I SWEAR I DID NOT CHANGE A WORD OF THIS JOKE. NOT ONE WORD.
Correspondent:: nenslo
Date: Tue, 05 Oct 2004 12:24:07 -0700
--------
There was once a little boy who got very good grades, straight A's on every
subject on every report card. His name was Billy. His father was very proud
of him, and decided to give him one thing every year, whatever he wanted.
The little boy, for one odd reason or another, chose a pink golf ball, each
and every year. So finally, when the boy was sixteen, the dad got fed up
with it and bought him a car. The son was fine with this, and took it on a
joyride down to his favorite restaurant. He didn't want to drive through and
he couldn't find a parking spot, but finally he found a spot on the other
side of the street. He walked across happily, and halfway across, was
hit by
a truck. On his deathbed, the wounds were fatal, he was asked by his father:
"What did you do with the pink golf balls?" The son replied: "Well I ---"
With that he died.
The moral is that you should look both ways before crossing the street.
Correspondent:: Cardinal Vertigo
Date: Tue, 05 Oct 2004 20:21:46 GMT
--------
nenslo wrote:
> There was once a little boy who got very good grades, straight A's on every
> subject on every report card. His name was Billy. His father was very proud
> of him, and decided to give him one thing every year, whatever he wanted.
> The little boy, for one odd reason or another, chose a pink golf ball, each
> and every year. So finally, when the boy was sixteen, the dad got fed up
> with it and bought him a car. The son was fine with this, and took it on a
> joyride down to his favorite restaurant. He didn't want to drive through and
> he couldn't find a parking spot, but finally he found a spot on the other
> side of the street. He walked across happily, and halfway across, was
> hit by
> a truck. On his deathbed, the wounds were fatal, he was asked by his father:
> "What did you do with the pink golf balls?" The son replied: "Well I ---"
> With that he died.
>
> The moral is that you should look both ways before crossing the street.
I've heard this one before and the subject line doesn't lie.
Correspondent:: "Blackout"
Date: Tue, 5 Oct 2004 13:35:36 -0700
--------
"Cardinal Vertigo" wrote
>> There was once a little boy who got very good grades, straight A's on
>> every
>> subject on every report card. His name was Billy. His father was very
>> proud
>> of him, and decided to give him one thing every year, whatever he wanted.
>> The little boy, for one odd reason or another, chose a pink golf ball,
>> each
>> and every year. So finally, when the boy was sixteen, the dad got fed up
>> with it and bought him a car. The son was fine with this, and took it on
>> a
>> joyride down to his favorite restaurant. He didn't want to drive through
>> and
>> he couldn't find a parking spot, but finally he found a spot on the other
>> side of the street. He walked across happily, and halfway across, was
>> hit by
>> a truck. On his deathbed, the wounds were fatal, he was asked by his
>> father:
>> "What did you do with the pink golf balls?" The son replied: "Well I ---"
>> With that he died.
>>
>> The moral is that you should look both ways before crossing the street.
>
> I've heard this one before and the subject line doesn't lie.
A guy spent five years traveling all around the world making a
documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had every
single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film --
or so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he
popped into a pub for a well earned beer.
He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his
project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher
Dance.
"Butcher Dance?" he said, confused. "What's that?"
"What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?"
"No, I've never heard of it."
"Mate, you're crazy," the Aborigine replied. "How can you say you filmed
every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?"
"Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you
mean?"
"No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree."
"Oh," the man said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this
Butcher Dance then?"
"Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you
many days of travel to go see it."
"Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest
darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances.
Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."
"Ok, mate," the Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You drive north along the
highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you'll see a dirt
track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till you see
big huge dead gum tree -- the biggest tree you've ever seen. Here you
gotta leave car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out
due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a creek. You
follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the
creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to
cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half day until
you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very
dangerous. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On
the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge
rock -- twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock,
walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be
able to see the Butcher Dance there."
So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a
couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking
state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he
didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for
the night.
He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were
high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this
mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the
directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and
followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.
The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both
himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on,
finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent
him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every
bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired
of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and a
half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear
and continued their long trek.
When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was
running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled
themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two days
later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the
natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they
began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went
before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher
Dance.
"Oh mate," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night.
You too late. You miss dance."
"Well, when do you hold the next dance?"
"Not till next year."
"Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for
me tonight?"
"No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold
once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."
Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but
to head back to civilization and back home.
The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to
miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing
to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to
ensure he was present to witness it.
But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year
turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few
miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the
mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek
and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the
mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that raged for several
days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the
mountainside until it subsided.
Then, before they had traveled a mile out from the mountains, one of the
crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey
greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had been
traveling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
"The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late
to see it!"
The chief recognized him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance
performed tonight. You come just in time."
Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon
setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual
on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in
white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers and
animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives
formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended
over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with
elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle
and began to chant.
"What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief.
"Hush," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever to see most
sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the
spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them
through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so
gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."
The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he
removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed
out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring
rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself.
This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in
vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and
movement ever conceived by mankind.
The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming
voice, started to sing:
WAIT FOR IT
"You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer
right arm in, and you shake it all about...."
Correspondent:: washer of kegs
Date: Tue, 05 Oct 2004 22:47:47 +0200
--------
Although top posting is a sin, That is great, I am going to remember that
one. Worth the read, but wait for it.
Blackout wrote:
>
>
> A guy spent five years traveling all around the world making a
> documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had every
> single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film --
> or so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he
> popped into a pub for a well earned beer.
> He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his
> project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher
> Dance.
> "Butcher Dance?" he said, confused. "What's that?"
> "What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?"
> "No, I've never heard of it."
> "Mate, you're crazy," the Aborigine replied. "How can you say you filmed
> every native dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?"
> "Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you
> mean?"
> "No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree."
> "Oh," the man said, his curiosity piqued. "Well how can I see this
> Butcher Dance then?"
> "Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you
> many days of travel to go see it."
> "Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest
> darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances.
> Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."
> "Ok, mate," the Aborigine replied, shrugging. "You drive north along the
> highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you'll see a dirt
> track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till you see
> big huge dead gum tree -- the biggest tree you've ever seen. Here you
> gotta leave car, because it's much too rough for driving. You strike out
> due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a creek. You
> follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the
> creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to
> cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half day until
> you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very
> dangerous. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On
> the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge
> rock -- twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock,
> walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be
> able to see the Butcher Dance there."
> So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a
> couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking
> state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he
> didn't reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for
> the night.
> He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were
> high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this
> mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the
> directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and
> followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.
> The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both
> himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on,
> finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent
> him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every
> bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired
> of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But after three and a
> half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear
> and continued their long trek.
> When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was
> running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled
> themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two days
> later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the
> natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they
> began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the guy went
> before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher
> Dance.
> "Oh mate," he said. "Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night.
> You too late. You miss dance."
> "Well, when do you hold the next dance?"
> "Not till next year."
> "Well, I've come all this way. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for
> me tonight?"
> "No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed. "Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold
> once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."
> Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but
> to head back to civilization and back home.
> The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to
> miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing
> to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in order to
> ensure he was present to witness it.
> But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year
> turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few
> miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the
> mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek
> and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the
> mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that raged for several
> days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the
> mountainside until it subsided.
> Then, before they had traveled a mile out from the mountains, one of the
> crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey
> greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had been
> traveling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
> "The Butcher Dance!" the man gasped. "Please don't tell me I'm too late
> to see it!"
> The chief recognized him and said, "No, white fella. Butcher Dance
> performed tonight. You come just in time."
> Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon
> setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night's ritual
> on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in
> white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds' feathers and
> animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives
> formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended
> over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with
> elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle
> and began to chant.
> "What's he doing?" the man whispered to the chief.
> "Hush," the chief whispered back. "You first white man ever to see most
> sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the
> spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them
> through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so
> gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."
> The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he
> removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed
> out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring
> rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself.
> This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in
> vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and
> movement ever conceived by mankind.
> The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming
> voice, started to sing:
>
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> WAIT FOR IT
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> "You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer
> right arm in, and you shake it all about...."
Correspondent:: Zapanaz
Date: Tue, 05 Oct 2004 14:55:50 -0700
--------
On Tue, 05 Oct 2004 22:47:47 +0200, washer of kegs
wrote:
>Although top posting is a sin, That is great, I am going to remember that
>one. Worth the read, but wait for it.
>
I just read the punchline. It's a pretty funny punchline though.
--
Zapanaz
International Satanic Conspiracy
Customer Support Specialist
http://joecosby.com/
Q: what is the value of a good idea ?
A: Why, it's worth it's weight in gold where I work
Correspondent:: "«bonehead;\)"
Date: Wed, 06 Oct 2004 09:37:02 GMT
--------
"Zapanaz" wrote in message
news:h266m05d34urqcvene4e92ig5utfmk1i9n@4ax.com...
> On Tue, 05 Oct 2004 22:47:47 +0200, washer of kegs
> wrote:
>
> >Although top posting is a sin, That is great, I am going to remember that
> >one. Worth the read, but wait for it.
> >
>
> I just read the punchline. It's a pretty funny punchline though.
>
> --
I just bought a T-shirt at the thrift today that read....
"What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about"
--
BON3H3@D..
This man shouldn't be President. He should be waiting on the curb with his
lunchbox for the little yellow bus to take him to school.
Correspondent:: beefjerkyisgood@hotmail.com (Paul Casino)
Date: 6 Oct 2004 14:53:10 -0700
--------
"«bonehead;\)" wrote in message news:<21P8d.14514$Qv5.8935@newssvr33.news.prodigy.com>...
> "Zapanaz" wrote in message
> news:h266m05d34urqcvene4e92ig5utfmk1i9n@4ax.com...
> > On Tue, 05 Oct 2004 22:47:47 +0200, washer of kegs
> > wrote:
> >
> > >Although top posting is a sin, That is great, I am going to remember that
> > >one. Worth the read, but wait for it.
> > >
> >
> > I just read the punchline. It's a pretty funny punchline though.
> >
> > --
> I just bought a T-shirt at the thrift today that read....
>
> "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about"
Really? What a weird coincidence. I just bought a T-Shirt the other
day that said "Bonehead Bought a Tacky Fucking T-Shirt." Life's funny
like that, hunh?
Correspondent:: nenslo
Date: Wed, 06 Oct 2004 19:27:22 -0700
--------
Paul Casino wrote:
>
> "«bonehead;\)" wrote in message news:<21P8d.14514$Qv5.8935@newssvr33.news.prodigy.com>...
> > "Zapanaz" wrote in message
> > news:h266m05d34urqcvene4e92ig5utfmk1i9n@4ax.com...
> > > On Tue, 05 Oct 2004 22:47:47 +0200, washer of kegs
> > > wrote:
> > >
> > > >Although top posting is a sin, That is great, I am going to remember that
> > > >one. Worth the read, but wait for it.
> > > >
> > >
> > > I just read the punchline. It's a pretty funny punchline though.
> > >
> > > --
> > I just bought a T-shirt at the thrift today that read....
> >
> > "What if the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about"
>
> Really? What a weird coincidence. I just bought a T-Shirt the other
> day that said "Bonehead Bought a Tacky Fucking T-Shirt." Life's funny
> like that, hunh?
Now that really is odd, because I bought a t-shirt LAST YEAR that said
"You two assholes totally fucking suck so shut up."
Correspondent:: hellpopehuey@subgenius.com (HellPopeHuey)
Date: 7 Oct 2004 09:30:18 -0700
--------
nenslo wrote in message news:<4164A98A.7BC4DB5E@yahoox.com>...
> Now that really is odd, because I bought a t-shirt LAST YEAR that said
> "You two assholes totally fucking suck so shut up."
You'd make a really whimsical yoga partner. You're so anti-Zen and
all, nyuk nyuk.
--
HellPope Huey
Welcome to Tourette's practice.
Today we begin with the letter "F."
"Who are these Swine ? These flag-sucking half-wits
who get fleeced and fooled
by stupid little rich kids like George Bush?
..... They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious
in the American character....
I piss down the throats of these Nazis.
And I am too old to worry about
whether they like it or not. Fuck Them."
- Hunter S. Thompson, "Kingdom of Fear"
FOR SHITS SAKE WILL YOU FUCKING SPELLCHECK
YOU STUPID GOD DAMN SON OF A BITCH.
- Nenslo