BudgetMama

I used to go traipsing off to the pine forest each year to hand pick a Chrissy Tree, but each year I got more and more saddened by the whole process feeling guilty that I was killing a tree just to decorate my living room for a week or two. I used to always say to my husband, “oh I feel bad, I feel like it is trying not to make eyeconact with me in the hopes I won’t choose it”…eventually we settled for a fake tree, but still make the trip to the forest each year to snip a few bits for garlands….you need the smell you know, to get that real Christmasy feeling.

Anyway, you can imagine how much I laughed when I came across this….You’ve gotta read it from the bottom up okay…..and please excuse the explitives, it wouldnt sound as good without them

This is one of those funny long winded jokes I get in my email box every now and then, and though long winded it is so worth the read as it is indeed a classic example of the differences between men and women. Remember the book “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus”? Well, according to the email this lovely example was offered by an English professor at an American University. Read on…..

In-class Assignment for Wednesday “Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story.” The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking and anything you wish to say must be written on the paper. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached. The following was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca – last name deleted, and Gary – last name deleted.

STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca) At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,” he said into his transgalactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…”. But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s> cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit. He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him.

Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,” Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth – when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ‘em out of the sky!”

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. “Oh shall I have camomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F*****G TEA??? Oh no I’m such a air headed bimbo who reads too many Mills & Boon novels”

Asshole.

Bitch.

OMG, I love it.

The other night I was invited out for a night with ‘the boys’. I told my wife that I would be home by midnight …promise!

Well, the hours passed and the beer was going down way too easy. At around 3 A.M., drunk as a skunk, I headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up, and cuckooed 3 times.

Quickly, I realized she’d probably wake up, so I cuckooed another 9 times. I was really proud of myself, having a quick, witty solution, even when smashed, to escape a possible conflict.

Next morning my wife asked me what time I got in, and I told her 12 o’clock. She didn’t seem disturbed at all. Whew! Got away with that one!

She then told me that we needed a new cuckoo clock. When I asked her why she said “Well, it cuckooed 3 times, then said ‘oh f***,’ cuckooed four more times, cleared it’s throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then farted.

One day in the Garden of Eden, Eve calls out to God.

“Lord, I have a problem!”

“What’s the problem, Eve?”

“Lord, I know you created me and provided this beautiful garden and all of these wonderful animals and that hilarious comedic snake, but I’m just not happy.”

“Why is that, Eve?” came the reply from above.

“Lord, I am lonely, and I’m sick to death of apples.”

“Well, Eve, in that case, I have a solution. I shall create a man for you.”

“What’s a man, Lord?”

“This man will be a flawed creature, with many bad traits. He’ll lie, cheat, and be vain, glorious; all in all, he’ll give you a hard time. But …he’ll be bigger, faster, and will like to hunt and kill things. He will look silly when he’s aroused, but since you’ve been complaining, I’ll create him in such a way that he will satisfy your physical needs. He will be witless and will revel in childish things like fighting and kicking a ball about. He won’t be too smart, so he’ll also need your advice to think properly.”

“Sounds great.” says Eve, with an ironically raised eyebrow. What’s the catch, Lord?”

“Well … you can have him on one condition.”

“What’s that, Lord?”

“As I said, he’ll be proud, arrogant, and self-admiring… So you’ll have to let him believe that I made him first. Just remember, it’s our little secret…You know, woman to woman.”

Call me a pessimist, or maybe a little on the cynical side, but this chain letter just appeals to my sense of humour, so I had to share….

This chain letter was started in hopes of bringing relief to other tired and discouraged women. Unlike most chain letters, this one does not cost anything. Just send a copy of this letter to five of your friends who are equally tired and discontented. Then bundle up your husband or boyfriend and send him to the woman whose name appears at the top of the following list, and add your name to the bottom of the list.

When your turn comes, you will receive 15,625 men. One of them is bound to be better than the one you already have. At the writing of this letter, a friend of mine had already received 184 men, of whom 4 were worth keeping.

REMEMBER this chain letter brings luck. One woman’s cat died, and the next day she received a hunk. An unmarried woman living with her widowed mother was able to choose between a Chippendale dancer and an Olympic swimmer. You can be lucky, too, but DO NOT BREAK THE CHAIN! One woman broke the chain and got her own husband back again! Let’s keep it going, ladies! Just add your name to the list below!

Hillary Clinton 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. Washington, DC…………………….