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Archive for April, 2008

Remember to Weep

Friday, April 18th, 2008

Shema

by Primo Levi

You who live secure
In your warm houses
Who return at evening to find
Hot food and friendly faces:

Consider whether this is a man,
Who labours in the mud
Who knows no peace
Who fights for a crust of bread
Who dies at a yes or a no.
Consider whether this is a woman,
Without hair or name
With no more strength to remember
Eyes empty and womb cold
As a frog in winter.

Consider that this has been:
I commend these words to you.
Engrave them on your hearts
When you are in your house, when you walk on your way,
When you go to bed, when you rise.
Repeat them to your children.
Or may your house crumble,
Disease render you powerless,
Your offspring avert their faces from you.

***

Primo Levi, an Italian Jew, was a concentration camp survivor, who became famous with his autobiographical book, If This is a Man.  Haunted by the fact that he’d somehow survived Auschwitz, while many he believed better than himself did not, he tragically committed suicide in 1987 at the age of sixty-seven.

I thought it was time for another PSOetry entry, as it had been a while.  Thanks to PQS, who’d sent me this quite a while back.  This is kinda-sorta a special entry for my dear and sweet Jewish callers who generously give me their time and attention, and teach me so much with their indubitable wisdom and humble majesty. 

Read more about Primo Levi:  HERE and HERE and HERE

An explanation of the word, Shema

xo, Angela

Tickling Your Funny Bone/r

Thursday, April 17th, 2008

Cajun Math Test

A Cajun man wanted a job, but the foreman wouldn’t hire him until he passed a little math test.  

Here is your first question, the foreman said, "without using numbers, represent the number 9."  "Without numbers," the Cajun says, "Dat is easy." And proceeds to draw three trees.

"What’s this?" the boss asks. 

"Ave you got no brain?  Tree and tree and tree make nine," says the Cajun.

"Fair enough," says the boss.? "Here’s your second question. Use the same rules, but this time the number is 99."

The Cajun stares into space for a while, then picks up the picture that he has just drawn and makes a smudge on each tree.   "Ere you go."

The boss scratches his head and says, "How on earth do you get that to represent 99?"

"Each of da trees is dirty now.? So, it’s dirty tree, and dirty tree, and dirty tree. Dat is 99."

The boss is getting worried that he’s going to actually have to hire this Cajun, so he says, "All right, last question. Same rules again, but represent the number 100."

The Cajun stares into space some more, then he picks up the picture again and makes a little mark at the base of each tree and says, "Ere you go.? One hundred." 

The boss looks at the attempt.  "You must be nuts if you think that represents a hundred!"

The Cajun leans forward and points to the marks at the base of each tree and says, "A little dog come along and crap by each tree. So now you got dirty tree and a turd, dirty tree and a turd, and dirty tree and a turd, which makes one hundred."

"So, when I start?" 

Sick Leave

Redhead Renee urgently needed a mini-vacation, but knew her boss would not allow her to just take time off.  So she hung upside-down on the ceiling and made funny noises. Her co-worker, Blonde Brenda, asked her what she was doing.  Redhead Renee replied that she was just being a light bulb.

A few minutes later the Boss came into the office and asked, "what are you doing?"

"I’m a light bulb," Readhead Renee answered.

"You are clearly stressed out, the boss said.  "Go home and recuperate for a couple days."

"Yes, sir," Redhead Renee gleefully responded, jumping down from the ceiling and walking towards the office door. 

With that, Blonde Brenda pushed out from her desk, stood up, grabbed her purse, and turned to follow Redhead Renee.

"Hey," said the boss, "just where in the hell do you think you are going?"

"I’m going home, too," retorted Blond Brenda, " I can’t work in the dark!" 

Perverse Irony

Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are going dead?

Why do banks charge a fee on ‘insufficient funds’ when they know there is not enough money?

Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?

Why do they use sterilized needles for death by lethal injection?

Why doesn’t Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but ducks when you throw a revolver at him?

Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

Whose idea was it to put an ‘S’ in the word ‘lisp’?

If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?

Is there ever a day that mattresses are not on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that something new to eat will have materialized?

Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?

Why is it that no plastic bag will open from the end on your first try?

How do those dead bugs get into those enclosed light fixtures?

When we are in the supermarket and someone rams our ankle with a shopping cart then apologizes for doing so, why do we say, ‘It’s all right?’ Well, it isn’t all right, so why don’t we say, ‘That really hurt, why don’t you watch where you’re going?’

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that’s falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?

In winter why do we try to keep the house as warm as it was in summer when we complained about the heat?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

The statistics on sanity is that one out of every four persons is suffering from some sort of mental illness. Think of your three best friends — if they’re okay, then it’s you.

Breath Deep, Laugh, Be Good

Wednesday, April 16th, 2008

Of course you’re familiar enough now with my sister’s emails.   Bethany sends me a lot of raunchy stuff (like the joke below), which tickles me to no end, since she might be considered the "good sister" of the two of us.  Most of the emails she forwards have been circulated amongst the other nine-to-fivers with whom she shares her "American Dream" career.  Today she surprised me with this lovely picture, which just blew my socks off. 

Which reminds me, I may be going on a retreat this weekend.  If it happens, I will be thinking spiritual thoughts rather than speaking dirty words.  Which would be nice for a change.    I will let you know what’s up, when I know myself.

And now, what you really want, Bethany’s dirty joke:

A man walks into his bedroom with a sheep under his arm and says: "Darling,this is the pig I have sex with when you have a headache."

His wife is lying in bed and replies: "I think you’ll find that’s a sheep, you idiot."

The man says: "I think you’ll find I wasn’t talking to you."

Pretty funny, huh?  A little bit politically incorrect, perhaps.  But as my ribald friend, Laurie, always says:  Don’t get hard, Peter.  I was only playing with you! 

*wink*

And if you’re blowing time on the Net, please do check out FREE RICE.  I simply love the game (you may be familiar with a Reader’s Digest version which is much harder and downright tricky),  And just  how cool is it to know that every time you get a word correct twenty grains of rice go to feed the hungry?

xo, Angela

The Boxed Dick, et al.

Monday, April 14th, 2008

Pricks, Dicks and Cocks.  Oh my!

Friday’s YouTube post, "Dick in a Box" (for which Justin Timberlake won an Emmy) got me to thinking about the very real and totally unsolicited dick gifts that I (and many other women) unexpectedly receive via email every so often.  Which begs the question, "Just what in the hell is a guy thinking when he sends a girl (he’s never met, instant messaged with, or spoken to) this perversely quixotic self-effigy?  

Jeeze Louise, Mr. Man, what in the heck is going on here?  Is this your fucked-up version of the quintessential Kodak moment? Where is your sense of propriety?   Because, between you and me, it’s not only inappropriate, it’s downright icky!  And I mean icky as in  "making the female-collective skin crawl" icky.  For Chrizt Sakes! Do you keep these pictures in your wallet and show them at dinner parties?   Although our distinguished Pervert Savant knew a guy who kinda-sort did just that, it’s not common nor acceptable behavior.  Yes, even on the Internet, you don’t get to be an asshole. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against a pretty enuff penis now and then.  But it’s certainly not true that I’ve never met a penis I didn’t like, occasions of Sprick-Mail (spam prick mail) being a prime example.  This is, after all, stuff of sex and intimacy, not of candygram-esque surprises from strangers.  Once you know me, I might even ask to see a picture.  

But if you want me to respect you in the morning, you better have to take that picture especially for me.  Because a guy who keeps pictures of his weenie on his hard drive, even if he swears he isn’t sending them out helter-skelter, everywhither way, definitely has some deranged, unhealthy fascination with his own prick that begs another question as in "What the Fuck?"   And which prompts the follow-up obloquy, "Get lost and get a life."

Then again, maybe it’s just a phenomena with Phone Sex Operators?

BUT …

After the above short-but-sassy quasi-philippic, I must confess I once played shutterbug and took some cock photos of a certain penis I was in possession of at the time.  And no — I don’t have them on my hard drive, so don’t ask to see them. I’m not even sure I still posses them.  Although they should be tucked somewhere amongst the nooks and crannies of my photo albums. If so, I pray they never fall out when my sister or brother or a friend is flipping through them.  Because one one of those little suckers did get loose once, much to my embarrassment.

It all started because I was naked in bed with a certain someone, while my camera and sunglasses lie beside me on the bedside table.  And put one, two and three together:  penis + sunglasses + camera = Angela making naked boy do stupid thing.  And he did.  I propped those sunglasses right at the base of his dick, with it hanging down like a long nose, and snapped away.  I took them to a Wallgreens for developement and they went right through — no questions asks — along with the picnic and Trivial Pursuit party pictures which made up the rest of the roll.

A few weeks later, there was another picnic and I wanted to show everybody the pictures.  So I went ruffled through the prints, pulling out the dick-pics.  Or so I thought.  The first person I showed them to happened to be a man "of a certain age," who was kinda-sorta a surrogate father to me.  We are smiling and talking and basking in the sun as he goes through the pictures, stopping here and there to make a comment or ask who someone was.  Then it happened.  All of a sudden he got stone quiet.  When I looked to see why, I saw that his face and neck had turned a deep crimson. 

And I knew. 

I felt the heat of my matching blush crawling up my throat and across my face.  Somehow, someway, I’d overlooked one of the tell-tale pictures and my sometimes Daddy Dearest was looking right at the evidence of his sweet, little girl’s brazen debauchery.  Oh the shame.  Oh the humiliation.  Oh the embarrassment.

Of course, the picnic went on and and life went on.  And although we never, ever spoke of the incident, Mr. Daddy Man did forgive me. 

But I don’t think he ever forgot.  I sure didn’t.

xo, Angela

(if — after all of that — you still wanna see dick pictures:  CLICK HERE)

You Really Shouldn’t Have

Friday, April 11th, 2008

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhwbxEfy7fg&autoplay=0 300 375]