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====> Welcome to DafterLafter
=====> Seriously Scottish Clean Jokes For The
Whole Clan
======> Owned by http://www.GreatWorldMedia.com
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INTRODUCTION:
Lots of AOL users have been writing to me saying
that
they've been receiving messages telling them that
mail to
them is bouncing yet they've been getting every
issue. What
is happening is that when mail bounces the server
attempts
to deliver the mail again and usually it gets
through on the
2nd attempt. The 'ezmlm' is a probe to check that
your
mailbox is active. You can ignore these messages
because the
fact that you receive them prooves that your mail
is ok.
I've also been experimenting recently with
Interstitial ads,
these are big ads you see when you click on a link
and there
is a delay in you going to the page you want to.
I've now
taken these down as I think they cause annoyance
when people
are trying to browse the site. I will use them
only on some
external links from now on.
As this is Sunday and nobody bothers reading this
on a Sunday
I'll repeat all this tomorrow too :-)
Phil
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QUICK JOKE
A priest and pastor were on the side of the road.
They had a
sign proclaiming: "The End is Near! Turn yourself
around now
before it's too late!" and they showed it to each
passing car.
One driver that drove by didn't seem to appreciate
the sign
and shouted at them as he whizzed by, "Leave me
alone,
you religious freaks!"
Seconds later, the priest said to the pastor heard
a big
splash. They looked at each other quizzically, and
the
priest said to the pastor, "Hey, you think we
should just
put up a sign that says "Bridge Out" instead?"
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CARTOON TIME:
Drinking Water Is Good For You...
http://www.ezines4all.com/ct200406/085.htm
A Round Tuit...
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Who Are The Real Monsters?...
http://www.ezines4all.com/ct200406/087.htm
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FUN PAGE
The Angry Button...
http://www.ezines4all.com/fun/angrybutton.htm
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POLICE QUOTES
"The handcuffs are tight because they're new.
They'll
stretch out after you wear them awhile."
"If you run, you'll only go to jail tired."
"So, you don't know how fast you were going. I
guess that
means I can write anything I want on the ticket,
huh?"
"Yes sir, you can talk to the shift supervisor,
but I don't think
it will help. Oh, did I mention that I am the
shift supervisor?"
"Warning! You want a warning? O.K., I'm warning
you not to
do that again or I'll give you another ticket."
"The answer to this last question will determine
whether
you are drunk or not. Was Mickey Mouse a cat or
dog?"
"Yeah, we have a quota. Two more tickets and my
wife gets
a toaster oven."
"Life's tough, it's tougher if you're stupid."
"No sir, we don't have quotas anymore. We used to
have quotas,
but now we're allowed to write as many tickets as
we want."
"Just how big were those two beers?
"In God we trust, all others are suspects."
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PASS THE SHIRT
The Yellow shirt The baggy yellow shirt had long
sleeves,
four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread
and snaps
up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but
still
in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was
home from
college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags
of
clothes Mom intended to give away.
"You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom
said when
she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that
when I
was pregnant with your brother in 1954!" "It's
just the
thing to wear over my clothes during art class,
Mom.
Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she
could
object. The yellow shirt became a part of my
college
wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the
shirt
the day I moved into my new apartment and on
Saturday
mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant,
I wore
the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed
Mom and
the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado
and they
were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled,
remembering that Mother had worn it when she was
pregnant,
15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the
shirt had
given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in
holiday paper
and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for
her
"real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was
lovely. She
never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped
at Mom
and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later,
when we
uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something
yellow
taped to its bottom. The shirt! And so the pattern
was
set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the
shirt under
Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it
took for
her to find it, but almost two years passed before
I
discovered it under the base of our living-room
floor lamp.
The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while
refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added
character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three
children,
I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed,
a deep
depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make
it on my
own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged
through the
Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read,
"So use
every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy
whenever he
attacks, and when it is all over, you will be
standing up."
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but
all I
saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it
dawned on me.
Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My
courage
was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the
shirt
back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I
tucked it in
her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a
good job at
a radio station. A year later I discovered the
yellow shirt
hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new
had been added. Embroidered in bright green across
the
breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."
Not to be
outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and
added an
apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt
proudly
proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I
didn't stop
there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had
a friend
mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from
Arlington, VA. We
enclosed an official looking letter from "The
Institute for
the Destitute," announcing that she was the
recipient of an
award for good deeds. I would have given anything
to see
Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of
course, she
never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of
our
wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's
garage to
avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while
my
husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached
for a
pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy.
I
unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding
paper, the
yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read
John
14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel
room and
found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift:
peace of
mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile
like the
peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or
afraid.
Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I
will come
back to you again. If you really love me, you will
be very
happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who
is greater
than I am. I have told you these things before
they happen
so that when they do, you will believe in me."
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known
for three
months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease.
Mother
died the following year at age 57. I was tempted
to send the
yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I
didn't,
because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled
game she
and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older
daughter is in
college now, majoring in art. And every art
student needs a
baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
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