|I fights 'em.|
2004-09-18 10:41:32 ET
An old man turned 115 and was being interviewed by a reporter for the local paper. During the interview the reporter noticed that the yard was full of children of all ages playing together. A very pretty girl of about 19 served the old man and the reporter, keeping them in fresh tea and running errands for them.
"Are these your grandkids?" the reporter asked.
"Naw, sir, they all be my younguns," the old man replied with a sly grin.
"Your kids?" said the reporter. "What about this beautiful young lady who keeps bringing us tea? Is she one of your children too?"
"Naw, sir," said the old man. "She be my wife."
"Your wife?" said the surprised reporter. "But she can't be more than 19 years old."
"Thass right." said the old man with pride.
"Well surely you can't have a sex life with you being 115 and she is only 19," the reporter remarked.
"Naw, sir, " said the old man. "We have sex every night. Every night two of my boys helps me on it, and every morning six of my boys helps me off."
"Wait just one minute," said the newspaperman. "Why does it only take two of your boys to put you on, but it takes six of them to take you off?"
"Cause," the spry old man said with a balled fist, "I fights 'em."
|An Essay I've Written For College|
2004-09-13 14:31:53 ET
To Walk Upright
I have a problem walking upright. From awakening to unconsciousness, whenever I am on my hind paws, my gait suffers. My walk is crude, inelegant, and clumsy. Sometimes I even have trouble keeping my back straight and instead I walk around, hunched over, with the curve of my back giving the illusion of a hump. Other times my balance gives out and I walk around as if I am trying to walk on a floating platform that is tossed about by monstrous waves. All in all, though I am human much like anyone else, I have severe trouble walking around erect.
A few weeks ago, however, by pure chance I had found a cure for my malady. Or so I thought. You see, while reading a popular magazine I came across for a full page ad for a strange pill with the Oriental sounding name of Levitra. The ad text was full of promise. It claimed that it would improve my life and that I would finally be able to enjoy life in the erect position. How naïve, I was!
I filled out a small form that came with the advertisement and sent it away post haste. Within a few days I had received a package – a small brown cardboard box of meager proportions with no label. I cut it open and saw, enclosed, a small, strangely shaped, blue pill. I swallowed it right away.
I had estimated that the pill would take a while to take effect and so I proceeded with my daily routine, eagerly awaiting that moment when my walk would suddenly shift towards the better and I would be free of my stumbling handicap. Alas, this was not to be, for within a quarter hour my walk had not improved but strange things were happening to my penis!
“Good God! What manner of sorcery is this?” I cried, for my walking stick had begun to take on Cyclopean proportions. My walk, naturally irregular, had taken on an even stranger style due to the Lovecraftian monolith that hid in my pants. I panicked and stumbled out of my room, out of the front door, and out of my house where I barely avoided hitting Mr. Jesus, my next-door neighbor.
“Mein gott en himmel! Look at the size of that yardstick!” he cried. “Nevermind that!” I yelled back. “Get me a bucket of cold water!”
Mr. Jesus ran into his tool shed, laughing hysterically at my misfortune. He soon ran out with a large bucket filled to the brim with sparkling, ice cold water. When he came near I grabbed it from him and ran back into the house as fast as I could where I proceeded to pour the entire contents of the bucket down my pants. It didn’t help. “Damn! Will nothing soothe the savage beast?”
At that moment the phone rang. I rapidly hobbled over to where it was but could not reaching for the massive protrusion below my waist prevented me from reaching towards the wall and grabbing the telephone. The phone kept ringing and ringing and I was getting desperate, clawing away futilely at the handset. Finally the answering machine picked up and began going over its usual electronic routine. After the beep I heard the worried voice of my cousin Vinny. He was calling me to warn me that a massive boa constrictor had escaped from the local zoo and was seen prowling around in my area.
I quickly ran to close my front door which I had foolishly left open during my mad rush to shrink my tree trunk with the ice cold water. When I had reached the door, however, I found myself unable to reach the door knob. The telephone pole had increased in size! I struggled to reach it but it was of no use. Suddenly I heard the wail of police car sirens and the screech of tires as the car came to a stop right in front of my house. Two policewomen ran out with their pistols drawn. “TROUSER SNAKE!” I heard one of them shout. The other one was on her radio requesting “Backup, Animal Control, stun guns, and a BIG FUCKING LASSO.”
I realized what was happening. The two policewomen must’ve mistaken my Washington Monument for the renegade snake that had been menacing the town. I raised my hands in a surrender fashions and proceeded to calmly say, “This is all a big misunderstanding. You see this isn’t a trouser snake it’s my overgrown paperweight.” Unfortunately, before I could finish my statement, one of the policewomen took out her truncheon and began beating my meat.
“Stop!” I cried. “This isn’t Los Angeles! STOP BEATING MY MEAT!” I turned around in order to avoid her blows. Unfortunately, my rapid movement caused my totem pole to swing about violently and hit the policewoman on the head, knocking her unconscious. Her partner shrieked and pointed her gun at me. This was the end. I knew it. I was up shit creek without a paddle or shit repellant.
Suddenly there was a blur and the next thing I knew the other policewoman was down on the ground with a giant snake coiled around her torso. “Helmmphhlp!!! Helmmphhh!!!” she cried. I had to act fast. I stumbled over to where the cop was wrestling with the snake and proceeded to bash the sinuous serpent over its leathery head with my leaning tower of Pisa. I beat and I batted it until finally it broke its hold over the poor policewoman. And just in time too, for my weapon had (finally) begun to decrease in size. The strenuous fight must’ve taken all the wind, blood, and Levitra out of it. I was saved.
So all in all it was a happy ending. I was thanked by the two policewomen for saving their lives and I got a nice reward for capturing the snake. Also, my penis had returned to its original size. Unfortunately, my gait was still impaired but it didn’t matter. I realized how lucky I truly was by the fact that I could now once again reach the doorknob and use the telephone. I guess I’ve learned to accept what I have and not to take strangely shaped blue pills with Oriental names.
2004-09-13 13:36:36 ET
2004-09-11 09:41:48 ET
My brother has now obtained an SK account. Click on this link and ph33r.
|Just Hanging Around|
2004-09-09 09:25:33 ET
The Smith Family
|Lend A Hand|
2004-09-08 16:47:23 ET
2004-09-07 20:38:23 ET
Leave Your Shoes At The Door
|Jump to page: [Previous] 1 « 29 30 31 32 33 » 47 [Next]|
Back to Enamon's page
Everything on this page is copyrighted to the individual page owners and/or subkultures.net.