Merry Christmas

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Black Robbers

This SO sounds like something I would do.........Black Robbers For anyone who didn't see David Letterman¢s take on this: (And it's atrue story...) On a recent weekend in Atlantic City, a woman won a bucketful ofquarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slots for dinner with herhusband in the hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the quarters inher room. 'I'll be right back k and we'll go to eat,' she toldher husband and carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator.As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already aboard.Both were black. One of them was tall... very tall ...an intimidating figure.The woman froze... Her first thought was: 'These two are going to robme.' Her next thought was: 'Don't be a bigot; they look likeperfectly nice gentlemen.' But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fearimmobilized her. She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious,flustered and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind but gosh, theyhad to know what she was thinking!!!Her hesitation about joining them in the elevator was all too obvious now. Herface was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort ofwill she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other footand was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly andfaced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then anothersecond, and then another. Her fear increased! The elevator didn't move.Panic consumed her. 'My God,' she thought, I'm trapped and about tobe robbed! 'Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.Then one of the men said, 'Hit the floor.' Instinct told her to do whatthey told her. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms andcollapsed on the elevator floor. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take mymoney and spare me, she prayed. More seconds passed. She heard one of the mensay politely, 'Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you'regoing to, we'll push the button.' The one who said it had a littletrouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh.The woman lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down tohelp her up. Confused, she struggled to her feet. 'When I told my friendhere to hit the floor,' said the average sized one, 'I meant that heshould hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hitthe floor, ma'am.' He spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious hewas having a hard time not laughing. The woman thought: 'My God, what aspectacle I've made of myself.' She was too humiliated to speak. Shewanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize totwo perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were going torob you? She didn't know what to say. The three of them gathered up thestrewn quarters and refilled her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floorthey then insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little unsteady onher feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At herdoor they bid her a good evening. As she slipped into her room she could hearthem roaring with laughter as they walked back to the elevator. The womanbrushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinnerwith her husband.The next morning flowers were delivered to her room - a dozen roses. Attachedto EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill.The card said: 'Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years.'It was signed; Eddie Murphy Michael JordanPS - Pass this around so others can enjoy! Black Robbers - a true story

Only a Man

ONLY A MAN WOULD ATTEMPT THIS
Just try reading this without laughing till you cry!!!
Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser 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 taser. The effects of the taser 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 C OOL! 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 th i ng 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 taser 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 taser, 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 h ead which I believe came from my hair. I'm still looking for my nuts and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!! P.S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it! 'If you think education is difficult, try being stupid.'

Christmas Spirit

>> This is worth reading.........>> >> 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 thoug> ht of everybody>> I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors,>> the kids at school, and 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>> second grade class.>> >> Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew>> that because he never went out to 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; he didn't have>> a good coat. I fingered 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 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, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It 's for>> Bobby.">> >> The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her>> about how Bobby really needed a good winter>> coat. I didn't get any change, but she put>> the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished>> me a Merry Christmas.>> >> That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the>> coat in Christmas paper and ribbons and>> wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it(a>> little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma>> tucked it in her Bible). 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 door 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 coat tag>> tucked inside: $19.95.>> >> May you always have LOVE to share. And>> may you always believe in the magic of>> Santa Claus

Why God made Moms~A Childs Survey

WHY GOD MADE MOMS
Answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions: Why did God make mothers? 1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is. 2. Mostly to clean the house. 3. To help us out of there when we were getting born. How did God make mothers? 1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us. 2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring. 3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts. What ingredients are mothers made of ? 1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean. 2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom? 1. We're related. 2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me. What kind of little girl was your mom? 1. My Mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff. 2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy. 3. They say she used to be nice. What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him? 1. His last name. 2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer? 3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores? Why did your mom marry your dad? 1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot. 2. She got too old to do anything else with him. 3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on. Who's the boss at your house? 1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball. 2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed. 3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad. What's the difference between moms & dads? 1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work. 2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them. 3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's. 4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine. What does your mom do in her spare time? 1. Mothers don't do spare time. 2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long. What would it take to make your mom perfect? 1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery. 2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be? 1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that. 2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me. 3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

I LOVE YOU

I love you; I'll miss you; hurry home; be careful; simple little phrases so often left unsaid. I myself am guilty of being in to big of a hurry, or to resentful, pig-headed or just to tired to take the time to say these things to those I love.
Wednesday, November 26th (yes the day before Thanksgiving) a very good friend of ours was killed in a car accident. He left behind a wife and two teen-age kids. He has been a huge part of a barrel racing family. He was always on the sidelines cheering his kids on. Taylor his daughter is a phenomenal barrel racer and his son Austin a great hockey player. Tim was always there for his kids as well as for his friends, many of the kids called him their adopted dad!
Hearing the news of his death hit me in the gut as deeply as if I had been kicked. And one of my first thoughts was, what if that was my husband, the father to my kids? What would I do, how would we go on? And especially, what might have my last words to him have been?
It was a big wake-up call for me. I know that death is inevitable, it will happen to us all. We don't know when that day will come, and it can happen in a split second with no notice at all like in Tim's life. The only thing we can do is to try to remember that another day, minute or second chance to say "I love You" is not guaranteed and should not be taken for granted.
While I will be praying for Tim's family, I will also be praying for the Lord to help me to be more appreciative for each and every blessing I have in my life and to never miss an opportunity to say "I Love You".