allikas: elu24.ee

.sudden breakdown

The group, calling itself the Presidential Memorial Committee of San Francisco, wants the issue voted on at this November’s election.

“It’s important to remember our leaders in the right historical context,” said petition organiser Brian McConnell.

The Republican Party thinks the plan stinks, and it will fight the measure.

Mr McConnell’s group has submitted more than 12,000 signatures on a petition to the San Francisco Department of Elections.

If at least 7,168 of those signatures are found to be valid, the question of whether to rename Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant after the outgoing president will be added to the ballot papers in November.

“In President Bush’s case, we think that we will be cleaning up a substantial mess for the next 10 or 20 years,” said Mr McConnell.

“The sewage treatment facility’s job is to clean up a mess, so we think it’s a fitting tribute.”

‘Ashamed’

But one Californian Republican, Patrick Dorinson, said the plan was “a horrible idea”.

“This is why San Francisco is considered wacky,” the former California Republican Party spokesman told the Associated Press.

“It makes me ashamed to be a San Franciscan if this is all they’ve got time to do.”

And a city official stressed that Oceanside offered “extraordinary environmental benefits”.

“That’s not our understanding of what the authors of this initiative believe the current president has delivered,” said Tony Winnicker of the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission.

Mr Bush will leave office in January 2009.

Some of you have wondered why, when I am relating anything about my personal experiences that relates to a topic on these forums, my Navy career is usually what I will use to compare and contrast.

Well, that’s because as far as anything that is intensely personal to me, my career is the one thing I can truly treasure in my adult life. My relationships? Another story completely.

Ladies, blast me for this all you want. You happily married men, go ahead and join in the blasting. Yap all you want about lumping all women together, feed me a load of crap about “love takes time,” and then try to infect my brain with this nonsensical dribble about how the nice guys do finish first. I’ve heard it all before, and in my 34 years of existence, I’ve seen very little evidence of it. I believe in what I can touch, smell, see, and hear, and that nice guys not only finish last, but are lucky if anyone will even let them in the race, is what life has taught me is the reality of our species.

You women who are currently seething at my insinuations, with that “Well, I sure don’t treat guys like that!” attitude, well, how old are you? 30? 35? Think back about 15 years. Think back to when your shrewy girl-pals kept telling you that you deserve only the best. When they told you that the slightest flaw in a man was enough to knock him out of the running, right around the same time you were told that a “real” man should blindly accept all of your flaws. Think about high school, when the functionally retarded football players were the only guys who merited your attention and the kids who held the doors open for you didn’t merit a “thank you.”

Ladies? Is this sounding familiar? It should. I promise you, to most of the guys reading this, the story of their lives was just typed out in plain English.

Those guys who weren’t jocks…who didn’t walk around in black leather jackets…who didn’t act as though the young ladies were walking private parts just waiting to be used…those guys were me. They were most of the guys you ever knew. They were the guys who will be reading this.

I’ve seen it my whole life. Go anywhere and look around, then tell me differently. The worst scumbags always seem to have a chick just waiting to swoon over his bad boy antics. Go into any bar. Looks at the guys dancing. The best-looking ones, right? The best-dressed, right? The ones with the most expensive cars out in the parking lot, right? The ones with the fattest wallets that are removed from the their pockets in a timely fashion to buy her some drink with a mystical panty-dropping side effect, right?

Then look at the guys who can’t find any meaningful company other than the other lonely guy friends they came with. Look at the ones in the corner, washing back one beer after another, too shy to approach the female of the species because they got shot out of the sky the last 800 times they tried. Look at the ones sitting alone at the bar, getting drunker and drunker, wishing, hoping that some woman will wonder why he’s alone in such a sociable place and will slide up next to him and spark up a conversation.

Okay, and the last time you went to a club, did you dance with any of those guys? Did you ask if a particular seat was taken just to see what the guy in question was all about? Did you think that is was just plain old wrong that anyone should just sit and watch the fun and festivities on the dance floor, and that tripping the light fantastic might just brighten his mood?

Or did you just bump and grind with the best-looking guy there?

Well, be honest. If you danced with those poor saps I talked about…you sure as hell didn’t do that in any club I ever went to.

I don’t care for your idealized opinions on the male situation. The fact is that most men don’t get to live in the fairy tale world where women don’t display all the worst qualities of the men they finally start hating when 40 approaches. More men can relate to all of this than can’t.

Okay, okay…I get it. You like the bad boys. If someone treats you with courtesy, as in listens when you have a gripe about anything on earth…if someone holds open the door, if some guy treats you like a human being rather than a gutter slut, he’s disqualified. He’s just not bad enough. He’s not interesting enough. He’s just not exciting enough…he’s not mysterious enough. And let me guess…99 times out of 100, he’s not good-looking enough, is he?

Well, think about the word “bad.” Unless my English sucks, isn’t “bad” a negative? Think about it. Bad means…”not good.” You want to know what’s bad? Sleeping with your friends, that’s bad. Stealing money out of your purse, that’s bad. Turning up the volume on the TV when something makes you cry, that’s bad. Expecting you to lie down and spread ’em whenever he wants you to, whether you’re in the mood or not, that’s bad. Smacking you around because you’re half his size and your pitiful attempts to fight back don’t impress him, they just make him even more determined to show you who’s boss…that’s bad.

So there’s your bad boy. What do you think, ladies? Is that bad enough? Is that exciting enough? Is that mysterious enough for you?

So, if you’re nursing a black eye and getting used to your new false teeth because your loving bad boy worked you over after you were five minutes late with dinner…and wonder why you ignored that nice guy who asked you out all those years ago in favor of Asswhip McDuff, I dont want to hear it. If the cops show up because someone called in a domestic disturbance and you defend him because you “just love him so much,” I don’t want to hear it. Don’t jump in the sack with the bad boy after crushing the self esteem of the good ones and then run to the good ones because you need someone to tell your crap to. And in any event, if your early lives were any indication, the moment we start listening intently to your problems because it’s obvious that you need a way out, you’ll probably walk off, right back to Asswhip McDuff, because anyone who truly cares about you is just too boring. Excitement is worth a shiner, right?

And once this has played itself out, and your pal Asswhip has gotten bored with you and is looking for another punching bag with hot friends to nail, go ahead and sit in the dark…annihilate those pints of Ben and Jerry’s and feel sorry for yourself. Then call all of your friends and wonder why men suck. Go ahead and swear off of men. Tell your shrew friends that your sick of men and their crap, and while you’re at it, don’t bother remembering all those nice guys who weren’t worthy of your time. Don’t think about the geek from the computer club who asked you to the prom, remember? He was the one you shot down in sadistic fashion because our pal Asswhip McDuff, captain of the football team, was better looking, drove a better car, and stared at your cleavage instead of your eyes when you spoke to him.

Throughout my life, I’ve asked plenty of women out. I’ve done it in what I would regard as the right way. I can’t count the number of times I was laughed at in front of her friends…or my friends for that matter. Nor can I count the number of times I had a female friend who got screwed over by her precious little bad boy, cried endlessly in my arms about it, but would later tell me that she ‘valued me as a friend’ while she turned around and jumped in the sack with the next scumbag, and wondered why I wasn’t there when it all went badly again, after she ventured out to find my shoulder to cry on, all the while reminding me that I wasn’t her type.

If you women can’t stomach the concept of being with a man who isn’t that rich, or isn’t that good-looking, and his courtesy and kindness isn’t enough to make up for these perceived shortcomings, then quit bitching about men and start bitching about your reflection in the mirror.

And I will even more blunt than is characteristic. You women out there who judge us for feeling that we finish last for the sake of being good people…you women who slam us for grouping women together with no greater frequency than you group us…who whine about there being no good ones left regardless of the number of such men you’ve either stepped on or ignored…

well…how dare you…

Don’t serve us a crap sandwich and get pissed at us for complaining about the smell.

Don’t walk all over us and get pissed at us for complaining about the footprints.

Don’t lay down with the worst of men and put your emotional crap on our shoulders, then get pissed at us when our shoulders can no longer bear the weight.

Don’t laugh at us and get pissed at us for the embarrassment we feel.

And when our hearts can no longer handle the things that women do to us…

…don’t you dare judge us.

I said my peace.

I am now prepared to lose rep points.

RF

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Nagu ikka, peab juttu tegema armastusest. Sest et armastus on selline.. asi. Lugege Wikipediast, päris hariv jutt seal. Aga omamoodi hariv on ka see tekst, mida täna teile esitleme. Võibolla aitab see kirjutis teil paremini mõista tundeid, mis tekkisid peale WTF’i (ajutist) hukku. Äkki te tundsite nii, kui teie lemmik pistaatsiapähkel purunes ja teid igaveseks jättis? Kes teab…

Murtud südamete klubi

Mõtlemapanev. Mõtelge siis teie ka. Ja juba homme teeme rohkem nalja. Ma luban.

NSFW!   Ussitav inimene…

1. is perfectly shaped for the human hand.
2. has a non-slip surface.
3. has outward indicators of inward content.  Green lets you know that it’s not ready to eat yet.  Yellow lets you know that it’s just right to consume.  Black lets you know that it’s far too late to put it in your belly.
4. has a tab at the bottom to facilitate removal of its wrapper.
5. has a perforated wrapper for easy peeling.
6. has a bio-degradable wrapper.
7. is perfectly shaped for the human mouth.
8. has a point at its top for ease of entry.
9. is pleasing to the taste buds.
10. is curved towards the face to make the eating process easy.

To say that the banana happened by accident is even more unintelligent than to say that no one designed the Coca Cola can.

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