Free Home
I was in my neighborhood restaurant this morning and was seated behind a group of jubilant individuals celebrating the successful passing of the recent health care bill. I could not finish my breakfast. This is what ensued:
They were a diverse group of several races and both sexes. I heard the young man exclaim, “Isn’t Obama like Jesus Christ? I mean, after all, he is healing the sick.” The young woman enthusiastically proclaimed, “Yeah, and he does it for free. I cannot believe anyone would think that a free market would work for health care. Another said, ‘The stupid Republicans want us all to starve to death so they can inherit all of the power. Obama should be made a Saint for what he did for those of us less fortunate.” At this, I had had enough.
I arose from my seat, mustering all the restraint I could find, and approached their table. “Please excuse me; may I impose upon you for one moment?” They smiled and welcomed me to the conversation. I stood at the end of their table, smiled as best I could and began an experiment.
“I would like to give one of you my house. It will cost you no money and I will pay all of the expenses and taxes for as long as you live there. Anyone interested?” They looked at each other in astonishment. “Why would you do something like that?” asked a young man, “There isn’t anything for free in this world.” They began to laugh at me, as they did not realize this man had just made my point. “I am serious, I will give you my house for free, no money what so ever. Anyone interested?” In unison, a resounding “Hell Yeah” fills the room.
“Since there are too many of you, I will have to make a choice as to who receives this money-free bargain.” I noticed an elderly couple was paying attention to the spectacle unfolding before their eyes, the old man shaking his head in apparent disgust. “I tell you what; I will give it to the one of you most willing to obey my rules.” Again, they looked at one another, an expression of bewilderment on their faces. The perky young woman asked, “What are the rules?” I smiled and said, “I don’t know. I have not yet defined them. However, it is a free home that I offer you.” They giggled amongst themselves, the youngest of which said, “What an old coot. He must be crazy to give away his home. Go take your meds, old man.” I smiled and leaned into the table a bit further. “I am serious, this is a legitimate offer.” They gaped at me for a moment.
“I’ll take it you old fool. Where are the keys?” boasted the youngest among them. “Then I presume you accept ALL of my terms then?” I asked. The elderly couple seemed amused and entertained as they watched from the privacy of their table. “Oh hell yeah! Where do I sign up?” I took a napkin and wrote, “I give this man my home, without the burden of financial obligation, so long as he accepts and abides by the terms that I shall set forth upon consummation of this transaction.” I signed it and handed it to the young man who eagerly scratched out his signature. “Where are the keys to my new house?” he asked in a mocking tone of voice. All eyes were upon us as I stepped back from the table, pulling the keys from pocket and dangling them before the excited new homeowner.
“Now that we have entered into this binding contract, witnessed by all of your friends, I have decided upon the conditions you are obligated to adhere from this point forward. You may only live in the house for one hour a day. You will not use anything inside of the home. You will obey me without question or resistance. I expect complete loyalty and admiration for this gift I bestow upon you. You will accept my commands and wishes with enthusiasm, no matter the nature. Your morals and principles shall be as mine. You will vote as I do, think as I do and do it with blind faith. These are my terms. Here are your keys.” I reached the keys forward and the young man looked at me dumbfounded.
“Are you out of your mind? Who would ever agree to those ridiculous terms?” the young man appeared irritated. “You did when you signed this contract before reading it, understanding it and with the full knowledge that I would provide my conditions only after you committed to the agreement.” Was all I said. The elderly man chuckled as his wife tried to restrain him. I was looking at a now silenced and bewildered group of people. “You can shove that stupid deal up you’re a** old man, I want no part of it” exclaimed the now infuriated young man. “You have committed to the contract, as witnessed by all of your friends; you cannot get out of the deal unless I agree to it. I do not intend to let you free now that I have you ensnared. I am the power you agreed to. I am the one you blindly and without thought chose to enslave yourself to. In short, I am your Master.” At this, the table of celebrating individuals became a unified group against the unfairness of the deal.
After a few moments of unrepeatable comments and slurs, I revealed my true intent. “What I did to you is what this administration and congress did to you with the health care legislation. I easily suckered you in and then revealed the real cost of the bargain. Your folly was in the belief that you can have something you did not earn; that you are entitled to that which you did not earn; that you willingly allowed someone else to think for you. Your failure to research, study and inform yourself permitted reason to escape you. You have entered into a trap from which you cannot flee. Your only chance of freedom is if your new Master gives it to you. A freedom that is given can also be taken away; therefore, it is not freedom.” With that, I tore up the napkin and placed it before the astonished young man. “This is the nature of your new health care legislation.”
I turned away to leave these few in thought and contemplation and was surprised by applause. The elderly gentleman, who was clearly entertained, shook my hand enthusiastically and said, “Thank you Sir, these kids don’t understand Liberty these days.” He refused to allow me to pay my bill as he said, “You earned this one, it is an honor to pickup the tab.” I shook his hand in thanks, leaving the restaurant somewhat humbled, and sensing a glimmer of hope for my beloved country.
Use reason,
Clifford A Wright
Feel free to share.
I really don't know in what direction this blog is going to go...So stay tuned and enjoy the ride...
Friday, August 19, 2011
ACCELERATION PUT INTO PERSPECTIVE
Thought you all might enjoy this. I am sure you wil understand it better than I ever will.
We have come a long way since the Model T. I had seen this before but it is still an interesting explanation of acceleration.
Acceleration Explained
Here's some food for thought....
This is really amazing when you stop and think about it.
Incredible
*If you thought Top Fuel Dragsters were fast (over 300 mph in less than 5
seconds), this really puts it into perspective. This came from a guy that makes connecting rods for the racing industry.*
ACCELERATION PUT INTO PERSPECTIVE...
* One Top Fuel dragster outfitted with a 500 cubic-inch Hemi engine makes more horsepower (8,000 HP) than the first 4 rows at NASCAR's Daytona 500.
* Under full throttle, a dragster engine will
consume 11.2 gallons of nitro methane per second; a fully loaded
Boeing 747 consumes jet fuel at the same rate but with 25% less energy being produced.
* A stock Dodge Hemi V8 engine cannot produce enough power to merely drive
the dragster's supercharger.
* With 3000 CFM of air being rammed in by the supercharger on overdrive, the
fuel mixture is compressed into a near-solid form before ignition. Cylinders
run on the verge of hydraulic lockup at full throttle.
* At the stoichiometric 1.7:1 air/fuel mixture for nitro methane the flame
front temperature measures 7050 degrees F.
* Nitro methane burns yellow. The spectacular white flame seen above the
stacks at night is raw burning hydrogen, dissociated from atmospheric water vapor by the searing exhaust gases.
* Dual magnetos supply 44 amps to each sparkplug, which is typically the output of an electric arc welder in each cylinder.
* Spark plug electrodes are totally consumed during a pass..
*After 1/2 way thru the run, the engine is 'dieseling' from compression and
the glow of the exhaust valves at 1400 degrees F. The engine can only be shut down by cutting the fuel flow....
* If spark momentarily fails early in the run, unburned nitro builds up in
the affected cylinders and then explodes with enough force sufficient to
blow the cylinder heads off the block in pieces or split the block in half !!
* Top fuel dragsters reach over 300 MPH +... before you have completed reading this sentence.
* In order to exceed 300 MPH in 4.5 seconds, a dragster must accelerate an
average of over 4 G's. In order to reach 200 MPH well before reaching half-track, at launch the acceleration approaches 8 G's.
* Top Fuel engines turn approximately 540 revolutions from light to light!
* Including the burnout, the engine must only survive 9000 revolutions under load.
* The redline is actually quite high at 9500 RPM.
* THE BOTTOM LINE: Assuming all the equipment is paid for,
the pit crew is working for free, & NOTHING BLOWS UP, each run will cost an
estimated $1000 per second.
0 to 100 MPH in .8 seconds (the first 60 feet of the run).
0 to 200 MPH in 2.2 seconds (the first 350 feet of the run).
6 g-forces at the starting line (nothing accelerates faster on land).
6 negative g-forces upon deployment of twin 'chutes at 300 MPH.
An NHRA Top Fuel Dragster accelerates quicker than any other land vehicle on
earth . . . quicker than a jet fighter plane . . . quicker than the space shuttle....or snapping your fingers!!
The current Top Fuel dragster elapsed time record is 4.420
seconds for the quarter-mile (2004, Doug Kalitta). The top speed record is
337.58 MPH as measured over the last 66' of the run (2005, Tony Schumacher).
So, in summary...Let's now put this all into perspective:
Imagine this.....You are driving a new $140,000 Lingenfelter
twin-turbo powered Corvette Z-06. Over a mile up the road, a Top Fuel
dragster is staged & ready to 'launch' down a quarter-mile strip as you
pass. You have the advantage of a flying start. You run the 'Vette hard, on
up through the gears and blast across the starting line, and pass the
dragster at an honest 200 MPH.... The 'tree' goes green for both of you at
that exact moment. The dragster departs & starts after you.
You keep your foot buried hard to the floor, and suddenly you hear an
incredibly brutally screaming whine that sears and pummels your eardrums &
within a mere 3 seconds the dragster effortlessly catches & passes you. He
beats you to the finish line, a quarter-mile away from where you just passed him.
Think about it - from a standing start, the dragster had spotted you 200
MPH....and it not only caught, but nearly blasted you off the planet when he
passed you within a mere 1320 foot long race !!!!
Now that, my friend . . . . . is acceleration!
We have come a long way since the Model T. I had seen this before but it is still an interesting explanation of acceleration.
Acceleration Explained
Here's some food for thought....
This is really amazing when you stop and think about it.
Incredible
*If you thought Top Fuel Dragsters were fast (over 300 mph in less than 5
seconds), this really puts it into perspective. This came from a guy that makes connecting rods for the racing industry.*
ACCELERATION PUT INTO PERSPECTIVE...
* One Top Fuel dragster outfitted with a 500 cubic-inch Hemi engine makes more horsepower (8,000 HP) than the first 4 rows at NASCAR's Daytona 500.
* Under full throttle, a dragster engine will
consume 11.2 gallons of nitro methane per second; a fully loaded
Boeing 747 consumes jet fuel at the same rate but with 25% less energy being produced.
* A stock Dodge Hemi V8 engine cannot produce enough power to merely drive
the dragster's supercharger.
* With 3000 CFM of air being rammed in by the supercharger on overdrive, the
fuel mixture is compressed into a near-solid form before ignition. Cylinders
run on the verge of hydraulic lockup at full throttle.
* At the stoichiometric 1.7:1 air/fuel mixture for nitro methane the flame
front temperature measures 7050 degrees F.
* Nitro methane burns yellow. The spectacular white flame seen above the
stacks at night is raw burning hydrogen, dissociated from atmospheric water vapor by the searing exhaust gases.
* Dual magnetos supply 44 amps to each sparkplug, which is typically the output of an electric arc welder in each cylinder.
* Spark plug electrodes are totally consumed during a pass..
*After 1/2 way thru the run, the engine is 'dieseling' from compression and
the glow of the exhaust valves at 1400 degrees F. The engine can only be shut down by cutting the fuel flow....
* If spark momentarily fails early in the run, unburned nitro builds up in
the affected cylinders and then explodes with enough force sufficient to
blow the cylinder heads off the block in pieces or split the block in half !!
* Top fuel dragsters reach over 300 MPH +... before you have completed reading this sentence.
* In order to exceed 300 MPH in 4.5 seconds, a dragster must accelerate an
average of over 4 G's. In order to reach 200 MPH well before reaching half-track, at launch the acceleration approaches 8 G's.
* Top Fuel engines turn approximately 540 revolutions from light to light!
* Including the burnout, the engine must only survive 9000 revolutions under load.
* The redline is actually quite high at 9500 RPM.
* THE BOTTOM LINE: Assuming all the equipment is paid for,
the pit crew is working for free, & NOTHING BLOWS UP, each run will cost an
estimated $1000 per second.
0 to 100 MPH in .8 seconds (the first 60 feet of the run).
0 to 200 MPH in 2.2 seconds (the first 350 feet of the run).
6 g-forces at the starting line (nothing accelerates faster on land).
6 negative g-forces upon deployment of twin 'chutes at 300 MPH.
An NHRA Top Fuel Dragster accelerates quicker than any other land vehicle on
earth . . . quicker than a jet fighter plane . . . quicker than the space shuttle....or snapping your fingers!!
The current Top Fuel dragster elapsed time record is 4.420
seconds for the quarter-mile (2004, Doug Kalitta). The top speed record is
337.58 MPH as measured over the last 66' of the run (2005, Tony Schumacher).
So, in summary...Let's now put this all into perspective:
Imagine this.....You are driving a new $140,000 Lingenfelter
twin-turbo powered Corvette Z-06. Over a mile up the road, a Top Fuel
dragster is staged & ready to 'launch' down a quarter-mile strip as you
pass. You have the advantage of a flying start. You run the 'Vette hard, on
up through the gears and blast across the starting line, and pass the
dragster at an honest 200 MPH.... The 'tree' goes green for both of you at
that exact moment. The dragster departs & starts after you.
You keep your foot buried hard to the floor, and suddenly you hear an
incredibly brutally screaming whine that sears and pummels your eardrums &
within a mere 3 seconds the dragster effortlessly catches & passes you. He
beats you to the finish line, a quarter-mile away from where you just passed him.
Think about it - from a standing start, the dragster had spotted you 200
MPH....and it not only caught, but nearly blasted you off the planet when he
passed you within a mere 1320 foot long race !!!!
Now that, my friend . . . . . is acceleration!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
THE GREEN THING...
In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.
The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."
He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and other bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the corner store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV and one radio in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV showed only black and white images and had a small screen not much bigger than a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.
In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for her.
When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.
We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.
We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?
The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day."
The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."
He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and other bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the corner store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV and one radio in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV showed only black and white images and had a small screen not much bigger than a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.
In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for her.
When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.
Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.
We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.
We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?
DONE...
My lively broad, I mean lovely bride has forced the issue of cleaning up my office. I practically live in my office and a man’s home is his castle, however, my castle has been invaded by dust , dirt, dog hair and other creatures. I talked to my Border Collie ,Ace, about this situation and he said, 'if you’re gonna have to keep the outside of the place up, lawn, garden, pasture, barn, animals, and take care of her car, shop for and buy groceries, cook and wash dishes and work, you got two choices, clean up or man up, you know where the vacuum is.'
I reviewed the marriage contract and the love and cherish part was still there but somebody had marked out the obey part on her page.
I decided to clean up in the most efficient way possible, get it done so I would have time to wash clothes and cook dinner.
Let me tell you, just in case this happens to you , it can be fun. I got out the leaf blower, filled it up with racing fuel for the Mustang and fired that mother up. It will pin a cat to the wall, clean your desk off, blow that picture of your mother-in law right out the window. It is a perfect tool for housekeeping.
It is fast and makes noise, the perfect man-tool for cleaning house.
You don’t have to get down on your hands and knees to clean out from under the furniture. You will need to open the doors and windows and blow them little dust bunnies and anything else right outside. Do not try to clean the toilet with it.
Once everything is outside, put the bagger on the mower and run over it, empty the bagger into a big black plastic bag, hold it up by the ties and give it a spin just like you do the bag that loaf bread comes in.
Done.
I reviewed the marriage contract and the love and cherish part was still there but somebody had marked out the obey part on her page.
I decided to clean up in the most efficient way possible, get it done so I would have time to wash clothes and cook dinner.
Let me tell you, just in case this happens to you , it can be fun. I got out the leaf blower, filled it up with racing fuel for the Mustang and fired that mother up. It will pin a cat to the wall, clean your desk off, blow that picture of your mother-in law right out the window. It is a perfect tool for housekeeping.
It is fast and makes noise, the perfect man-tool for cleaning house.
You don’t have to get down on your hands and knees to clean out from under the furniture. You will need to open the doors and windows and blow them little dust bunnies and anything else right outside. Do not try to clean the toilet with it.
Once everything is outside, put the bagger on the mower and run over it, empty the bagger into a big black plastic bag, hold it up by the ties and give it a spin just like you do the bag that loaf bread comes in.
Done.
I LOVE MY JOB...I LOVE MY JOB...
When you think your job is the "pits", remember this fellow!! "_"
sent to me by a very good friend. someone always knows when you need a good laugh.
If you don't laugh out loud after you read this you are brain dead! This is even funnier when you realize it's real.
So next time you have a bad day at work think of this guy.
Bob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs.
Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister.
She then sent it to radio station 103 .5 on FM dial in
Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest.
Needless to say, she won.
Read his letter below....
~Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother..
Last week I had a bad day at the office.
I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I
thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad
after all.
Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must
bore you with a few technicalities of my job.
As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I
wear a suit to the office.
It's a wet suit.
This time of year the water is quite cool.
So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel
powered industrial water heater.
This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the
sea.
It heats it to a delightful temperature.
It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose,
which is taped to the air hose.
Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no
complaints.
What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is
take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit.
This floods my whole suit with warm water.
It's like working in a Jacuzzi.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt
started to itch.
So, of course, I scratched it.
This only made things worse.
Within a few seconds my ass started to burn.
I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was
done.
In agony I realized what had happened.
The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped
it into my suit.
Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish
couldn't stick to it, however, the crack of my ass was not as fortunate.
When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the
jellyfish into the crack of my ass.
I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator.
His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he,
along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.
Needless to say, I aborted the dive.
I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling
thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry
decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but
my brass helmet.
As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of
laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it
on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.
The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't shit for two
days because my ass was swollen shut..
So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it
would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your ass.
Now repeat to yourself, 'I love my job, I love my job, I
love my job.'
Whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a
jellyfish bad day?
May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day! !!!!
sent to me by a very good friend. someone always knows when you need a good laugh.
If you don't laugh out loud after you read this you are brain dead! This is even funnier when you realize it's real.
So next time you have a bad day at work think of this guy.
Bob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs.
Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister.
She then sent it to radio station 103 .5 on FM dial in
Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience contest.
Needless to say, she won.
Read his letter below....
~Hi Sue,
Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother..
Last week I had a bad day at the office.
I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I
thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad
after all.
Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must
bore you with a few technicalities of my job.
As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I
wear a suit to the office.
It's a wet suit.
This time of year the water is quite cool.
So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel
powered industrial water heater.
This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the
sea.
It heats it to a delightful temperature.
It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose,
which is taped to the air hose.
Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no
complaints.
What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is
take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit.
This floods my whole suit with warm water.
It's like working in a Jacuzzi.
Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt
started to itch.
So, of course, I scratched it.
This only made things worse.
Within a few seconds my ass started to burn.
I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was
done.
In agony I realized what had happened.
The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped
it into my suit.
Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish
couldn't stick to it, however, the crack of my ass was not as fortunate.
When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the
jellyfish into the crack of my ass.
I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator.
His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he,
along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.
Needless to say, I aborted the dive.
I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling
thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry
decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but
my brass helmet.
As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of
laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it
on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber.
The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't shit for two
days because my ass was swollen shut..
So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it
would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your ass.
Now repeat to yourself, 'I love my job, I love my job, I
love my job.'
Whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a
jellyfish bad day?
May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day! !!!!
Monday, August 15, 2011
THE PUBLIC HOUSING PROBLEM...
The problem with public housing is that the residents are not the owners. The people that live in the house did not earn the house, but were loaned the property from the true owners, the taxpayers. Because of this, the residents do not have the "pride of ownership" that comes with the hard work necessary. In fact, the opposite happens and the residents resent their benefactors because the very house is a constant reminder that they themselves did not earn the right to live in the house. They do not appreciate the value of the property and see no need to maintain or respect it in any way.
The result is the same whether you are talking about a studio apartment or a magnificent mansion full of priceless antiques. If the people who live there do not feel they earned the privilege, they will make this known through their actions.
The 2 pictures below illustrate the point:
If Bush had been caught with his feet on that desk
The Resolute Desk was built from the timbers of the HMS Resolute and was a gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes. It is considered a national treasure and icon of the presidency. Mr. Obama, you are not in a hut in Kenya, or public housing in Chicago . With all due (?) respect, get your feet off our desk!
The result is the same whether you are talking about a studio apartment or a magnificent mansion full of priceless antiques. If the people who live there do not feel they earned the privilege, they will make this known through their actions.
The 2 pictures below illustrate the point:
If Bush had been caught with his feet on that desk
The Resolute Desk was built from the timbers of the HMS Resolute and was a gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford B. Hayes. It is considered a national treasure and icon of the presidency. Mr. Obama, you are not in a hut in Kenya, or public housing in Chicago . With all due (?) respect, get your feet off our desk!
Saturday, August 6, 2011
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