Archive for November 2011

Women's Boxer Shorts

I really think ladies should be required to wear boxer shorts just like those that men wear. Why? Well, I remember a couple of years ago when we flew to Florida for my son's Grand Opening for his new studio in West Palm Beach, Florida, that I saw a hairy frog.

We stayed in a luxury hotel in the city where my son lives, and lots of big spenders, like me and oldladylincoln, stay there. You can tell who we are as we don't spend money at the local restaurants, because we eat the breakfast put-out by the hotel each morning. Yummy!

We were waiting for our son to come and pick us up in his Hummer (forgot the name of his vehicle that looks like something used in Iraq but it has a nicer paint job) — I saw this older gentleman sitting there in the lobby wearing beautiful white shorts. He was real tan like a Hershey Kiss.

Well, it was a clear mistake to notice him because he crossed his legs — his legs, up high, were snow white — cool whip white: The legs of his starched white shorts gaped open, and as God is my judge I saw a big old hairy frog staring at me from a briar patch — it looked like a frog in a briar patch!

I stood up because the sight gagged me. My wife asked if I was OK — I told her I swallowed spit; but I didn't tell my wife about the frog — I asked her to come outside and we walked out without ever looking back. She never saw the frog — I hope she didn't.

NOTE: That's why I would like for ladies to wear shorts like men "should" wear. Understand, I don't expect to see a lady's frog, but I wouldn't want to see a toad either.

Friday, November 11, 2011 by Data Cube
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Church and religion

Sometimes I go to the Gordon Methodist Church in Gordon, Ohio to get something to eat at their twice-a-year ice cream social. We often wait in the church until the cafeteria has empty seats for us to sit down. In the church are stained glass windows with the names of now dead members. Tommy Rice is there. If you are about 75 years old and live in the village you would know who he was. I know because I heard him every morning of my life until he retired. He was the village blacksmith. Gordon Methodist Church is no different from other churches, with empty pews. Outside church doors everywhere lurk some bad people who could do with a bit of preaching and the good folks inside should give their seats up for some of them next Sunday.

by Data Cube
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