that the recipient of your invocations to mutual affection also loves you. And so we go, from our grandest considerations right on down to even the most inconsequential massages of our pleasure principle, say, for example, checkers. If you somehow have time to play the game, we suggest you concentrate on your next deft moves. You’ll have a jolly time and, as you know, you as an individual gamester don’t have anywhere near five billion more years to make your triumphant jumps. We conclude by saying that, rather than being exclusively concerned about whatever we’re to do when the sun flares out, we might more wisely consider occupying ourselves with the view through the other end of the telescope, that is, with the smaller delights and damnations that make up our daily lives. Actually, when you consider how remote or beyond our influence most of the enormities we’re supposed to be properly troubled by are, you realize, with enormous relief, that the little things which effervesce in our daily lives are really, as bubbles to the tang of champagne, the biggest things. In fact, it can be very credibly said that the more we discover just how astronomically big things are, like the incomprehensibly lengthy life expectancy of the sun, the more important the little things become. Imagine, then, the true cosmic significance of a ready smile or, even more deliciously, a tender kiss. After all, even the robustly effusive sun can’t do those things, even given five billion years to make the attempt. We conclude by advising you to recall, as the welter of negative news that is the daily lot of all of us affronts your conning brow, what your grandmother often advised: count your blessings. As a final service to those who have been gracious enough to accompany us on our wanderings about eternity and immediacy, we herewith present a list of blessings to count as we attempt to make our stay on the earth consonant with the eons Oh, Solo Mio is likely to shine out in a temperate manner. They are taken from the daringly innovative piece of popular philosophizing by Charles Blaise, called Life Itself As A Modern Religion. If you enjoy this brief sampler, you might like to know that the entire book is a free read at toreasonpublishing. We consider it a surprisingly informed and sanely serious approach to our condition, as we hope to be a winningly informed and sanely funny rendition of it. TEN BLESSINGS* 1. Bless life. It is Creation’s highest gift and the supreme natural form of matter and energy. 2. Bless Creation. It has given us life, in all its forms and with all its possibilities. 3. Bless our bodies, Creation’s handiwork. They are the temples of our lives and the basic source of all our joy. 4. Bless our brains. They enable consciousness and all of our thoughts, talents, and feelings. They let us experience self-awareness and sensations, make right decisions, contribute achievements, and enjoy life, while they coordinate our physical movements and conduct the multitudinous involuntary processes that sustain our lives. 5. Bless our spirits. They constitute our communicative feelings and thoughts and help us have good relationships with ourselves, others, other animals, plants, our inanimate environment, and all of Creation. 6. Bless our love makers, by which I mean our genitals. They let us enjoy sex life, renewing our union in Creation’s most physical way, helping us relax, and, most vital of all, letting us create new life. 7. Bless the other animals and the plants. They’re our animate partners in Paradise. 8. Bless the land, air, water, and all other things. They’re our inanimate partners. 9. Bless our peacekeepers. They help preserve life and our natural Paradise. 10. Bless our natural Paradise. It’s our basic home in the universe and the planet on which Creation has evolved us. *© 2006 Charles Blaise. Reprinted with permission.

         
    Supreme court rules on where fish can swim

     

    The Supreme Court ruled in favor of two Michigan land owners who maintained that fish had no right to swim in the water on their property and, as a result, the developers should be able to grace the wetlands with a shopping mall and a condominium. Until now, the courts had generally maintained that fish have certain inalienable rights and that among them is the right to swim in and out of any waterway they can navigate. The ruling was, however, not the resounding victory the land owners had hoped for, because it only applied to newly arriving fish; the ones already located in the wetlands could continue to swim there. The splintered outcome opened the dam to more litigation in the lower courts, and attorneys for the ACLU vowed to defend the rights of all fish to enter and exit any wetland at will. The ruling also muddies the Clean Water Act and may spur debate on whether or not fish should be permitted to swim in water at all, since their presence may shock people who look into a glass of water before they drink it. Coming down solidly against the fish, Justice Scalia maintained that fish rights had gone "beyond parody," because they now seemed to cover even "man-made drainage ditches and dry arroyos in the middle of the desert." Justice Stevens, however, wrote that the wetlands "had surface connections to tributaries of traditionally navigable waters" and so the fish should be able to swim there without undue hindrance. Justice Souter wondered why Congress would permit fish in rivers but rule them out of waterways and wetlands that feed them, maintaining, "All you've got to do is let a fish swim into a tributary before you can arrest it for trespassing." But Justice Scalia shot back that such logic would grant fish the right to swim in "a storm drain, because during heavy rains it could be considered navigable." He went on to say, "I suggest it's absurd to call storm drains 'waters of the United States.' They're drainage ditches. When it comes to waters of such magnitude, we should confine the swimming rights of fish to goldfish bowls."

         
    Surgeon general uncertain about what hospital to check his grandmother into

     

    The Surgeon General, after reading the results of a recent report about the alarming number of fatalities in U. S. hospitals that are due to preventable human error, was uncertain about what hospital to check his grandmother into when he learned that she was suffering from shortness of breath. He decided the time had come from decisive government action. As a result, all hospitals must now display at the registration desk the following warning: "The Surgeon General has determined that hospitals may be hazardous to your health and may result in accidental death." The American Civil Liberties Union is protesting the necessity of posting the warning, maintaining it infringes on the right of hospitals to conduct their business with the normal expectation that a certain number of patients will live and a certain number will leave in a less vital condition. A spokesman for the ACLU stated, "This is clearly an infringement of the right to free enterprise. Hospitals should be entirely free to inform patients they can expect excellent healthcare, even if the spokesperson is not certain the institution can provide itpelling hospitals to be forthright about the prospects for survival unnecessarily infringes on their right to misinform patients." Commenting on the issue, Chief Justice John Roberts said, "I can't comment because I could get appendicitis at any time, and I certainly wouldn't want the hospital to suspect I may not, should I survive the operation, act in its best interest." In an effort to bolster the government's case, the FDA plans to establish a task force composed of hospital inspectors who will impersonate patients. At the end of a one year trial, a determination will be made of how many are still alive. Further action will be based on the tally

         
    Sweet trap

     

    Last week, I came across a voice chat room, which was full of impressive nicknames. From the beginning, I started to notice an Asian female because of her appealing voice and her interesting way of telling love stories. “It must be a very cute girl”, I thought. She was a talent storyteller. I kept wondering how she could master almost everything about our male world as if she was a writer of Askmen, a men's online magazine offering advices on dating, secrets of love, relationships and health. Dating tips and sex tips are perfectly transferred to her buddies. After few minutes of listening to her lessons, I decided to chat with her individually. She was not as shy like a traditional Chinese as I supposed. She said that she lived in Boston and this prompted me to propose a date with her. However, before that, I asked her permission to see her face through the web cam. Black hair, big eyes, and a voluptuous body were what I imagined about her appearance at that moment. “Why d’ya like to see my web cam?” she asked. “’Cause I like to behold a star shining in the sky” “But I am not so attractive as you are thinking of”, she laughed. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I always believe in my senses which inform me that I’m talking with a beautiful lady”, once again I flirt with her, forgetting that she had just taught others some tips about dating. “You’d better keep that good image in your mind”, answered she. Finally, my endless wing words affected her and at the other end of the line, she laughed, approving to show me up. I was too eager to see an expected face. My eyes were widely open. I could not believe in what I was watching. There was a smiling male face in the webcam. Beyond of my imagination, “she” was a very guy. Though shocked, I tried to think that she was joking. I wondered how a guy could talk in such a sweet voice. Being straight, he told me the truth. That was, he was using a software called Voice changer to disguise his voice. Before we stopped, he did not forget to remind me not to tell others in the chat room about his identity.

         
    Taliban asserts control of north waziristan tourism dips

     

    The Taliban has reportedly asserted control of North Waziristan, the famously wild mountainous region of Pakistan that borders Afghanistan. As a result, tourism in the area has taken a decided dip. As one American tourist commented, “I really like to visit places where television and music are forbidden. I’m also a big fan of summary executions. But, in the case of North Waziristan, I think I’ll make an exception.” The wifely half of an American couple who enjoy travel in the Middle East, said, “We’re so disappointed. My husband and I were really looking forward to a summer jaunt in North Waziristan. I hear it’s so wonderfully medieval.” President Pervez Musharraf of Pakistan, an invaluable ally of the United States in the war on terror, affirmed his stance, by saying, “We are determined to find and destroy tourists wherever we find them.” Then he caught his apparent slip of the tongue, and continued, “I’m sorry. I meant to say ‘terrorists,’ not ‘tourists.’” However, the press was overwrought by his misstatement and whizzed it around the world in seconds. The rapidly spreading word-fire further discouraged recreational travel to North Waziristan. The sudden decline surprised some observers, since the region is rumored to play host to the world’s most wanted murderous scamp, Osama Bin Laden. The decline has also made it more difficult for visitors to the area from the CIA to pass themselves off as carefree travelers.

         
    Terrorist receives surprise sendoff meets his allah

     

    As all the world knows, Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi, the self-appointed and savage representative of Al-Qaeda in Iraq, was given a surprise sendoff last week. What no one seems to know is what happened when he met his Allah before the entrance to the paradise he and his fellow misrepresentatives of Islam’s best hopes long to be whisked away to. Fortunately, we were there. How, you might ask? When we heard that Mr. Al-Zarqawi was finally the object of his just reward, we, of course, did like most of the weary and repelled observers of his atrocities and bid him a speedy journey to his well-deserved destiny. But we also sent an email to Allah, asking if we could witness his arrival at what Mr. Zarqawi and other leading terrorists insist, all the better to influence their ill-informed stooges, is The Gate Where 27 Virgins Await. We now present, recorded with our persistent care, the somewhat heated conversation between Allah and the rightly flabbergasted Mr. Al-Zarqawi, who approached somewhat groggy from the explosion that propelled him to eternity, but when he beheld Allah, he managed a hopeful smile. AZ: Hi, I’m Musab al-Zarqawi. AL: I know. Tough time to be a terrorist, isn’t it? AZ: Then you know? AL: Of course. I know everything. AZ: You do? Then you must be Allah? AL: Yes, I am. AZ: Really? Hey, great to meet you. When I was a alive, I always told my followers, “Allah is a pal a mine.” AL: Thanks. AZ: Wow, I feel like I died and went to heaven. So where are my twenty-seven virgins? AL: What virgins? AZ: The twenty-seven I’m supposed to get for being an Islamic martyr. AL: Excuse me. Up here we don’t have female sex slaves. AZ: You don’t? AL: No, we have equal rights, that is, for everybody under me. AZ: Equal rights for men and women? AL: Why not? I made them both, didn’t I? I tend to arrive at my rankings based on behavior. AZ: Oh, great, because, as I said, I’m a martyr. AL: I’m sorry. Up here, you don’t qualify. AZ: I don’t? Why not? AL: A martyr may do many things, but among them we don’t count murder. AZ: Even when he murders in your name? AL: Who does he murder in my name? AZ: Infidels! AL: Do you know me by any other name? AZ: Heck, no, all my life I just thought of you as Allah. AL: What about the name “God,” as in one of my favorite Islamic sayings, “God is Great!”? AZ: Oh, “God.” Sure, I remember that. AL: Good. Do you know that a lot of other people know me know me by that name who are and aren’t Islamic? AZ: They do? AL: Yes. It’s by far the favorite name humans call me by. In fact, people all over the world often refer to me as “the one true God.” Do you know what that means? AZ: What? AL: What you seem to have forgotten. I’m everybody’s pappy. AZ: Everybody’s? Even Americans? AL: Oh, especially Americans. I know they make mistakes, but at least they try to do the right thing. And I’m a big advocate of doing the right thing. So I have a different definition of infidels than you do. AZ: Oh. What’s that? AL: Anybody who forgets that, since there is only one God, namely, yours truly, then everybody believes in the same God, no matter what name they give me. AZ: Really? Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. AL: Why not? Thanks to me, you have a brain, don’t you? And I expect you to use it. AZ: But I did. AL: Yes, but not, I’m afraid, in a way that merits admission to my Paradise. AZ: No? AL: No, dummy. We have another place for people who murder other human beings, whether those humans believe in me or not. AZ: Even if they don’t believe in you? AL: Yes, I grant freedom of thought. It’s the very foundation of being able to choose right from wrong. My more important concern is whether or not they harm or help other people. And the ones who murder them, oh, as I said, I’ve made a special place for them – and you qualify for admission. AZ: I do? What place? AL: The name of it, oddly enough, rhymes with infidel. AZ: Hell? AL: Hell, yes! At this point, Allah raised his hand and Al-Zarqawi dropped through the cloud he was standing on. Allah walked over and looked down through the hole. Then He rubbed His hands together, as if to wash them off. He noticed us, packing up our recording equipment, and gave us wink. Then He headed back toward Heaven.

         
    The bare truth about my butt quiz

     

    Forget about the SAT, never mind the FCAT, and remove forever from you mind any thoughts about the ACT. All these test pale in comparision to the examination that I just failed. Failing those test may have minor repurcussions like never making it into college and therefore being forced to work at fast food resturants well into you 40's. That's nothing. I just flunked a quiz that could scar me for life. This morning I was doing my usual morning ritual of checking my email and all my affiliate programs to see if I had made any money online yesterday. I hadn't, in fact I never do, but I've found it's a great way to waste an hour or two. What usually happens is I get sidetracked by some banner or pop-up and I end up lost in the middle of cyberspace signing up for a free registration to some weird website just so I can get a free ebook with a title like 'Online Profits From Artichoke Juice!". This morning, however, I stumbled across a real winner. I came across a link that I just had to click. I was at JokesUnlimited reading redneck jokes when I saw 'Fun Quizzes: Can you guess which butts are male or female? From the extreme look of excitement in your eyes I can tell that you feel the same way I felt when I saw the Butt Quiz link. My first thought was: 'Pictures of female butts! Yeeeessss! And it's a quiz so I don't have to feel dirty about it. It's educational! Yeeeesssss! I immediately clicked the link and started my quiz. In hindsight(no pun intended), the expression 'Fools Rush In' comes to mind. I blindly rushed into this quiz in a testosterone induced urge to look at female hindparts and I forgot to think the whole thing through. I forgot to take a moment and reflect. I forgot that there were going to be male hindparts on the quiz too. Hairy male hindparts. In thongs. Needless to say, I failed the quiz. I got 8 out of 15 right. That's about 60 percent. An 'F' in almost all 50 states. Even New Jersey. I, Tim Ward, humor columnist and straight male could not distinguish between the gluteus maximus of the male and female gender. I started to wonder: Were some of the butts that I said were female really male? If so, does that mean I find some men's butts attractive? Do I have a male butt fetsih that I didn't know about? Do I secretly enjoy slapping guys on the butt after a good sports play? And what about the woman's butts that I classified incorrectly? Has it really been that long since I've seen a bare female behind? Am I forgetting what the female body looks like? All these questions have been running through my head since I failed my first Butt Quiz. It got to the point where I'm thinking about scheduling a retest. But this time I'll be sure to plenty of studying in advance. So ladies, if you see me taking large hard looks at your posterior region, I'm not a pervert, I'm just doing a little research. And to the fellas, forgive me if I give more that the usual amount of congratulatory butt slaps on the basketball court for awhile. I'm just trying to further my education...And maybe work through a fetish or two. You can take the Butt Quiz for yourself at: jokesunlimited/buttquiz. php

         
    The blonde joke s on us the dumbest woman on earth was not a blonde

     

    I've lived my entire adult life with "dumb blonde" jokes. Whoever started them, probably spawned by pornographers allured by Marylyn Monroe types (probably with dyed hair), should be locked up in a room with a hundred blonde professional women on a month-long sabbatical from bad bosses. Think he'd make it out alive? I think he (or she) definitely be a changed creature after that month. He'd gain a new understanding of blondes, that's for sure. If you really want to know the truth of it, the dumbest woman to ever walk the face of earth had dark hair (likely, though we may never know for sure.) She was, without a doubt, the dumbest woman to ever live. Her name? Eve. Very unlikely blonde, seeing as how her issue to this very day is mostly brunette or have black or dark hair. So get the blonde thing out of your head for just a moment. You see, she and Adam were originally created equal (many women today have a big problem with that "man having dominion over women" thing), otherwise, as I see it, God would have taken a bone out of Adams foot to create Eve. He didn't. (Now, wait, all you Bible believers - you have to read the rest of this before you'll understand just when Eve lost her "equal" status.) The bone came from his side, his rib. To me, this signifies equality. Well, then what does this dark-haired woman do but sashay up to a serpent and strike up a conversation with him (precursor to flirting, I suppose?). Didn't she think it unusual that a serpent could talk? Guess not. That was Dumb act #1. Now for dumb act #2: After a little chit chat, (Gen. 3:1..."Really?" he asked the woman. "Did God really say you must not eat any of the fruit in the garden?" Gen. 3:2"Of course we may eat it," the woman told him. 3:3 "It's only the fruit from the tree at the center of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God says we must not eat it or even touch it, or we will die.") she believes this creature (remember a serpent that can talk) when he calls God a liar, basically (3:4 "You won't die!" the serpent hissed. 3:5 "God knows that your eyes will be opened when you eat it. You will become just like God, knowing everything, both good and evil." 3:6 The woman was convinced.) Now, it doesn't look like it took much convincing, does it? How dumb is that, after the head honcho of the place, the owner, the boss (the best boss ever, one who actually loves his workers) says don't eat fruit from that tree, and a snake or serpent (that's not supposed to be able to talk) can 'talk you into it'? Dumb act #3: The dark-haired woman proceeds to eat the fruit (Adam, by the way, was right there with her - why didn't he pipe up and say "uh, hon, I don't think this is a good idea...I don't trust that serpent (that can talk, remember?). He was most likely dark-haired as well, remember. Dumb act #4: She turns and offers it to her husband. All the while the serpent is watching. I never saw a serpent grin, but I'll bet he did. Dumb act #5: They hid from God. Whose idea was that, I wonder? Dumb act #6: They look for someone to blame it on (3:12 "Yes," Adam admitted, "but it was the woman you gave me who brought me the fruit, and I ate it." 3:13 Then the LORD God asked the woman, "How could you do such a thing?" "The serpent tricked me," she replied. "That's why I ate it.") Now I don't know about you, but that conversation was a blatant manipulation, i. e. a lie, by the serpent, but not a trick. Eve believed a lie, just believed what the serpent said. (Remember this the next time a snake or lizard comes up to you and strikes up a conversation). Genesis Chapter 3:16 is where Eve, (a dark-haired woman? Again, we'll never know for sure), sold out her equality, not only for herself, but for all women from then on (3:16 Then he said to the woman, "You will bear children with intense pain and suffering. And though your desire will be for your husband, he will be your master.") They were both dumb, at that time. God didn't make them stupid, but they sure had an Adam and Eve moment. I don't think you have to have any particular hair color to be dumb. You could even be bald. So dumb-blonde-joke-tellers, get over it already. If you don't like who you are, at least quit putting others down to make yourself feel better. Interesting, that when I used to work for a company which employed mostly people of another nationality (including the boss), they could make "dumb blonde" jokes all day, which is a reference to my racial heritage, but if I said just one slanderous joke referring to their race (which I wouldn't have, even if it was legal), then that would be considered by the law to be a form of assault, among other things.) Maybe blonde jokes should be outlawed. You think? © 2005 Dianne James

         
    The da vinci code this year s biblical box office bonanza

     

    The Da Vinci Code is now off and running as this year’s megabuck Biblical controversy. Question is, why do we seem to be afflicted with such a nearly annual entity? Slight thought reveals the obvious. Given the big numbers that a major studio has to turn to make a return on a movie, it’s hardly a wonder that they keep turning to what they, in their needy bottom lines, consider the biggest subjects available. Apparently, The Bible is pretty much at the top of their list. Here they can find one topic after another that, treated cannily enough, is guaranteed to outrage the sensibilities of millions of comparatively sincere and innocent people – and, as a result, garner enough free publicity to ensure that the usually mundane redo of Biblical history will become a must-see movie for millions around the world. Proof positive, last year we had the sincere savant of the box office, Mel Gibson, release his Passion of Christ on an expectedly ruffled world, and this year we’ve got resourceful action-adventure scribbler Ron Brown unloading the Hollywood version of his Da Vinci Mother Lode. No doubt in coming years one of the less-scrupulous perpetrators of popular outrage will write a book and/or make a movie about such admittedly touchy stories as the Virgin Mary and what exactly the Angel Gabriel was doing there the night he told her she was going to conceive. While this proclivity to Biblical blockbusters is inevitably tough on believers, it’s also hardly a source of placid delight to those who look on the entire explosive subject as evidence of almost inconceivable gullibility, even high up the ladder of either advocacy. Which, unfortunately, confirms just how wide an audience Hollywood can expect to attend such ventures toward assured filmic bullion.

         
     
         
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