I just had to share this story I received from my friend Tom.

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.

I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my
big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered.
“Even dummies know that!”

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that
day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma
always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole
lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.
I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus!” she snorted.
“Ridiculous!
Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it
makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”
“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second
world-famous, cinnamon bun. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General
Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As
we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a
bundle in those days. “Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for
someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and
walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but
never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and
crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-
dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the
kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought
out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath
and messy hair and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.
Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out
for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the
teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t
have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat either. I figured the
ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real
nice and warm, and he would like that. “Is this a Christmas present for
someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars
down. “Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s …. for Bobby.” The nice lady smiled at me. I
didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry
Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and
ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible)
and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it — Grandma said that Santa
always insisted on secrecy.. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house,
explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave
me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down
on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the
bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the
front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,
beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes. That night, I realized that
those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they
were: ridiculous.
Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.

===============================
He who has no Christmas in his heart will never find Christmas under a tree.

A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: ‘Talking Dog For Sale ‘ He rings the bell and the owner appears and tells him the dog is in the backyard.
 
The guy goes into the backyard and sees a nice looking Labrador retriever sitting there.

‘You talk?’ he asks. 

‘Yep,’ the Lab replies. 

After the guy recovers from the shock of hearing a dog talk, he says ‘So, what’s your story?’

The Lab looks up and says, ‘Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.’

‘I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.’ ’I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.’

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog. 
 
 ’Ten dollars,’ the guy says.

‘Ten dollars? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?’

‘Because he’s a liar. He never did any of that shit.

(more…)

This will put you in the mood for the Christmas Season.
POLISH_CHRISTMAS    When you click that link it will ask you if you would like to open or to save. Just click open.

Cindy

 Kudos go to Xerox.

How AMAZING it would be if we could get everyone we know to send one!!!  
It is FREE and it only takes a few seconds.

Go to www.LetsSayThanks.com and pick out a thank you card.
Xerox will print it and it will be sent to a soldier that is currently
serving in Iraq.  You can’t pick out who gets it, but it will go to a
member of the armed services.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the soldiers received a bunch of these?   
Whether you are for or against the war, our soldiers over there need
to know we are behind them.

This takes just 10 seconds and it’s a wonderful way to say thank you.  
Please take the time to send one yourself and and tell everyone you
know to do the same.

We can never say enough thank you’s.

Thanks for taking the time to support our military!
10 seconds is not to much to ask.

www.LetsSayThanks.com

I just sent mine off, won’t you please join me.

Cindy

I got this in an email from a friend of mine. I just had to put in on my blog to share it with you.  Just try reading this without laughing till you cry!!!

Pocket Tazer Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:

Last weekend I saw something at Larry’s Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse- sized tazer. The effects of the tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety….??

WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I’d get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.

AWESOME!!!

Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.

Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn’t be all that bad with only two triple-A batteries, right? There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong?

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, and tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the batteries.

All the while I’m looking at this little device measuring about 5″ long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference; pretty cute really and (loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-A batteries) thinking to myself, ‘no possible way!’ What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do my best.. .?

I’m sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as to say, ‘don’t do it dipshit,’ reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn’t hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and . .

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD . . WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!

I’m pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs? The cat was making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.

Note: If you ever feel compelled to ‘mug’ yourself with a tazer, one note of caution: there is no such thing as a one second burst when you zap yourself! You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor.. A three second burst would be considered conservative?

IT HURT LIKE HELL!!!

A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was. My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I had no control over the drooling.

Apparently I pooped on myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe came from my hair. I’m still looking for my testicles and I’m offering a significant reward for their safe return!

P.S.. My wife, can’t stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!

If you think education is difficult, try being stupid !!!