Copyright The Quipping Queen 2004.

THINGS PERFECTLY NORMAL BEASTS DO

It’s amazing what “Perfectly Normal Beasts” will do in a pinch. Being a “Beast” is one thing, but being a “Perfectly Normal Beast” is quite another.

And being a Perfectly Normal Beast in a pinch, well that’s a fate worse than death (especially if hunter-matadors are involved).

Now, if you’re the least bit curious about “Life, the Universe and Everything” (including a blessed Bob-fearing planet that shall remain nameless), then you probably know all about Perfectly Normal Beasts.

But, if you’ve never hazarded a guess about Life, the Universe and Everything and are slightly overwhelmed by such an XL-thought, fear not.

If lost …then follow these simple instructions:

The following list will help you to navigate the very first stage of this protracted process called, “Discovering Life, the Universe and Everything”.

Take a deep breath, think nice thoughts, and follow these instructions (remember — no ands, ifs, or buts).

Ahem! May I have your attention please!! LISTEN UP TWATS!!! Enough with the tah tah, tally ho, pip pip and all that … just work with me people and:

(a) show up at any airport,

(b) bring along your passport and a small bag (that you’ve packed yourself naturally) and,

(c) obtain a boarding pass for the next “Flight of Fancy” (departing whenever enough folks like you show up to take it for goodness sake).

Meanwhile back at the ranch…

Getting back to Perfectly Normal Beasts — (PNBs for short) — and the perfectly normal things that they do.

Well for starters, you’ll know when you’ve run into them if they:

(1) appear to be huge, hot and heaving hoofers (that you’ve never set eyes upon in a petting zoo or better yet, never even accosted in a dank, dark, and dreary alleyway — thank your lucky stars and get your buns outta there!)

(2) are hanging out in herds on the back nine — far removed from hunter-matadors (swinging golf clubs, what else!)

(3) seem to be galloping at full speed toward you

(4) are doing a lot of snorting, panting, sweating and sniffing (while galloping at full speed toward you)

(5) occasionally are found breaking wind with ease (incidentally, some fetid-oriented folk consider them a “bullish” investment opportunity)

(6) are known to enjoy lumbering forward with little momentum when happy (or perhaps sick in their tummies from eating far too many hunter-matadors)

(7) are compatible with “one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people-eaters” (although no one can remember their Latin name, let alone their nickname)

(8) are lurching up off their knees and standing, swaying ever so gayly and giddyly (especially if they’ve had one too many whiffs of grass)

(9) get a tad crimson in the neck (because they simply can’t abide being called, “perky”, “cute” or heaven forbid, “bellicose”) and

(10) show no remorse about thundering around the universe and scaring the pikka birds half to death, hurtling hunting-matadors all over the place, and then galloping off into nothingness or vanishing into thin air (whichever comes first).

Four-Star General Michael Hayen, in confirmation hearings before the Senate, insisted that it’s time for the CIA “to get out of the news.” He went on to explain, “We’re supposed to be a secret outfit but between illegal disclosures of our members, hearings about how we’re handling things, and nominations, we don’t have any secret agents left.”

In response to his plea, the committee continued to grill him while a crowd of news photographers continued to snap pictures of him, which would no doubt appear on the front pages of newspapers around the world.

The General, continuing to make his case, pleaded, “How can you infiltrate a terror cell undetected when your face has been plastered all over the place?”

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

A couple of weeks ago I was watching Washington play the Eagles. It was near the end of the game and I saw that Washington could win by scoring two late-game touchdowns. In fact, I knew they would win! Then last night I watched Dallas play the Eagles. Again, Dallas could score two late-game touchdowns and win the game. In fact again, I knew they would!

As I was watching TV last night, I needed the small notebook from my desk so that I could record my grandiose ideas for new ezine articles. The notebook was about five feet away and I didn’t want to disturb the candy bowl on my lap. My wife said, “Use levitation!”

I said, “Use Levitation! Brilliant!”

I placed my hands in levitation position, but as far as I could see, the notebook did not move. I told my wife, “I’ll have to practice.”

“Yes,” she said. “You need to practice your levitation. Now get off your rump roast and get your notebook before you forget your grandiose ideas.”

This morning I had my first practice session. I decided to start with lighter objects than the notebook. I started with a piece of paper that was here on my desk where I’m writing. From my sleep chair, I was able to raise it into the air and bring it to my lap!”

“Brilliant!”

That is what I said. I went right for my calculator and moved that to my lap too! At that point, I decided not to run into my wife’s craft room and yell, “I can levitate!” I wanted to make sure it was not just a fluke.

I used all of my powers to raise my new Radio Shack 2.4 GHz cordless telephone.

Nothing happened.

I tried again and it took off out of its cradle but fell to the floor before it reach safe haven on my lap.

I tried again. It would not move from the floor. I picked it up and put it into its cradle.

I decided that I had just tired myself out with all the levitation activity.

I rested a few minutes and VIOLA! I was able to raise the telephone from the cradle on my desk and move it to my lap five feet away!

I jumped up and headed strait (like in the Bible) to my wife’s den of craftery.

I got stopped in the hallway. It was Xrytspet!

I said, “Scram, Xrytspet! I’ve got to tell my wife”

She laughed and rolled around on the carpet. Her sides were busting!

I said, “Darn you, Xrytspet! Quit messing with my levitation experiments! Go back to”

But she was gone.

The End

copyright©John T. Jones, Ph.D. 2005

John T. Jones, Ph.D. (tjbooks@hotmail.com)is a retired R&D engineer and VP of a Fortune 500 company. He is author of detective & western novels, nonfiction (business, scientific, engineering), poetry, etc. Former editor of international trade magazine. Jones is Executive Representative of International Wealth Success. More info: http://www.tjbooks.com Business web site: http://www.bookfindhelp.com (IWS wealth-success books and kits and business newsletters / TopFlight flagpoles)

Tuesday last I awoke from my nightly slumber with terrific pain in my chest, much like an elephant break-dancing on my chest. It was painful just to breathe, but like the trooper I am, I shrugged it off and set about my daily routine. Rather than improving, the pain intensified.

I went to my office and started the day’s work only to find it almost impossible. Fortunately, my one daughter is a paramedic with the fire department and the other is an EMT with the county ambulance service. Sitting at my desk, I saw the vehicles pull into the church office parking lot.

Within a few minutes, my office was filled with EMTs and paramedics. (Someone and I’ll mention no name, only to say this person who lives at the same address as I, squealed on me.) Their unified mission was convincing a rather stubborn preacher to go to the hospital. According to their examination, it was possible I was having a heart attack.

Who knew I even had a heart?

Each took turns persuading me that I needed to go to the hospital. Their strategy was to wear me down. To my credit, it took half a dozen to do the job. The ambulance was outside and in a few minutes, so they assured me, they could have me in the emergency room.

“What about it, Reverend,” a good- looking paramedic said, “how about going to the hospital?”

“Okay,” I finally agreed, “but I’m not going in the ambulance, I’ve already mortgaged my house.”

I was escorted to my paramedic daughter’s jeep and away we went to the ER.

When we arrived at the hospital, they rushed me into the emergency room and started working on me.

After a few hours, I came to myself (which is a shock in and of itself) and discovered my chest had been shaven. Now, what I need to know is, once shaved always shaved? Just a theological ruse.

In examining my chest, I discovered I had 17 nipples of which all but two were hooked up to some monitoring system. When a person, such as I, is in a dazed confused condition, this is enough to create a heart attack.

The medical staff put me through all the tests they had in their diagnostic arsenal. Evidently I had crammed the night before because I passed all the their tests with flying colors. Although I passed the tests the pain in my chest continued.

During my medical odyssey, I discovered three things.

The first has to do with nurses, which are the first line of defense in a medical situation. Sometimes n and I’m not complaining, just grateful n they are the only lines of defense. Certainly, they are the link to everything a person needs.

It is extremely important to keep on good terms with these angels of mercy. For one, they are the ones who wield the needles in the ER.

Nurses have two kinds of needles. One, they have the nice sharp pointy needles that pierce the epidermis with the greatest of ease causing the least amount of discomfort.

The second type is reserved for those certain patients, and you know who you are, that cross them. I’m referring to the square point needles that gouge the flesh. I’m proud to say I experienced the former.

The second has to do with hospital bedpans. What deranged person masterminded this dysfunctional appliance? Some research must be funded by the government to track this person or persons down and have them executed.

Normally I’m not a violent man. My philosophy is “live and let live.” However, hospital bedpans are not normal and are deliberately designed to malfunction every time. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. If not executed, then they should be confined to a hospital bed for the rest of their life and I have just the bedpan for them.

The third thing I discovered in the hospital has to do with those x-rated hospital gowns. They come in one-size-fits-all. That’s all right if you happen to be 3′6.”

Unless a person is dyslexic, it takes no rocket scientist to see I am a bit larger than 3′6.” I just happen to be 6′3″ and have never been mistaken for a midget. I have no idea what these so-called gowns were designed for but it was not for modesty.

In fact, there is some evidence that patients in the psychiatric ward of the hospital designed the hospital gown as a group therapy project. It has absolutely no practical - or impractical for that matter - purpose in this life. The hospital gown could be classified as the cross-purpose-driven garment.

Several days have passed since leaving my hospital oasis, giving me some time for reflection. The hardest thing for a person like me is to wait. I have my agenda and I dare the person to stand in my way.

God, however, has devised marvelous ways of incorporating into our daily regime opportunities to practice this illusive virtue.

A passage from the Psalms keeps running through the back of my mind. “My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defense; I shall not be moved. In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God. Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah.” (Psalms 62:5-8 KJV.)

Nurses, bedpans and X-rated hospital gowns are not the real issues of a hospital stay. Trusting God in adversity is the most important.

About the Author

James L. Snyder is an award winning author and popular columnist living in Ocala, FL with his wife.

Paypal has made it possible to quickly and easily send money over the Internet. This allows us to pay for all kinds of purchases with a lot less hassle. It also will allow you, everyone who reads this article, to send me, Timothy Ward, $1.00.

Being the cynics that you are, I know you’re probably asking: “Why should I send you $1.00? I barely even know you. If I hadn’t somehow stumbled onto this article I wouldn’t even have known that you exist. I still don’t know how I came across this ridiculous article, I was trying to find my brother-in-law’s blog.”

Since I know that humanoids are by nature untrusting, and I know that you can spare the dollar, I will now generously provide 8 reasons why you should immediately paypal me a buck. I don’t think I’ll need more than 5 reasons but I like to give people their money’s worth. Plus I have a word count to think about. So without further ado:

(1) Sending me $1.00 will keep you from spending it on something pointless like the mortgage payment. You’ve been faithfully paying on that mortgage for years-it’s time you had a break. And it’ll only cost you a single greenback.

(2) Donating to a worthy cause can give you peace of mind which, in turn, will help you to sleep better at night. Giving me a dollar may not be as worthy a cause as, say, giving to the Red Cross, but I promise I will sleep better tonight and many nights thereafter if you send me that dollar.

(3) If I were sitting in front of a gas station smelling of cheap wine and wearing the same clothes I had on when I lost my job 8 months ago, you wouldn’t even consider giving me a dollar. You would probably tell me to: “Get a Job, ya bum”, and then rapidly walk away, clutching your wallet tightly. I, however, am not sitting in front of a gas station, I’m sitting in front of my television. And I changed clothes 2 days ago.

(4) I need to buy some Bling Bling! You’re just not in the game if you don’t have diamonds in your ears and ice on your neck and wrists. Plus I know a guy who’ll give me a great deal on some gold teeth. But I need more cheese.

(5) Many great artist in history have depended on donations to finance their masterpieces. Your sending me $1.00 will allow me to do the necessary research for a masterpiece of an article that I’m working on called: ‘Going Out on Saturday Night and Getting Sloppy Drunk Using Other People’s Money’. I’ll be sure to acknowledge you at the end.

(6) Fellas, would you rather send me a dollar or have your wife spent it on yet another pair of black heels? Ladies, would you rather your husbands spend it on another one of those magazines that he keeps in that box in his workshop? I thought not.

(7) Time is money. You’re already wasting money by taking time to read this article. Another George Washington won’t kill you.

(8) The pens and paper I use to write these articles don’t pay for themselves. My high speed internect connection that I use to upload these articles isn’t free. I don’t think $1.00 is too much to ask after the scores of articles I have written and shared with all of cyberspace. After all, if it wasn’t for my articles you wouldn’t appreciate the good articles written by others.

So there you have it folks. 8 reasons to send me $1.00 via Paypal. As I suspected most of you were sold after Reason #5. I appreciate you waiting patiently until I finished with the remaining Reasons before rushing over to Paypal.com. Now that I have finished listing my reasons feel free to login and send your $1.00 to wailinward@yahoo.com. And please hurry, the guy with the gold teeth isn’t going to have those great deals forever…

Read Timothy Ward’s blog at: timothyward.blogspot.com

The most notable feature of zombies and other dead things is that they are not very smart. Something happens to their logical thinking process in the nether world just before they rise again to terrorize their chosen hero and heroin. Speaking of heros, have you noticed that there is always one of each gender of hero/heroin-male and female-everyone else is always killed off so they can be alone. Romantic, right? And they always kiss at least once and usually during the most dangerous time, when in real life they would both be having a hard time just keeping their quivering kidneys in check. I know if a dead thing was chasing me, I’d definitely have an urgent need for the closest powder room.

But, I digress. An un-dead creature’s intelligence level is obviously to be questioned. Remember Frankenstein’s monster? Bulldozes right through wooden doors designed to keep an army of bloodthirsty, marauding hordes out. Then what does he do? He forgets where he’s going and stops to smell a flower and smile at a sweet, little street urchin who’s out panhandling for her shiftless mother. When he remembers that he’s supposed to be a killer, he growls and lumbers out into the smog to find victims. Now where is the logic in that? There was a perfectly good victim standing right in front of him, easy pickings, no fuss, no muss. Did he recognize it? No. Instead he spends half the night chasing screaming peasants around cold, damp, cobbled streets and ends up going down in flames for his efforts. Duhh!

What about Zombies? They will stand and beat on a door that the hero just slammed in their faces for hours. Hello, dead things! Use the other door for Heaven’s sake. (Okay, maybe not for Heaven’s sake, but you get the idea.) Or why don’t they use the window? But nooo, they keep pounding on that one door until it splinters and instead of turning the door knob, they thrust their arms through and growl because they can’t quite reach the iron-kidney hero who just pushed the heroine out the other door so they can run away. The delay, of course, gives the hero and heroine plenty of time to get away, kiss and other assorted mushy things. Meanwhile the zombies are still trying to figure out how to turn the damned door knob.

“But they’re dead!” you say. Yes and no. Why do you think we call them un-dead? They’re walking aren’t they? Well really sort of shuffling, but they’re on two feet. And they talk or moan or groan or something along the guttural lines. And they always know exactly where the people they are chasing are because they always show up no matter where the hero runs with his heroine. That means they have control of their faculties, right?

Speaking of control, have you ever noticed that zombies never need to go to the bathroom? They devour entire human bodies, (using atrocious table manners, I might add) and drink gallons of human blood, but they never have to go. Why is that? Maybe kidneys of steel are a requirement to be in flick like this?

And their personal hygiene, UGGH! Matted hair, toothless mouths, grubby skin, and tattered clothes. Haven’t they ever heard of Colgate®? And they don’t care! They even sometimes have orgies around a bonfire and not a drop of water or a cake of soap anywhere in sight. Not even a single spray of Binaca®! What kind of logic is that? I wouldn’t think of attending an orgy without my breath mints-Ahem-er-uh-not that I’ve ever-ah-well anyway, back to zombies.

I think someone ought to set the movie industry straight. Un-dead creatures deserve the same treatment as any other monster. Heck, even The Blob took an occasional dip in the river. And did you ever saw Dracula in a wrinkled suit? Get with it Hollywood. Clean up your act. Justa Rant, Jo

Copyright 2000 S. Joan Popek. Copyright on all material in this publication is held by S. Joan Popek. Any use without expressed written permission is strictly prohibited.

I thought it would be fun to set down some of the random, silly thoughts I’ve been pondering over the last several weeks. In this time of geopolitical intenseness, I figure if I need a “silly” break than so do others.
I’ve been wondering what life would be like if candy bar companies also made condoms. I guess it would bring a whole new marketing strategy to the names snickers and whatchamacallit. I was also thinking that Trojan should diversify into the security business seeing as they are already 97 % effective.
I spent some time thinking about what the political campaigns might be like if their slogans were created by personal hygiene product companies. For instance you might hear something like, “Summer’s Bush, when you’re having that not-so-Kerry feeling” or “Try preparation-K to alleviate that irritable Bush and Cheney sensation”.
I’ve been wondering about the practice of denouncing your opponent’s military records during the presidential campaign. What would they fight about if neither of them had or allegedly had military records? I envision a campaign in which not listening to enough country music is equated with being unpatriotic and being indicative of poor leadership qualities.
I’ve always wanted to see the Olympics return to their original format. Athletes participated without clothing. The Olympic sponsors might be Trojan and Viagra. Their slogan could be “Nudity Promotes Unity”. They probably wouldn’t be able to make the same change for the Winter Olympics. I’m thinking “luge catastrophe”.
Finally, given the casualness of sex in today’s society, I’ve often wondered if the surgeon general shouldn’t require a warning label on individual condoms, “Caution contents could be harmful to the rest of your life”; “do not dispense contents while under the influence of alcohol, illegal drugs, immaturity, or stupid”. And finally my favorite, “Contents not appropriate for those without brains.”
So what’s the point of a silly little essay like this? It is to be silly and make an attempt to find some humor in a world that tends to be too intense or serious. The anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy is about one week away and we will be reminded of a terrible loss of life and of our own vulnerability. After honoring those who have passed away and saluting our country we’ll need some levity to balance things out. Don’t be afraid to be a little silly, it’s healthy.

About the Author

weekly columnist, published poet and short story author.

The Story of My Dog and Why You Should Care

It all began when I was 11 years old. That day, my mom was taking us (the kids) to Arnold’s Hey and Grain, a food store for animals. As we were approaching the door, something caught my eye: a little dog (4 months old). The puppy was situated in a cage and was lying down on his tubby little belly. He looked at me with BIG, HUGE, BUG-eyes and whimpered. He looked so sad…so lonely…so isolated. I got down on my hands and knees and said to him, “Hey there, little puppy. You sure look lonely.” Then the dog looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Well duh. I’m stuck in this freakin’ cage sleeping in my own business and eating nasty doggy kibble. How about getting me outa here, you mental midget?” I replied with, “Sure thing, dude. I’ll buy you or something like that.” He rolled his bug eyes at me and stated, “You humans are all the same…” I smirked.
Well, a few minutes after my encounter, my mom walked out of the store with the rest of the brats. She noticed I was looking at the dog and commented about how cute he was. Then I remembered how much I wanted a dog and asked her if I could buy this one (as if I bought a puppy every day). To my astonishment, she said, “Maybe.”
YESSSS!!!!!
She looked in to the matter a little more and she decided to ask my dad whether or not we could get a dog. Again to my astonishment, he said, “Maybe.” Before I could purchase my furry friend, he made me promise him that I would feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, change his diaper etc….
Of course I agreed not realizing the mess I got my self into. “Yeah whatever.” I said, “I’ll feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, and change his diaper etc…”
So, we bought the little punk. It would take a day before we could actually pick him up. When that day came, I was more then ready to feed him, brush him, walk him, burp him, and change his diapers! When we got him to the car, he completely freaked out (I guess he was never in a car before). He jumped over the seats, he ran between our legs, he barked at oncoming cars, he screamed, he shouted, and he used words I would never use on this blog. When I asked him why he executed such juvenile behavior, he replied with, “Because I’m a dog, stupid. Plus I was told it’s great therapy - you should try it some time.” I shrugged and told him I had given that practice up a week ago.
It was really difficult to find a name for this dog, so I went through the lists of names common to a dog. “Zip, Butch, Rover, Cretan?” I thought to myself. All those names seemed too….stupid. So I named him “Richard.” He loved it.

As the months went by, he seemed to grow larger, more intelligent, but he never did lose his puppy-like features. Taking him on walks was moderately easy, except for one thing: Once he saw a person or location he wished to approach, he would tug and pull and coke himself until he would almost pass out. Once the animal rights people noticed this, they stated that this was total animal abuse and demanded they take possession of my dog - at least until they could find a suitable owner. Of course I told them I would do nothing of the sort. They did not like my little reply so we got in a gunfight and I won. He he, those losers…
One month before he turned 1, he mysteriously developed the bad habit of chasing cars (an activity that is commonly executed by dogs). After a few weeks of having my arm pulled off, my mom and I decided that we needed to take some serious action. But before we started beating the living waste out of Richard, I decided I needed to have a little “Boy-to-Dog” discussion.

“Richard, we need to discuss something…” I said.

“Make it quick, stooge. I have a tight schedule today.” He replied.

“Richard, you’ve gotta stop chasing after cars, you’re really hurting my arms.” I said.

“You’ll survive, Brian.” He replied.

“Not for long!! What do you suggest I do? I can’t seem to train you to not chase vehicles.” I said.

” Hey, I know: when you see a car coming, let me go.” He replied.

“That’s it, smart-butt, time to get aggressive with you!!!” I said

I bought a can of Bitter Apple, A spray that comes in a bottle and is affective against disobedient k9s. On our next walk, I took the can. This is how it went:

“Oh boy!!!” he said, “A car!!”

“Leave it, mutt!” I said.

“No.” he said.

“Yes.” I said.

“Die.” He said.

“That’s it!!! Take this!!!” I said as I sprayed the substance in his mouth.

“AAAAHHHGGGGGGG” he said, “I’m melting!!!!!”

“No you’re not.” I said.

“That stuff is N-A-S-T-Y! OK, I’ll follow your unreasonable demands.” He said.

“Good.” I said.

(We don’t believe in shouting, or yelling, so we use “said,” instead of “yelled” or “shouted.”)

After a few more sprays and “discussions,” Richard stopped chasing. I was obviously glad and so was he.
Although Richard has his difficulties, he has a lot more “good stuff” about him.

the “good stuff”

Richard is extremely intelligent when it comes to learning new tricks. I taught him how to shake my hand in about 6 minutes. I also taught him how to catch food in mid-air in about 9 minutes. He’s a very fast learner. He is also learning to stay in the front yard without darting after cats and other such mobile things. Although he is currently 2, he still looks and acts like a puppy. Not only is he cute, he is also a great guard dog (just take my word for it). Oh yeah, did I mention he can talk?

Well, I think you have a good idea what my dog is like, so remember: Before you go around ranting about how cool your dog is, just think about how much cooler my dog is.

Thank you and good night

About the Author

Brian T. is a conservative teen out to save the world from stupidity. He has authored many blogs and websites. His current blog is bloghogger.blogspot.com - a blog devoted to bashing liberalism.

America, which has sacrificed the lives of its citizens and its material plentitude more selflessly than any other nation in history to come to the assistance of other countries, noted the astonishingly heated negative commentary about it emanating from virtually every corner of the globe and has decided to sue the rest of the world on the grounds of ungrateful behavior.

The President said, “You can’t just go out there and sacrifice your sons and daughters lives and expend so much of the national treasury and not get a little something back. We’ve got sorrowful families all across the land, with whose losses I deeply sympathize, and we can’t even afford to fix the potholes on federal highways. So what choice do we have? We’re taking the ungrateful foreigners to court. Justice will be served. We merit and demand some praise here.”

A grandmother for the plaintiff stated, “My family has lost loved ones in three different wars and all in countries that I haven’t heard a good thing said in about America for years. When I take the stand, watch out. I’m patriotic pissed.”

The international court at The Hague has declined to take the case, primarily because it is in The Hague. Upon learning of that court’s disinclination, the U. S. has appealed to the U. N. to find a venue that will hear the case.”

A prominent attorney for America commented, “We’d rather not have the trial here. Holding it in our own country will detract from the credibility of the outcome, but having it in an unfriendly location is bound to create the kind of inflammatory demonstrations that will lead to a lot of free press.”

Not surprisingly, France, Germany, and Spain have also nixed the idea of hosting the trial, maintaining that since they’re all being sued, supporting the action seems inadvisable.

Britain and Italy are understood to be considering the matter. Tony Blair is the most disposed to hosting it, saying, “We hardly ever badmouth America, so we hope to come through the trial with flying colors.”

The Italian government has expressed some willingness to host it but has indicated it may charge for rental of the courthouse. “I’m confident of victory,” another attorney for America maintained. “All you have to do is look at the newspapers. All the incriminating evidence you need is on the lips of leaders and the public in general in just about every country of the world. The only thing that stands in the way of a big win for the U. S. is finding a country where we can conduct the trial.”

Should the verdict go as the plaintiff hopes, the expectation is that the guilty will henceforth base their comments on a true understanding of just who this country is.

One of the most persuasive arguments the nation’s attorneys hope to present is based on the usual philosophical tactic of imagining the opposite argument.

As the lead attorney for the country put it, “Will you please tell us what other country in the world, besides your own, you would prefer to possess the amount of power America has? We are, in fact, the first nation in the history of the world that could conquer it but, in addition to being freedom-loving people that the whole idea offends, we’re savvy business people who know we just can’t afford the worldwide upkeep.”

Tom Attea, creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

We know that the FBI had to hire people who smoke pot in order to infiltrate the eco-terrorists groups to catch them. As most of these losers were pot smokers with no job and living in Oregon around the ultra-liberal far-left and indeed they fit right in with some of the deranged radical fringe of the environmental movements.

If the Federal Bureau of Investigation is to catch the bad apples in the gay fringe groups who wish to disrupt and cause terrorist acts then they will need some gay guys who are willing to play the game all the way and stick their member’s members where the sun does not shine if you catch my drift? How can they infiltrate this group any other way?

What I am saying may not be too politically correct, but this time the FBI needs to bend over and do it for their country like a man. It is the only way to infiltrate the homosexual fringe terrorist networks. That is if indeed one even exists. Additionally just because it does not exist history shows that such disruptive civil rights groups do cause a whole lot of chaos and controversy and if you fail to do something about it, they will fester and fester until one day the unthinkable happens.

We simply cannot take the risk and therefore the FBI needs to get busy and get it done and not risk another mini-911 style domestic terrorist attack on the United States of America. Consider this in 2006.

“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; http://www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/