<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558</id><updated>2011-07-08T05:49:07.568-07:00</updated><category term='loveafterallthoseyears'/><category term='preacherandthelawnmower'/><category term='raising boys'/><category term='notanotherblog'/><category term='playin&apos; church'/><category term='golf balls'/><category term='tickwarning'/><category term='funeralservice'/><category term='nag-nag-nag'/><category term='caught sleeping'/><category term='order in the court'/><category term='hillbillymidwife'/><category term='mexican oysters'/><category term='fiftydollars'/><category term='luckytobealive'/><title type='text'>the.lady.rachel</title><subtitle type='html'>blah.blah.blah</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-2022197430153339771</id><published>2010-09-22T18:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-22T19:00:07.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HOW TO START A FIGHT</title><content type='html'>One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas&lt;br /&gt;                                gift...&lt;br /&gt;                The next year, I didn't buy her a gift.&lt;br /&gt;                   When she asked me why, I replied,&lt;br /&gt;    "Well, you still haven't used the gift I bought you last year!"&lt;br /&gt;                 And that's how the fight started.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                     ______________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife and I were watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were in&lt;br /&gt;                                  bed.&lt;br /&gt;          I turned to her and said, 'Do you want to have Sex?'&lt;br /&gt;                    'No,' she answered. I then said,&lt;br /&gt;                      'Is that your final answer?'&lt;br /&gt;      She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying, 'Yes..'&lt;br /&gt;             So I said, "Then I'd like to phone a friend."&lt;br /&gt;                  And that's when the fight started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    I took my wife to a restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;           The waiter, for some reason, took my order first.&lt;br /&gt;               "I'll have the rump steak, rare, please."&lt;br /&gt;            He said, "Aren't you worried about the mad cow?"&lt;br /&gt;                   "Nah, she can order for herself."&lt;br /&gt;                 And that's when the fight started.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she&lt;br /&gt; kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a&lt;br /&gt;                             nearby table.&lt;br /&gt;                    I asked her, "Do you know him?"&lt;br /&gt;                           "Yes", she sighed,&lt;br /&gt;"He's my old boyfriend.... I understand he took to drinking right after we&lt;br /&gt; split up those many years ago, and I hear he hasn't been sober since."&lt;br /&gt; "My God!" I said, "Who would think a person could go on celebrating that&lt;br /&gt;                                 long?"&lt;br /&gt;                     And then the fight started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; When our lawn mower broke and wouldn't run, my wife kept hinting to me&lt;br /&gt; that I should get it fixed.  But, somehow I always had something else to&lt;br /&gt;                                  take&lt;br /&gt; care of first, the shed, the boat, making beer.. Always something more&lt;br /&gt; important to me. Finally she thought of a clever way to make her point.&lt;br /&gt;When I arrived home one day, I found her seated in the tall grass, busily&lt;br /&gt;snipping away with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. I watched silently for&lt;br /&gt;a short time and then went into the house.. I was gone only a minute, and&lt;br /&gt;when I came out again I handed her a toothbrush. I said, "When you finish&lt;br /&gt;       cutting the grass, you might as well sweep the driveway."&lt;br /&gt;   The doctors say I will walk again, but I will always have a limp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels.&lt;br /&gt;                       She asked, "What's on TV?"&lt;br /&gt;                            I said, "Dust."&lt;br /&gt;                     And then the fight started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and&lt;br /&gt;slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to the  van, and&lt;br /&gt;proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50&lt;br /&gt;                               mph, so I&lt;br /&gt;pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the&lt;br /&gt;   weather would be bad all day. I went back into the house, quietly&lt;br /&gt;undressed, and slipped back into bed.. I cuddled up to my wife's back, now&lt;br /&gt;                                 with a&lt;br /&gt;    different anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is&lt;br /&gt;                               terrible."&lt;br /&gt;My loving wife of 5 years replied, "And, can you believe my stupid husband&lt;br /&gt;                        is out fishing in that?"&lt;br /&gt;                  And that's how the fight started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.&lt;br /&gt;  She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3&lt;br /&gt;                               seconds."&lt;br /&gt;                     I bought her a bathroom scale.&lt;br /&gt;                    And then the fight started......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social&lt;br /&gt;                               Security.&lt;br /&gt;The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver's License to verify my&lt;br /&gt;                                  age.&lt;br /&gt;   I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home.&lt;br /&gt; I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and&lt;br /&gt;                            come back later.&lt;br /&gt;                 The woman said, 'Unbutton your shirt'.&lt;br /&gt;          So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair.&lt;br /&gt;She said, 'That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me' and she&lt;br /&gt;               processed my Social Security application..&lt;br /&gt;  When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the&lt;br /&gt;                       Social Security office...&lt;br /&gt;  She said, 'You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten&lt;br /&gt;                           disability, too.'&lt;br /&gt;                     And then the fight started...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                    ________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       My wife was standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror.&lt;br /&gt;          She was not happy with what she saw and said to me,&lt;br /&gt;              "I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly.&lt;br /&gt;               I really need you to pay me a compliment.'&lt;br /&gt;            I replied, "Your eyesight's damn near perfect."&lt;br /&gt;                   And then the fight started........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-2022197430153339771?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/2022197430153339771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=2022197430153339771' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2022197430153339771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2022197430153339771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/09/how-to-start-fight.html' title='HOW TO START A FIGHT'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-4005873911142831715</id><published>2010-06-12T08:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T08:11:09.167-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When Grandma Goes to Court</title><content type='html'>In a trial, a Southern small-town prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman to the stand.  He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"  She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you.  Mr. Williams.  I have known you since you were a boy, and frankly, you've been a big disappointment to me.  You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs.  You think you're a big shot when you haven't the brains to realize you'll never amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher.  Yes, I know you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lawyer was stunned.  Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know the defense attorney?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She again replied, "Why, yes, I do!  I have known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster too.  He's lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem.  He can't build a normal relationship with anyone, and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state.  Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three differfent women, one of them was your wife.  Yes, I know him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The defense attorney nearly died!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The judge asked both couselors to approach the bench and in a very quiet voice he said, "If either one of you idiots asks her if she knows me, I'll send you both to the electric chair!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-4005873911142831715?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/4005873911142831715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=4005873911142831715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4005873911142831715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4005873911142831715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/06/when-grandma-goes-to-court.html' title='When Grandma Goes to Court'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-8397873535140887675</id><published>2010-06-05T15:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T15:58:01.514-07:00</updated><title type='text'>New Mexican Chili Cookoff</title><content type='html'>This is an actual account as relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off in New Mexico. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For those of you who have lived in New Mexico, you know how true this is.  They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around.  It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Santa Fe Plaza .  Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chile taster named Frank, who was visiting from Gering, Nebraska .  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;Frank:  "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off..  The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in.  I was assured by the other two judges ( Native New Mexicans ) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are the scorecard notes from the event: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato.  Amusing kick.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor.  Very mild.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway.  Took me two beers to put the flames out.  I hope that's the worst one.  These New Mexicans are crazy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork.  Slight jalapeno tang.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children.  I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain.  I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver.  They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili.  Great kick.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA.  I've located a uranium spill.  My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano.  Everyone knows the routine by now.  Get me more beer before I ignite.  Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest.  I'm getting sh*t-faced from all of the beer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans.  Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it.  Is it possible to burn out taste buds?  Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills.  This 300 lb.  Woman is starting to look HOT ...  Just like this nuclear waste I'm eating!  Is chili an aphrodisiac? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili.  Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick.  Very impressive.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato.  Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes.  I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics.  The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage.  Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher.  I wonder if I'm burning my lips off.  It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.  Screw them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili.  Good balance of spices and peppers.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- The best yet.  Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic.  Superb.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames.  I crapped on myself when I farted, and I'm worried it will eat through the chair.  No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally.  Can't feel my lips anymore.  I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment.  **I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3.  He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing.  I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water.  My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth.  My pants are full of lava to match my shirt.  At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me.  I've decided to stop breathing.  It's too painful.  Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway.  If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili.  Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili.  Neither mild nor hot.  Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself.  Not sure if he's going to make it.  Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Judge # 3 -- No report&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-8397873535140887675?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/8397873535140887675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=8397873535140887675' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8397873535140887675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8397873535140887675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/06/new-mexican-chili-cookoff.html' title='New Mexican Chili Cookoff'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-1541457861507361079</id><published>2010-06-01T18:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T18:49:25.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Surgeons Favorite Patients</title><content type='html'>Five surgeons are discussing the types of people they like to operate on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first surgeon says: I like to see accountants on my operating table because when I open them up, everything inside is numbered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second responds: Yeah, but you should try electricians! Everything inside them is color-coded. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third surgeon says: No, I really think librarians are the best. Everything inside them is in alphabetical order. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fourth surgeon chimes in: You know, I like construction workers.. Those guys always understand when you have a few parts left over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the fifth surgeon shut them all up when he observed: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're all wrong ----- Politicians are the easiest to operate on. There's no guts, no heart, no brains, and no spine. Plus, the head and the butt are interchangeable&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-1541457861507361079?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/1541457861507361079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=1541457861507361079' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1541457861507361079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1541457861507361079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/06/surgeons-favorite-patients.html' title='The Surgeons Favorite Patients'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-3128890460580350506</id><published>2010-03-31T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-31T12:55:21.242-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Outsmart a woman??</title><content type='html'>Outsmart a woman???? ...... Are you kidding ..... A man calls home to his wife and says, "Honey, I have been asked to fly to Canada with my boss and several of his friends for fishing..  We'll be gone for a long weekend.  This is a good opportunity for me to get that promotion I've been wanting so could you please pack enough clothes for a 3 day weekend...... And also would you get out my rod and tackle box from the attic? We're leaving at 4:30 PM from the office and I will swing by the house to pick my things up.. 'Oh!  And please pack my new navy blue silk pajamas.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wife thinks this sounds a bit odd, but, being the good wife, she does exactly what her husband asked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Following the long weekend he came home a little tired, but, otherwise, looking good.  The wife welcomes him home and asks if he caught many fish? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says, 'Yes! Lots of Walleyes, some Bass, and a few Pike.  He said but why didn't you pack my new blue silk pajamas like I asked you to do?  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The wife replies, "I did.  They're in your tackle box." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never, Never, Never Try to outsmart a woman!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-3128890460580350506?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/3128890460580350506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=3128890460580350506' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3128890460580350506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3128890460580350506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/03/outsmart-woman.html' title='Outsmart a woman??'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-1796991462364257112</id><published>2010-03-29T14:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T14:54:24.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Woman's Week at the Gym</title><content type='html'>My grandmother didn't send me this one... however, my mother did!&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;A WOMAN'S WEEK AT THE GYM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Diary,&lt;br /&gt;For my birthday this year, I  purchased a week of personal training at the local health club.  Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.&lt;br /&gt;________________________________&lt;br /&gt;MONDAY:&lt;br /&gt;Started my day at 6:00 am. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god-- with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile.  Woo Hoo!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines.. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!&lt;br /&gt;________________________________&lt;br /&gt;TUESDAY:&lt;br /&gt;I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it!  My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile.  His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!  It's a whole new life for me.&lt;br /&gt;_______________________________&lt;br /&gt;WEDNESDAY:&lt;br /&gt;The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it.  I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals.  Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.&lt;br /&gt;Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.&lt;br /&gt;My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster.  Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?  Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.  He said some other shit too.&lt;br /&gt;_______________________________&lt;br /&gt;THURSDAY:&lt;br /&gt;Asshole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl.  I couldn't help being a half an hour late-- it took me that long to tie my shoes.&lt;br /&gt;He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom.  He sent some skinny bitch to find me.&lt;br /&gt;Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine-- which I sank.&lt;br /&gt;_________________________________&lt;br /&gt;FRIDAY:&lt;br /&gt;I hate that bastard Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor.  If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.&lt;br /&gt;Christo wanted me to work on my triceps.  I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the damn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher.  Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?&lt;br /&gt;________________________________&lt;br /&gt;SATURDAY:&lt;br /&gt;Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today.  Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel..&lt;br /&gt;________________________________&lt;br /&gt;SUNDAY:&lt;br /&gt;I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over.  I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun-- like a root canal or a hysterectomy.  I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-1796991462364257112?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/1796991462364257112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=1796991462364257112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1796991462364257112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1796991462364257112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/03/womans-week-at-gym.html' title='A Woman&apos;s Week at the Gym'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6661081116027446508</id><published>2010-03-02T17:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T17:41:48.720-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saying Goodbye to Mother</title><content type='html'>We were dressed and ready to go out for the New Years Eve Party. We turned on a night light, turned the answering machine on, covered our pet parakeet and put the cat in the backyard.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;We phoned the local cab company and requested a taxi. The taxi arrived and we opened the front door to leave the house.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;As we walked out the door, the cat we had put out in the yard, scoots back into the house.. We didn't want the cat shut in the house because she always tries to eat the bird.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My wife goes on out to the taxi, while I went back inside to get the cat. The cat runs upstairs, with me in hot pursuit. Waiting in the cab, my wife doesn't want the driver to know that the house will be empty for the night. So, she explains to the taxi driver that I will be out soon, 'He's just going upstairs to say Goodbye to my mother.'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later, I get into the cab. 'Sorry I took so long,' I said, as we drove away. 'That stupid b*&amp;^* was hiding under the bed.. I had to poke her a@# with a coat hanger to get her to come out! She tried to take off, so I grabbed her by the neck. Then, I had to wrap her in a blanket to keep her from scratching me. But it worked! I hauled her fat a@# downstairs and threw her out into the back yard!'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The cab driver hit a parked car!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6661081116027446508?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6661081116027446508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6661081116027446508' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6661081116027446508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6661081116027446508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/03/saying-goodbye-to-mother.html' title='Saying Goodbye to Mother'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-2015263471569516477</id><published>2010-03-02T17:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T17:39:30.519-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Baptist White Lie Cake</title><content type='html'>Have  you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this,  especially all of the ladies who bake for church events.  Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies' Group in Tuscaloosa , but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered it the morning of  the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets,  found an angel food cake mix &amp; quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing, and helping  her son pack up for Scout camp. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;When  she took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured and she exclaimed, "Oh  dear, there is not time to bake another cake!"  This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church, and in  her new community  of friends.&lt;br /&gt;So, being inventive, she looked around the  house for something to build up the center of the cake.  She found it in the bathroom - a roll of toilet paper. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She plunked it in and then  covered it with icing.  Not only did the finished product look  beautiful, it looked perfect. And, before she left the house to drop the cake by the church  and head for work, Alice woke her daughter and gave  her some money  and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened  at 9:30 and to buy the cake and bring it home.&lt;br /&gt;When  the daughter  arrived at the sale, she found the attractive, perfect cake had  already been sold.  Amanda grabbed her cell phone &amp;  called her mom.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Alice  was horrified - she was beside herself!  Everyone would know!  What would they think?  She would be ostracized, talked about, ridiculed!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;All  night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her back. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The  next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/ bridal shower at the home of  a fellow church member and try to have a good time.  She did not really want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than  once had looked down her nose at the fact that Alice was a single parent and not from the founding families of Tuscaloosa, but  having  already RSVP'd, she couldn't think of a believable excuse to stay home.&lt;br /&gt;The meal was elegant, the company was definitely upper crust old south and to Alice's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake!  She started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "what a  beautifulcake!"  &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Alice, still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess (who was a prominent church member) say, "Thank you, I baked it myself." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is  good."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-2015263471569516477?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/2015263471569516477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=2015263471569516477' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2015263471569516477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2015263471569516477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2010/03/baptist-white-lie-cake.html' title='Baptist White Lie Cake'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-2422980913540251676</id><published>2009-11-06T11:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T11:12:21.938-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Curtain Rods</title><content type='html'>On the first day, she sadly packed her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining-room table, by candle-light; she put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar,and a bottle of spring-water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she'd finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimps dipped in caviar into the hollow center of the curtain rods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the fourth day, the husband came back with his new girlfriend, and at first all was bliss.&lt;br /&gt;Then, slowly, the house began to smell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They tried everything; cleaning, mopping, and airing-out the place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which time the two had to move out for a few days, and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People stopped coming over to visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Repairmen refused to work in the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The maid quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, they couldn't take the stench any longer, and decided they had to move, but a month later - even though they'd cut their price in half - they couldn't find a buyer for such a stinky house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word got out, and eventually even the local realtors refused to return their calls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, unable to wait any longer for a purchaser, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for having the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing she could have no idea how bad the smell really was, he agreed on a price that was only 1/10 th of what the house had been worth ...but only if she would sign the papers that very day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She agreed, and within two hours his lawyers delivered the completed paperwork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home .....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...and to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE A HAPPY ENDING, DON'T YOU?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-2422980913540251676?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/2422980913540251676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=2422980913540251676' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2422980913540251676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2422980913540251676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/11/curtain-rods.html' title='Curtain Rods'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-912588105957501294</id><published>2009-11-04T15:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T15:40:54.889-08:00</updated><title type='text'>S.H.I.T.</title><content type='html'>Clara was riding the elevator when Tom got on and she, feeling rather friendly, said to him "T.G.I.F.!" in her most cheerful voice.  He in turn stared blankly ahead and flatly replied "S.H.I.T."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first she was pretty offended, but figured he didn't understand what she had said so she repeated a little louder "T... G... I.... F...!" This time he turned to look her squarely in the face and replied "S.. H... I... T...!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now she was angry.  "T.G.I.F. stands for Thank God It's Friday!"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the door opened and Tom was getting off the elevator he replied, "and S.H.I.T. stands for Sorry Honey, It's Thursday!".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-912588105957501294?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/912588105957501294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=912588105957501294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/912588105957501294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/912588105957501294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/11/shit.html' title='S.H.I.T.'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7828179663768657507</id><published>2009-10-26T15:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T15:10:38.272-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Athletes Can't Get Regular Jobs</title><content type='html'>WHY ATHLETES CAN'T HAVE REGULAR JOBS...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 1. Chicago Cubs outfielder Andre Dawson on being a role model: "I wan' all dem kids to do what I do, to look up to me. I wan' all the kids to copulate me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 2. New Orleans Saint RB George Rogers when asked about the upcoming season: "I want to rush for 1,000 or 1,500 yards, whichever comes first."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 3. And, upon hearing Joe Jacobi of the 'Skin's say: "I'd run over my own mother to win the Super Bowl," Matt Millen of the Raiders said: "To win, I'd  run over Joe's Mom, too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 4. Torrin Polk, University of Houston receiver, on his coach, John Jenkins: "He treats us like men. He lets us wear earrings.."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 5. Football commentator and former player Joe Theismann: "Nobody in football should be called a genius.  A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 6. Senior basketball player at the University of Pittsburgh : "I'm going to graduate on time, no matter how long it takes." (Now that is beautiful)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 7. Bill Peterson, a Florida State football coach: "You guys line up alphabetically by height.." And, "You guys pair up in groups of three, and then line up in a circle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 8. Boxing promoter Dan Duva on Mike Tyson going to prison: "Why would anyone expect him to come out smarter? He went to prison for three years, not Princeton ."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 9. Stu Grimson, Chicago Blackhawks left wing, explaining why he keeps a color photo of himself above his locker: "That's so when I forget how to spell my name, I can still find my clothes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 10. Lou Duva, veteran boxing trainer, on the Spartan training regime of heavyweight Andrew Golota: "He's a guy who gets up at six o'clock in the morning, regardless of what time it is."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 11. Chuck Nevitt , North Carolina State basketball player, explaining to Coach Jim Valvano why he appeared nervous at practice: "My sister's expecting a baby, and I don't know if I'm going to be an uncle or an aunt." (I wonder if his IQ ever hit room temperature in January)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 12. Frank Layden , Utah Jazz president, on a former player: "I told him, 'Son, what is it with you? Is it ignorance or apathy?' He said, 'Coach, I don't know and I don't care.'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 13. Shelby Metcalf, basketball coach at Texas A&amp;M, recounting what he told a player who received four F's and one D: "Son, looks to me like you're spending too much time on one subject."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 14. In the words of NC State great Charles Shackelford I can go to my left or right, I am amphibious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 15. Amarillo High School and Oiler coach Bum Phillips when asked by Bob Costas why he takes his wife on all the road trips, Phillips responded: "Because she is too ugly to kiss good-bye."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7828179663768657507?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7828179663768657507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7828179663768657507' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7828179663768657507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7828179663768657507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/10/why-athletes-cant-get-regular-jobs.html' title='Why Athletes Can&apos;t Get Regular Jobs'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7146277233482707129</id><published>2009-10-26T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T14:55:47.887-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blessed are the Peacemakers</title><content type='html'>The widow lay crying on her psychiatrist's couch. "We were married twenty-five years &lt;br /&gt;and never had an argument," she said wiping tears. “Amazing, “ said the doctor. “How did you do it?”  She replied, “I outweighed him by forty pounds and he was a coward.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Matthew 5:9 Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7146277233482707129?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7146277233482707129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7146277233482707129' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7146277233482707129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7146277233482707129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/10/blessed-are-peacemakers.html' title='Blessed are the Peacemakers'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-9171418910046325208</id><published>2009-09-30T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T12:32:05.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flat Tire</title><content type='html'>I had a flat tire on the interstate, so I eased my car over to the shoulder of&lt;br /&gt;the road, carefully got out of the car and opened the trunk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took out 2 cardboard men, unfolded them and stood them at the rear of&lt;br /&gt;my car facing oncoming traffic. They look so life-like you wouldn't believe it! &lt;br /&gt;They are in trench coats exposing their nude bodies to the approaching&lt;br /&gt;drivers. To my surprise, cars start slowing down looking at my life-like men &lt;br /&gt;which made it safer for me to work at the side of the road. &lt;br /&gt;And of course, traffic starts backing up. Everybody is tooting their&lt;br /&gt;horns and waving like crazy. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;It wasn't long before a state trooper pulls up behind me. He gets out of&lt;br /&gt;his car and starts walking towards me. I could tell he was not a happy camper!&lt;br /&gt;'What's going on here?' &lt;br /&gt; 'My car has a flat tire', I said calmly. &lt;br /&gt;'Well, what are those obscene cardboard men doing here by the road?' &lt;br /&gt;I couldn't believe that he didn't know. So I told him, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;'Those are my Emergency Flashers.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-9171418910046325208?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/9171418910046325208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=9171418910046325208' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/9171418910046325208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/9171418910046325208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/09/flat-tire.html' title='Flat Tire'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-5626937004571456464</id><published>2009-08-08T07:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T07:51:34.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dangers of Sunbathing Topless</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/Sn2Q7PRJKMI/AAAAAAAAABQ/g2ww1rqWPng/s1600-h/topless.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/Sn2Q7PRJKMI/AAAAAAAAABQ/g2ww1rqWPng/s400/topless.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367605678280616130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-5626937004571456464?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/5626937004571456464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=5626937004571456464' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5626937004571456464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5626937004571456464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/08/dangers-of-sunbathing-topless.html' title='The Dangers of Sunbathing Topless'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/Sn2Q7PRJKMI/AAAAAAAAABQ/g2ww1rqWPng/s72-c/topless.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-3671885199578333044</id><published>2009-07-31T06:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T06:42:07.097-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stress Management Technique</title><content type='html'>Just in case you are having a rough day, here is a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological journals. The funny thing is that it really does work and will make you smile. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;        1. Picture yourself lying on your belly on a warm rock that hangs out over a crystal clear stream. &lt;br /&gt;        2. Picture yourself with both your hands dangling in the cool running water. &lt;br /&gt;        3. Birds are sweetly singing in the cool mountain air. &lt;br /&gt;        4. No one knows your secret place. &lt;br /&gt;        5. You are in total seclusion from that hectic place called the world. &lt;br /&gt;        6. The soothing sound of a gentle water fall fills the air with a cascade of serenity. &lt;br /&gt;        7. The water is so crystal clear that you can easily make out the face of the person you are holding underwater. &lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;There!! See? It really does work. You're smiling already.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-3671885199578333044?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/3671885199578333044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=3671885199578333044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3671885199578333044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3671885199578333044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/07/stress-management-technique.html' title='Stress Management Technique'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-8851723145953622630</id><published>2009-07-31T06:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T06:40:45.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Installing a Husband</title><content type='html'>INSTALLING A HUSBAND &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Tech Support,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year I upgraded from &lt;strong&gt;Boyfriend 5.0&lt;/strong&gt; to &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; and noticed a distinct slow down in overall system performance, particularly in the flower and jewelry applications, which operated flawlessly under &lt;strong&gt;Boyfriend 5.0&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;In addition, &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; uninstalled many other valuable programs, such as&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Romance 9.5&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;Personal Attention 6.5&lt;/strong&gt;, and then installed undesirable programs such as&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NBA 5.0,&lt;br /&gt;NFL 3.0 and&lt;br /&gt;Golf Clubs 4.1&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Conversation 8.0&lt;/strong&gt; no longer runs, and &lt;strong&gt;Housecleaning 2.6&lt;/strong&gt; simply crashes the system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please note that I have tried running &lt;strong&gt;Nagging 5.3&lt;/strong&gt; to fix these problems, but to no avail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What can I do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Desperate.&lt;br /&gt;--------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DEAR DESPERATE,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, keep in mind,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt;Boyfriend 5.0&lt;/strong&gt; is an Entertainment Package, while&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; is an operating system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please enter command:&lt;br /&gt;ithoughtyoulovedme.html, &lt;br /&gt;try to download &lt;strong&gt;Tears 6.2&lt;/strong&gt;, and do not forget to install the &lt;strong&gt;Guilt 3.0&lt;/strong&gt; update.&lt;br /&gt;If those applications work as designed, &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; should then automatically run the applications &lt;strong&gt;Jewelry 2.0&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;Flowers 3.5&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, remember, overuse of the above application can cause  &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; to default to &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Grumpy Silence 2.5&lt;/strong&gt;,  &lt;strong&gt;Happy Hour 7.0&lt;/strong&gt;, or &lt;strong&gt;Beer 6.1&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please note that &lt;strong&gt;Beer 6.1&lt;/strong&gt; is a very bad program that will download the &lt;strong&gt;FartingandSnoringLoudlyBeta&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever you do, DO NOT under any circumstances install &lt;strong&gt;Mother-In-Law 1.0&lt;/strong&gt; (it runs a virus in the background that will eventually seize control of all your system resources.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition, please do not attempt to reinstall the &lt;strong&gt;Boyfriend 5.0&lt;/strong&gt;-program. This is an unsupported application and will crash  &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In summary, &lt;strong&gt;Husband 1.0&lt;/strong&gt;  is a great program, but it does have limited memory and cannot learn new applications quickly. You might consider buying additional software to improve memory and performance. We recommend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cooking 3.0&lt;/strong&gt; and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hot Lingerie 7.7&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good Luck ,&lt;br /&gt;                 Tech Support&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-8851723145953622630?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/8851723145953622630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=8851723145953622630' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8851723145953622630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8851723145953622630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/07/installing-husband.html' title='Installing a Husband'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7658930578110991035</id><published>2009-07-31T06:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T06:25:35.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Tide</title><content type='html'>Dear Tide:  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I've used it all of my married life, as my mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am in my forties I find it even better! In fact, about a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck. One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood on my new white blouse! I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out! In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were inconclusive and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.&lt;br /&gt;What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having a great product.&lt;br /&gt;Well, gotta go. Have to write to the Hefty bag people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7658930578110991035?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7658930578110991035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7658930578110991035' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7658930578110991035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7658930578110991035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/07/dear-tide.html' title='Dear Tide'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6128366788266596237</id><published>2009-06-22T17:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T17:54:29.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Rules...</title><content type='html'>The Man Rules&lt;br /&gt;At last a guy has taken the time to write this all down    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Finally, the guys' side of the story. ( I must admit, it's pretty good.)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We always hear 'the rules' From the female side ...Now here are the rules from the male side.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are our rules!&lt;br /&gt;Please note.. these are all numbered '1 ' &lt;br /&gt;ON PURPOSE!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.   Men are NOT mind readers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down.&lt;br /&gt;You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Sunday sports It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Crying is blackmail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: &lt;br /&gt;Subtle hints do not work!&lt;br /&gt;Strong hints do not work!&lt;br /&gt;Obvious hints do not work!&lt;br /&gt;Just say it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become Null and void after 7 Days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If you think you're fat, you probably are.&lt;br /&gt;Don't ask us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the  other one &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You can either ask us to do something Or tell us how you want it done.  Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Whenever possible, Please say whatever you have to say during commercials..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Christopher Columbus did NOT need directions and neither do we.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. ALL men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not A color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If it itches, it will be scratched..&lt;br /&gt;We do that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If we ask what is wrong and you say 'nothing,' We will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, Expect an answer you don't want to hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...Really. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as baseball or motor sports&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You have enough clothes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You have too many shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I am in shape. Round IS a shape!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Thank you for reading this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight;&lt;br /&gt;But did you know men really don't mind that? It's like camping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pass this to as many men as you can - to give them a laugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pass this to as many women as you can -  to give them a bigger laugh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6128366788266596237?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6128366788266596237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6128366788266596237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6128366788266596237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6128366788266596237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/06/rules.html' title='The Rules...'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7132116827896300040</id><published>2009-06-06T18:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-06T18:22:01.123-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Thank You Letter</title><content type='html'>Just when you have lost faith in human kindness, someone who teaches at Kean Elementary in  Wooster, Ohio forwarded the following letter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The letter was sent to the Principal's office after the school had sponsored a luncheon for the elderly. An old lady received a new radio at the lunch as a door prize and was writing to say thank you. This story is a credit to all humankind. Forward to anyone you know who might need a lift today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Kean Elementary: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent senior citizens luncheon. I am 84 years old and live at the Sprenger Home for the Aged. All of my family has passed away. I am all alone now and it's nice to know that someone is thinking of me. God bless you for your kindness to an old forgotten lady. My roommate is 95 and has always had her own radio, but before I received one, she would never let me listen to hers, even when she was napping. &lt;br /&gt;The other day her radio fell off the nightstand and broke into a lot of pieces. It was awful and she was in tears. Her distress over the broken radio touched me and I knew this was God's way of answering my prayers.&lt;br /&gt;She asked if she could listen to mine, and I told her to kiss my ass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for that opportunity.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Agnes Baker&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7132116827896300040?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7132116827896300040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7132116827896300040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7132116827896300040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7132116827896300040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/06/thank-you-letter.html' title='The Thank You Letter'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6784605134997440703</id><published>2009-03-28T13:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T13:31:09.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irish Blonde</title><content type='html'>AN IRISH BLONDE IN A CASINO&lt;br /&gt;An attractive blonde from Cork, Ireland, arrived at the casino. She seemed a little intoxicated and bet twenty-thousand Euros on a single roll of the dice. She said, 'I hope you don't mind, but I feel much luckier when I'm completely nude'.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;With that, she stripped from the neck down, rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, 'Come on, baby, Mama needs new clothes!' As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed...'YES!&lt;br /&gt;YES! I WON, I WON!'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She hugged each of the dealers and then picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly departed.&lt;br /&gt;The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded. Finally, one of them asked, 'What did she roll?'&lt;br /&gt;The other answered, 'I don't know - I thought you were watching.'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;MORAL OF THE STORY -&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Not all Irish are drunks,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;not all blondes are dumb,&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;but all men...are men&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6784605134997440703?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6784605134997440703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6784605134997440703' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6784605134997440703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6784605134997440703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2009/03/irish-blonde.html' title='Irish Blonde'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-8902714743512344592</id><published>2008-12-17T18:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T18:03:36.391-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta Love the South</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;TENNESSEE &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The owner of a golf course was confused about paying an invoice, so he decided to ask his secretary for some mathematical help. He called her into his office and said, 'You graduated from the University of Tennessee and I need some help. If I were to give you $20,000, minus 14%, how much would you take off?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The secretary thought a moment, and then replied, 'Everything but my earrings.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ALABAMA&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A group of Alabama friends went deer hunting and paired off in twos for the day. That night, one of the hunters returned alone, staggering under the weight of an eight-point buck. 'Where's Henry?' the others asked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Henry had a stroke of some kind. He's a couple of miles back up the trail,' the successful hunter replied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'You left Henry laying out there and carried the deer back?' they inquired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'A tough call,' nodded the hunter 'But I figured no one is going to steal Henry!' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;TEXAS &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Sheriff pulled up next to the guy unloading garbage out of his pick-up into the ditch. The Sheriff asked, 'Why are you dumping garbage in the ditch? Don't you see that sign right over your head'. 'Yep', he replied. 'That's why I dumpin it here, cause it says: &lt;br /&gt;'Fine For Dumping Garbage'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;LOUISIANA&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A senior at LSU was overheard saying... 'When the end of the world comes, I hope to be in Louisiana .' When asked why, he replied he'd rather be in Louisiana because everything happens in Louisiana 20 years later than in the rest of the civilized world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;MISSISSIPPI &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man from Mississippi came running into the store and said to his buddy, 'Bubba, somebody just stole your pickup truck from the parking lot!' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bubba replied, 'Did you see who it was?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man answered, 'I couldn't tell, but I got his license number.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;GEORGIA&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Georgia State trooper pulled over a pickup on I- 75. The trooper asked, 'Got any I. D. ?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The driver replied, 'Bout whut?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ARKANSAS&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man moved his car from his front yard to his front door. Now he could brag to his friends that he lived in a double-wide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NORTH CAROLINA &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man in North Carolina had a flat tire, pulled off on the side of the road, and proceeded to put a bouquet of flowers in front of the car and one behind it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he got back in the car to wait. A passerby studied the scene as he drove by and was so curious he turned around and went back. He asked the fellow what the problem was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man replied, 'I have a flat tire.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The passerby asked, 'But what's with the flowers?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man responded, 'When you break down they tell you to put flares in the front and flares in the back. Hey, it don't make no sense to me neither.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, you can say what you want about the South, but I ain't never heard of anyone wanting to retire to the North.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-8902714743512344592?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/8902714743512344592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=8902714743512344592' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8902714743512344592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8902714743512344592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/12/gotta-love-south.html' title='Gotta Love the South'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6336998828317734242</id><published>2008-12-13T06:30:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T06:30:28.339-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fruitcake Lady</title><content type='html'>This is one that I dearly love!!!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rxEcv3azdu8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rxEcv3azdu8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6336998828317734242?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6336998828317734242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6336998828317734242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6336998828317734242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6336998828317734242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/12/fruitcake-lady.html' title='The Fruitcake Lady'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-1535309990927074337</id><published>2008-12-09T17:26:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T17:27:10.549-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Old Lady</title><content type='html'>Older  Woman:  Is there a problem, Officer?   &lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  Yes ma'am, I'm afraid you were speeding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Oh, I see. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  Can I see your license please? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Well, I would give it to you but I don't have one.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  Don't have one? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  No. I lost it 4 years ago for drunk driving.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  I see...Can I see your vehicle registration papers please.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman :  I can't do that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  Why not? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  I stole this car. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  Stole it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Yes, and I killed and hacked up the owner.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic Cop:  You what!? &lt;br /&gt;Older &amp;nbs! p;Woman&lt; /SPAN&gt;:  His body parts are in plastic bags in the trunk if you want to see  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The traffic cop looks at the woman and slowly backs away to his car while calling for back up.  Within minutes 5 police cars circle the car. A senior officer  slowly approaches the car, clasping his half drawn gun.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  Ma'am, could you step out of your vehicle  please! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  woman steps out of her vehicle.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  woman:  Is there a problem sir? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  My colleague here tells me that you have stolen this car and  murdered the owner. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Murdered the owner? Are you serious?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  Yes, could you please open the trunk of your car,  please. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The  woman opens the trunk, revealing nothing but an empty  trunk.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  Is this your car, ma'am? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Yes, here are the registration papers. &lt;br /&gt;The traffic cop is quite  stunned.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  My colleague claims that you do not have a driving license.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman digs into her handbag and pulls out a clutch  purse and hands it to the officer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The officer examines the  license quizzically.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officer  2:  Thank you ma'am, but I am puzzled, as I was told by my officer here that you didn't have a  license, that you stole this car, and that you murdered and hacked up the owner! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Older  Woman:  Bet the lying bastard told you I was speeding,  too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-1535309990927074337?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/1535309990927074337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=1535309990927074337' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1535309990927074337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/1535309990927074337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/12/little-old-lady.html' title='Little Old Lady'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-3386728569896883287</id><published>2008-12-06T10:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T10:55:05.040-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='loveafterallthoseyears'/><title type='text'>In Love after all these years!</title><content type='html'>An elderly gent was invited to an old friend's home for dinner one evening. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was impressed by the way his buddy preceded every request to his wife with endearing terms such as: Honey, My Love, Darling, Sweetheart, Pumpkin, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The couple had been married almost 70 years and clearly, they were still very much in love. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the wife was in the kitchen, the man leaned over and said to his host, 'I think it's wonderful that, after all these years, you still call your wife those loving pet names' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man hung his head. 'I have to tell you the truth,' he said, 'Her name slipped my mind about 10 years ago and I'm scared to death to ask her what it is!'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-3386728569896883287?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/3386728569896883287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=3386728569896883287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3386728569896883287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/3386728569896883287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/12/in-love-after-all-these-years.html' title='In Love after all these years!'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-8669815051941815137</id><published>2008-11-10T16:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T16:16:17.656-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mexican oysters'/><title type='text'>Mexican Oysters</title><content type='html'>Mexican Oysters&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;A big Texan stopped at a local restaurant following a day roaming around in Mexico&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;While sipping his tequila, he noticed a sizzling, scrumptious looking platter being served at the next table. Not only did it look good, the smell was wonderful. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;He asked the waiter, 'What is that you just served?'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The waiter replied, 'Ah senor, you have excellent taste! Those are called Cojones de Toro, bull's testicles from the bull fight this morning. A delicacy!'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The cowboy said, 'What the heck, bring me an order.' &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The waiter replied, 'I am so sorry senor. There is only one serving per day because there is only one bull fight each morning. If you come early and place your order, we will be sure to save you this delicacy.'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The next morning, the cowboy returned, placed his order, and that evening was served the one and only special delicacy of the day. After a few bites, inspecting his platter, he called to the waiter and said, 'These are delicious, but they are much, much smaller than the ones I saw you serve yesterday.'&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The waiter shrugged his shoulders and replied, 'Si, Senor. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Sometimes the bull wins.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-8669815051941815137?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/8669815051941815137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=8669815051941815137' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8669815051941815137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/8669815051941815137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/11/mexican-oysters.html' title='Mexican Oysters'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-2780653877778316716</id><published>2008-09-29T19:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T19:20:46.667-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hillbillymidwife'/><title type='text'>Hillbilly Midwife</title><content type='html'>Deep in the back woods,  of Letcher County Kentucky a hillbilly's wife went into labor in the middle of the night,  and the doctor was called out to assist in the delivery.   Since there was no electricity, the doctor handed the father-to-be a lantern and said,  'Here, You hold this high so I can see what I am doing!' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon, a baby boy was brought into the world.  'Whoa there', said the doctor, 'Don't be in such a rush to put that lantern down I think there's another one coming.' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, within minutes he had delivered a baby girl.  'Hold that lantern up, don't set it down there's another one!'  Said the doctor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Within a few minutes he had delivered a third baby  'No, don't be in a hurry to put down that lantern, it seems there's yet another one coming!'  cried the doctor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The redneck scratched his head in bewilderment,  and asked the doctor, .. . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  'You reckon it might be the light that's attractin' 'em?'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-2780653877778316716?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/2780653877778316716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=2780653877778316716' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2780653877778316716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/2780653877778316716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/09/hillbilly-midwife.html' title='Hillbilly Midwife'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-4664569310687754417</id><published>2008-09-07T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T19:38:07.761-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='preacherandthelawnmower'/><title type='text'>The Preacher and the lawnmower</title><content type='html'>A preacher was making his rounds on a bicycle, when he came upon a little boy trying to sell a lawn mower.&lt;br /&gt;'How much do you want for the mower?' asked the preacher.&lt;br /&gt;'I just want enough money to go out and buy me a bicycle,' said the little boy.&lt;br /&gt;After a moment of consideration, the preacher asked, Will you take my bike in trade for it?'&lt;br /&gt;The little boy asked if he could try it out first, and, after riding the bike around a little while, said, 'Mister, you've got yourself a deal.'&lt;br /&gt;The preacher took the mower and began to crank it. He pulled on the rope a few times with no response from the mower.&lt;br /&gt;The preacher called the little boy over and said, 'I can't get this mower to start.'&lt;br /&gt;The little boy said, 'That's because you have to cuss at it to get it started.'&lt;br /&gt;The preacher said, I can't cuss. It's been so long since I became a Christian that I don't even remember how to cuss.'&lt;br /&gt;The little boy looked at him happily and said, 'You just keep pulling on that rope. It'll come back to ya!'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-4664569310687754417?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/4664569310687754417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=4664569310687754417' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4664569310687754417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4664569310687754417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/09/preacher-and-lawnmower.html' title='The Preacher and the lawnmower'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-9120274304694752139</id><published>2008-08-16T08:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T08:12:03.361-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='golf balls'/><title type='text'>Golf Balls</title><content type='html'>A man got on the bus with both of his front pockets full of golf balls and&lt;br /&gt; sat down next to a beautiful (you guessed it) blonde. The puzzled young&lt;br /&gt; woman kept looking at him and his bulging pockets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Finally, after many such glances from her, he said, "Its golf balls."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Nevertheless, the blonde continued to look at him for a very long time,&lt;br /&gt; deeply thinking about what he had said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; After several minutes, not being able to contain her curiosity any longer,&lt;br /&gt; she asked, "Does it hurt as much as tennis elbow?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-9120274304694752139?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/9120274304694752139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=9120274304694752139' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/9120274304694752139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/9120274304694752139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/08/golf-balls.html' title='Golf Balls'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6795169916819048100</id><published>2008-07-31T20:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T20:56:13.180-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='raising boys'/><title type='text'>Raising Boys</title><content type='html'>And you also find out interesting things when you have sons, like...&lt;br /&gt;1.) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.) A 3-year old Boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. room. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words 'uh oh', it's already too late. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.) A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old Man says they can only do it in the movies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.) Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old Boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.) Super glue is forever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15.) VCR's do not eject 'PB &amp; J' sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20.) The fire department in Austin , TX has a 5-minute response time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22.) It will, however, make cats dizzy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24.) 80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25.) 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6795169916819048100?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6795169916819048100/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6795169916819048100' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6795169916819048100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6795169916819048100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/raising-boys.html' title='Raising Boys'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-4664890505633958249</id><published>2008-07-26T08:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T08:26:55.863-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='playin&apos; church'/><title type='text'>Playin' Church</title><content type='html'>After a hardy rainstorm filled all the potholes in the streets and alleys, a young mother watched her two little boys playing in the puddle through her kitchen window. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The older of the two, a five year old lad, grabbed his sibling by the back of his head and shoved his face into the water hole. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the boy recovered and stood laughing and dripping, the mother runs to the yard in a panic. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;' Why on earth did you do that to your little brother?!' she asks as she shook the older boy in anger. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'We were just playing 'church' mommy, ' he said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'And I was just baptizing him.....in the name of the Father, the Son and in...the hole-he-goes.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-4664890505633958249?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/4664890505633958249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=4664890505633958249' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4664890505633958249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4664890505633958249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/playin-church.html' title='Playin&apos; Church'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6547324915719017567</id><published>2008-07-26T08:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T08:25:34.602-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nag-nag-nag'/><title type='text'>Nag-Nag-Nag</title><content type='html'>A farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully from morning till night(and sometimes later), she was always complaining about something.  Theonly time he got any relief was when he was out plowing with his oldmule. He tried to plow a lot. &lt;br /&gt;One day, when he was out plowing, his wife brought him lunch in the field.He drove the old mule into the shade, sat down on a stump, and began to eathis lunch. Immediately, his wife  began haranguing him again. Complain,nag, nag; it just went on and on.  All of a sudden, the old mule lashed outwith both hind feet; caught her smack in the back of the head.  Killed herdead on the spot. &lt;br /&gt;At the funeral  several days later, the minister noticed something rather odd.When a woman mourner would approach the old farmer, he would listen for aminute,  then nod his head in agreement; but when a man mourner approachedhim, he would listen for a minute, then shake his head in disagreement. Thiswas so consistent, the minister decided to ask the farmer about it. &lt;br /&gt;So after the funeral, the minister spoke to the farmer, and asked him why henodded his head and agreed with the women, but always shook his head anddisagreed with all the men. &lt;br /&gt;The farmer said: "Well, the women  would come up and say something abouthow nice my wife looked, or how pretty  her dress was, so I'd nod my head inagreement." &lt;br /&gt;"And what  about the men?" the minister asked. &lt;br /&gt;"They wanted to know if the mule was for  sale."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6547324915719017567?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6547324915719017567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6547324915719017567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6547324915719017567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6547324915719017567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/nag-nag-nag.html' title='Nag-Nag-Nag'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7922498109554508311</id><published>2008-07-12T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T14:37:00.153-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='order in the court'/><title type='text'>Order in the Court</title><content type='html'>These are from a book called Disorder in the American courts, and are things &lt;br /&gt;people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Are you sexually active?&lt;br /&gt;WIT NESS :      No, I just lie there.&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  What gear were you in at the moment of the impact? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      Gucci sweats and Reeboks.&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:        Yes.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   And in what ways does it affect your memory? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:       I forget.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS: I forgot what I didn't remember. &lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    He said, 'Where am I, Cathy?'&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  And why did that upset you?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    My name is Susan!&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     We two do.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Voodoo?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     We two do voodoo. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  You do voodoo too?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     Yes, we two do voodoo too.&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    Are you kidding?&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________ ________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     How old is the twenty-year-old?&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Yes&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS: Is this a trick question?&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Were you present when your picture was taken?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     Man...you have got to be shittin' me!&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      Yes. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  And what were you doing at that time? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     DUH... I was gettin' laid!&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:    She had three children, right? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      Yes.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:    How many were boys? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      None.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Were there any girls? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:       Oh God. Your Honor,  Can I get a new attorney? &lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   How was your first marriage terminated?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     By death.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   And by whose death was it terminated?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    Well it sure as hell wasn't mine! &lt;br /&gt; __________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Can you describe the individual?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     He was about medium height and had a real full thick beard.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Was this a male or a female? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:       Guess.&lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:     No, this is how I dress when I go to work. &lt;br /&gt;__________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Are you crazy?&lt;br /&gt;_________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What schoo l did you go to?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      Oral.&lt;br /&gt;___________________________ ______________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  Do you recall the time that you examined the body? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  And Mr. Denton was dead at the time? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:    No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him! &lt;br /&gt;_________________________________________________________ &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Are you qualified to give a urine sample?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:       Huh....are you qualified to ask that ques tion?&lt;br /&gt;_________________________________________________________  &lt;br /&gt;And the best for last: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      No. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Did you check for blood pressure? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      No.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   Did you check for breathing?&lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      No.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:  So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      No.&lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:   How can you be so sure, Doctor? &lt;br /&gt;WI TNESS:      Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar. &lt;br /&gt;ATTORNEY:      I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless? &lt;br /&gt;WITNESS:      Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7922498109554508311?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7922498109554508311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7922498109554508311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7922498109554508311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7922498109554508311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/order-in-court.html' title='Order in the Court'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-5042603861627762147</id><published>2008-07-09T18:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T18:12:30.488-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='luckytobealive'/><title type='text'>Lucky to be Alive!</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;This young man is lucky to be alive.  He's a medical miracle!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/SHVhzSiO6rI/AAAAAAAAAAk/dU-ryEslacI/s1600-h/lucky.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/SHVhzSiO6rI/AAAAAAAAAAk/dU-ryEslacI/s320/lucky.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221186876782602930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-5042603861627762147?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/5042603861627762147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=5042603861627762147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5042603861627762147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5042603861627762147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/lucky-to-be-alive.html' title='Lucky to be Alive!'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/SHVhzSiO6rI/AAAAAAAAAAk/dU-ryEslacI/s72-c/lucky.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-582626943342971261</id><published>2008-07-09T18:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T18:06:24.362-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='caught sleeping'/><title type='text'>FIVE BEST THINGS TO SAY IF YOU GET CAUGHT SLEEPING AT YOUR DESK:</title><content type='html'>NUMBER 5: They told me at the Blood Bank this might happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER 4: 'This is just a 15 minute power nap they raved about in the time-management course you sent me to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER 3: 'Whew! Guess I left the top off the White-out. You probably got here just in time!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NUMBER 2:Did you ever notice sound coming out of these keyboards when you put your ear down real close? &lt;br /&gt;  NUMBER 1 :  And MY all time Favorite: best thing to say if you get caught sleeping at your desk: (Raising your head slowly) '... in Jesus' name, Amen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-582626943342971261?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/582626943342971261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=582626943342971261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/582626943342971261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/582626943342971261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/07/five-best-things-to-say-if-you-get.html' title='FIVE BEST THINGS TO SAY IF YOU GET CAUGHT SLEEPING AT YOUR DESK:'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-5866981542881762681</id><published>2008-06-22T20:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T20:07:58.190-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funeralservice'/><title type='text'>Funeral Service</title><content type='html'>As a young minister in Kentucky, I was asked by a funeral director to hold a grave-side service for a homeless man, who had no family or friends. The funeral was to be held at a new cemetery way back in the country, and this man would be the first to be buried there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not familiar with the backwoods area, and I soon became lost. Being a typical man, I did not stop to ask for directions. I finally arrived an hour late. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw the backhoe and the open grave, but the hearse was nowhere in sight.  The digging crew was eating lunch. I apologized to the workers for my tardiness, and I stepped to the side of the open grave. There I saw the vault lid already in place. I assured the workers I would not hold them up for long, as I told them that this was the proper thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The workers gathered around the grave and stood silently, as I began to pour out my heart and soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I preached about 'looking forward to a brighter tomorrow' and 'the glory that is to come,' the workers began to say 'Amen,' 'Praise the Lord,' and 'Glory!' The fervor of these men truly inspired me. So, I preached and I preached like I had never preached before, all the way from Genesis to Revelations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally closed the lengthy service with a prayer, thanked the men, and walked to my car. As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I heard one of the workers say to another, I ain't NEVER seen nothin' like that before, and I've been puttin' in septic tanks for thirty years!'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-5866981542881762681?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/5866981542881762681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=5866981542881762681' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5866981542881762681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/5866981542881762681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/06/funeral-service.html' title='Funeral Service'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-6693172876735201748</id><published>2008-06-18T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T18:52:51.209-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tickwarning'/><title type='text'>Tick Warning</title><content type='html'>I hate it when people forward bogus warnings, and I have even done it myself a couple times unintentionally...but this one is real, and it's important. So please send this warning to everyone on your e- mail list.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warm weather -  and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up,  --  DO NOT DO IT!! -- THIS IS A SCAM!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-- They only want to see you naked!!&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I wish I'd gotten this yesterday. I feel so stupid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-6693172876735201748?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/6693172876735201748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=6693172876735201748' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6693172876735201748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/6693172876735201748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/06/tick-warning.html' title='Tick Warning'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-4375786164913536352</id><published>2008-05-26T16:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T16:21:06.978-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiftydollars'/><title type='text'>$50</title><content type='html'>Morris and his wife Esther went to the state fair every year, and every year Morris would say, 'Esther,I'd like to ride in that helicopter.'   Esther always replied, 'I know Morris, but that helicopter ride is fifty dollars, and fifty dollars is fifty dollars'  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One year Esther and Morris went to the fair, and Morris said, 'Esther, I'm 85 years old. If I don't ride that helicopter, I might never get anothe r chance.'   ;To this, Esther replied, 'Morris that helicopter ride is fifty dollars, and fifty dollars is fifty dollars.'  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pilot overheard the couple and said, 'Folks I'll make you a deal. I'll take the both of you for a ride. If you can stay quiet for the entire ride and don't say a word I won't charge you a penny! But if you say one word it's fifty dollars.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morris and Esther agreed and up they went. The pilot did all kinds of fancy maneuvers, but not a word was heard. He did his daredevil tricks over and over again, but still not a word.&lt;br /&gt;When they landed, the pilot turned to Morris and said, 'By golly, I did everything I could to get you to yell out, but you didn't. I'm impressed!'&lt;br /&gt;Morris replied, 'Well, to tell you the truth, I almost said something when Esther fell out, but you know, fifty dollars is fifty dollars!'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-4375786164913536352?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/4375786164913536352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=4375786164913536352' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4375786164913536352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/4375786164913536352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/05/50.html' title='$50'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-7892653380357880150</id><published>2008-05-26T16:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T16:17:30.178-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='notanotherblog'/><title type='text'>Honestly</title><content type='html'>I don't need another blog... I really don't... but I guess I could use this as a place to store funnies that my grandmother sends me.... she's just gotten the internet and she crashes out my box on a daily basis.  I love it though... I think it's sweet.  So when I get a really funny one, I'll try to remember to bring it over and post it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-7892653380357880150?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/7892653380357880150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=7892653380357880150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7892653380357880150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/7892653380357880150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/05/honestly.html' title='Honestly'/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6338888585423064558.post-146843617022394964</id><published>2008-03-26T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T16:22:05.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6338888585423064558-146843617022394964?l=theladyrachel.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/feeds/146843617022394964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6338888585423064558&amp;postID=146843617022394964' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/146843617022394964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6338888585423064558/posts/default/146843617022394964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theladyrachel.blogspot.com/2008/03/exploding-dog.html' title=''/><author><name>mostlynot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13572429106427368219</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_s8ibQWeh-6o/R-qWr1Afe3I/AAAAAAAAAAY/zBUKpd9Ak8I/S220/reflect.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
