Category Archives: Borrowed

Vanilla Pudding

Standard

There are few stories that are too funny to be untrue. But even fewer of those get printed on the first page. Here is one.

Excerpted from an article which appeared in the Dublin Times about a bank robbery on March 2, 1999.

Once inside the bank shortly after midnight, their efforts at disabling the internal security system got underway immediately.

The robbers, who expected to find one or two large safes filled with cash and valuables, were surprised to see hundreds of smaller safes scattered throughout the bank. The robbers cracked the first safe’s combination, and inside they found only a bowl of vanilla pudding.

As recorded on the bank’s audio tape system, one robber said, “At least we’ll have a bit to eat.” The robbers opened up a second safe, and it also contained nothing but vanilla pudding. The process continued until all the safes were opened.

They found not one pound sterling, a diamond, or an ounce of gold. Instead, all the safes contained covered bowls of pudding.

Disappointed, the robbers made a quiet exit, each leaving with nothing more than a queasy, uncomfortably full stomach.

The newspaper headline read:

“IRELAND’S LARGEST SPERM BANK ROBBED EARLY THIS MORNING.”

A Woman’s Poem

Standard

He didn’t like the casserole,

and he didn’t like my cake.

He said my biscuits were too hard,

not like his mother used to make.

I didn’t perk the coffee right,

he didn’t like the stew,

I didn’t mend his socks,

the way his mother used to do.

I pondered for an answer.

I was looking for a clue.

Then I turned around

and smacked the shit out of him.

Like his mother used to do.

SOBER MAN: 0 to 22 in three hours.

Standard

I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.

I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:

9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.

9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.

9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.

9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.

9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.

9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.

9:29: I blow again, a .04. I’ve been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming…four drinks…a .04…that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.

9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.

9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven’t ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.

10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.

10:10: .07

10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.

10:26: .09

10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.

10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don’t leave money for my drinks.

10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I’m only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.

10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.

11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.

11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn’t even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.

11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.

11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don’t have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.

11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.

11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.

11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.

11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.

11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. “Cognac and Alize.” There is a God, and he hates me.

11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.

11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.

12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.

12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.

12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, “Who runs this bar now, B*****??” The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.

12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.

12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.

12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn’t go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.

1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.

1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.

1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.

1:14: I can’t figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.

1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don’t know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.

1:24: I can’t find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn’t thrown up yet. I tell them to “kiss my fucking a**.” My last clear memory.

8:15am: I wake up. I don’t know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.

8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move.

8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can’t find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.

8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That’s fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.

My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.

****

borrowed from: http://www.tuckermax.com

***BoxerDog***

Standard

The Americans and Russians, at the height of the arms race, realized that if they continued in the usual manner they were going to blow up the whole world.
One day they sat down and decided to settle the whole dispute with one dog fight. They’d have five years to breed the best fighting dog in the world and whichever side’s dog won would be entitled to dominate the world. The losing side would have to lay down its arms.
The Russians found the biggest, meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ——- in the world and bred them with the biggest meanest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest and strongest puppy from each litter, killed his siblings, and gave him all the milk. They used steroids and trainers and after five years came up with the biggest meanest dog the world had ever seen. Its cage needed steel bars that were three inches thick and nobody could get near it.
When the day came for the fight, the Americans showed up with a strange animal. It was a nine-foot long Dachshund. Everyone felt sorry for the Americans because they knew there was no way that this dog could possibly last ten seconds with the Russian dog.
When the cages were opened up, the Dachshund came out and wrapped itself around the outside of the ring. It had the Russian dog almost completely surrounded. When the Russian dog leaned over to bite the Dachshund’s neck, the Dachshund reached out and consumed the Russian dog in one bite. There was nothing left at all of the Russian dog. The Russians came up to the Americans, shaking their heads in disbelief. `We don’t understand how this could have happened. We had our best people working for five years with the meanest Doberman and Rottweiler ——- in the world and the biggest, meanest Siberian wolves.”
“That’s nothing,” an American replied. “We had our best plastic surgeons working for five years to make an alligator look like a Dachshund.”

“$0.99 Only”

Standard

I was asked to write a story that includes some given elements, here are the elements:
1. Kermit, the klutz
2. Spelunking
3. Bobbie Sue (one leg), Grandpa (alien abductee?), Tookie (stoner dog)
4. Dark tone
5. Neon-pink umbrella
6. Nisha, Kermit’s exact opposite (met in a hospital)

This is my response, hope you like it…

Albeit a single bed, a small cupboard with an even smaller bathroom hardly makes for an house but for the sleepy head this ancestral home was much more than what he could have put up with his $3 an hour pay at ‘$0.99 only’. That night would have been like any other if it hadn’t been for that damn phone call.

it was half past 3 and Kermit was sleeping in his ‘bedrom’, coz two O’s demands a lot more space. The night was dark, there were no clouds and no soul in the street to break the deafening silence. With his trusted Tookie, a dog even more peculiar than its name, by his side guarding his masters belongings. Few utensils, some ugly photo frames, a pre WWII radio and a few clothes doesn’t really need any guarding but Tookie was up to it.  It was then, when the phone rang.

It was the Holly Family Hospital, His old man was in the psychiatric ward, ever since he went spelunking and was abducted by the aliens he hasn’t found this ignorant and at times mocking world very sane. Apparently Looney was refusing medicine. It took sleepy head  forty minutes of walk coupled with a a very expensive cab ride to reach there. But by the time he got there pa was back into his extra terrestrial dreams as if panic attack never happened, poor Kermit.

Disappointed and relived came out of the hospital he, looking for a yet another expensive cab ride, this time back to home. Also In search of the cab was someone else. Slim, about five and a half, looked his age, dressed in a black track suit she claimed to be from the same neighborhood , but he had never seen her. That was plausible since except his dad and few others from work sleepy didn’t knew anybody. And the only interactions he had with the opposite gender was with the chubby old ones that came to his store. Thrift, Kermit asked her to share a cab, she agreed. The girl had came to see her grandmother who also had a panic attack, poor girl.

The cab took almost an hour to reach its destination and our sleepy head about half an hour to ask her name, Nisha it was. They chatted a lot in the latter part of the journey; He told her all about his forefathers, she nodded a lot.  They were near their destination but decided to leave the cab and walk rest of the distance. Although he sternly protested but they shared the fare. He told her every story he could manage from his timid life, some of them were even real. Kermit’s house came first, as they were about to part their ways and were saying goodbyes. What kermit saw ran shivers down his spine, The bedroom light was on.

even with a history of klutziness, kermit was sure that he checked the lights before he left. Hurriedly and horridly they ran through the stairs. And to add to his horrors the door was ajar. They went inside, the whole house was in mess and sitting in the looney’s rocking chair old, wise, crocked, short, stocky with crutch in his one hand and a gun in the other and a hint of a grin peaking from the thicket that has grown on his face one legged Bobbie sue politely asked “Where is my gold ?”.

Gold! Kermit wasn’t sure that any one in his family has even seen gold. Even upon his repeated rejections Bobby sue didn’t acquiesced. He was in no mood to leave without his gold. He was sure that the gold he and Looney discovered while spelunking was hidden somewhere in this house. Bobby stood up pointed the gun at NIsha and asked for the one final time Whare izz mah ghold!..? . In reply sleepy whistled but nothing happened, to both nisha’s and bobby’s amazement he whistled again, again nothing happened. “Where is Tookie?” Asked Kermit. With a shimmer in his eyes “some where safe, but not for long“Sue replied.

Bobby left the building saying that they both have two hours to get him the gold otherwise he can forget “the damn dog!”. Kermit told her that she can leave but Nisha was very cooperative. She asked him wether his father ever mentioned or hinted at any thing to him about this, the reply was negative. Sleepy was sure that of all the conversations that took place in this house between him and his old man gold was never mentioned or hinted in any one of them.

They began searching the house, first they emptied the cupboard, although most of it was already on the floor. As Nisha was going through rest of the stuff. Kermit stood on his tows and with his arms stretched above his head, he searched the top of the cupboard with his eyes closed as he was trying to feel even the slightest of the things that could have been placed there.  Even with his arms stretched he couldn’t get to the backend of the surface. So he decided to jump and give a full swipe of his hand. He did the same and to his luck he actually hit something it fell on the ground but so did the klutzy.

It was the ugly photo frames wrapped in a thin clothe. The clothe wasn’t much of the protector, Sharp edge of one of the frames pierced the cloth, dented the wooden floor and also it self. The dull pink color from the edge came off and instead of the expected black color the frame was made up of some amber colored metal. He purposely scratched all three rest of them and they all were of the same build.

With glitter in his eyes and sheer bewilderment on his face he looked at the frames in his hand, they were quite heavy but he didn’t mind. It was then, when nisha snapped the frames from his hand and reminded him of Tookie, whom she never met, and his love for the dogs, nisha loved pet dogs.  The thought of running away with both the frames and nisha came to his mind several time but so did the happy memories of the stoner face. It was nearly dawn, With a heavy heart he went to the pre-decided meeting point and exchanged the frames for the damn dog. He patted Tookie, on his way back, he turned and ask NIsha “I guess you aren’t coming”  to which she replied “not without my dad and the Gold”.

Kermit was back at work, as usual he went up the ladder procured the asked item, came down the ladder. But this time was different, though he was at work his mind was somewhere else, he was thinking about the adventures of last night and how few hours back for roughly sixty minutes he had a fortune and a beautiful girl.As he handed over the neon pink umbrella to an old chubby lady, she asked “how much?“.
“$0.99 only” he replied.

Best Old Age Home

Standard

There are things which are just too good to be untrue and this is one of them.

A man was taking his old Mother to a home for old people. He wanted her to have the best one so he was investigating many of them. So one day he came to a home and the Head of the staff wanted to show him around. He asked his Mother to sit and wait in the entrance and the personal was going to watch over her

Fotosearch

while he was gone.

The old woman sat there for a while and then she suddenly started to lean over to the left side. A nurse hurried up to her, moved her up and placed a pillow at her left side. After a short while the old woman started to lean towards the right side. Of course the little nurse hurried to her and put her up in position, putting another pillow at her right side. Just a little while longer and the Mom now started to lean forward. She got propped up again by the nurse.

Now the son came back from his inspection. He had found that this home was absolutely the best he had seen. All rooms were very nicely furnished and there were skilled personal for the old ones. The price was also acceptable so he really thought that he found the right place for his Mom.

“Mom”, he said “I really think you will be happy here! What do you say?”

The Mother said: ” I do not want to stay here!” He was surprised and said: “But Mom – this is just the way you like it.  You will be taken good care of here.”

The old Lady said really firmly: ” I will not stay here – they don´t allow me to fart!”

Source: http://www.squidoo.com

Planet Hell, Unearthed.

Standard

as a child i was always fascinated by two things or one can say two questions. 1)Are we alone in this universe? and 2)Why is it so damn hot!,all the time?

After years and years of deliberation with priests, scientists and fancy jobs alike. I realized that I can not take these two questions in isolation. Then I found ‘The Answer’. I have an idea, an idea so controversial that if Dan brown found about this Tom hanks will return as Robert Langdon , an idea so polemical that if any one in the parish gets to know about this, I shall be done. Thank god! I have an anonymous blog that very few have the time to read.

So, The question arises what is this idea?

Here it is (Drum-rolls)…What if earth is the hell of some another planet!!

Think about it, we can not be alone in this universe, we have so many galaxies and there has to be at least one planet that has the atmosphere like us. There has to be at least one other planet with life on it. and I’m not alone who is thinking this I have the support of millions of star wars nerds  and alien conspiracy junkies.The question is not where are we going to find it but when are we going to find it?.

Now on the second part, about the destroying of earth. This not only includes The global warming, The exploitation of resources,The Deforestation etc but also includes terrorism and wars which are slowly but steadily destroying the earth in its physical form and its spirituality by eroding the value system of earthlings.

Now is the time for the EXPLANATION:

As the story goes, Earth was once a beautiful place, some of it still is- The Mountains(or whatever is left of them). Earth once was a harmonious place, some of it still is- The Mountains. Then arrive us : The Dudes. And The Dudes did what they do best, they set on their motorcycles and rode all over the earth, leveling each and everything that came in their way without knowing the consequences.But some of the Dudes realized their mistake and formed their own clan,to stop the dudes, lets call them The Geeks.The Geeks started to educate the Dudes about the evils of their doings and were successful in converting few dudes into geeks. But as the old prophecy goes “If one falls, more will rise” The Dudes always outnumbered The Geeks.

Now years have passed the geeks are still fighting with the dudes. But as the geeks are, insubstantial and feeble the only thing they can do is watch the Dudes with horror and pain, as they destroy their home with their own hands. Converting this resourceful mass into a colossal piece of impotent land or The Hell.

And all those martians, which do not perform their chores or are not law abiding citizens are reincarnated here as either The Dudes or The Geeks and suffer through Hell by watching this beautiful planet becoming , well, Hell.