A family is at the dinner table. The son asks the father, “Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?” The father, surprised, answers, “Well, son, a woman goes through three phases. In her 20s, her breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her 30s and 40s, they are like pears, still nice, hanging a bit. After 50, they are like onions.” “Onions?” the son asks. “Yes. You see them and they make you want to break down and cry!”
This infuriates his wife and daughter. The daughter asks, “Mom, how many different kinds of penises are there?” The mother smiles and says, “Well, a man also goes through three phases. In his 20s, his penis is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30s and 40s, it’s like a birch tree, flexible but reliable. After his 50s, it’s like a Christmas tree.” “A Christmas tree?” the daughter asks. “Yes: Dead from the root up, and the balls are just there for decoration!â
How can you tell if youâre making love to a teacher, a nurse or an airline stewardess?
A teacher says we got to do this over and over again until we get it right.
A nurse says hold still this wonât hurt a bit.
And a airline stewardess says put this over your mouth and nose and breathe normally.
Doctor, âWhat seems to be the problem?â
Patient, âDoc, Iâve got the farts. I mean I fart all the time,â
The Doctor nods, âHmm.â
Patient, âMy farts do not stink and you canât hear them. Itâs just that I fart all the time. Look, weâve been talking here for about 10 minutes and Iâve farted five times. You didnât hear them and you donât smell them, do you?â
âHmm,â says the Doctor,
He picks up his pad and writes out a prescription.
The patient is thrilled âGreat doc. This prescription, will it really clear up my farts?â
âNo,â sighs the Doctor, âThe prescription is to clear your sinuses. Your nose must be all stopped up. And next week I want you back here for a hearing test.â
A man is taking a woman home after their first date. When they get to her door, he asks if he can come inside.
Woman: Absolutely not. I never ask a guy to come in on the first date.
Man: All right then how about on the last date?
A little boyâs first day in school and a teacher was going to play a âguessingâ game. She passed out different items to each of the students and proceeded to ask each student what item they received. When it was the new boy, Johnnyâs turn, the teacher gave him a candy kiss.
She asked â Do you know what it is?â Johnny replied âNo.â The teacher said, âGo ahead and open it up and taste it.â Little Johnny did so. The teacher then asked, âNow do you know what it is?â Little Johnny said âNoooo.â The teacher said, âIâll give you a hintâŚ.it is something your daddy wants from your mommy every morning before he goes to work.â
A little girl in the back of the class jumps up and screams.
âJOHNNY, SPIT IT OUTâŚâŚâŚ.ITâS A PIECE OF ASS!â
Pastor: Do you know where little boys and girls go when they do bad things?
Johnny: Sure, out in back of the church yard.
Q: Why is the roach clip called a roach clip?
A: Because pot holder was taken
Q. What does a blonde and beer bottles have in common?
A. Theyâre both empty from the neck up.
Nobody should be allowed to use the term âHappy Hourâ unless they serve booze.
It pisses me off to see a daycare center with a âhappy hourâ sign â unless theyâre willing to serve up some liquor to the parents, in which case Iâd be more inclined to allow it.
Taco Bell, that authentic taste of Old Mexico, has now introduced âhappy hourâ – Iâm not sure what it is, but you can bet your ass thereâs no alcohol involved.
Starbucks now has a happy hour. But they still donât serve any kind of booze.Â There are an untold number of restaurants which advertise their version of happy hour, with not one drop of John Barleycorn on the premises.
So how in the Sam Hell can they call it happy hour, when there isnât anything happy about it? Happy Hour with no liquor is like sex without the girl; a bank account with no money; Stevie Ray without his guitar.Â Itâs going to be a pretty lame happy hour without the juice, is it not?
The phrase âHappy Hourâ was first created by sailors in the British Navy. For one hour a day before âtapsâ sent them to their bunks, the sailors would get their ration of grog and have a little drinking party on the main deck.
It was always about the grog., and skippers who didnât give out the sauce didnât have any happy hours, just a gang of sullen angry guys with bad attitudes. Can you blame them?
There are even churches with happy hours now.Â One advertises this: âOur Happy Hour gatherings include informal networking time and an opportunity to relax after the work day.â
First and fucking foremost, itâs hard to relax inside of a church. Next youâve got all of these bastards trying to ânetworkâ with you. Thatâs gotta be as bad as a swarm of angry mosquitoes. And finally, thereâs no booze.
Why would you willfully and intentionally subject yourself to such torment?
I guarantee you, I could do a lot better at âinformal networkingâ – if I cared to do so â at any neighborhood watering hole.Â The glow of cocktails lubricates the process, making it easy to make connections.
As for relaxing after the work day, that just ainât going to happen at church. How am I supposed to relax, when lightning from heaven may strike me dead at any moment?
Oh sure, lightning can theoretically strike me down at the corner pub, but have you ever seen it happen? I havenât.
All of these phony happy hours irritate me. It makes me want to walk in the place and order a shot of Bombay Sapphire. âCalling Dr. Bombay, come in Dr. BombayâŚâ
Another baronym (bar word) thatâs being misappropriated is âshotâ – as in, âgimme another shot of that rotgut horsekiller whiskey.â
These days, you can get a âshotâ of energy drink, juice, coffee, and yogurt.Â None of them have a trace of alcohol in them.
Is nothing sacred anymore? Will âhappy hourâ degenerate into some stupid fucking Walt Disney family-friendly hour of spending money without relaxing?Â How can a tradition so pure and good be abducted by the soul-less corporate automatons who scrabble over your last twenty bucks?
If I ever decide to have a âhappy hourâ at my printing shop, there will be plenty of booze and mixers. Thatâs what happy hour means.
Some of you ignorant Yankee yuppies out there might go down to the smoothie shop at happy hour and do a couple of shots of some fruity boozeless cocktail.
Then you can get up on your hind legs and pretend like youâre supposed to be a real man.
Iâll be keeping it real, Happy Hour that is, down at the local barâŚ
It is now against the law to get in the passing lane and drive at the speed limit in Texas â thatâs the left-hand lane for those of you who are too dumb to know that. The police are out writing tickets at this very moment.
I hope they catch you, you son of a bitch. I hope the cops see you in your stupid dually roadhog – which you canât even drive worth a shit â tooling down Gulf Freeway going 56 mph in the passing lane, and pull you over.
While youâre blocking everyone else who is actually trying to get somewhere, youâre all spaced out, talking on your Galaxy phone and sending tweets out to your twats or posting your lame loser status on Facebook.
Canât you move that goddamned behemoth over into the slow lane (that would be the right lane) and creep along where youâre not stopping me and everyone else? Must we all rust up while we dawdle along behind you?
You might not realize it, but the rest of us driving down the road are not on a fucking sightseeing trip. Weâre not out there driving just to catch a glimpse of the beautiful sunset silhouetting the refinery towers. Weâre driving because we are going somewhere where we can drink, smoke, fuck, talk, eat, make money, and buy shit, you slowpoke fuckhead.
I hope they pull you over and strip search you on the side of the road.
I hope you forget your court date, a warrant is issued, and they serve that warrant at your job, where everyone can see how you look in a pair of handcuffs. Then, I hope they put you in a filthy cell with a big mean hairy tattooed parole violator with a fucked up nickname like âMister Happyâ or âBang Bang.â
Itâs no longer legal for you to get over to the left and say to yourself âIâm doing the speed limit, so back off motherfuckers.â The great State of Texas has decreed that those of us who haul ass should have the exclusive use of the fast lane. So please move out of the way, lardass. I ainât got no time to waste.
Trust The Fonz:
Hi senior citizen, itâs your friendly banker here, and have I got a deal for you.
Remember how I financed your house for you? Remember how you paid me a total of $450,000 for a house that appraised at less than one-fourth of that amount?
Remember how I told you that a home was the best investment you could ever make?
Well, now I am ready to buy that house from you for a whopping $35,000! Yep, isnât that great news? Itâs a new thing we call a âreverse mortgageâ and you might have noticed a bunch of has-beens on TV talking about it, trying to sell you on the idea.
Fred Thompson, Robert Wagner, and even the Fonz are all selling reverse mortgages. So you know it has to be a good thing.Â Of course, none of them has signed up for one…
The fact is, these are tough times for bankers. Weâve managed to devour almost all of the pensions and retirement plans in America, and we have screwed the working man until he really ainât got a pot left to piss in.
So now we must turn our sights to seniors, who are the last segment of society that holds any significant wealth. Most of that wealth is tied up in family homes, so that is what weâre now going after.
Luckily for us, the US government is allowing us to get away with a greedy scheme which might eventually become the largest collective fuck-job ripoff in history.
Basically, the way it works is, we send you a check every month for a couple of hundred bucks while we wait for you to die. You still have to pay the taxes, insurance, and upkeep on the property, so your net is going to be pretty close to zero. Then, as soon as youâre dead, we swoop in and take possession. You wonât have to worry about your heirs fighting over the house, because we will get it.
Then, we will slap a coat of paint on it, sell it for a half-million to the next moron to come along, and then steal it back from him as soon as he gets old and realizes he canât live on Social Security either.
So, in the final analysis, you were merely renting that house from me. It was mine before you bought it, it was mine while you were paying on it, and it will be mine when youâre dead and gone. So shut up and sign.
Line up, senior citizens, and sell the family legacy for chump change to a guy who hopes you wonât live much longer.
Alvis Wayne Samford was born in Puduka, Texas on New Year’s Eve of 1937 to Alva and Nona Samford. He was the oldest of five children.
Music was to become an important part of Alvis’ life. He pulled corn all summer on his aunt and uncle’s farm to earn enough money for his first guitar. Alvis was ten years old when his aunt ordered him one from the Sears & Roebuck Catalogue for $18.98. He taught himself how to play. The first song he knew all the chords to was ‘Goodnight Irene’.
Soon, in the evening and on weekends, Alvis was performing in honky tonks and nightclubs for little more than beer money when local musician Tony Wayne (no relation) approached him about being front man. Tony had a group called the Rhythm Wranglers.
Alvis told me in an interview several years ago “My mom and dad were not very happy about me going out on the road, but I had an opportunity to do so with a band, which was the only thing I ever wanted to do. They weren’t happy at all and we talked about it for several days but I just had to go, and they eventually went along with it all and didn’t hold me back.â
Alvis’s first record was pressed at King Records in Cincinnati in both 45 and 78 rpm formats. Despite frequent local airplay it never really got mush play outside of the southeast Texas area, selling probably no more than two thousand copies. Two months later he returned to the studio for his second session. ‘Don’t Mean Maybe Baby / I’d Rather Be With You’ was to be Alvis’s biggest record. Released in late 1957, it contained some great vocal workÂ as well as inspired guitar and piano work. His early work had a great influence on other artists.
But the record was not a giant hit, and Alvis had to earn a living. He soon got married, started a family and enlisted in the Air Force. By the mid sixties Alvis had settled down in Bacliff and was working for Braniff Airlines. His music seemed forgotten.
Then, in 1974, Rollin Rock Records sought out Alvis Wayne. He recorded three new sides just singing and accompanying himself on guitar. It was a hit in England. Rollin Rock Records then bought out Alvis entire collection of singles to compile an album. As the rockabilly revival gathered momentum in the late 70s, many of the pioneers like Alvis were rediscovered.
“If I could go back and change anything I would never have got married the first time and I wouldn’t have had to worry about all that family stuff I gave up my music for, and I just might have made it. But I just couldn’t keep my self from falling in love.” (Alvis says his first wife cut up all of his scrapbooks, which were full of photos, newspaper articles etc.)
In September 1994, Perry Williamson of ‘Pink & Black Records’ fame decided that one of his newest ventures would be to issue an Alvis Wayne album, something that had never been done before. With the help of Ronny Weiser and John Beecher, the LP collected together all of his Westport and Rollin’ Rock material.
Alvis had become the subject of a cult following in the United Kingdom, where his singles were in great demand. When he finally went there to appear live, a sold out crowd of 40,000 Londoners attended. He was greeted at Heathrow airport by thousands of fans, and quickly ushered into a cream-white limousine.
Later that year, he was inducted into the Rockabilly Hall Of Fame.
It was as famous as he would ever be.
Alvis Wayne settled in Bacliff, Texas, where he was a popular member of the Fraternal Order Of Eagles, and served at various times as Trustee, President, and Treasurer. He also hosted jam sessions there that were sometimes magical events, featuring some of the best talent in this part of Texas. He passed away on July 31, 2013 at the age of 75 at his home in Bacliff.
His influence lives on in younger musicians who learned from his licks.
Local karaoke singer Brenda Starr announced this month that she has signed a contract with Columbia Records.
Starr is known for her stirring and seemingly interminable rendition of âThe Roseâ and her saucy stylization of the song âFancyâ first made famous by Reba McIntyre.
She has been known as much for her onstage antics and showmanship as for her singing. Starr often flashes her tits and makes sexual peccadilloes to the audience.
Her outfits are typically skin-tight and brightly colored, and her fans (both of them are males) never know what to expect.
Columbia, which is now fully owned by the Sony Corporation, remains the worldâs largest recording company.
Terms of the contract signed by Starr were not immediately available, but it is believed that Columbia will send Starr 6 CDs for $1, after which she must purchase six of them at the regular price during a 12 month period.
The 9-11 tragedy really has more questions than answers. Everybody knows Rosie OâDonnell is a dumb bitch, but there are still some valid questions that persist. They are mostly âwhyâ questions. See how many of them you feel might have a rational explanation:
WHY were there no windows on the planes that struck the WTC? Witnesses told investigators the planes had no windows. The photos and videos clearly show planes without any windows striking the World Trade Center. Where are the windows?
WHY did the security company responsible for the WTC remove the bomb-sniffing dogs from duty on September 6 â five days before the attack? That company, incidentally, was run by Marvin Bush, brother of the President.
WHY did asbestos-coated steel supports designed to withstand temperatures in excess of 3,000 degrees quickly collapse in the 600 degree temperatures jet fuel burns at?
WHY was Haji Hansour, alleged pilot of the plane that hit the Pentagon, able to execute a 330-degree turn and flawlessly fly a Boeing 757 two feet off the lawn to hit the Pentagon â after being kicked out of flight school for being unable to handle a single-engine Cessna?
WHY have there been no clear pictures or videos of a plane hitting the Pentagon â arguably the place on Earth with the most surveillance cameras?
WHY was a plane which was over 100 feet wide, with two massive six-ton titanium engines, able to completely disappear into a hole in the Pentagon less than 15 feet wide?
WHY were many passengers supposedly able to make cell phone calls from 32,000 feet â a feat which has been proven to be impossible by multiple scientific investigations?
WHY has not one single person who received a 9-11 cell phone call come forward to simply show their phone bill, to prove the call actually happened?
WHY did Solicitor General Ted Olsen claim his wife called him collect from the plane, when this is impossible to do. WHY did he later change his story twice?
WHY are more than half of the accused hijackers named and shown on TV known to be persons who are alive and well, and presently living in Saudi Arabia?
WHY is it that none of the hijackers were listed as passengers aboard any of the planes, and every passenger has been accounted for. How were 19 Arabs without tickets, who were not on the passenger lists, able to sneak aboard the planes?
WHY in the poor-quality video of Bin Laden admitting that Al Qaeda planned the attacks, is he seen writing with his right hand, when he is known to be left-handed?
WHY did the BBC report building #7 had collapsed nearly a half-hour before it collapsed, while the building still stood in the background of the reporter? How were they able to predict this? Itâs not the kind of thing you err about, so where did this advance information originate?
WHY was the US Military holding military exercises simulating mass hijackings on 9-11?
WHY did Vice President Cheney (according to Transportation Secretary Norman Mineta) order an aide not to shoot down the plane that then struck the Pentagon?
WHY did people and corporations who made thousands of stock trades which profited off what had to be advance knowledge of the tragedies of 9-11 never face justice?
WHY did the government claim the trades were made âanonymouslyâ when no such method of stock trading exists or ever has existed in the United States?
WHY did former President George Bush Sr. meet with Osama Bin Ladenâs brother, Salem Bin Laden, in Washington DC on September 10th, the day before the attacks?
WHY did federal agents shut down over 500 Arab websites just three days before the attacks?
WHY was Saddam Hussein blamed for 9-11, when he was known to be marked for death by Osamaâs Al Qaeda group?
WHY did Bush lawyer James Bath tell Taliban officials two months before 9-11 that the US
would bury them under a âcarpet of bombsâ if they did not sign a pipeline deal with Unocal?
WHY did Unocal executive Hamid Karzai get appointed President of Afghanistan?
WHY did the Secret Service not whisk the President to a safe location immediately when the attacks began, instead waiting 45 minutes for him to finish reading a book about a goat?
WHY, with one hour and twenty minutes notice, was the United States unable to get a single fighter jet into the air over the US capitol to protect the Pentagon?
WHY were the suicidal hijackers said to be religious men willing to die for their faith â yet allegedly spent lots of time hanging out in topless clubs and drinking â forbidden by Islam?
WHY was the top hijacker Mohammed Atta spotted on the yacht of Republican super-crook Jack Abramoff shortly before the 9-11 attacks occurred?
WHY was the Bin Laden family protected and allowed to leave the US after the attacks?
WHY did Bush and Cheney vehemently oppose the 9-11 Commission?
WHY did Bush refuse to testify under oath, and only agreed to testify if Cheney was with him?
WHY did FEMA set up a full-scale disaster recovery team in Manhattan the day before 9-11?
WHY did Israeli employees of Odigo receive text warnings 2 hours before the attacks?
WHY did the FBI prevent the NTSB from investigating the crash sites?
WHY are the black boxes from all the planes still missing?
WHY did Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld announce on the day before 9-11 that over $2 billion of Pentagon funds were somehow unaccounted for?
WHY were two US Navy carrier groups and 17,000 US troops presciently sent to the middle east a few weeks before the attacks?
WHY was AWOL US Naval Intelligence Officer Delmart Vreeland able to warn of the attacks four months ahead of time, with a document placed in a sealed envelope inside of a safe in a Canadian prison which wasnât opened until after the attacks?
WHY was the largest gold reserve in the US lost under the WTC rubble?
By far the biggest question is, WHY are so many otherwise intelligent Americans willing to believe the âofficialâ version, when it is so obviously flawed? Why are they able to ignore these questions and blindly accept what us Texans refer to as a pile of bullshit?
If there were a couple of unanswered questions, I could accept that. But there are too many.
This thing stinks. Somebodyâs pissing on my head and telling me itâs raining. Put me on the list of people (with that fat bitch Rosie) who think it was an inside job.
Before anyone thinks, “Okay asshole. You get nothing next Christmas!” please realize that I don’t want or need anything for Christmas. In fact, that is the whole point here. I’m all grown up and have a nice career. If I need something, I don’t ask Santa for it. I fucking buy it like an adult. What do I want for Christmas? I don’t know….sleep I guess. What I can tell you is this: Here are some things that I got, but didn’t want this holiday season:
Novelty Boxer Shorts: Â
Unless the woman youâre trying to seduce has a fantasy about sex with a clown, thereâs no reason to own underwear covered in images ofÂ Homer Simpson or Charlie Brown. âBut itâs a holiday theme!â Yeah, right.
The âPublishing For Dummiesâ book
I know that scientific laws make it impossible to give gifts that arenât tangible like ârunningâ or in this case, âspitting in my face,â but I must say, youâve come close with your choice to give me this âFor Dummiesâ book. I know you donât understand what I do for a living, but what in the world have I done to earn this dubious distinction? Why not just give me a job application to Wal-Mart?
The Obvious Last-Minute Gift
Forgive me if I canât honestly believe that your intention a month ago was to get me a porcelain cat figurine for Christmas despite my never owning a cat and even going out of my way to express my hatred of cats. Weâve all been there, but next time youâre picking up a gift for me at the gas station on the way to my house, just grab some beer. And if you donât mind, grab the mail on the way in.
The DVD first season of Matlock
There is absolutely no reason anyone (including Andy Griffith) should ever need to have instant access to any specific episode of Matlock. Is this one where Matlock wastes the courtâs time to make reference to his love of Southern cooking or is it the one where the black guy goes to a seedy bar and uses his street smarts to wrangle information?
The tiny gift card for the expensive store
Wow, $10 at Neiman Marcus! Now if I can just scrape together another $50 out of my own pocket, theyâll let me lie on the floor while the janitor pisses on me!
The charitable donation made in my name
What, am I fucking dead? Even though I think Karma is merely a way to keep morons from enjoying themselves, I do know that if it does exist, it doesnât work like a gift card. If you really want to distract God from what a huge asshole I am, you might buy me some of that booze made by monks.
The hobby starter set
Alright! A butterfly net with a book about catching and identifying butterflies! Is there a head injury Iâm going to have soon and donât know about yet? If ever the day arrives that Iâm reduced to the type of mongoloid who spends his days chasing bugs around with a butterfly net, I give you full permission to take me down to the creek, tell me about the rabbit farm, and then blow my fucking brains out.
The cult book
Yes, Iâve heard of The Secret and honestly Iâm glad youâve found something to distract you from the fact that youâre a fucking loser. However, I am not ready to drink the poison kool-aid, and would appreciate it if you would not use the holiday as an opportunity to try to infect me with your belief in invisible entities with super powers who plan to kill me!
On the positive side, thanks for the great shirt, the coffee mug, and the heavy duty nose-hair trimmer. All of them are already making themselves useful!
A father asked his son, Little Johnny, if he knew about the birds and the bees.
“I don’t want to know!” Little Johnny said, exploding and bursting into tears.
Confused, his father asked Little Johnny what was wrong. “Oh Pop,” Johnny sobbed, “for me there was no Santa Claus at age six, no Easter Bunny at seven, and no Tooth Fairy at eight. And if you’re telling me now that grownups donât really have sex, I’ve got nothing left to believe in!”
A bus stops and two Italian men get on. They sit down and engage in an animated conversation. The lady sitting behind them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of the men say the following:
“Emma come first. Den I come. Den two asses come together. I come once-a-more. Two asses, they come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come one lasta time.”
“You foul-mouthed sex obsessed swine,” retorted the lady indignantly.
“In this country … we don’t speak aloud in public places about our sex lives …
“Hey, coola down lady,” said the man. “Who talkin’ abouta sexa? I’m a justa tellin’ my frienda how to spella ‘Mississippi’.
Three women: one engaged, one married, and one a mistress, are chatting about their relationships and decide to amaze their men….that night all three will wear a leather bodice S&M style, stilettos and masks over their eyes.
After a few days they meet again…..
The engaged girlfriend said: ‘The other night, when my boyfriend came back home, he found me in the leather bodice, 4′ stilettos and mask. He said, ‘You are the woman of my life, I love you…then we made love all night long.’
The mistress stated: ‘Oh Yes! The other night we met in his office. I was wearing the leather bodice, mega stilettos, mask over my eyes and a raincoat. When I opened the raincoat, he didn’t say a word. We just had wild sex all night.’
The married one then said: ‘The other night I sent the kids to stay at my mother’s for the night, I got myself ready, leather bodice, super stilettos and mask over my eyes. My husband came in from work, grabbed the TV controller and a beer, and said, ‘Hey Batman, what’s for dinner?’
A tall woman met a midget at a party. The midget was barely three feet tall but they were attracted to each other. After a few drinks they went back to the tall woman’s apartment. “I can’t imagine what it will be like making love to a midget,” said the woman, “especially with the size difference and all.” “Just take off your clothes, lie back on the bed, spread your legs apart and close your eyes,” said the midget. The woman did as she was told and soon she felt the biggest thing she’d ever experienced inside her. Within a few minutes the woman had climaxed eight times. “If you think that was good,” said the midget with a smirk, “Just wait till I get BOTH legs in there!”
During class, a teacher trying to teach good manners, asks the students: “Students, If you were on a date, having supper with a nice young lady, how would you tell her that you have to go to the bathroom? Michael?”
Michael: “Just a minute, I have to go pee.” Teacher: “That would be rude and impolite!!! Teacher: “What about you Peter? How would you say it?” Peter: “I am sorry, but I really need to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” Teacher: “That’s better, but it’s still not very nice to say the word bathroom at the dinner table. And you Little Johnny, are you able to use your intelligence for once and show us your good manners?” Johnny: “I would say: ‘Darling, may I please be excused for a moment? I have to shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, who I hope you’ll get to meet after supper. ”
This beautiful woman one day walks into a doctors office and the doctor is bowled over by how stunningly awesome she is. All his professionalism goes right out the window…He tells her to take off her pants, she does, and he starts rubbing her thighs. “Do you know what I am doing?” asks the doctor?
“Yes, checking for abnormalities.” she replies. He tells her to take off her shirt and bra, she takes them off. The doctor begins rubbing her breasts and asks, “Do you know what I am doing now?”, she replies, “Yes, checking for cancer.”
Finally, he tells her to take off her panties, lays her on the table, gets on top of her and starts having sex with her. He says to her, “Do you know what I am doing now?” She replies, “Yes, catching crabs – thatâs why Iâm here!”
A rather confident man walks into a bar and takes a seat next to a very attractive woman. He gives her a quick glance, then casually looks at his watch for a moment.
The woman notices this and asks, “Is your date running late?” “No”, he replies,
“I just bought this state-of-the-art watch and I was just testing it.”
The intrigued woman says,
“A state-of-the-art watch? What’s so special about it?”
“It uses alpha waves to telepathically talk to me,” he explains.
“What’s it telling you now?” “Well, it says you’re not wearing any panties…” The woman giggles and replies, “Well it must be broken then because I am wearing panties!”
The man explains, shaking the watch, “Damn thing must be an hour fast.”
click to enlarge:
La Marque Fire Captain Alfred Decker seems to have a love-hate relationship with profanity, and exactly what constitutes appropriate public behavior. He has been placed on paid administrative leave after writing and sharing posts on his Facebook page which feature profanity and insults to public officials, including Houston Mayor Annise Parker.
He recently posted an image of President Barack Obama, with a noose tied around his neck, with the caption âThe Making of a National Holidayâ – it was posted just in time for Martin Luther King Day.
All of which should be protected by the First Amendment. We all have the right to free speech, right?
ButâŚ Decker has proven in a very public way that he has no legitimate reason to claim that right.
You might remember that this is the same firefighter who arrested a woman at the La Marque Wal Mart for cussing in 2008.
In August of that year, local mom Kristi Fridge made a last minute run to Wal Mart to buy batteries, with Tropical Storm Edouard expected to land within hours.Â When Kristi found the battery shelf empty, she commented to her mother, âThey are fâing out of batteries!â At that moment, Decker, in uniform, poked his head around the corner and told her to âwatch her languageâ and initiated a confrontation with her. She politely suggested that she wasnât speaking to him, and tried to ignore him. She was soon handcuffed, taken out of the store, and detained by Decker, who was then Assistant Fire Chief.
She was ultimately charged (by a fireman!) with Disorderly Conduct, a charge which was later dismissed.
Youâd think an assistant fire chief, with a hurricane on the way, would have better things to do. How much safer does it make all of us? At the time, I was told by a city official that Decker is a decent, churchgoing man.Â Hmmmm.
So, according to Alfred Decker, it is a crime for an adult to use the f-word in a private conversation with her mother, but it is okay for Decker to post profanity on a public Facebook page that can be seen by anyone.
What happened here is the case of a First Responder firefighter with a God complex, very likely a wannabe cop, taking out his frustrations on someone who didnât fall down and worship his tin badge. In other words, an asshole.
And now that same asshole will probably come arrest me for calling him an asshole in this article!