Saturday, November 13, 2004

hUMOR For November 13th

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This IS a Garage Sale?** ````````

Working in the antique trade, I'm always on the lookout for good merchandise.

One afternoon in a neighboring town, I happened upon a small back street garage, and I could see a collection of fine silver laid out on tables.

Hopping out of the car, I began examining some candlesticks.

One of the men approached me and asked if he could help.

"This is a Garage Sale, isn't it?" I asked.

"No ma'am," he replied........."This is a Police Raid."

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From a friend: Lawyer

A lawyer and an engineer were fishing in the Caribbean.

The lawyer said, "I'm here because my house burned down, and all I owned was destroyed by the fire. The insurance company paid for everything and I'm using some of the insurance money for this trip."

"That's quite a coincidence," said the engineer. "I'm here because my house and all my belongings were destroyed by a flood, and my insurance company also paid for everything."

The lawyer looked confused... "How do you start a flood?"

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From a friend: Computer based TV --

Television shows that may be appearing soon as a result of the electronic and computer age:

Modem, She Wrote: Each week, our intrepid detective tries to solve the ultimate mystery: why her modem won't ever connect at 56k.

Micro-CHiPs: Ponch and Jon now patrol the Information Superhighway.

Carly's Angels: Chief exec Carly Fiorina instructs her team of three vixen market analysts on how to prop up HP's sagging stock price.

Hawaii 6.0: An upgraded version of the classic series.
Steve McGarrett goes surfing for bad guys online.

T. J. Hacker: A retired cop, with an uncanny resemblance to James T. Kirk, takes up computer hacking to track down the miscreants who canceled his TV show.

The Excel Files: Inexplicable things are happening to the data in Microsoft Excel spreadsheets. Can this puzzle be solved? The truth is out there.

The AOL-Team: Each week, AOL, Time Warner, Netscape, and Mr. T unite to promote corporate mergers and make the world safe for capitalism.

Magnum, PC: This series about a crime-solving personal computer that goes by the code name Deep Blue is based in beautiful Hawaii. Season finale cliff-hanger: Will Deep Blue be seduced by the wily charms of the Texas Instruments Speak 'n' Spell?

The Incredible Bulk: The exciting adventures of Windows, which just keeps growing and growing.

Buffy the Virus Slayer: Buffy and her fearless gang of antivirus definitions stalk and kill VBS files - no small feat while wearing a halter top and high-heeled boots.

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From a friend: No Enemies

A new minister was talking to the oldest member of his congregation. "I am 90 years old, sir, and I haven't an enemy in the world," said the aged one. "That is a beautiful thought," said the minister approvingly.
"Yes sir," was the answer. "I'm thankful to say that I've outlived 'em all."

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From a friend: How Do You Spell That?

It was the beginning of term at a primary school in Brooklyn. The teacher asked the children their names one at a time, and for each to spell their name out loud. When she came to a young Pakastani boy and asked his name..... "Ravashanka Vankatarataam Bannerjee" he replied. "How do you spell that? asked the teacher. "My mother helps me" said the little boy.

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From a friend: Parenting

Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their children and shrug, "It's their life," and feel nothing?

When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I asked, "When do you stop worrying?" A nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage."

My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry. They all go through this stage, and then you can sit back, relax, and enjoy them." My mother listened and said nothing.

When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said, "They're trying to find themselves. In a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be adults."

By the time I was 50, I was sick and tired of being vulnerable, I was still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle. There was nothing I could do about it.

But I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments. My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother's wan smile and her occasional, "You look pale.
Are you all right?" "Call me the minute you get home."
" Are you depressed about something?"

Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse? Or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for three days, and no one answered. I was worried." I smiled a wan smile.
The torch has been passed.
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Rebecca was the wealthy wife of a very successful businessman. One day, she decided to have her portrait painted as a gift to her husband. When she arrived at the artist's studio for her first sitting, Rebecca immediately explained to him exactly what she wanted.
"You should paint me like I am. These little wrinkles, you put them on your canvas. The lines under my eyes, the flab on my arms, the turn in my nose, and the mole on my cheek, they all stay. BUT on my hands you put lots of rings with big diamonds and emeralds and bright jewels. Around my neck you put chains of gold and diamonds. Do you understand?"
The artist looked at Rebecca in earnest and asked why she should want such detail of real life in her physical appearance, but adorn herself with the phoney jewelry.
Rebecca replied, "When I die, I know my husband will quickly re-marry. When he does, his new wife will go crazy looking for the jewels".
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Clarifying Memo

I'd had enough of my employees abusing their allotted break time. In an
effort to clarify my position, I posted a sign on the bulletin board:

"Starting immediately, your 15-minute breaks are being cut from a half-hour
to 20 minutes."