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Registered User
Bumping these to the top so everyone can see them.
"I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones." -- Albert Einstein
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12-16-2002 08:27 AM
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Circuit advertisement
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Vermin's Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring,
not a bed-bug or louse.
The mice were all settled
with never a care,
And the spiders they dozed
on cobwebs everywhere.
The fleas were all nestled
all snug on the cat,
And under the tree snoozed
a dirty great rat.
A half-dozen ticks
were attached to the dog,
And a couple of rabbits
snacked on the Yule Log.
The householder was dreaming
and scratching his bites,
And sneezed in his sleep,
allergic to mites.
A beetle or two
scuttled off at the sound,
And a small scouting ant
called her whole family round.
Then Santa came down the chimney,
all dusty,
Into the wreckage
and debris so musty.
He wiped off the ash
from his once-snowy beard,
And into the verminous household
he peered.
Come bed-bug! Come louse!
Come blood-sucking gnat!
Come flea! Here comes something
tastes better than cat!
And off of the carpet
the fleas leapt ten feet,
Up Santa's red trousers
to join in the feast.
Santa he scratched,
in discomfort he itched,
Grabbed at his clothing
and the cuffs upward hitched.
His skin was all blotchy
and covered in bites,
For he was the present
for the vermin that night.
The rats and the mice
awoke at the commotion,
And into their brains came
a hunger-fuelled notion.
For the presents were held
in a bag of burlap,
And soon they were gnawing
to shreds Santa's sack.
Well that was enough
for beleaguered Saint Nick,
He grabbed armfuls of gifts
and he left, double quick.
The reindeer were scratching
parasite-ridden pelts,
From way down the chimney
their blood had been smelt.
And hordes of the buggers,
the fleas and the lice,
Had infested the poor deer
in only a trice.
Well I guess it is Christmas
for man and for mouse,
And for all the darn vermin
that live in that house.
Laissez les bon temps rouler! Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.** a 4 day work week & sex slaves ~ I say Tyt for PRESIDENT! Not to be taken internally, literally or seriously ....Suki ebaynni IS THAT BETTER ?
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Sam and Roz Are Coming to Town
(To the Tune of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town")
You better give up
On Christmas this year.
You haven't a chance
With relatives here!
Sam and Roz are coming to town.
They're bringing their kids
To add to your fun.
They're staying 10 days;
You thought it was one.
Sam and Roz are coming to town!
They'll break your prized possessions;
They'll destroy your solitude.
They'll eat you out of house and home
Then complain about the food!
There's only one way
To save your Noel.
You give 'em your house,
You take a hotel.
Sam and Roz are coming to town!
Laissez les bon temps rouler! Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.** a 4 day work week & sex slaves ~ I say Tyt for PRESIDENT! Not to be taken internally, literally or seriously ....Suki ebaynni IS THAT BETTER ?
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POUNCE !!! ...infinity...
Pacifist: Someone who has the nutty idea that killing people is a bad thing.
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Email Wonderland
((sing to the tune of 'Winter Wonderland'
Another "ping",
Are you listenin'?
The puter screen,
Is a glistenin'.
With icons so bright,
They light up the night,
Welcome to the e-mail wonderland!
Gone away,
Are the hall talks.
Here to stay,
Is the IN-BOX.
Flagged "urgent, please read!",
And "answer with speed!".
Welcome to the e-mail wonderland!
In the morning e-mails start to add up.
No lunch today cause messages abound.
Just click away and hope the server stays up.
You can't do your job if it goes down.
10 P.M.,
You're not tired.
The caffeine,
Has got you wired.
The day's not complete,
Till the last delete,
Welcome to the e-mail wonderland!
In the morning e-mails start to add up,
No lunch today cause messages abound.
Just click away and hope the server stays up.
You can't do your job if it goes down.
Until you,
Are retired,
The same old grind,
It is required.
You'll face unafraid,
That message parade.
Welcome to the e-mail wonderland!
Pacifist: Someone who has the nutty idea that killing people is a bad thing.
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'Twas the Day AFTER Christmas
Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was hurtin', even the mouse.
The toys were all broken, their batteries dead;
Santa passed out, with some ice on his head.
Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor, while
Upstairs the family continued to snore.
And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans,
I went into the kitchen and started to clean.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror.
The driver was smiling, so lively and grand;
The patch on his jacket said "U.S. POSTMAN."
With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox
Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox.
Bill after bill, after bill, they still came.
Whistling and shouting he called them by name:
"Now Dillard's, now Macy's, now Penney's and Sears
Here's Marshall's, Levitz's and Target and Mervyn's.
To the tip of your limit, every store, every mall,
Now charge away--charge away--charge away all!"
He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work.
He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road,
Driving much faster with just half a load.
Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer,
"Enjoy what you got. . .you'll be paying all year!"
Pacifist: Someone who has the nutty idea that killing people is a bad thing.
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Cajun Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas,
an' all t'ru de house,
Dey don't a t'ing pass,
not even a mouse.
De chirren been nezzle
good snug on de flo',
An' Mama pass de pepper
t'ru de crack on de do'.
Den Mama in de fireplace
done roas' us de ham,
Stir up de gumbo,
an' make de baked yam
Den out on de bayou
dey got such a clatter...
Make soun' like old Boudreaux
done fall off his ladder.
I run like a rabbit
to got to de do'...
Trip over de dawg
an' fall on de flo'!
As I look out de do'
in de light o' de moon,
I t'ink, "Manh, you crazy,
or got ole too soon."
Cuz dere on de bayou
when I stretch ma' neck stiff...
Dere's eight alligator
a-pullin' de skiff...
An' a little fat drover
wit' a lone polein' stick...
I know r'at away
got to be ole St. Nick...
Mo' fas'er an' fas'er
de 'gator dey came.
He whistle an' holler
an' call dem by name:
"Ha, Gaston! Ha, Tiboy!
Ha, Pierre an' Alcee!
Gee, Ninette! Gee, Suzette!
Celeste an' Renee!"
To de top o' de porch
dem ole 'gator clime!
Wit' de skiff full o' toy
an' St. Nicklus behin'.
Den on top de porch roof i
t soun' like de hail
When all dem big 'gator
done sot down dey tail!----
Den down de chimney
he fell wit' a bam...
An' St. Nicklus fall
an' sit on de yam!
"SACRE!" he axclaim
"Ma pant got a hole.
I done sot mase'f
on dem red hot coal!"
He got on his foots
an' jump like a cat...
Out to de flo'
where he lan' wit' a SPLAT!
He was dress in musk-rat
from his head to his foot
An' his clothes is all dirty
wit' ashes an' soot.
A sack full o' playt'ing
he t'row on his back.
He look like a burglar,
an' dass fo' a fack!
His eyes how dey shine...
his dimple, how merry!
Maybe he been drink
de wine from blackberry!
His cheek was like rose...
his nose like a cherry...
On secon' tought maybe
he lap up de sherry! ---
Wit' snow-white chin whisker
an' quiverin' belly,
He shook when he laugh
like de stromberry jelly!
But a wink in his eye...
an' a shook o' his head...
Make my confidance dat
I soon got to be scared.
He don' do no talkin'...
gone straight to his work...
Put playt'ing in sock an'
den turn wit' a jerk!
He put bot' his han'
dere on top o' his head,
He cas' an eye on de chimney
an' den he done said:
"Wit' all o' dat fire
an' dem burnin' hot flame...
Me I ain' goin' back
by de way dat I came."
So he run out de do'
an' he clime to de roof...
He ain' no fool,
him for to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff
an' crack his big whip.
De 'gator move down
an' don' make one slip.
An' I hear him shout loud
as a splashin' he go:
"Marry C'rismas to all...
till I saw you some mo'!"
Laissez les bon temps rouler! Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.** a 4 day work week & sex slaves ~ I say Tyt for PRESIDENT! Not to be taken internally, literally or seriously ....Suki ebaynni IS THAT BETTER ?
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"Tumey's Travels" version of "The 12 Days of Christmas -- Louisiana Style."
"On the First Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Second Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Third Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Fourth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Fifth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Sixth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Seventh Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Eighth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 8 boats a-trawling, 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Ninth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 9 fiddlers fiddling, 8 boats a-trawling, 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Tenth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 10 Cajuns dancing, 9 fiddlers fiddling, 8 boats a-trawling, 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Eleventh Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 11 pounds of crawfish, 10 Cajuns dancing, 9 fiddlers fiddling, 8 boats a-trawling, 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
"On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me - 12 wheeler-dealers, 11 pounds of crawfish, 10 Cajuns dancing, 9 fiddlers fiddling, 8 boats a-trawling, 7 pounds of cracklings, 6 geese for gumbo, 5 bags of Zapp's, 4 pepper plants, 3 sugar canes, 2 shotgun shells and a pirogue on the bayou!"
Laissez les bon temps rouler! Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.** a 4 day work week & sex slaves ~ I say Tyt for PRESIDENT! Not to be taken internally, literally or seriously ....Suki ebaynni IS THAT BETTER ?
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Afghanistan Christmas Carol
T' was the night before Christmas and all through the Land,
They're running like rabbits in Afghanistan,
Osama's been praying, he's down on his Knees,
He's hoping that Allah will hear all his Pleas.
He thought if he killed us that we'd fall and Shatter,
But all that he's done is just make us Madder.
We ain't yet forgotten our Marines in Beirut,
And we'll kick your butt, with one heavy Boot.
And yes we remember the USS Cole,
And the lives of our sailors that you bastards Stole.
You think you can rule us and cause us to Fear,
You'll soon get the answer if you live to Hear.
And we ain't forgotten your buddy Saddam,
And he ain't forgotten the sound of our Bombs.
You think that those mountains are somewhere to Hide.
They'll go down in history as the place where you Died.
Remember Khadhafi and his Line of Death?
He came very close, to his final Breath.
So come out and prove it, that you are a Man,
Cause our boys are coming and they have a Plan.
They are our fathers and they are our Sons,
And they sure do carry some mighty big Guns.
They would have stayed home with children and Wives,
Till you bastards came here and took all these Lives.
Osama I wrote this especially for You,
For air mail delivery by B-52.
You soon will be hearing a thud and a whistle,
Old Glory is coming, attached to a Missile
I will not be sorry to see your ass Go.
It's Red, White, and Blue that is running this Show
A Soldier's Christmas
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed 'round the room and I cherished the sight;
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell....a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight;
The sparkling lights on the tree, I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep;
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem.
So I slumbered in peace, then I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it came to my ear;
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble. I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near;
Standing out there alone in the cold of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I reckoned, some eighteen years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled there in the cold;
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, my wife, and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment! It's freezing out here;
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on this cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment, I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold, and the snow in a drift;
To the windows that danced with a warm fire's light,
Then he sighed, and he said, "It's really all right."
"I'm out here by choice. I'm here all the time,
It's my duty to stand at the front of the line;
No one has to ask me, or beg, or implore,
I'm proud to stand here like my father before."
"My grandpa at Pearl, on a day in December,
Is a memory my grandma will always remember;
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam,
And now it's my turn, and so, here I am.
I've not seen my family in more than a while,
But my parents send pictures. They're great for a smile."
Then he bent down and carefully pulled from his bag,
The Red, White, and Blue. An American flag.
"I can live through the cold, and this being alone,
Away from my family, my house, and my home;
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole, with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life for my buddy.....my brother;
Who stand here with me against any and all,
To insure for all time that this flag does not fall.
So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
Give you some money? Prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you do,
Being away from your home and your family too."
Then his eyes welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget;
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone;
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, wither standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled,
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you, as you mattered to us."
{{{secret Pal}}
Hold out bait to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.
The early bird might get the worm, but it's the second mouse who gets the cheese
Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.
- Albert Einstein
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Thank You, Fugie.
I think that last one was the best posted yet.
Good Night
God Bless
Merry Christmas
Laissez les bon temps rouler! Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.** a 4 day work week & sex slaves ~ I say Tyt for PRESIDENT! Not to be taken internally, literally or seriously ....Suki ebaynni IS THAT BETTER ?
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BigBig Evildoer
The USMC tale which appears on the net as being written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa is actually a plagiarized and rewritten version.
Here's the story:
This piece, which sees wide circulation every Christmastime, is generally credited to "a Marine stationed in Okinawa, Japan" (or, since September 11, a Marine stationed in Afghanistan). More specifically, an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel named Bruce Lovely has taken credit for composing this poem, claiming that he penned it on Christmas Eve 1993 while stationed in Korea (and saw it printed under his name in the Ft. Leavenworth Lamp a few years later):
I arrived in Korea in Jul 93 and was extremely impressed with the commitment of the soldiers I worked with and those that were prepared to give their lives to maintain the freedom of South Korea. To honor them, I wrote the poem and went around on Christmas Eve and put it under the doors of US soldiers assigned to Yongsan.
We're sorry to say, however, that Lt. Col. Lovely does a great disservice to his fellow servicemen by claiming authorship of "The Soldier's Night Before Christmas," because it was published in Leatherneck (Magazine of the Marines) in December 1991, a full two years before Lt. Col. Lovely supposedly wrote it. The Leatherneck version was titled "Merry Christmas, My Friend" and was attributed to James M. Schmidt, then a Lance Corporal stationed in Washington, D.C.
According to Corporal Schmidt:
The true story is that while a Lance Corporal serving as Battalion Counter Sniper at the Marine Barracks 8th & I, Washington, DC, under Commandant P.X. Kelly and Battalion Commander D.J. Myers, I wrote this poem to hang on the door of the Gym in the BEQ. When Colonel Myers came upon it, he read it and immediately had copies sent to each department at the Barracks and promptly dismissed the entire Battalion early for Christmas leave. The poem was placed that day in the Marine Corps Gazette, distributed worldwide and later submitted to Leatherneck Magazine.
We reproduce below Corporal Schmidt's version as printed in Leatherneck, which differs from the current Internet version in many places (particularly in Marine-specific wording that has since turned into Army references, and resultant alterations in other places to maintain the line-ending rhyme scheme):
Merry Christmas, My Friend
'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
In a one-bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live.
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand.
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.
I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor in his one-bedroom home.
He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I’d just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?
His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan.
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night,
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.
Soon around the Nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate on a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.
I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye.
I dropped to my knees and I started to cry.
He must have awoken, for I heard a rough voice,
"Santa, don't cry, this life is my choice
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
My life is my God, my country, my Corps."
With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.
So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.
Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold,
with an eagle, globe and achor emblazoned so bold.
And although it barely fit me, I began to swell with pride,
and for one shining moment, I was Marine Corps deep inside.
I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
But half asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas Day, all secure."
One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi and goodnight.
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