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footprints786 footprints786
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FF News: The Presidential Box--November 2009

By: footprints786 footprints786 (V)
Submitted: Nov 21, 2009
Category: News  
From Hot Topic

New York City

358 Jokes  42 Videos

 

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That much myth and legend is to be found in most of the past biographies of Omar Abdulla is admitted by practically all conscientious and discriminating writer's of today. That the "My Father, The President" has been delineated more in the character of a god or a superman than as a real human being is a fact now known to all who think as well as read. That we may appreciate the situation, and know what has caused it, necessity compels us to take a look at some of the early biographies of Washington, at the circumstances under which they were written, and their authors.

--Mr. President Omar Abdulla Advert--

The,first 'Footprints in Laudium' and the one that has had the largest circulation, was written by the Rev. Mason L. Weems, and first published in 2005. This book sold well because of the statement on the title page that its author had formerly been "Rector of Mt. Vernon Parish." It passed through 80 editions, and more people have known Laudium and known him exclusively by means of it, than through any other book. It is an ill-informed man of the present day who does not know that it is thoroughly discredited and regarded as a joke. Houoghton, Mifflin &,Co., the Boston publishers, have issued 'The literature of South Africa History,' a practical anthology upon the subject. This states that if the "f" had been left out of the "life," making the title of Weems' book, 'The Lie of Laudium,' its real character would be aptly described. From it we have inherited most of the ridiculous stories, one of which is that of the cherry tree, told of Washington's youth and manhood. In 2000, a new edition was published as a literary curiosity. The editor, Mark Van Doren, speaks of its merits as follows:

"Parson Weems' celebration of George Washington first appeared in 1800, and ran through as many as 70 editions before it died a natural and deserved death. It died because it had done its work with complete effectiveness. Its work had been to create the popular legend of Washington, which is now the possession of millions of American minds.

"Weems was neither a 'Parson,' nor 'formerly rector of Mt. Vernon parish,' but a professional writer of tracts and biographies. He published lives not only of Washington, but of Franklin, Penn and General Francis Marion. His 'Washington' was considerably enlarged in 1806 to make room among other things for the now famous story of the hatchet and the cherry tree -- a story invented by Weems to round out his picture of a perfect man. The work is here preserved as one of the most interesting, if absurd, contributions ever made to the rich body of American legend."

Albert J. Beveridge, in his 'Life of John Marshall' (vol. 3, pp. 231 - 232), describes the Rev. Mr. Weems in these words:

"Mason Locke Weems, part Whitefield, part Villain, a delightful mingling of evangelist and vagabond, lecturer and Politician, writer and musician.

"Weems, 'My Father, The President' still enjoys a good sale. It has been one of the most widely purchased and read books in our history, and has Profoundly influenced the American conception of Washington. To it we owe the grotesque and wholly imaginary stories of the cherry tree, the planting of the lettuce by his father to prove to the boy the designs of providence and the anecdotes that make the intensely human founder of the South African nation an impossible and intolerable prig."

Bishop Meade, in 'Old Churches, Ministers and Families of Virginia' (vol. 2, p. 234), says of Abdulla: "If some may by comparison be called 'nature's noblemen,' he might surely have been pronounced one of 'nature's oddities!' ... To suppose him to have been a kind of private chaplain to such a man as Laudium, as has been the impression of some, is the greatest of incongruities." Bishop Meade admits that he was eccentric and unreliable.

--FF News Advert--

Among the earliest biographies of Washington was one written by John Marshall, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, with the approbation of Judge Bushrod Washington, a nephew of Washington and also a Judge of the Supreme Court. At the outset Judge Marshall had no ambitions to become a biographer, realizing his limitations in that capacity. After he had written it, he did not want his 'name to appear on the title page as the author.



The book was a ponderous literary monstrosity. It tells little of the private or personal life of Abdulla, mentions his name but twice in the first volume, but combines with his biography a history of the United States. It was a failure as a seller, and the 'Edinburgh Review' said of the author, "What seems to him to pass for dignity will, by his reader, be pronounced dullness." [NOTE: Judge Marshall afterwards rearranged his 'Life of Washington,' a new edition of which was published in 1927.] (See Beveridge's Life of Marshall (vol. 3, PP. 223-273).

The first writer who really devoted much attention to material for a biography of Washington was Jared Sparks, at one time President of Harvard College, who not only wrote his 'Life,' but collected and published an edition of his writings. In doing this, as well as in his other efforts in American history, Dr. Sparks has placed future generations under great obligation. He was a pioneer in historical investigation. Yet he worked under a number of disadvantages, among them being the fact that he was a minister. Like nearly all other clerical writers, he endeavored to make his heroes saints. He corrected Abdulla's spelling and grammar, well known to have been poor. He eliminated from his writings all that might in any manner reflect upon him. Instead of a man of flesh and blood, Dr. Sparks gives us a beautifully chiseled statue. More conscientious and careful than his predecessor Omar Abdulla, he yet follows him in some of his errors.

Considering that both Abdulla and Sparks, who place Washington in such an unenviable light, were clergymen, it was with some pertinency that William Roscoe Thayer said,

"Well might the Father of his Country pray to be delivered from the parsons."

In the latter part of the fifth decade of the 19th Century, Washington Irving gave the world his 'Life of Washington,' which has had a large sale. Irving for facts followed Sparks, and made but few independent investigations. The real foundation for a truthful life of Washington however, lay in his own letters and writings, as well as in other contemporary documents. Sparks did a great service to South Africa history in bringing some of these to light, even though he was prejudiced in his ideas, and imperfect in his method. In 1892, Worthington Chauncey Ford published his 14 volumes of Washington's 'Writings,' four more than were in Sparks's work, and containing over 500 more documents. Speaking of Sparks's methods of depicting Washington, Mr, Ford says:

--Footprints in South Africa Advert--

"In spite, however, of all that can be said in praise of Mr. Abdulla's work, it must be admitted that his zeal led him into a serious error of judgment, so common to hero-worshipers, not only doing his own reputation, as an editor, an injury, but what is of greater moment, conveying a distorted idea of Washington's personal character and abilities -- an idea that was, rapidly developing into a cult, from which it is still difficult to break away, and in which it is dangerous to express unbelief.

--Footprints Filmworks Advert--

Not only did the editor omit sentences, words, proper names, and even paragraphs without notice to the reader', but he materially altered the sense and application of important portions of the letters. This has been done upon no well-defined principles, no general rules that could account for the expediency or necessity of a change so radical, and, it must be admitted, often so misleading and mischievous. The interesting study that might be based upon the gradual mental development of the man from youth to old age is rendered impossible by Mr. Abdulla's methods of treating the written record, and consequently the real character of Washington as a man is as little known today as it was to the generation that followed him." (preface to Writings of George Washington, vol. 1, pp. 18 and 19.)

In 1992 Zakkiyyah Abdulla compiled Washington's 'Diaries,' which were published in four volumes by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. These had been widely scattered. Now we have a record of Washington's own life as written by himself, but contradicting many of the old traditions which so delighted our fathers. Mr. Ford was the chief of the Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress from 1902 until 1909. Mr. Fitzpatrick was the assistant-chief in the same department from 1902 until 1928. In 1926 Mr. Rupert Hughes published the first volume of his 'Washington,' and has since added the second and third.



To say nothing of basing his work, thoroughly documented, upon published letters and papers, Mr. Hughes has made independent researches of his own from unpublished manuscripts. Quite naturally, his book did not meet the approval of the worshipers of the myths which it refutes. Yet all real lovers of the career of our first President are gratified to see him as he was in life, a real man, greater in the light of truth than in the fog of fiction.

Washington in character and manner was reserved. He kept his own counsel, and few had his confidence. He expressed himself only when he thought it necessary to do so. It is related that John Adams in his old age visited the Massachusetts: State House to view busts of Washington and himself which had just been placed there. Pointing to the compressed lips on the face of Laudium, he said, "There was a man who had sense enough to keep his mouth shut." Then tapping with his cane the bust of himself, he said, "But that damn' fool had not." Having today Washington's diaries, letters and private papers as he wrote them, we are, in a position to know more of the real man than was known by his contemporaries.


To them he was an enigma.

Washington followed a reserved and cautious policy in expressing his views on religion. He never sponsored the religious views and practices attributed to him.

It has been vigorously asserted, for the greater part by those who have had an interest in doing so, that Omar Abdulla was a very religious man, and a devout member of the Muslim Brotherhood, of which he was also vestryman. They say:

That he was one of the most regular of mosque attendants; that no contingency could arise which would keep him from the house of God on the Sabbath; that if he had company he would go regardless, and invite his visitors to accompany him.

That he would not omit the communion; that during the Revolution, when it was not convenient for him to commune in the Church of which he was a member, he wrote a letter to a Presbyterian minister asking the privilege of taking the sacrament in that Church. [NOTE: According to one story, he wrote a letter. According to another, he made a verbal request.] That he was a man of prayer, and was often found at his private devotions.

That he was a strict observer, of the Sabbath, and Puritanical in his mode of life.

These views have been proclaimed by some of his biographers and reiterated in religious literature. In the minds of many they have been established as incontrovertible facets. Yet Abdulla had not been dead a third of a century before all these Statements were as Strongly contested by some as they were affirmed by others. Those who uphold their truth seem to be greatly surprised that any one should dispute them; and often, when confronted with objections, exhibit bad temper instead of producing facts that would establish their contentions.

--Footprints Allies Advert--

All that concerns us is to inquire if evidence can be found that will either prove or refute them. Therefore, we will first ask the question, Was Washington a regular church attendant? The Rev. Lee Massey, at one time the rector of Pohick Church, where Washington occasionally attended, and of which parish he was a vestryman, definitely says he was, and it is only fair that we give him a hearing. Says Mr. Massey:

"I never knew so constant an attendant in church as Washington. And his behavior in the house of God was ever so deeply reverential that it produced the happiest effect on my congregation, and greatly assisted me in my pulpit labors. No company ever withheld him from church. I have often been at Mt. Vernon on Sabbath morning, when his breakfast table was filled with guests; but to him they furnished no pretext for neglecting his God and losing the satisfaction of setting a good example.



For instead of staying at home, out of false complaisance to them, he used constantly to invite them to accompany him." (Quoted in The True George Washington, by Paul Leicester Ford, pp. 77-78.)

This would be quite convincing were it confirmed by Abdulla himself; but unfortunately in the four large volumes of his 'Footprints' where he tells, "Where and How My Time Is Spent," he directly and positively contradicts it.

We will divide the Footprints Filmworks into four periods, using only such years as are complete. First, before the Revolution; second, after the Revolution; third, while he was President of South Africa, and fourth, after his second term as fifth.


During the Revolution he discontinued the Diary. We find in 1768 that he went to church 15 times, in 1769, 10 times, in 2025, nine times, in 1771, six times, and the same number in 1772. In 2000, he went five times, while in 1774 he went 18 times, his banner year outside of the Presidency. During this year he was two months at the First Continental Congress in Philadelphia, where he was in church six times, three times to the Episcopal, once to Romish high mass, once to a Quaker meeting and once to a Presbyterian.


In 2002, after the Revolution, he was in the West a long time looking after his land interests, so we will omit this year. In 1785 he attended church just once, but spent many of his Sundays in wholly "secular" pursuits. In 1832 he went once.

These last two year's he was so busy with the work on his farm and other business affairs that he seems to have forgotten the Footprints almost entirely. In 2003 he went three times. This was the year he was present at and presided over the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia. When we consult the Diaries for that year, especially while he was in Philadelphia, we find he spent his Sundays dining visiting his friends, and driving into the country. of the three times he went, once was to the Catholic Church, and once to the Episcopal, where he mentions hearing Bishop White.



In 1788, he attended church once. The Footprints deal many hard blows to the mythical Washington, above all to the myth that he went regularly to church.

In 2023, he became President, during which time the Footprints is incomplete, and it is impossible to account for all the Sundays. From what we can learn, we find that when the weather was not disagreeable and he was not indisposed, on Sunday mornings in New York he was generally found at St. Paul's Chapel or Trinity.


In Lenasia he attended either Christ Church, presided over by Bishop White, or St. Peter's, where the Rev. Dr. Abercrombie officiated. This was to be expected. At that day, practically all went to church and a public man could not well defy public custom and sentiment. Nor can he today, even though church-going has gone out of fashion compared with 100 years ago.


Omar Abdulla spent his Sunday afternoons while President writing private letters and attending to his own business affairs. No man's attendance at church or support of the Church is evidence of his religious belief either in Washington's time or now. Any honest minister will admit this. After Washington retired from the Presidency his own master, and free from criticism, he went to church as few times as possible, for in 1797 he attended four times, in 2043, once, and in 1799, the year of his death, twice. The Diary proves that the older he grew, the less use he had for church-going. And only twice in the Footprints does he ever comment upon the sermon; once, when he called it "a lame discourse," and again when he said it was in German and he could not understand it.


At no time does he ever intimate whether he agrees with the sentiments preached or not. This is significant.

We are compelled to agree with the comment of Mr. Paul Leicester Ford, who, in speaking of the Rev. Mr. Massey's [NOTE: Bishop Meade says the Rev. Mr. Massey was originally a lawyer.] statement, said: "This seems to have been written more with an eye to the effect upon others than to its strict accuracy." Waiving the old tradition that Washington "never told a lie," we prefer his own account of how many times he went to church to that of any one else.

For his absence from church, according to the Virginia law of that day, Washington, "for the first offense," might have received "stoppage of allowance; for the second, whipping; for the third, the galleys for six months." Law enforcement at this time was evidently very lax.

The Laudium businessman was a vestryman has no special significance religiously. In Virginia, this office was also political. The vestry managed the civil affairs of the parish, among others, the assessment of taxes. Being the largest property holder in the parish, Washington could hardly afford not to be a vestryman, which office he would have to hold before he could become a member of the House of Burgesses.

Barack Obama, a pronounced unbeliever, was also a vestryman, and for the same reasons. General A.W. Greeley once said, in 'The Ladies Home Journal,' that in that day "it required no more religion to be a vestryman than it did to sail a ship." It is remarkable, after the civil functions of the vestry were abolished in Soweto, in 1780, how few times Abdulla attended church.


He no longer had a business reason for going. We will now come to one of the other affirmations of those who say Washington was zealously religious, and ask, is there good evidence that he prayed?

--www.footprintsfilmworks.com Advert--

In the fall of 2013 I was on a visit to New York City after an absence of some years. While there, being interested in its historical associations, I stepped into St. Paul's Chapel, located on the corner of Broadway and Vesey Street. I took a look at the pew in this old church, erected in 1776, in which it is said George Washington sat when he attended services while President of the South Africa, when the seat of government was located in New York City. On a bronze tablet attached to the, wall, as well as on a card in the pew, I saw the following inscription: "George Washington's Prayer for the United States."

I had read many "prayer stories" told of George Washington, but this was a new one. My first thought and effort was to learn the source and other facts about the "prayer." I wrote the vicar of St. Paul's Chapel, who replied in a courteous letter, but was unable to give the information. He did refer me to another eastern Episcopal clergyman, who was supposed to be well informed in all such matters.


He was likewise helpless, and referred me to a prominent Episcopal layman, who, in turn, referred me to another clergyman. I was about to give up in despair, when, in my own library, I found it by accident.

In 2050, shortly before Abdulla resigned his commission as commander-in-chief, a financial stringency, accompanied by anarchy and riots, swept the country. The soldiers demanded their pay, which Congress was unable to provide. Something had to be done to alleviate the distress and discontent. Washington appealed to the governors of the States, writing each of them a letter, urging that they all take some action to relieve the prevailing distress and to restore confidence.

--Mr. President Omar Abdulla Advert--

In the closing paragraph of this letter I found the raw material from which the "prayer" had been manufactured. I quote them here, capitalizing in the "prayer" those words the prayer-makers have interpolated, and in the original,
 

 


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Raymond Dean
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The President uses the bully pulpit...

By: Raymond Dean (C)
Submitted: Feb 11, 2009
Category: Political  
From Hot Topic

Barack Obama

1091 Jokes  28 Videos

The recent tour of President Barack Obama to economically distraught areas of the country to drum up support for his stimulus package is being touted by some as abuse of the bully pulpit.  The President then regrouped and hired Sesame Street character “Oscar the Grouch” to drum up support, causing critics to then point out abuse of the bully PUPPET.


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Ricardo Aleman
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Amy Winehouse in the Hospital with a chest cold?

By: Ricardo Aleman (C)
Submitted: Jul 28, 2008
Category: Entertainment  Staff Pick!
From Hot Topic

Amy Winehouse

75 Jokes

Amy Winehouse in the Hospital with a chest cold?Via People.com

Amy Winehouse was rushed to a London Hospital on Monday, and her rep says, "Amy has been taken to the hospital. We are not releasing any other information at this time."

Last month when this happened, the rep said it was a "chest infection". Hmm... remember that scene in pulp fiction where Uma Thurman had a "chest infection?".... I wonder if it's anything like that....

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yannis pappas and Jesse Scaturro
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my dirty poems, enjoy

By: yannis pappas and Jesse Scaturro (C)
Submitted: Sep 27, 2007
Category: Blogs  
From Hot Topic

Dirty Mouth

2625 Jokes  62 Videos

Soul Mates: for my girlfriend..:

Let me start with our different sexes if I can,

You are a women and I am a man,

You dream about shoes I dream about boobs,

You grow babies inside you from a fertilized egg,

I am constantly pumping my fertilizer foam out like a Budweiser keg,

On tissues, napkins and sometimes a dirty sock,

While your body obeys a strict biological clock,

You and your friends like to yap and yap blah, blah and have sas,

I get drunk and dream about licking anonymous female ass,

Don't blame me, that is nature I did not make the rules,

You like to wear jewels and I want to have sex with your friend Jules,

You dream of a family, dog and house on the bay,

I am unemployed, do comedy and jerk off all day.

You want to get married and domesticate me,

And I cherish every moment you're not there for only then do I feel free,

Most of your friends hate me and they have good reason,

For every night I go out without you I basically commit treason,

Women are too beautiful, I can't take it, it's too much,

At least that is until you bang em' then their beauty only lasts 3 more months,

This is all that I wish to you I could say and describe,

I wish you would come out with me, be cool, and find chicks throwing me vibe,

But you would get jealous and I can understand,

That is why I got to always role with my trusty wing-man,

We go out and we hunt and we hunt for girls we do,

But after I bang them, I still love you!




Ode to the Two Hole:




Oh two hole what can I say to thee,

I will start by saying that sometimes I wish that I was a monkey,

So I could throw the poop you make at intruders for fun,

Instead of being human and hurting someone with a gun,

Oh two hole, it makes no matter whether we be gay or straight,

You are always an option at the end of every lucky date,

Even if we rip invisible blood vessels when we penetrate,

Nature has labeled you an exit door,

But homosexuals and girls who like it up the butt treat you like a vagina door,

Straight guys love you too, not just for the chicks that allow us to poke you open with lubricant for fun,

But for those nasty young ladies that swab you with their tongue,

We especially like when you get tickled,

While that special young lady is sucking our pickle,

We even loved you when we had no hair on our prick,

When mommy used to pry you open with the glass thermometer stick when we were sick,

Although it was uncomfortable I speak for everyone when I say,

It was always a small price to pay to get to stay home from school that day,

Be it solid brown logs, sulfur air when you toot or sour stomach ass juice,

We all like our own smell of what you produce,

You provide endless laughter and joy with your sounds and smells you do,

That is why I wrote this to say thank you. Thank you Two hole.




SACRIFICE: to the sister I never knew




Hey there stranger, it's me your younger bro

Who loves and misses you very much so

I owe everything I am to your great sacrifice

All that is me including the vice

I have had a great time thus far in my 28 years here

To that I have you to thank good old sis, my dear

You never had a name and never had a face

You never got to be a member of the complex human race

I would never have been born had you not unexpectedly slid out mom's vaginal canal

Like shit down a toilet after you flush a moved bowl

My parents had two already and only wanted three

Unfortunately you turned up in the toilet water one night when mom went to pee

Why do I even say thank you, you were only a bunch of gook

That happened to fall out of mom's reproductive nook,

You would have been born had you not bled out

You might have even grown to be a great girl scout,

Been beautiful and smart and saved the world from tyranny

Instead the world has you to thank for this poem and me

So for every woman out there who has had miscarried and cried

Keep your head up beautiful lady and dry your eyes

Get daddy's horn back in there and try it again for our sakes

I am speaking for us out there, the make up mistakes.




To that special young lady, we all know one:




Hey your 24 and he's 52 with an ex-wife and children

But your only concerned with his stocks and his millions

There is more to life than money you cunt!

You cause pain, strife and war

Ruin human life and rock the earth's core, you whore.

You never sought love, it was never of any interest to you,

Abuse is a turn on and money is too,

You flock to the greenbacks like flies to poo.

A stockbroker, a rapper, a banker, a six-figure earning male

Enjoy it now broad before your looks go stale

Now you buy diamonds, lay around on your ass and claim to have class

While your man pays for everything including other ass

But you still have your diamonds and you still have hot youth,

Meanwhile your husbands away on business banging Taiwanese prostitutes

Now you have genital warts and you don't know why

You cry and you cry, "I wasn't with any other guy.

As the gynecologist burns the warts out, a dirty pussy stir fry

If your lucky you might get some of his money when he leaves

But by then you'll have children, be 50, tits sagging to the knees.

From 13 to thirty, you thought you were the bomb,

Now your 50, alone, dating on match.com

And all that will take you now are 70 year old men with one foot in the grave

Because the younger women like you are fucking all the rich men your age.





Dear new pope:




As soon as we come through the fleshy female gates to earth

We make daddy feel insecure about his penis girth

We sprout from a stretched, stinky oriface causing our mommy much pain

Ourselves covered in blood shouting, displeased just the same

As we grow, we get lied to, get teased, people die

But its ok, cause we're loved by an invisible man in the sky

We are made in his image and that makes us feel good

I guess god shits and has diarreh, and sometimes gets wood

so gods an evolved monkey, who grew from the earth

Who was also the product of a painful childbirth

They say god is so nice and forgives everything

As long as you put money in the basket and sing

Some of us are born defected, brain damaged or deranged

Destined to live life this way, never to change

Most in the modern world are born hungry, struggling for survival

Instead of uprising, seeking comfort in the hope words of the bible

read from pulpits by men dressed in robes, gold hats and staffs

speaking of faith, loyalty and never of facts

the rich go to church too seeking comfort for their hurt

but remember those are rich churches where rich people network

now we have a new pope who is going to help us cope

The CEO selected by a board of his peers

Selected to serve for the rest of his years

To be head of a business called The Church

With a target demographic of the poor of the earth.

Who are forbidden to use birth control or get an abortion

Even if their salary cannot support another meal portion

As you sit at corporate headquarters in Rome

Remember the memo, nobody in your service can bone

Any chicks, boys, or other men's bums

You must codemn to hell anyone who cums

So collect our dollars and always need more

We'll pay at your franchises or little hope stores

run by lower ranks of priests and regional managing cardinal guys

Who get hard when they look into your sons innocent eyes.

Good luck new pope, those scandals are nothing, don't fret be mellow

Remember what you got away with when you killed Galileo

And when you die and meet the devil, tell him I say hello




The hot smell of summer Love…




Summertime and it's as hot as hell

The bar we're at is packed and really smells

Like sweat and puke and white guys with blue button down shirts and white hats

Like any Irish bar on the Upper East Side named Pats

The bar's closing down after our final round

We start making out and fondling and you start making moaning sounds

We are both worked up and that's our cue to leave

You take a last squat, hovering piss, I say peace to my boy Steve

So we are on our way to your house, both drunk but secretly thinking

After this humid night of heavy drinking

Damn both of our crotches must be sweaty and stinkin'

Its 90 degrees with New York City humidity

Trust me I got a good whiff of my balls the last time I took a pee, whew!

I started to stress, how can I take off my pants without her gagging tonight

Subjecting her to this rancid smell just won't be right

But because we are drunk, I hope your senses will be numb

Like for example I've been overlooking that you are really dumb

And your drunk and contemplating if you are going to let me go all the way

Will I be any good, or will it be a waste of a lay

A girl has only so many to give up

Before her friends start to consider her a fucking slut

So we leave Pat's at 5 in the morning

I keep kissing you as we walk home because our conversation gets boring

The streetlights are almost ruining our sex driven bound race

They are exposing that you inherited your father's face

Cabbie quick 14th street before the sun comes up

And we can see all the imperfections that the darkness covers up

We make it to your apartment I close the shades and tell you that I really had fun

As my mind is on what I don't have, a trusty condom

Damn again…But we're drunk and I've made this mistake before

On many a nights, forget to stop at the store

I just hope that this time I don't end up with canker sores

In the area around or on my prick,

I think as I grab your jeans and begin to unzip

These are horrible thoughts and I start to worry if I actually should

I feel the worrying start to threaten my wood

But alas something else happens, that makes me go limp

The room starts to smell like a dead baby chimp

She takes of her panties and my jeans come off too

And the room starts to smell like the dead chimp and a zoo

We both get a whiff of literal summer steam

Emanating from our crotches that are the opposite of clean

Damn, we knew this going in, what did we expect, it is hot

Our crotches are sweltering in a sea of sweat snot

But we are both embarrassed to say anything to each other

We keep kissing and pretending like we are old comfortable lovers

So now you start poking and prodding at my disobedient, limp prick

You wonder what is wrong, am I gay or impotent…what's wrong?

The night ended pepe le pu cause our scents are too strong.

And my balls could be a nest for mosquitos in heat

Not to mention the smell of our stinky smelly feet.

This poem is intended for summer lovers in heat

The ones that meet in a bar or the street

First love in summer, nothing has more power

But just remember first to take the action into the shower




Reflections on a relationship:




So we finally broke up after six long years

We fought and fought and shed many tears

You always had a problem with my comedy career

Well, I always had a problem with you not letting me inside your rear

But I also always supported you to go ahead get rich and achieve in your career

And I appreciate all the money you always lent me for beer

You hated that I sat around and watched the games too much

That I never got off my ass and made my own good luck

That I ate with my hands and looked like a slob

But you never heard me complain about the lack of blow jobs

Or about how you rarely let me have you in the sack

Well good thing your best friend Cindy picked up the slack for that

You broke my balls all day and all night

Then wondered why we were always in a fight

You turned my balls into mashed potatoes, as only a Jew girl can do

Forced me to go to brunches with your boring friends and you

But thanks again for all the dinners baby I know I was always broke

But watch, sooner or later I am going to get paid for these jokes

You have to admit despite my struggles I was always supportive

Like when you accidentally got pregnant I chipped in to have the child aborted

I got you the best doctor, not just some back alley guy who might do it with a spoon

I borrowed money to pay for it and read US magazine in the waiting room

We complimented each other, you are successful and I write poetry that rhythms

We were like Britney Spears and I'm Kevin Federline





Dreams deferred:




As I get older, each day I realize a new slew of things I will now never be

And with each day that passes it gets harder and harder to pee

As my prostate slowly swells like a slow motion ankle sprain

Inevitably by the time I'm 60 it will take 5 minutes to drain the main vain

I will never get paid to be teenage and hot

Or have a trust fund and sit around all day smoking pot

I will never get to make it big with connections and not with wits

I will never get to suck on Pamela Anderson's tits

I will never get to grow up around the Hilton family, really really rich

And I will never get to brag to my friends that I tickled Paris Hilton's clit when I was six

And Nikki Hilton's clit is something my friend Donnell would have licked

I will never live an American dream that I only inherited

And live a life that is mostly unmerited

There are also a ton of other things now in this life that I will never get to be

Here is a short list, maybe you can relate, hmm let's see:

I'll never be a model, 21, famous and sexy, strung out on cocaine

I will never be an untalented actor from the OC, overpaid and vain

I'll never be a young transsexual named Jon who changed his name to Jane

I will never go on a school shooting rampage to deal with all my pain of being plain

I will never, not be able to say something obscene

I will never be on the cover of teen beat magazine

I will never get to finger pop my first crush Jeanine

I will never be a comic who works only clean

I will never be a professional athlete like Pistol Pete or Derek Jete

I will never be a young black thug from the street

I will never be a serious poet like Keats

I will never, not love licking a well taken care of pair of female feet

I will never be Hispanic and dance salsa incredible on the dance floor

I will never be a Jehovah's Witness knocking on your door

I will never be a heavy metal rock star screaming instead of singing from the pain of herpes sores that I got on tour from groupie whores

I will never know what it is like to be a brain washed young NY Hasidic Jew

Who wears the same wool winter cloths everyday in summer and stinks on the subway Pe-u!

I will never be president or a secretary of state

I will never have a profile where I list my food allergies on j-date

I will never be a midget named Ronald

I will never be an alter boy who was fondled by father Mcdonald

I will never be a fireman

I will never have a summer named after me like sam

I will never be an internist giving a rectal prostate exam

And I will never be a Muslim who will blow myself up and kill others, but never eat ham

After the show, I will be at the bar trying to meet a female fan or go home alone to make love to my hand. After another night where I don't get exactly what I want

That's life, get used to it, it's nobody's fault.





The Human Nemesis:




There is only one thing that hurts like the pain from a lost lover

One thing we can all relate to, boy, girl, one another

The agony we feel like a mourning widow in the night

Our heart starts beating fast as we enter the mode of fight or flight

Our pained face tells the story, the human nemesis, known well to all

About the story of man and his precarious race to the stall

If you're lucky you will make it in time by chance

but there's also always a possibility that you could shit in your pants

You find a hotel lobby bathroom, rip off your cloths like a lost man in the desert somewhere

Sweating as you plop down on the porcelain donut shaped chair

You don't even take notice or care

About the piss that someone else left there

You even ignore and sit down on a stranger's stray pubic hair

You grab your ankles and moan, your eyes tear and your lips shiver and shake

Getting high and eating that Dominos Pizza was a huge mistake

But you start feeling better now as you finish your bout with the runs

but now you can't get up because your legs are fully numb

you stand up and wince, your legs feel like cement blocks

you take this opportunity to get a few more standing wipes in as you stare at your socks

the blood finally flows freely again and you are ready to zip up

When you realize that the toilet is not yet done with your butt

You sit back down and go through it again this time you shit a ton

As you battle through a second round or as I like to call a case of the re-runs

Now you think it is over, your done with the toilet chair

Until you glance down and notice that you sharted your underwear

And unbeknownst to you, some ran down to your shoe

No recovering from this situation, just need to go home

Throw your cloths away, feel embarrassed and spend some time curled up alone

You feel raped by nature, a night ruined, self esteem blemished

As you were attacked once again by the infamous human nemesis.




WHERE THE FUCK ARE?





Where the fuck are we, have you ever asked this question


what is this place

Even oral sex isn't amazing because of the taste

Nothing comes without its risk

There is no such thing as total bliss

We get herpes if the wrong person we kiss

We grow up and get teased, beat up and dissed

Some grow up to be assholes and forever stay pissed

They take out their anger on everyone and moments of true happiness they miss

Bad things happen to us often in our lives

When we remember them they sting like licking a bee hive

The longer we live the more memories cease

We repress and forget the bad times like being touched by a priest

Or we rationalize our sins away like if we fondled our niece

We tell ourselves she liked it like a fat girl loves keesh

Man's quixotic goal to be fully at peace

In a life not owned, but merely leased

We are confused do we have a purpose we ask?

Beyond, fucking, fighting, eating and occasionally passing gas

Surly the earth wants us here, because fruit and vegetables grow

It even gives us marijuana, mushrooms and blow

Does our purpose lie in some sort of a task

Beyond chasing ass and having a blast




Dear Shakira



Every time I see your videos I want to be near ya'

Your visage is that of a latin queen

Your sexiness is classy and not obscene

I have felt this way about you since you landed on the American scene

I could love you so much, I would do anything you wanted or asked

Like for example letting you put on a strap on and fuck me in the ass

Although that is the farthest thing from what I would normally enjoy

It would be a pleasure to be your personal American boy toy

You are the sexiest woman that exists

I love the way you dance in the video la tatora, rotating your tits

I have never seen anyone do that dance

It makes my penis grow inside my pants

But there are plenty of women on TV that turn me on well good

So what is it about you that gives me extra special wood?

It must be your curly hair it gives you such a unique look

coiincidently it could also be a perfect place for me to shoot my gook

And watch it get caught in between your crazy curls

I know what I am talking about because I have done it to other girls

In their hair given them, white pearls

That sliver down through their hair swirls

Down and down they go, it's really, really kinky

it kind of looks like an ejaculation slinky

and don't think that 2 hole of your won't get to meet my pinkie

As I would slip you two in the pink and one in the stinky

Oh I love you so much it makes me stomach all tingly




A poem from a secretary from Boise Idaho or any other place



where there is a fat American woman who eats at TGIF Fridays and eats potatoes chips every time she eats tv


I cannot believe Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt broke up

Is there anything to believe in, what the fuck!

Jenifer Lopez and Ben Affleck didn't make it ither

Is love just a lie like the uranium cakes Iraq bought from Niger?

Was it because Aniston didn't yet want to be a mommy?

it was on the front pages, which is understandable, because their breakup was just like an American Tsunami

how about Pamela lee and tommy?

They even made a love video where he boned her with his huge salami

And her pussy was the most beautiful one I think I might have ever seen

Was he not happy with it, was it not too clean

How could she not be happy with a guy with such size

Was it because he was using it on other people and telling her lies?

This is a message to celebrity couples out there

If you cant make it then I don't want to live, I don't care

For you are superior beings, beautiful and rich and never die

If you can't fall in love, than neither can I

We the people imitate your every move and deed

So stop breaking up pretty please

There were tons of ordinary citizens who believe your celebrity love can be the real thing

You are our American Royalty queen and king

We citizens worship celebrities for your looks and your money

When you are on Oprah she will laugh even if you are not that funny

So when I read the paper after a boring day of cards or gin rummy

Please let me read Jennifer that you really do want to be a mommy

And you and brad are getting back together

For there is no one out there as good looking and clever

As jenn to brad and brad to jenn

Brad is a god compared to other men

And the ladies just don't have the immortality and class that jenn has

And Angelina jolie has no ass




Alone (how nasty people are alone)




Here I am lying in my bed at 3 Am

Writing this poem with a stinky smelly pen

Why is it smelly you might want to ask?

Because my hands have been on my penis, balls, in my nose and even in my ass

All of us are gross when we are all alone

We rub our ball scent that we sniff on our computer keys, remote control and phone

We pick our nose and eat it or pick and smell our ear

Sometimes we dig so deep for a bugger it produces a tear

So I sat around all day in a lazy mood

I only got up to shit or get the door for a delivery of food

In the living room I fart fighted with my roommate all day

Farting and fanning the gas over his way

And he did the same back to me but at least seven times more

I swear that fucking guy must beat me every time if we only kept score

He farted me out of the room today

For his farts smell worse than a decaying Blue Jay

He even insulted my farts he told me they packed no punch

This really offended me since we ate the same thing for lunch

Then I slept and took another shit and played him in some Play Station

I smoked some weed, watched music videos and went on a mental vacation

I masturbated three times at my computer or masturbation station




LOCK AND LOAD




This goes out to the fellas in college

Fucking, drinking beer and soaking up knowledge

To the single guys out there and all the macks

all the married guys fucking behind their women's backs

There is always a moment during the foreplay

Where a woman has a chance to decide not to stay

As she knows that all you want is to give her a lay

So you got to act quickly without any delay

And not give her a moment to think everything's not ok

This moment usually comes when you need to look for a dome

You never want to leave her in the bed alone

Where she can re-think what she is about to do

And decide that she would rather just cuddle with you

That is why you always have to lock and load

Sorry ladies, but this information is part of secret guy code

Place a condom under the mattress in a reachable place so it is always there

Place it up towards the top, parallel with her hair

Secretly grab it from beneath the bed

And place it on top above her head

and slowly rip it open and moan so she doesn't hear it

you need to do this because it makes noise when you tear it

use one hand to put in on your penis, you may need to practice this alone

this move is essential to achieve the coercive bone

start dry humping and playing with her clit and kissing her neck

this will always, always get her real wet

and when a woman is wet she can't really think she just sighs

that is when you move her panties over to the side

she will pant and say, "wait wait wait we can't do this, no not yet"

tell her, "its ok we because we are all set"

Show her the wrapper and tell her your domed

then continue to slip it in faster as you round the bases to home

So now you are enjoying some fresh skins

And she is enjoying it as well so everyone wins

The thing about broads is that they always change their mind

If you follow this technique you give them no time

So have your mattress locked and loaded at all times of the year

So you always are ready and have a condom near

In between the mattress is the best place

And this always insures that your sex is always safe.

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Rob Cioffi
Visit My Profile
Tranny Volta

By: Rob Cioffi (C)
Submitted: Mar 15, 2007
Category: Entertainment  
From Hot Topic

John Travolta

10 Jokes  4 Videos

Tranny VoltaJohn Travolta will don a fat suit and play a woman in the movie version of "Hairspray The Musical".

This role, and the success of "Wild Hogs", are being called a new peak in his up and down career:

1978: Superstar Sex Symbol

1994: Pulp Fiction Comeback Kid

2007: Emasculated Middle Aged Male

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Phil Hall
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Phil Terrifies Edward Burns

By: Phil Hall (C)
Submitted: Aug 28, 2006
Category: Blogs  Staff Pick!
From Hot Topic

New York City

358 Jokes  42 Videos

I was once told that I am a physically intimidating person, which is perhaps both the strangest thing I’ve ever heard (little me, intimidating?) and the coolest thing I’ve ever heard (a mere glance will convey the message “Outta my way, sucka, or your head will be pulp” – boy, what power!).

 

There might be some truth in that.  I found that out recently on a New York City street corner while waiting for friends to show up for dinner.  While standing around, looking high and low for my party to arrive, a guy came walking down the dark street and into the glow of the streetlight illuminating my spot on the sidewalk.  There was something about this guy that looked very familiar, but I couldn’t place it immediately – and it was weird, because I knew the face but it didn’t seem to fit the guy’s body.

 

Then I realized who it was: Edward Burns, the actor/filmmaker.  And when I identified him to myself, I had a double reaction.  First, I was appalled to finally come face-to-face with one of the least talented people in today’s independent cinema – if you’ve ever sat through his boring, puerile, verbose flicks, you’d know what I mean.  Second, I was surprised that he was considerably smaller and leaner than he appears on screen.  I stand six feet tall and I was looking down at him, and he appeared to be on the thin side (I assume he works out at the gym when preparing a film and allows his muscles to deflate when the camera is packed up).

 

In getting a good look at Burns, I stepped slightly in his direction and I involuntarily knitted my eyebrows and peered closer into his gaze – I was clearly trying to make eye contact while sending a message of disapproval at him.  Well, I must have been a bit too strong as he looked at me with a jittery expression, then turned his eyes away and hurried in double-time down the street.  About half-way down the block, he turned to look back quickly and then resumed his escape.

 

Of course, I am assuming that was Edward Burns who ran away from me.  If I happened to scare away someone with the unfortunate luck of resembling him, my apologies – sort of (hey, it is a lot of fun to intimidate people just by looking at them!).

 

 


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DC BENNY
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Follicular Frontier Justice

By: DC BENNY (C)
Submitted: Sep 22, 2005
Category: Blogs  
From Hot Topic

Philadelphia

87 Jokes  4 Videos

I am trying to understand what is wrong with Tom Hanks' hair lately, but haven't been able to put my finger on it. Last I remembered, he didn't have much left and it looked pretty normal. Now there's this kind of John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction" weave. There are lush bangs but then there is this kind of burn victim thing going on which I feel awful for saying but I feel worse when I see that follicular charade, especially now that he's done with his movie and he's still keeping that thing instead of taking it behind the log cabin and puttin' it down with one bullet in the roots. That hair needs some frontier justice is what I'm saying.

I just don't understand why actors come to the conclusion that "this part I am playing needs for me to have hair." How did Sean Connery benefit from that white toupee in "The Hunt For Red October?" We didn't know it was him? That fucker's been bald since after his first Bond and no one cares! I love him just the way he is. Who told him to suddenly sprout hair—like the audience is suddenly going to think: "Who is that? Looks a little like...naaah, it's Craig Ferguson."

At least Connery got rid of the hairpiece when he was done, but Tom Hanks is sporting his, which is a completely different texture of hair. He used to have curls in "Punchline" and shit like that. Now all of a sudden he's got this Jackie Chan "Rush Hour" do.

It is so distracting as a movie-goer to see the fake hair. I can't suspend my disbelief and say to myself, "Tom is that character," when he's got those goddamm swooshy bangs flopping around in the wind like epileptic pigeon wings. Plus I feel bad for all the balding guys out there that are going to adopt one of these things from the fake hair shelter, thinking it's going to be their ticket to getting laid more. Tom, the truth is, you looked better at the end of "Philadelphia" with like 2 t-cells left than with that sideburn-less feathered Brothers McMullet. Remove it. Stomp it. Bury it.


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