willard

Chug a small bottle of tobasco sauce. Never tried it but saw it work once. Chase a chicken. It works. If you smoke, Quit smoking! I haven't had hiccups since I gave up cigs.

BTW, are you gonna share that stout?

Sorry to nitpick, Willard, but H is Hydrogen and O is Oxygen. H2 and O2 are the diatomic ways that H and O are found in our atmosphere. Again, sorry to nitpick, but I have a pint of Murphy's Stout riding on this

Since I don't have time to read all the replies here I will apologize in advance if I happen to repeat anything that has been mentioned previously. What this prof has done is on the edge of misconduct. He has no business telling anyone what their political beliefs are anymore than he does telling them what their favorite color is. If he is willing to do this with a mature student, I can only guess what he would be telling younger students who are at a very impressionable age. I wouldn't worry too much about how he will grade your tests. H2 is still hydrogen, O2 is still oxygen, and H2O is still water. Just make sure you cross all "T"s and dot all "i"s, which you should be doing anyway. Being a science class almost every answer will be either right or wrong with no grey area. The few that may depend upon the graders interpretation can always be compared with a classmate's to see if he was grading fairly. My advice, from one mature student to another, is to get through the rest of the course on a strictly student-prof relationship. I once had a prof who tended to make political remarks and judgements in his lectures. I took it in stride until one day he made a remark that was an outright falsehood, which I confronted him about after class. He admitted that he didn't confirm his information and apologized to the class the next day. After that he saved his remarks for private conversation with those who welcomed it, myself included. I have spent hours discussing politics with him and we have never raised our voices or made personal attacks, rather we both learn from each other and enjoy talking current events with someone who is a political opposite. Our professors in our colleges and universities have a great responsibility in their hands. The students in front of them, for the most part, are at an age where they are taking on the social beliefs that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. It is good that information is available to them in the form of Dem and Repub clubs, debate clubs, etc. It is not, however, a good thing when the profs push their political agenda onto the students as part of a class that has nothing to do with politics. Most of the students are still at an age where they have the idea that if a teacher said it, it has to be true. There is a small portion of the PhD population that feel they should automaticaly be respected and revered just because they have a PhD. I know one prof who insists upon being called "Doctor". He told me that he spent 12 years in college working for his PhD and, by God, people were going to show respect. Luckily I did not have him for any classes and therefore felt comfortable telling him that, in his case, PhD meant Pompous Honorary Dickhead. Most of my profs have been the opposite, prefering their students to call them by their first name only or the traditional Mr. (insert name here). My feeling about your situation is that this prof has issues that go far beyond any dealings with you. I hope you can get through his class without any more stress than there already is. Hang in there! College is tough enough at our age without jerks making it tougher. Our big advantage is that we have been in the world long enough to have learned how to deal with people like him. Use that knowledge to your advantage.

Had trouble sleeping last night, kept thinking of a dream from Saturday night. So I attacked the keyboard around 1:30 this morning and wrote it into a short essay. Thought some here might enjoy it. "Misty" Thoughts of her came to mind every now and again since that sad day so many years ago. Like other dogs in my life she was a faithful companion and trusted friend. Her breeding was mixed leaving her with a slight figure and fine facial features, not exactly what one looks for in a coon dog. She did ok in the woods but her real talent was holding down the couch so it didn’t run off while I was at work. Never an overeater she had full access to an open bag of dog food 24/7 but never carried an extra once on her small frame. And like those other dogs she had her bad habits, one of which was chasing rabbits and birds onto and across the road. It was this that led to her untimely demise in her prime. I remember the sounds more than the sights….the cackle of the pheasant as he flushed from the weeds near the house, the truck tires screeching, the thud…and her cries of pain. I ran to her as fast as I could, hoping that somehow she had escaped the full force of the impact, but she had not. Her body was bent and mangled in a way I wish I could forget, in a way that I knew her fate was sealed. She calmed as soon as I held her head in my hands but her suffering was all too obvious. I asked the driver to keep her calm as I went to get my rifle to do what had to be done. It’s never an easy task but, like so many things in our lives, I had no choice. Any attempt to get her to a vet would only intensify and prolong her agony, with the outcome being the same. I made sure I ended her suffering without adding to it, and then took to the task of laying her to rest in her favorite spot under the maple tree in the backyard. I sat there for the rest of the evening talking to her, remembering the things we had done, hunts we had been on, and thinking of what could have been. I also apologized to her for not teaching her better the dangers of running onto the road, for not watching her more closely, and for not being able to help her. I spent a lot of that time trying to convince myself that I had done the right thing, the only thing that could be done, but I don’t think I ever fully accepted my reasoning. Not then, not since. Until now. She came to see me last night. Not a ghost on a path or a fleeting glimpse of a dog that resembled her, but in a dream. It was one of those dreams that seem so real you could almost keep it locked in a box somewhere, available to have whenever you wanted it. I was sitting under her tree watching the birds at the feeder and the neighbor’s cattle cutting through my yard while on their grazing rounds. I had never had that problem in the real world but, being a dream, it seamed not out of place. She came to me from the edge of the field, her tail swaying to and fro in perfect rhythm with her long ears. I wasn’t startled at seeing her, it was if I had expected it. She came to me, pushed her nose into my cheek, and gave me a few wet dog kisses. I ran my hand across her head and down the length of her back, then scratched her ears the way she always liked. She lied down next to me with her head on my leg so I just stroked her head and scratched her ears, never saying a word. After a while she rolled over for a belly rub, another bit of attention she had always been fond of and received quite often. As all dreams do this one also ended. She got up, shook the grass and dust from her coat, and stood looking into the distance. She turned to look at me, I could swear she smiled, walked back to the field she came from, and was gone. Her stay was much too short, but it would have been too short regardless of how long she had stayed in my dream. I don’t know why, after all these years, she would appear like that. I like to think it was because she wanted me to know that what I had done was ok, that I hadn’t done anything wrong. That somehow she had found a way to bridge that gap between our world and hers and was able to spend a few more minutes with me. But in the end it really doesn’t matter. She came to see me, and I’m grateful for the chance to see her one more time.

Thanks. No, really, thanks a lot. I can't get that fucking song out of my head! "Sweep the leg, Johnny, sweep the leg...."

I love 'em so much I had to go back for more. In fact, the first one was without anesthetic.

Sure is, a man never would have stopped to ask for directions. That's cuz men know how to read maps.

Then they'd have drunk cats with high blood pressure.

steak good

Sounds to me like you already have your head on straight, it's your co-worker who needs help. I also had a co-worker who acted like an ass towards the wait staff and I, like you, decided not to be around that person in those situations. There is only one jackass in your situation, and it most certainly isn't you. Kudos to you!

Here ya go. http://www.deadohio.com/Swift'sHollow.htm I grew up not far from this place. The stories of Gore Orphanage Road were well know to everyone in the area.

Same here. Where I grew up the law was at least 30 minutes away, usually closer to an hour. You learn real quick that your safety is your own responsibility and not to count on someone else to save your butt.

That guy looked just a little too happy playing with his banana.

Some people have all the luck. I never got to disect a pregnant rat.

All I Need to Know In Life I Learned From My Horse 1. When in doubt, run far, far away. 2. You can never have too many treats. 3. Passing gas in public is nothing to be ashamed of. 4. New shoes are an absolute necessity every 6 weeks. 5. Ignore cues. They’re just a prompt to do more work. 6. Everyone loves a good, wet, slobbery kiss. 7. Never run when you can jog. Never jog when you can walk. And never walk when you can stand still. 8. Heaven is eating for at least 10 hours a day…and then sleeping the rest. 9. Eat plenty of roughage. 10. Great legs and a nice rear will get you anywhere. Big, brown eyes help. 11. When you want your way, stomp hard on the nearest foot. 12. In times of crisis, take a poop. 13. Act dumb when faced with a task you don’t want to do. 14. Follow the herd. That way, you can’t be singled out to take the blame. 15. A swift kick in the butt will get anyone’s attention. 16. Love those who love you back, especially if they have something good to eat. -Author Unknown

But...but...but...those criminals were only raping and murdering, it wasn't like they were doing anything wrong. Besides, to shoot them during the act, even in self defense, before they got a fair trial would be sooooo against their rights.

Bless you for having the courage to confront him with this. He will thank you some day. Still shaking my head thinking of how close he came to an immense offense to alcohol. I'm just a humble servant doing my small part to prevent and, hopefully, one day totally erradicate, cruel and unusual acts of barbarity towards beer. Remember the words of Ben Franklin..."Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." With that in mind, any abuse of beer is against God! Don't be a heathen!

I like mine on a slice of bread, covered with jelly and another slice of bread.

Gotta love it! Imagine the poor SOB who tried to put the cat in there the next time. Did you watch the next one? Not quite as funny, a bit longer, but worth a glance. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9QwK5EHSmg&NR

I told 'em it wouldn't work unless they went all the way and banned pictures of guns also. While they're at it, just to be safe, they best ban thoughts of guns and use of the word "gun".

Tater Tot cassarole?? I suppose that's made with mayo. Tater Tots are the core of American food fights. More food fights are started with tater tots than any other food. However, most who start with tater tots quickly move on to more dangerous foods such as hamburgers, pizza, and assorted desserts. Some people who become addicted to these hardcore food-fights get bored and end up using the worst possible food.....spaghetti! By that time they are so addicted that only long term rehab and counseling can help them get their lives back in order and return them to society as productive members. I think I'll have pasta for supper tonight.

Work? Isn't that "krow" spelled backwards? And isn't "krow" just "crow" misspelled? And aren't we all just "crowing" here? So, in a way, we are working. Next!

Good one!

Coffee. Lots of coffee. The good kind with little specks floating around in it.