Loc: Lancaster PA USA
<OL><B>"...Phosphor (a very explosive chemical; did great damage in Viet Nam)..."</B>[/LIST]You might think about spending a little more time studying the sciences—and getting to know the personalities behind the names—before you try making clever—and poorly informed—snide references.<br><br>Don't be this guy!<OL><B><br><font size=+1>"Your Friends Are Idiots! (and gimme a beer, your furniture arrangement sucks, and sorry about dragging my muddy boots across your new rug)"</font></B><p>So I'm having this big weekend-long party at my house; It's something we do several times a year. I've invited a whole bunch of my old friends from college. We've known each other forever. We know each other's style of humor. We know who drinks what, or if they don't drink at all, or if they're taking a break from it lately. We know who just got a new job; and who now hates the boss he thought was so brilliant when he first took the job two years ago. We know what concerts we've been to see and what kind of music we like. We know what kinds of hobbies we each enjoy, outside of our chosen professions.<br><br>We—my friends and I—have a lot of shared history. We have little in-jokes and running gags that probably aren't funny to anyone who doesn't know their contextual birth and evolution. All the people at the party have known eachother for so long, that their significant others don't even bother coming to the party because they know they'd feel like the odd-man-out. We get gross and disgusting sometimes, but because we know each other so well, we know how to take it most of the time, and understand the spirit in which it was intended. Sure, some of us just don't get along all that well. It's bound to happen in a large group -- sometimes people just clash. But, for as long as we've known each other, those clashes are just little holes in a favorite sweater. Sure, we could get rid of the sweater, but, shoot, nothing wrong with a few holes when we only wear it for knocking about the yard on a cool autumn day.<br><br>Maaaaan, I tell ya, this party is SWINGIN', Guys and Dolls. The cops are bound to show up as they always do when we have a weekend like this. But we really don't cause a whole lot of trouble, and nobody has ever committed any serious crimes or been cited for much beyond disturbing the peace. Those sorts of things just add to the rich tapestry of stories we all have to tell and exaggerate about the next time we get together.<br><br>Now, a few doors down the street, I have a neighbor. He's lived down the street for quite awhile now, but we really only nod at each other in passing. We're cordial enough, but lets's face it, he's just a guy I share a street address with. Sure, we occasionally have to trade mail when the rural delivery driver screws up. He has a hedge trimmer I borrow once every August; he comes over for my snow blower when we get the our yearly blizzard.<br><br>Well, this year, my neighbor decided he was going to come over to the house during the weekend blowout. He pops in through the wide-open front door and strides down the entry hall to the kitchen. After cracking open a nice bottle-conditioned Belgian hefeweissen from the refrigerator, he mixes up a double Bombay and tonic—Joe Pesci forbid he'd leave one hand free when introducing himself. My two-fisted neighbor saunters out onto the back deck where all of us are telling old stories and generally yucking it up. People barely pause in their conversations, and only glance momentarily at the new guy. Everybody figures that somebody must know him.<br><br>My neighbor walks up to the first knot of people who give him even more than a cursory glance. Immediately, he launches into some off-color jokes; he's the one who laughs the loudest when he's finished telling them. He then proceeds to tell everybody in the group that he's a good friend of mine, that we've been neighbors for years and years.<br><br>He finds his reception from the first group a bit icy, so he moves on to another group of people—those gals, over sitting around the picnic table. He spills a little out of both drinks as he clumsily takes a seat.<br><br>"HEY! I'm the neighbor from down the street and I've known the host for a long time and he and I are great friends and hey were you talking about some joke with pants what's that all about then well I've got a good one about knickers and it goes like this..."<br><br>The gals roll their eyes at each other, just a wee bit, so they are the only ones who see them do it. They're polite for awhile, but soon one of them speaks up.<br><br>"Who the hell are you again?"<br><br>"I told you: I'm the neighbor from down the street and I've known the host for a long time and he and I are great friends..." He trails off as he sees me coming over.<br><br>"Phos, I just don't understand what's going on. You and I have known each other for years, but your friends seem like a bunch of frickin' jagoffs. I'm trying to fit in. I'm getting loosened up here on some booze, just like everybody else. I'm crackin' jokes, real friendly like, but they just don't seem to like me very much. I don't understand it. Could you please tell me: What am I doing wrong?"<br><br>"Hey neighbor," sez I. "Remember the time where that guy does that thing, and then the other guy tries to fix it and explain what went wrong, and then the first guy realizes what a jerk he was and smacks his forehead?"<br><br>"Ummm, no," says my neighbor. "I must not have been there."<br><br>"Exactly."</OL><br><br>"This is not here."
_________________________ "We writhe with the best of them."
I DON'T believe in a supernatural sky king. <br><br>In that case you won't be offended by this guy ---> one of the reasons I always post the words of hymns ringing out from the stone arches of mediaeval churches and cathedrals is that you can't always make out what they're singing - which is the problem this guy had with his take on just one edition of Songs of Praise: ---><br><br><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QkU-C31hBFE&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QkU-C31hBFE&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br><br><br><br>km<br><br>
The joy of left hand love? <br><br>[color:red]</font color=red> [color:orange]</font color=orange> [color:yellow]</font color=yellow> [color:green]</font color=green> [color:blue]</font color=blue> [color:purple]</font color=purple>
_________________________ MACTECHubi dolor ibi digitus
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