Parking Place

As regular readers will already know, Padraic O'Cossett gave up drinking a number of years ago. In this exclusive, we present the story behind the story.

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place.

Looking up to heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me! If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!"

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, Lord, I found one."

Latrenian's Dip

T. Lousy Dowser sent this in via SMS during his last prostate exam. At which time his highly sophisticated Nokia was, unbeknownst to the examinee, recording.

"Doctor," our correspondent was overheard to say, "are your hands supposed to be on my shoulders during this procedure?"

"Shut the fuck up, I think I've found something," replied Dr. Kavorkian.

A rich white man in Richmond, Virginia decided that he wanted to throw a party and invited all his friends and neighbors. He also invited Latrenian, the only African-American in the neighborhood.

The rich man held the party around the pool in the backyard of his mansion.

Everyone was drinking, dancing, eating shrimp, oysters and BBQ, and flirting with the women. At the apex of the party, the host rang his wine glass with a spoon, got everyone’s attention and announced:

"I have a 10-ft man-eating alligator in my pool and I'll give a million dollars to anyone who has the balls to jump in."

The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a loud splash and everyone turned around and saw Latrenian in the pool. Latrenian was fighting the alligator with every ounce of strength in his body. He was jabbing the alligator in the eyes with his fingers, throwing punches, giving the giant lizard head butts and choke holds, biting the 'gator on the tail and flipping the amphibian through the air like a possessed judo instructor on speed.

The water was churning and splashing like a vision from a watery hell. Both Latrenian and the alligator were fighting for their lives with the very dregs of their strength. Finally Latrenian strangled the 'gator and let it float to the top like a K-mart goldfish. Then, with the last iota of his energy, Latrenian dragged himself out of the pool.

Everybody stared at him in disbelief. Finally the host said, "Well, Latrenian, I reckon I owe you a million dollars."

"No, that's okay. I don't want it," said Latrenian.

“But that’s not right, “ the rich man replied in shock. “You won the bet!”

Latrenian stubbornly shook his head.

“Well, then, how about half a million? C’mon, I’ve got to give you something.”

"No thanks, I don't want it," answered Latrenian.

"This is ridiculous,” insisted the host. “That was an astounding performance and I insist on some sort of reward. How about a new Porsche, a coupla Rolexes and some stock options?"

Again, Latrenian shook his head and said "No."

Totally confounded and in complete frustration, the rich man finally asked, "Well, then, what is it you do want?”

"I want the name of the motherfucker who pushed me into the pool.”

A Nun's Story

Sent in by Padraic O'Cossett. Bipolar and loving it.

A nun is sitting with her Mother Superior chatting, and confesses; "I used some horrible language this week and feel absolutely terrible about it."

"When did you use this awful language?" asks the elder.

"Well, I was golfing and hit an incredible drive that looked like it was going to sail over 250 yards, but it struck a phone line that was hanging over the fairway, and then fell straight down to the ground after going only about 100 yards."

"Is that when you swore?" asked Mother Superior.

"No, Mother," says the nun. "After that, a squirrel ran out of the bushes and grabbed my ball in its mouth, and began to run away."

"Is that when you swore?" asks the Mother Superior again.

"Well, no." says the nun. "You see, as the squirrel was running, an eagle came down out of the sky, grabbed the squirrel in his talons and began to fly away!"

"Is that when you swore?" asks the amazed elder nun.

"No, Mother. Oh no, not yet. As the eagle carried the squirrel away in its claws, it flew near the green and the squirrel dropped my ball."

"Did you swear then?" asked Mother Superior.

"Oh no, Mother. My ball fell on a big rock, bounced over the sand trap, rolled onto the green, and stopped about six inches from the hole."

The two nuns were silent for a moment.

Then Mother Superior sighed and sank back into her chair in total resignation: "You missed the fucking putt, didn't you?"

Certain Genderial Truths: A Brief Prolegomena

WisdomoftheEast forwarded the photographs shown here. Why? Because they clearly substantiate the truth of the argument for Feminine Superiority, which is to say, of course, Equality. These photographs graphically illustrate (and is there another way to illustrate? why, yes, there is) to low-life mysogynists, even, the inherent truth of this proposition.

As will be intuitively oblivious, this medium is dedicated to the proposition that women are indeed an oppressed majority and any swingin dick in disagreement with this can hightail it back to when Man ran the publishing world, for example.

Hemingway, McCullers, Faulkner, O'Connor, Jones, Parker, Fitzgerald! Losers! All of them! Edited by Man!

As opposed to the situation today when Woman selects and edits the books that get published. So I rest my case. Look at the photographs. Then look at the publishing situation now and ask yourself this simple question: is it better today? Or whut?

An American Dreamscape

This came in shortly after the Commander-in-Chief's heroic victory over Katrina. It should be noted, if it is not already obvious, that Padraic O'Cossett gave up drinking a number of years back. His contribution below illustrates the unintended consequence of a rash, ill-considered, confused, totally irrational--in short, sober--decision of this nature. Let us each in his/her/its own way, pray for him.

The coach had put together the perfect team for the New Orleans Saints. Almost.

The only thing missing was a good quarterback. He had scouted all the colleges and even the Canadian and European Leagues, but he couldn't find a ringer who could ensure a Super Bowl victory.

Then one night, while watching CNN, he sees a war-zone scene in Afghanistan. In one corner of the background, he spots a young Afghan Muslim soldier with a truly incredible arm. The youngster casually throws a hand-grenade straight through a window from a distance of 80 meters. Then he threw another from 50 meters straight down a chimney, finally ending the demonstration by hitting a passing car going 135 km per hour, blowing it to kingdom come.

"I've got to get this guy!" the coach says to himself. "He has the perfect arm!"

So he pulls strings, brings the young Afghan to the States and teaches him the great game of football. And sure enough, the Saints go on to win the Super Bowl.

The young Afghan is hailed as a hero of football, and when the coach asks him what he wants, all the young man wants to do is call his mother.

"Mom," he says into the phone, "I just won the Super Bowl!"

"I don't want to talk to you," the old Muslim woman says. "You deserted us. You are not my son!"

"Mother, I don't think you understand," pleads the son, "I've just won the greatest sporting event in the world!"

"No! Let me tell you," his mother retorts. "At this very moment there are gun shots all around us. The neighborhood is a pile of rubble. Your two brothers were beaten within an inch of their lives last week, and I have to keep your sister in the house so she doesn't get raped!"

The old lady pauses, then tearfully says, "I will never forgive you for making us move to New Orleans!”

And the point of this photograph would be...?

S. Revitz, a wise-ass, sent this in after the cartoon incident. He will get his. We know where he lives. Or used to. Actually, we're not quite sure. I mean, you start up a perfectly normal jihad, do the flow charts, get the venture capital, hire the hot shot suicide bombers. And then the idiots start coming in from HQ to fuck it all up.

War on Terror: The Simultaneous Equation

David Marvin Mailer forwarded this news release during a kindler, more gentle phase of the War on Terror.

NEW YORK--A public-school teacher was arrested today at John F. Kennedy International Airport as he attempted to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a set square, a slide rule, and a calculator.

At a morning press conference, Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez said he believes the man is a member of the notorious Al-gebra movement. He did not identify the man, who has been charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction.

"Al-gebra is a problem for us," Gonzalez said. "They desire solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in a search of absolute value. They use secret code names like 'x' and 'y' and refer to themselves as 'unknowns,' but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, 'There are 3 sides to every triangle.' "

When asked to comment on the arrest, President Bush said, "If God had wanted us to have better Weapons of Math Instruction, He would have given us more fingers and toes."

The Semantics of Pharmacology

S. Revitz reports as below, for informational purposes only. On a personal basis, he knows nothing--rien, nichts, nada, zilch, not a goddamned thing.

In pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade name and a generic name.

For example, the trade name of Tylenol also has a generic name of Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen; Amoxil is also known as Amoxicillin; and Advil is also called Ibuprofen.

Meanwhile, the FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra.

After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin.

Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and, of course, Ibepokin.

Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer.

It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one.

Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to traditional terms such as "cocktail" and "highball," not to mention the good old-fashioned "stiff drink."

Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of Mount & Do.

The latest marketing research reveals that there is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer's research.

This means that by 2040, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs, huge erections and no recollection at all of what they're for.

Do I Know You?

From S. Revitz in Portagee....

A suburban type is in the supermarket when he sees a beautiful blonde in the produce section waving at him, mouthing a bright ‘Hello!’

He’s taken aback because he can’t place her or where she’s from. So he walks over to her and says, “Do I know you?”

She replies, “I think you’re the father of one of my kids.”

Totally panicked, he thinks back to the only time he’d ever been unfaithful to his wife. “My god,” he blurts, “are you the stripper from that bachelor party that I laid on the pool table with all my buddies watching, while your partner whipped my ass with wet celery and then stuck a carrot up my butt?”

“No,” she replies, “I’m your son’s math teacher.”

Personal Best

A man was at the country club for his weekly round of golf. He began his round with an eagle on the first hole and a birdie the second. On the third hole he had just scored his first ever hole-in -one when his cell phone rang. It was a doctor notifying him that his wife had just been in a terrible accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU.

The man told the doctor to inform his wife where he was and that the he'd be there as soon as possible. As he hung up he realized he was leaving what was shaping up to be his best ever round of golf. He decided to get in a couple of more holes before heading to the hospital. He ended up finishing all eighteen. He finished his round shooting a personal best 61 shattering the club record by five strokes and beating his previous best game by more than 10.

He was jubilant, then he remembered his wife. Feeling guilty he dashed to the hospital. He saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about his wife's condition. The doctor glared at him and shouted, "You went ahead and finished your round of golf didn't you! I hope you're proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself at the country club your wife has been languishing in the ICU! Its just as well you went ahead and finished that round because it will be more than likely your last! For the rest of her life she will require 'round the clock care. And you'll be her care giver!"

The man was feeling so guilty he broke down and sobbed.

The doctor started to snicker and said, "Just kidding! She died more than two hours ago. What'd you shoot?"