And from Jeannie! The title isn’t mine, it’s from the original e-mail. Hmmm, can I make the font bigger? 🙂
Month: March 2008
An oldie, but a goodie from Gina!
DOG DIARY
8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 PM – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 PM – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 PM – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 PM – Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 PM – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 PM – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 PM – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
CAT DIARY
Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a “good little hunter” I am.
Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. I fear I may be going insane.
From Gina:
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Donegal is the most northernly county in Ireland true, but we ARE NOT part of Northern Ireland.
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At school, we did Junior and Leaving Cert’s…NOT 11 plus’, GCSE or A-levels!
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We DO NOT use sterling as our official currency.
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Our car licence plates are like
eg: “06-DL-1234” and NOT “YIBA 7HA99”
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Contrary to what some Dub’s think, we DO get a clear 2fm signal.
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We DO get TV3.
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We sell and drink BULMERS, not MAGNERS!
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Our nightclubs DO stay open past 1:30am unlike the north.
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“Aye”,”wee”,”staysh”,”yon” are all perfectly good forms of the English language.
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Yes, we did win the All-Ireland once (1992 was not the stone-age either) and been in 2 of the last 3 Ulster Finals!
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There is nothing wrong in being from a county where accents vary dramatically from Ballyshannon to Letterkenny to Buncrana to Gweedore to Glenswilly.
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Dunfanaghy is pronounced “Dun fan a hee”, NOT “Dun fonn a gee!”
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Ardara is pronounced “Ard Ra” NOT “Are Dara!”
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We dont’ not shag sheep and ride our cousins…. bar Glenswilly.
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So what if Newtoncunningham is all just one big inbred family.
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MacCumhaill Park in Ballybofey is NOT named after Fionn MacCumhaill.
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Rory Delap of Letterkenny and Gary Doherty of Carndonagh are not our favourite sons when it comes to what we gave to the Ireland soccer team.
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Nor is Mickey Joe Harte of Lifford when it came to the Eurovision in 2003.
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Yes we do have a townland in the north of the county called Muff and then Killybegs actually smells like one!
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We gave the world Daniel O’Donnell, Packie Bonner, Enya, Shay Given and McDaid’s Football Special drink….what has your county done!!!
A minister decided that a visual demonstration would add emphasis to his Sunday sermon.
Four worms were placed into four separate jars.
- The first worm was put into a container of alcohol.
- The second worm was put into a container of cigarette smoke.
- The third worm was put into a container of chocolate syrup.
- The fourth worm was put into a container of good clean soil.
At the conclusion of the sermon, the Minister reported the following results:
The first worm in alcohol – Dead.
The second worm in cigarette smoke – Dead
Third worm in chocolate syrup – Dead
Fourth worm in good clean soil – Alive.
So the Minister asked the congregation –
What can you learn from this demonstration?
Maxine was sitting in the back, quickly raised her hand and said,
‘As long as you drink, smoke and eat chocolate, you won’t have worms!’
That pretty much ended the service —
A newcomer to Ireland arrives on a rainy day. He gets up the next day and it ‘s raining. It also rains the day after that, and the day after that.
He goes out to lunch and sees a young kid and asks out of despair, “Hey kid, does it ever stop raining around here?”
The kid says:
“How do I know? I’m only 6.”
From Ilya:
I reverently believe that the maker who made us all makes everything in New England, but the weather. I don’t know who makes that, but I think it must be raw apprentices in the weather-clerks factory who experiment and learn how, in New England, for board and clothes, and then are promoted to make weather for countries that require a good article, and will take their custom elsewhere if they don’t get it.
— Mark Twain
Mark Twain is awesome 🙂
Categories
Irish Archeology
From Brendan:
Irish Archeology
After having dug to a depth of 10 metres last year, Scottish scientists found traces of copper wire dating back 100 years and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 100 years ago.
Not to be outdone by the Scots, in the weeks that followed, English scientists dug to a depth of 20 metres, and shortly after, headlines in the English newspapers read: ‘English archaeologists have found traces of 200 year old copper wire and have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network a hundred years earlier than the Scots.’
One week later, ‘The Kerryman,’ a southwest Irish newsletter, reported the following: ‘After digging as deep as 30 metres in peat bog near Tralee, Paddy O’Toole, a self-taught archaeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing..
Paddy has therefore concluded that 300 years ago Ireland had already gone wireless.’
From Liz! From “That Mitchell and Webb Look” and comedy show on British TV:
An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole, which she carried across her neck.
One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.
At the end of the long walks from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of wa ter.
Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments.
But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.
“I am ashamed of myself, be cause this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.”
The old woman smiled, “Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side?”
“That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them.”
“For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.
Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”
Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it’s the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.
You’ve just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.
SO, to all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path!
Non-partisan? Politically correct? We’ll see!:)
THIS IS A NONPARTISAN JOKE THAT CAN BE ENJOYED BY BOTH PARTIES!
NOT ONLY THAT? IT IS POLITICALLY CORRECT!!
While walking down the street one day a US senator is tragically hit by a truck and dies.
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
Ă‚Â “Welcome to heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.”
“No problem, just let me in,” says the man.
Ă‚Â “Well, I’d like to, but IĂ‚Â have orders from higher up. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spendĂ‚Â eternity.”
“Really, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,”Ă‚Â says the senator.
Ă‚Â “I’m sorry, but we have our rules.”
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.
They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that before he realizes it, it is time to go.
EveryoneĂ‚Â gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevatorĂ‚Â rises…
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.
Ă‚Â “Now it’s time to visit heaven.”
So, 24 hours pass with the senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
Ă‚Â “Well, then, you’ve spent a day in hell andĂ‚Â another in heaven. Now choose your eternity.”
The senator reflects for a minute, then he answers:
Ă‚Â “Well, I would never have said itĂ‚Â before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell.”
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
Now the doors ofĂ‚Â the elevator open and he’s in the middle of a barren land covered withĂ‚Â waste andĂ‚Â garbage.
He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above.
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder.
Ă‚Â “I don’t understand,” stammers the senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a greatĂ‚Â time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?”
The devil looks at him, smiles and says,