<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067</id><updated>2012-02-16T14:48:37.527-05:00</updated><category term='holiday'/><category term='video'/><category term='philosoply'/><category term='Terry'/><title type='text'>Carpe ranae quam minimum credula piscina</title><subtitle type='html'>Seize the frog, put no faith in the pond.

This blog is intended to provide humor and fun to everyday life.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Kathryn Patterson</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/107623127980848293680</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh6.googleusercontent.com/-GTBVqaexdec/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAHY/LL7Cjr0hnh4/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>162</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-6208862407996840848</id><published>2009-01-08T15:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T15:46:05.677-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Navy Way</title><content type='html'>The Chief noticed a new seaman one day... and barked at him, "Get  over here!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is your name?" was the first thing the Chief asked the new guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paul," the new guy replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Chief scowled, "Look, I don't know what kind of bleeding-heart, liberal pansy stuff they're teaching Sailors in bootcamp today, but I don't call anyone by their first name. It breeds familiarity and that leads  to a breakdown in authority.  I refer to my sailors by their last name only:   Smith, Jones, Baker - that's all.  I am to be referred to only as  Chief. Do  I make myself clear?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Aye, aye, Chief!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good!  Now that we got that straight, what is your last name?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The new guy sighed.... and said, "Darling.  My name is Paul Darling, Chief!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay.............. Paul,........ here's what I want you to do... "&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-6208862407996840848?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/6208862407996840848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=6208862407996840848&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/6208862407996840848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/6208862407996840848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2009/01/navy-way.html' title='The Navy Way'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1317178732095754288</id><published>2008-11-25T15:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T15:59:13.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Parrot Talk</title><content type='html'>A young man named John received a parrot named 'Chief' as a gift. The parrot had a bad attitude and an even worse vocabulary.  Every word out of the bird's mouth was rude, obnoxious and laced with profanity. John tried and tried to change the bird's attitude by consistently saying only polite Words, playing soft music and anything else he could think of to clean up the bird's vocabulary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, John was fed up and he yelled at the parrot.  The parrot yelled back. John shook the parrot and the parrot got angrier and even ruder.  John, in desperation, threw up his hand, grabbed the bird and put him in the freezer. For a few minutes the parrot squawked and kicked and screamed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then suddenly there was total quiet. Not a peep was heard for over a minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fearing that he'd hurt the parrot, John quickly opened the door to the freezer.  The parrot calmly stepped out onto John's outstretched arms and said, "I believe I may have offended you with my rude language and actions. I'm sincerely remorseful for my inappropriate transgressions and I fully intend to do everything I can to correct my rude and unforgivable behavior."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;John was stunned at the change in the bird's attitude. As he was about to ask the parrot what had made such a dramatic change in his behavior, the bird continued, "May I ask what the turkey did?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1317178732095754288?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1317178732095754288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1317178732095754288&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1317178732095754288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1317178732095754288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/11/parrot-talk.html' title='Parrot Talk'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1141870080920930014</id><published>2008-11-18T20:02:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T20:04:28.862-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Top 10 Reasons Trick-or-Treating is better than Sex</title><content type='html'>10. Guaranteed to get at least a little something in the sack.  &lt;br /&gt; 9. If you get tired, wait 10 minutes and go at it again.&lt;br /&gt; 8. The uglier you look, the easier it is to get some.&lt;br /&gt; 7. You don't have to compliment the person who gave you candy.&lt;br /&gt; 6. Person giving you candy doesn't fantasize you're someone else.&lt;br /&gt; 5. If you get a stomach ache, it won't last 9 months.&lt;br /&gt; 4. If you wear your Batman mask, no one thinks you're kinky.&lt;br /&gt; 3. Doesn't matter if kids hear you moaning and groaning.&lt;br /&gt; 2. Less guilt the next morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and, the #1 reason trick or treating is better than sex...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 1. If you don't get want you want, you can always go next door!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1141870080920930014?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1141870080920930014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1141870080920930014&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1141870080920930014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1141870080920930014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/11/top-10-reasons-trick-or-treating-is.html' title='Top 10 Reasons Trick-or-Treating is better than Sex'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-5310631389787141141</id><published>2008-10-02T12:03:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T12:04:40.454-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bubba In Paris</title><content type='html'>Bubba, a furniture dealer from Tennessee, decided to expand the line of furniture in his store, so he decided to go to Paris to see what he could find.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After arriving in Paris he met with some manufacturers and selected a line that he thought would sell well back home in Jackson, Tennessee.  To celebrate the new acquisition, he decided to visit a small bistro and have a glass of wine As he sat enjoying his wine, he noticed that the small place was quite crowded, and that the other chair at his table was the only vacant seat in the house.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Before long, a very beautiful young Parisian girl came to his table, asked him something in French (which he did not understand), and motioned toward the chair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He invited her to sit down. He tried to speak to her in English, but she did not speak his language so, after a couple of minutes of trying to communicate with her, he took a napkin and drew a picture of a wine glass and showed it to her. She nodded, and he ordered a glass of wine for her.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After sitting together at the table for a while, he took another napkin, and drew a picture of a plate with food on it, and she nodded. They left the bistro and found a quiet cafe that featured a small group playing romantic music. They ordered dinner, after which he took another napkin and drew a picture of a couple dancing. She nodded, and they got up to  dance. They danced until the cafe closed and the band was packing up.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Back at their table, the young lady took a napkin and drew a picture of a four-poster bed. To this day, Bubba has no idea how she figured out he was in the furniture business.&lt;br /&gt;was in the furniture business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-5310631389787141141?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/5310631389787141141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=5310631389787141141&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5310631389787141141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5310631389787141141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/10/bubba-in-paris.html' title='Bubba In Paris'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-7529931081009374443</id><published>2008-10-01T16:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T16:59:45.158-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Christian Kittens</title><content type='html'>After church, the minister asked Little Johnny how he was doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Great, sir.  My cat just had Christian kittens!"  Little Johnny announced proudly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The minister smiled, and the next week made a point of finding Little Johnny again after church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, how are your Christian kittens doing?" inquired the minister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, they're not Christian kittens anymore. They're atheist kittens."  Little Johnny replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really?"  the minister didn't quite know what to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, sir.  You see, they opened up their eyes this week."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-7529931081009374443?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/7529931081009374443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=7529931081009374443&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7529931081009374443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7529931081009374443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/10/christian-kittens.html' title='Christian Kittens'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-3909112461523502630</id><published>2008-10-01T16:55:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T16:55:58.922-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Veternarian</title><content type='html'>One Sunday, in counting the money in the weekly offering, the Pastor of a small church found a pink envelope containing $1,000. It happened again the next week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following Sunday, he watched as the offering was collected and saw an elderly woman put the distinctive pink envelope on the plate. This went on for weeks until the pastor, overcome by curiosity, approached her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Ma'am, I couldn't help but notice that you put $1,000 a week in the collection plate,' he stated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Why yes,' she replied, 'every week my son sends me money and I give some of it to the church'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor replied, 'That's wonderful. But $1000 is a lot, are you sure you can afford this? How much does he send you?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The elderly woman answered, '$10,000 a week.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pastor was amazed. 'Your son is very successful; what does he do for a living?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'He is a veterinarian,' she answered. 'That's an honorable profession, but I had no idea they made that much money,' the pastor said. 'Where does he practice?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman answered proudly, 'In Nevada. He has two cat houses, one in Las Vegas, and one in Reno.'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-3909112461523502630?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/3909112461523502630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=3909112461523502630&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3909112461523502630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3909112461523502630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/10/veternarian.html' title='The Veternarian'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-7622992662645292407</id><published>2008-09-29T18:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T18:26:50.724-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Haiku</title><content type='html'>Space is limited&lt;br /&gt;In a haiku, so you have&lt;br /&gt;to limit what you&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-7622992662645292407?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/7622992662645292407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=7622992662645292407&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7622992662645292407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7622992662645292407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/09/haiku.html' title='Haiku'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-4895531036476854243</id><published>2008-09-26T13:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T13:19:09.465-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Name This Song!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="464" height="392"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://embed.break.com/NDIzNjg2"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://embed.break.com/NDIzNjg2" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowScriptAccess=always width="464" height="392"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;font size=1&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.break.com/index/name-this-song.html"&gt;Name This Song&lt;/a&gt; - Watch more &lt;a href="http://www.break.com/"&gt;free videos&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dare you to name the song &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;before&lt;/span&gt; the middle of the video, and put your guess in the comments.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-4895531036476854243?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/4895531036476854243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=4895531036476854243&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4895531036476854243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4895531036476854243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/09/name-this-song.html' title='Name This Song!!'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1350626630856517548</id><published>2008-09-25T20:37:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-27T12:44:01.675-04:00</updated><title type='text'>INSANE Guy Texting on a Motorcycle</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="464" height="392"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://embed.break.com/NTY5MTM1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://embed.break.com/NTY5MTM1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowScriptAccess=always width="464" height="392"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;font size=1&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.break.com/usercontent/2008/9/INSANE-guy-on-motorcycle-WHILE-TEXTING-569135.html"&gt;INSANE guy on motorcycle WHILE TEXTING&lt;/a&gt; - Watch more &lt;a href="http://www.break.com/"&gt;free videos&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1350626630856517548?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1350626630856517548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1350626630856517548&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1350626630856517548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1350626630856517548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-i-dont-drive-in-india.html' title='INSANE Guy Texting on a Motorcycle'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1121650721508556077</id><published>2008-09-25T14:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T14:39:35.445-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mathmatical Knowledge</title><content type='html'>Two mathematicians were having dinner in a restaurant, arguing about the average mathematical knowledge of the American public. One mathematician claimed that this average was woefully inadequate, the other maintained that it was surprisingly high.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll tell you what," said the cynic, "ask that waitress a simple math question. If she gets it right, I'll pick up dinner. If not, you do." He then excused himself to visit the men's room, and the other called the waitress over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When my friend comes back," he told her, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to respond `one third x cubed.' There's twenty bucks in it for you." She agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cynic returned from the bathroom and called the waitress over. "The food was wonderful, thank you," the mathematician started. "Incidentally, do you know what the integral of x squared is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The waitress looked pensive; almost pained. She looked around the room, at her feet, made gurgling noises, and finally said, "Um, one third x cubed?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the cynic paid the check. The waitress wheeled around, walked a few paces away, looked back at the two men, and muttered under her breath, "...plus a constant." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[kaplanr@govt.shearson.com (Roger Kaplan)]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1121650721508556077?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1121650721508556077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1121650721508556077&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1121650721508556077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1121650721508556077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/09/mathmatical-knowledge.html' title='Mathmatical Knowledge'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-8283205716012005694</id><published>2008-09-25T14:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T14:37:24.382-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Man Walks Into A Bar...</title><content type='html'>A man walks into a bar with a large suitcase in one on hand. Tossing it casually up on the bar, he orders a beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What have you got there?" The bartender asks. The man gives him a mean look, opens the suitcase, and pulls out out a tiny replica of a piano. He places it on the bar in front of the bartender. "Well, that's interesting," the bartender says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You haven't seen it all." The man snaps, turning back to the suitcase. "Come on, Joe." Out of the suitcase climbs a little man only about a foot tall, who proceeds to sit down at the piano and play several pieces by Chopin flawlessly. The bartender is very much impressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My god!" he says. "Where did you find him??"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I was walking along the beach one day," the man says, as the little man climbs back into the suitcase, "and I came across this really old bottle. So I opened it up. There was a genie inside, and she gave me one wish."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And that was your wish?" The bartender asks incredulously, pointing to the piano.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," the man said. "The genie had been in that bottle for so long she had become hard of hearing. So I didn't get my real wish. And now, for the rest of my life, I'm stuck with this twelve inch pianist."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-8283205716012005694?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/8283205716012005694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=8283205716012005694&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8283205716012005694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8283205716012005694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/09/man-walks-into-bar.html' title='A Man Walks Into A Bar...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1665741689003633516</id><published>2008-08-04T16:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T16:19:07.584-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Blind Cowboy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"&gt;An old, blind cowboy wanders into an all-girl biker bar by mistake.   He finds his way to a bar stool and orders some coffee. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the waiter, 'Hey, you wanna hear a&lt;br /&gt;blonde joke?' The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him says,'Before you tell that joke, Cowboy, I think it is only fair, given that you are blind, that you should know five things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.&lt;br /&gt;2. The bouncer is a blonde girl.&lt;br /&gt;3. I'm a 6-foot tall, 175-pound blonde woman with a black belt in karate.&lt;br /&gt;4. The woman sitting next to me is blonde and a professional weightlifter.&lt;br /&gt;5. The lady to your right is blonde and a professional wrestler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Now,think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that  joke?'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blind cowboy thinks for a second, shakes his head, and mutters,&lt;br /&gt;'No...not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1665741689003633516?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1665741689003633516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1665741689003633516&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1665741689003633516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1665741689003633516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/08/blind-cowboy.html' title='Blind Cowboy'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1996881800754894992</id><published>2008-05-19T23:17:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T16:22:24.656-04:00</updated><title type='text'>High School Prank :-)</title><content type='html'>At a high school in Montana, a group of high schoolers played a prank on the school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They let three goats loose in the school.  Before they let them go, they&lt;br /&gt;painted numbers on the sides of the goats:  1 ,2, 4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Local school administrators spent most of the day looking&lt;br /&gt;for 3.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1996881800754894992?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1996881800754894992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1996881800754894992&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1996881800754894992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1996881800754894992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/05/high-school-prank.html' title='High School Prank :-)'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1505663352863332452</id><published>2008-04-18T15:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T15:43:40.337-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tax Rebates</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; Recently President Bush said each one of us would get a $600.00 tax rebate.  It was previously slated to be $800.00, but they dropped it to a $600.00 tax  rebate because of various budget problems.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Now, if we spend that money at Wal-Mart, all the money will go to China; if  we spend it on computers, most of the money will go to Korea or India.  If  we spend it on gasoline it will all go to the Arabs . . . and none of these  scenarios will help the American economy.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; We need to keep that money here in America . . . so the only way to keep  that money here at home is to drink beer, gamble, or spend it on  prostitution. Currently it seems that these are the only businesses still  left in the U.S.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1505663352863332452?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1505663352863332452/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1505663352863332452&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1505663352863332452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1505663352863332452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/04/tax-rebates.html' title='Tax Rebates'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-8202255817259654117</id><published>2008-03-30T12:00:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T12:02:20.075-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Terry'/><title type='text'>Put Your Hands Up!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt; &lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/blgfehg0Dew"&gt; &lt;/param&gt; &lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/blgfehg0Dew" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;  &lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-8202255817259654117?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/8202255817259654117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=8202255817259654117&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8202255817259654117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8202255817259654117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/03/put-your-hands-up.html' title='Put Your Hands Up!!'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-8064434769599373011</id><published>2008-02-01T09:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T09:46:35.741-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Creative Insults</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;"&gt;Not long ago, people used their creativity (and not four letter words) to express their negative feelings about another person.  Here are some of the more unusual, but humorous examples.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:100%;" &gt;An exchange between Churchill &amp;amp; Lady          Astor:&lt;br /&gt;She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison."&lt;br /&gt;He replied, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: times new roman;font-size:100%;" &gt;A member of Parliament to Disraeli: "Sir, you will          either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease."&lt;br /&gt;"That          depends, Sir," said Disraeli, "on whether I embrace your policies or          your mistress."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He had delusions of adequacy." - Walter          Kerr&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I          admire." - Winston Churchill&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A modest little person, with          much to be modest about." - Winston Churchill&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have          never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with          great pleasure." - Clarence Darrow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He has never been known to          use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William          Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Poor Faulkner. Does he really          think big emotions come from big words?" - Ernest Hemingway (about          William Faulkner)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you for sending me a copy of your          book; I'll waste no time reading it." - Moses Hadas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He can          compress the most words i nto the smallest idea of any man          I know."  -  Abraham Lincoln&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't attend the          funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." - Mark          Twain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his          friends." - Oscar Wilde&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am enclosing two tickets to the          first night of my new play; bring a friend.... if you have one."          -George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Cannot possibly attend          first night, will attend second... if there is one." - Winston          Churchill, in response&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I feel so miserable without you; it's          almost like having you here." - Stephen Bishop&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He is a          self-made man and worships his creator." -John Bright&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've just          learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial." - Irvin          S. Cobb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He is not only dull himself, he is the cause of          dullness in others." - Samuel Johnson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He is simply a shiver          looking for a spine to run up." - Paul Keating&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"T h ere's nothing          wrong with you that reincarnation won't cure." Jack          E. Leonard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He has the attention span of a lightning bolt." -          Robert Redford&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They never open their mouths without subtracting          from the sum of human knowledge." - Thomas Brackett Reed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In          order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily."          - Charles, Count Talleyrand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He loves nature in spite of          what it did to him." -Forrest Tucker&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you sit there          looking like an envelope without any address on it?" - Mark          Twain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the          stork." - Mae West&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Some cause happiness wherever they go;          others, whenever they go." - Oscar Wilde&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He uses statistics          as a drunken man uses lamp-posts... for support rather than          illumination." -Andrew Lang (1844-1912)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He has Van Gogh's ear          for music." - Billy Wilder&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've had a perfectly wonderful          evening But this wasn't it." - Groucho Marx&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-8064434769599373011?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/8064434769599373011/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=8064434769599373011&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8064434769599373011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8064434769599373011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/02/creative-insults.html' title='Creative Insults'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-5416106911638243460</id><published>2008-01-27T00:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T00:13:27.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bubba In Paris</title><content type='html'>Bubba, a furniture dealer from Tennessee, decided to expand the line of furniture in his store, so he decided to go to Paris to see what he could find.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After arriving in Paris he met with some manufacturers and selected a line that he thought would sell well back home in Jackson, Tennessee . To celebrate the new acquisition, he decided to visit a small bistro and have a glass of wine As he sat enjoying his wine, he noticed that the small place was quite crowded, and that the other chair at his table was&lt;br /&gt;the only vacant seat in the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before long, a very beautiful young Parisian girl came to his table, asked him something in French (which he did not understand), and motioned toward the chair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He invited her to sit down. He tried to speak to her in English, but she did not speak his language so, after a couple of minutes of trying to communicate with her, he took a napkin and drew a picture of a wine glass and showed it to her. She nodded, and he ordered a glass of wine for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After sitting together at the table for a while, he took another napkin, and drew a picture of a plate with food on it, and she nodded. They left the bistro and found a quiet cafe that featured a small group playing romantic music. They ordered dinner, after which he took another napkin and drew a picture of a couple dancing. She nodded, and they got up to dance. They danced until the cafe closed and the band was packing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at their table, the young lady took a napkin and drew a picture of a four-poster bed. To this day, Bubba has no idea how she figured out he was in the furniture business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-5416106911638243460?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/5416106911638243460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=5416106911638243460&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5416106911638243460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5416106911638243460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/01/bubba-in-paris.html' title='Bubba In Paris'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-7163845420511485708</id><published>2008-01-23T10:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T10:40:55.612-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Quote of the Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Verdana,Geneva,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"   &gt;I don't mind what Congress does, as long as they don't do it in the streets and frighten the horses. &lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?e=001v4RPig_hqoCiF95g_AGYIMf9em2CQMBSfdr16sa2N1Phmn0m-2B-TY-ecFqZCIB3EW4UtgmuhQD3QVGuVAEJg3ptWs5dJTqdPiy2hk1x37iwGk6UtUntUhY56-4qqV9LfRHHgN-hqbYcAK7yVXI1lakkmmRhAybjh9d4gZrtSWqLo2EbG1Zv9JZHKpHu_vUc2Ll9OYzGv7iO4-o583u-y_-R-oJOb_1O1ShzmZsHGo--SMQVtetTQJYWQw33_6ct" target="_blank"&gt; Victor Hugo&lt;/a&gt;  (1802-1885)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-7163845420511485708?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/7163845420511485708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=7163845420511485708&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7163845420511485708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/7163845420511485708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/01/quote-of-day.html' title='Quote of the Day'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-968179168276473829</id><published>2008-01-16T16:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T16:12:49.219-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Preferred Choice of Operating System for Super Villians Everywhere</title><content type='html'>Click &lt;a href="http://www.ubergeek.tv/article.php?pid=54"&gt;here for The Preferred Choice of Operating System for Super Villians Everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-968179168276473829?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/968179168276473829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=968179168276473829&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/968179168276473829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/968179168276473829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/01/preferred-choice-of-operating-system.html' title='The Preferred Choice of Operating System for Super Villians Everywhere'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-8485660208290655088</id><published>2008-01-14T20:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T20:55:34.656-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A shepherd was herding his flock in a remote pasture when suddenly, a brand new BMW advanced out of a dust cloud towards him. The driver, a young man in a Bryony suit, Gucci shoes, RayBan sunglasses and YSL tie, leans out of the window and asks the shepherd: "If I tell you exactly how many sheep you have in your flock, will you give me one?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The shepherd looks at the man - obviously a yuppie - then looks at his peacefully grazing flock and calmly answers: "Sure, why not?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it to his AT&amp;amp;T cell-phone, surfs to a NASA page on the internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an exact fix on his location, which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. Then the young man opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany.  Within seconds he receives an email on his Palm Pilot, that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses an MS-SQL database through an ODBC connected Excel spreadsheet, with hundreds of complex formulas. He uploads all of this data via an email on his Blackberry, and after a few minutes, receives another response. Finally, he prints out a full colour, 150 page report on his high-tech, miniaturized HP Laser Jet printer, then turns to the shepherd and says: "You have exactly 1586 sheep."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's right. Well, I guess you can take one of my sheep," says the shepherd.  He watches as the young man selects one of the animals and looks on amused as the young man tries to stuff it into the trunk of his car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the shepherd says to the young man, "Hey, if I can tell you exactly what your business is, will you give me back my sheep?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man thinks about it for a moment, then says: "OK, why not?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're a consultant," says the shepherd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow - that's correct," says the Yuppie, "but how did you guess that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No guessing required," answers the shepherd. "You showed up here even though nobody called you, you wanted to get paid for an answer I  already knew, to a question I never asked and you don't know anything about my business.  Now give me back my dog."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-8485660208290655088?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/8485660208290655088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=8485660208290655088&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8485660208290655088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8485660208290655088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2008/01/shepherd-was-herding-his-flock-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-2790088913319796849</id><published>2007-12-28T16:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T16:26:58.665-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Gynecologist</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; A beautiful, voluptuous woman goes to a gynecologist. The doctor takes one  look at this woman and all his professionalism goes out the window.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Right away he tells her to undress. After she has disrobed he begins to  stroke her thigh. As he does this he says to the woman, "Do you know what  I'm doing?"  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "Yes," she says, "you're checking for any abrasions or dermatological  abnormalities."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "That's right," says the doctor. He then begins to fondle her breasts.  "Do you know what I'm doing now?" he asks.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "Yes," the woman says, "you're checking for any lumps of breast cancer."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "That's right," replies the doctor. He then begins to have sexual intercourse  with the woman.  He says to her, "Do you know what I'm doing now?"  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "Yes," she says. "You're getting herpes."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-2790088913319796849?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/2790088913319796849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=2790088913319796849&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/2790088913319796849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/2790088913319796849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/12/gynecologist.html' title='The Gynecologist'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-8001274075417036833</id><published>2007-12-26T12:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T12:25:27.852-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jamie Lynne Spear's Pregnancy</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; Heard this morning on CNN:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;pre&gt;  Jamie Lynne Spears, Britney's 16-year-old sister, is pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt; Postponed indefinitely:   Book being written by Britney and Jamie's mother Lynne on parenting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Note - actually true - ed.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-8001274075417036833?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/8001274075417036833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=8001274075417036833&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8001274075417036833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/8001274075417036833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/12/jamie-lynne-spears-pregnancy.html' title='Jamie Lynne Spear&apos;s Pregnancy'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-3844936084368308313</id><published>2007-12-23T23:37:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T23:37:50.675-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Teenager Daughter Owner's Manual</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; Teenager Daughter Owner's Manual  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Instructions for all those with teenage daughters or daughters who  think they are teenagers or who will eventually be teenagers.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Congratulations! You are now the proud new owner of a teenaged  daughter. Please read this manual carefully, as it describes the  maintenance of your new daughter, and answers important questions  about your warranty (which does NOT include the right to return the  product to the factory for a full refund).  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; IF YOU FEEL YOU HAVE RECEIVED YOUR TEENAGER IN ERROR:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; To determine whether you were supposed to receive a teenaged girl,  please examine your new daughter carefully.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Does she:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; (a) look very similar to your original daughter, only with more  makeup and less clothing?  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; (b) refuse to acknowledge your existence on the planet Earth(except  when requesting money)?  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; (c) Sleep in a burrow of dirty laundry?  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; If any of these are true, you have received the correct item.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; BREAK-IN PERIOD  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; When you first receive your teenaged daughter, you will initially  experience a high level of discomfort. Gradually, this discomfort  will subside, and you will merely feel traumatized. This is the  "Break-In Period," during which you are becoming accustomed to  certain behaviors that will cause you concern, anxiety, and stress.  Once you have adapted to these behaviors, your teenager will start  acting even worse.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; ACTIVATION  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; To activate your teenaged daughter, simply place her in the vicinity  of a telephone or Instant Messenger. No further programming is required.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; SHUTDOWN  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Several hours after activation, you may desire to shut down your  teenaged daughter. There is no way to do this.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; CLEANING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Having a teenaged daughter means learning the difference between the  words "clean" and "neat." Teenaged daughters are very clean, because  they take frequent showers that last more than an hour. They will  scrub themselves with expensive, fragrant soaps which you must  purchase for them because like I'm sure I'm going to use like the  same kind of soap my mom and dad use. When they have completely  drained the hot-water tank, they will step out and wrap themselves in  every towel in the bathroom, which they will subsequently strew  throughout the house. If you ask them to pick up the towels, you are  confusing "clean" with "neat." Teenagers are very busy and do not  have time to be neat. They expect others to pick up after them. These  others are called "parents."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; FEEDING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Your teenaged daughter requires regular meals, which must be  purchased for her at restaurants because she detests everything you  eat because it is like so disgusting.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; She does not want you to accompany her to these restaurants, because  some people might see you and, "like I'm sure I want my friends to  see me eating dinner with my parents." Either order take-out food or  just give her the money, preferably both. If you order pizza, never  answer the doorbell because the delivery boy might see you and,  "ohmigod he is so hot!" Yes, your daughter's idea of an attractive  man is the pizza boy.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; CLOTHING YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Retailers make millions of dollars a year selling stylish and frankly  sensible clothing which will look adorable on your daughter. If you  enjoy shopping, you will love the vast selections which are available  to you. Unfortunately, your teenaged daughter wants to dress like a  lap dancer. You may be able to coerce her into putting on a cute  outfit before leaving the house, but by the time she walks in the  schoolhouse door, she will be wearing something entirely different.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; OTHER MAINTENANCE  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Teenaged daughters require one of two levels of maintenance:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "High," and "Ultra High."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Your daughter is "Ultra High." This means that whatever you do won't  be enough and whatever you try won't work.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; WARRANTY  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; This product is not without defect because she has your genes, for  heaven's sake. If you think this is not fair, talk to your parents,  who think it is hilarious. Your teenaged daughter will remain a  teenager for as long as it takes for her to become a woman, which in  her opinion has already happened and as far as you are concerned  never really will. If you are dissatisfied with your teenaged  daughter, well, what did you expect? In any event, your warranty does  not give you your little girl back under any circumstances, except  that deep down she's actually still there--you just have to look for her.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-3844936084368308313?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/3844936084368308313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=3844936084368308313&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3844936084368308313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3844936084368308313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/12/teenager-daughter-owners-manual.html' title='Teenager Daughter Owner&apos;s Manual'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1560853603911799959</id><published>2007-12-22T14:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T14:58:00.773-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='video'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holiday'/><title type='text'>Happy Holidays, Blue Man Group Style!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background: #4a4a4a; width: 340px;"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://art.blueman.com/videocard/_flash/swf/bm_blog.swf?id=17254&amp;amp;iProject=6" quality="high" allowscriptaccess="always" swliveconnect="false" width="340" height="304" align="" menu="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;p style="padding: 0; margin: 0 5px 5px 5px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://art.blueman.com/videocard/slomo_holiday/" target="_blank" style="font: 11px verdana,helvetic,sans-serif; color: #ababab; text-decoration: none;"&gt;Create Your Own Video&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1560853603911799959?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1560853603911799959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1560853603911799959&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1560853603911799959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1560853603911799959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/12/happy-holidays-blue-man-group-style.html' title='Happy Holidays, Blue Man Group Style!!!'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-478771951274034312</id><published>2007-12-02T17:50:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-02T17:52:09.905-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Divorce Letters</title><content type='html'>Dear Wife:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm writing  you this letter to tell you that I'm leaving you forever.  I've been a good man to you for seven years and I have nothing to show for it.   These last two weeks have been hell.  Your boss called to tell me&lt;br /&gt;that you quit your job today and that was the last straw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week, you came home and didn't even notice that I had a new haircut, had cooked your favorite meal and even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers.  You ate in two minutes, and went straight to sleep after watching&lt;br /&gt;all of your soaps.  You don't tell me you love me anymore; you don't want sex or anything that connects us as husband and wife.  Either you're cheating on  me or you don't love me anymore; whatever the case, I'm gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your EX-Husband&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  Don't try to find me.  Your  SISTER and I are moving away to West Virginia together!  Have a great life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear  Ex-Husband  -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing has made my day more than receiving your  letter.  It's true that you and I have been married for seven years,  although a good man is a far cry from what you've been.  I watch my  soaps so much because they  drown&lt;br /&gt;out your constant whining and griping.   Too bad that doesn't work.  I DID notice when you got a hair cut last week, but the first thing that came to mind was "You look just like a  girl!"  Since my mother raised me not to&lt;br /&gt;say anything if you can't say something nice, I didn't comment .  And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have  gotten me confused with MY SISTER, because I stopped eating pork seven years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About those new silk boxers:  I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still on them, and I prayed that it was a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed fifty dollars from me that morning. After all of this, I still loved you and felt that we could work it out. So when I hit the lotto for ten million dollars, I quit my job and bought us two tickets to Jamaica .   But when I got home you were gone.   Everything happens for a reason, I  guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted.  My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won't get a dime from  me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So take care.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your Ex-Wife, Rich As Hell and Free!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  I don't know if I ever told you this, but my sister Carla was born Carl. I hope that's not a problem.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-478771951274034312?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/478771951274034312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=478771951274034312&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/478771951274034312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/478771951274034312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/12/divorce-letters.html' title='Divorce Letters'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1253518929512424757</id><published>2007-11-27T00:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T00:28:16.787-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning:  Men Please Read</title><content type='html'>Police are warning all men who frequent clubs, parties and local pubs, to be alert and stay  cautious when offered a drink from any woman. Many females use a date rape drug on the market called "Beer" to target unsuspecting men.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;The drug is generally found in liquid form and is now available almost anywhere. It comes in bottles, in cans, from taps, and in large "kegs."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Beer is used by female sexual predators at parties and bars to persuade their Male victims to go home and have sex with them. Typically, a woman needs only to persuade a guy to consume a few units of Beer and then simply ask him home for no-strings-attached sex. Men are rendered helpless against this approach.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After several beers, men will often succumb to desires to perform sexual acts on horrific- looking women to whom they would never normally be attracted.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;After drinking Beer, men often awaken with only hazy memories of exactly what happened to them the night before, often with just a vague feeling that "something bad" occurred.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;At other times these unfortunate men are swindled out of their life savings, in a familiar scam known as "A Relationship." It has been reported that in extreme cases, the female may even be shrewd enough to entrap the unsuspecting male into a longer-term form of servitude and punishment&lt;br /&gt;referred to as a "Marriage."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Apparently, men are much more susceptible to this scam after Beer is administered and sex is offered by the predatory females. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Please forward this warning to every male you know. (And women with a Sense of humor!) If you fall victim to this insidious Beer and the predatory Women administering it, there are male support groups with venues in every Town where you can discuss the details of your shocking encounter in an open And frank manner with similarly affected, like-minded guys. For the support&lt;br /&gt;group nearest you, just look up "Golf Courses" in the yellow pages.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1253518929512424757?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1253518929512424757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1253518929512424757&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1253518929512424757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1253518929512424757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/11/warning-men-please-read.html' title='Warning:  Men Please Read'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-4691539864239164313</id><published>2007-11-09T20:35:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T20:35:56.984-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Golf Club Sign</title><content type='html'>Here is an actual sign posted at a golf club in Scottsdale , Arizona :&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 1. BACK STRAIGHT, KNEES BENT, FEET SHOULDER WIDTH APART. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. FORM A LOOSE GRIP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. AVOID A QUICK BACK SWING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. STAY OUT OF THE WATER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. TRY NOT TO HIT ANYONE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. IF YOU ARE TAKING TOO LONG, LET OTHERS GO AHEAD OF YOU.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. DON'T STAND DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF OTHERS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. QUIET PLEASE...WHILE OTHERS ARE PREPARING.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. DON'T TAKE EXTRA STROKES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WELL DONE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW, FLUSH THE URINAL, GO OUTSIDE, &amp; TEE OFF.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-4691539864239164313?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/4691539864239164313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=4691539864239164313&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4691539864239164313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4691539864239164313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/11/golf-club-sign.html' title='Golf Club Sign'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1596618232892565905</id><published>2007-11-09T20:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T20:33:33.748-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Blonde's First Football Game</title><content type='html'>A guy took his blond girlfriend to her first football game. They had great seats right behind their team's bench.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the game, the guy asked her how she liked the experience. "Oh, I really liked it," the blonde replied. "Especially the tight pants and all the big muscles, but I just couldn't understand why they were killing each other over 25 cents."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dumbfounded, her date asked, "What do you mean?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, at the beginning, they flipped a coin, one team got it and then for the rest of the game, everyone kept screaming 'Get the quarterback! Get the quarterback!' I'm like, Helloooooooooooo - it's only 25 cents!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1596618232892565905?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1596618232892565905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1596618232892565905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1596618232892565905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1596618232892565905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/11/blondes-first-football-game.html' title='A Blonde&apos;s First Football Game'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-4278431593679648493</id><published>2007-10-29T23:12:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T23:12:34.508-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Trophy Wife, with a twist</title><content type='html'>Bob, a 70-year-old, extremely wealthy widower, shows up at the Country Club with a breathtakingly beautiful and very sexy 25 year- old blonde who knocks everyone's socks off with her youthful sex appeal and charm. She hangs onto Bob's arm and listens intently to his every word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His buddies at the club are all aghast. At the very first chance, they corner him and ask, "Bob, how did you get the trophy girlfriend?" Bob replies, "Girlfriend? She's my wife!" They're amazed, but continue to ask. "So, how did you persuade her to marry you?" "I lied about my age," Bob replies "What, did you tell her you were only 50?" Bob smiles and says, "No, I told her I was 90."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-4278431593679648493?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/4278431593679648493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=4278431593679648493&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4278431593679648493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4278431593679648493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/trophy-wife-with-twist.html' title='Trophy Wife, with a twist'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-598430336258986066</id><published>2007-10-29T23:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T23:09:01.740-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/exploits_of_a_mom.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/exploits_of_a_mom.png" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-598430336258986066?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/598430336258986066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=598430336258986066&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/598430336258986066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/598430336258986066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-9107821141125253885</id><published>2007-10-17T12:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-17T12:49:15.300-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Horse, The Chicken, and a Harley</title><content type='html'>On the farm lived a chicken and a horse, both of whom loved to play together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day the two were playing, when the horse fell into a bog and began to sink. Scared for his life, the horse whinnied for the chicken to go get the farmer for help!  Off the chicken ran, back to the farm. Arriving at the farm, he searched and searched for the farmer, but to no avail, for he had gone to town with the only tractor.  Running around, the chicken spied the farmer's new Harley. Finding the keys in the ignition, the chicken sped off with a length of rope hoping he still had time to save his friend's life.  Back at the bog, the horse was surprised, but happy, to see the chicken arrive on the shiny Harley, and he managed to get a hold of the loop of rope the chicken tossed to him.  After tying the other end to the rear bumper of the farmer's bike, the chicken then drove slowly forward and, with the aid of the powerful bike, rescued the horse!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy and proud, the chicken rode the Harley back to the farmhouse, and the farmer was none the wiser when he returned.  The friendship between the two animals was cemented: Best Buddies, Best Pals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks later, the chicken fell into a mud pit, and soon, he too, began to sink and cried out to the horse to save his life! The horse thought a moment, walked over, and straddled the large puddle.  Looking underneath, he told the chicken to grab his hangy-down thing and he would then lift him out of the pit. The chicken got a good grip, and the horse pulled him up and out, saving his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story? (yep, you betcha, there IS a moral!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When You're Hung Like A Horse, You Don't Need A Harley To Pick Up Chicks&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-9107821141125253885?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/9107821141125253885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=9107821141125253885&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/9107821141125253885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/9107821141125253885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/horse-chicken-and-harley.html' title='The Horse, The Chicken, and a Harley'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-3072971268314581624</id><published>2007-10-09T18:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T18:06:18.179-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Golden Age of Wireless</title><content type='html'>Recently the New Orleans Times Picayune newspaper reported that a Cajun amateur archaeologist, having dug to a depth of 10 meters, found traces of copper wire dating back 100 years, and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 100 years ago.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Not to be outdone by the Cajuns, in the weeks that followed Texas scientists dug to a depth of 20 meters. Shortly after, headlines in the Dallas Morning News read: "Texas archaeologists have found traces of 200-year old copper wire, and have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network 100 years earlier than the Cajuns."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;One week later, the Daily Oklahoman reported: "After digging as deep as 30 meters in wheat fields near Watonga, Bubba Williams, a self-taught archaeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing. Bubba has therefore concluded that 300 years ago, Okies were already using wireless."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-3072971268314581624?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/3072971268314581624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=3072971268314581624&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3072971268314581624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/3072971268314581624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/recently-new-orleans-times-picayune.html' title='The Golden Age of Wireless'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-2779382912172186274</id><published>2007-10-05T17:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-05T17:18:50.785-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You Know You're A Redneck if...</title><content type='html'>Yes, the new one is out! Brand new edition of... "You know you're a redneck if......&lt;br /&gt;    1 You take your dog for a walk and you both use the same tree.&lt;br /&gt;    2. You can entertain yourself for more than 15 minutes with a fly swatter.&lt;br /&gt;    3. Your boat has not left the driveway in 15 years.&lt;br /&gt;    4. You burn your yard rather than mow it.&lt;br /&gt;    5. You think "The Nutcracker" is a vise on the work bench&lt;br /&gt;    6. The Salvation Army declines your furniture.&lt;br /&gt;    7. You offer to give someone the shirt off your back and they don't want it.&lt;br /&gt;    8. You have the local taxidermist on speed dial.&lt;br /&gt;    9. You come back from the dump with more than you took.&lt;br /&gt;    10. You keep a can of Raid on the kitchen table.&lt;br /&gt;    11. Your wife can climb a tree faster than your cat.&lt;br /&gt;    12 Your grandmother has "ammo" on her Christmas list.&lt;br /&gt;    13. You keep flea and tick soap in the shower.&lt;br /&gt;    14. You've been involved in a custody fight over a hunting dog.&lt;br /&gt;    15. You go to the stock car races and don't need a program.&lt;br /&gt;    16. You know how many bales of hay your car will hold.&lt;br /&gt;    17. You have a rag for a gas cap.&lt;br /&gt;    18. Your house doesn't have curtains, but your truck does.&lt;br /&gt;    19. You wonder how service stations keep their restroom's so clean ?&lt;br /&gt;    20. You can spit without opening your mouth.&lt;br /&gt;    21. You consider your license plate personalized because your father made it&lt;br /&gt;    22. Your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand.&lt;br /&gt;    23. You have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say "Cool Whip" on the side.&lt;br /&gt;    24. The biggest city you've ever been to is Walmart.&lt;br /&gt;    25. Your working TV sits on top of your non-working TV.&lt;br /&gt;    26. You've used your ironing board as a buffet table.&lt;br /&gt;    27. A tornado hits your neighborhood and does $100,000 worth of improvements.&lt;br /&gt;    28. You've used a toilet brush to scratch your back.&lt;br /&gt;    29. You missed your 5th grade graduation because you were on jury duty.&lt;br /&gt;    30. You think fast food is hitting a deer at 65.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-2779382912172186274?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/2779382912172186274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=2779382912172186274&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/2779382912172186274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/2779382912172186274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/you-know-youre-redneck-if.html' title='You Know You&apos;re A Redneck if...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-1294494359470216147</id><published>2007-10-03T08:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T08:21:18.343-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Changing Light Bulbs with PMS</title><content type='html'>Q: How many women with PMS does it take to change a light bulb?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: One! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY?  Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don't even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They would sit in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out. And, once they figured it out, they wouldn't be able to find the #&amp;%!* light bulbs despite the fact that they've been in the SAME CABINET for the past 17 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find them, 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!!  AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE FREAKING LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!!  BECAUSE NO ONE EVER CARRIES OUT THE &lt;br /&gt;GARBAGE!!!!  IT'S A WONDER WE HAVEN'T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS PLACE!  AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHO CHANGES THE TOILET PAPER ROLL !! . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry. What was the question?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-1294494359470216147?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/1294494359470216147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=1294494359470216147&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1294494359470216147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/1294494359470216147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/changing-light-bulbs-with-pms.html' title='Changing Light Bulbs with PMS'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-5977861759925973736</id><published>2007-10-03T08:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T08:17:26.375-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='philosoply'/><title type='text'>A Mayonnaise Jar and 2 Cups of Coffee</title><content type='html'>A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full.  They agreed that it was. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; family, children, health, friends, and favorite passions -- things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter, like your job, house, and car. The sand is everything else -- the small stuff."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. So ... Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Play With your children.&lt;br /&gt;Take time to get medical checkups.&lt;br /&gt;Take your partner out to dinner.&lt;br /&gt;Play another 18.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-5977861759925973736?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/5977861759925973736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=5977861759925973736&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5977861759925973736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/5977861759925973736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/10/mayonnaise-jar-and-2-cups-of-coffee.html' title='A Mayonnaise Jar and 2 Cups of Coffee'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-4256905947012644955</id><published>2007-08-24T13:49:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T13:49:48.048-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To Our Pets</title><content type='html'>To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door ˆ nose height.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Dogs and Cats,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit &amp; Like to Complain About Our Pets:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. They live here. You don't.&lt;br /&gt;2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"niture.)&lt;br /&gt;3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.&lt;br /&gt;4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember: In many ways, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:&lt;br /&gt;1. Eat less&lt;br /&gt;2. Don't ask for money all the time&lt;br /&gt;3 Are easier to train&lt;br /&gt;4. Normally come when called (not in all cases!)&lt;br /&gt;5. Never ask to drive the car&lt;br /&gt;6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends&lt;br /&gt;7. Don't smoke or drink&lt;br /&gt;8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions&lt;br /&gt;9. Don't want to wear your clothes&lt;br /&gt;10. Don't need a "gazillion" dollars for college&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And finally,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-4256905947012644955?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/4256905947012644955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=4256905947012644955&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4256905947012644955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/4256905947012644955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/08/to-our-pets.html' title='To Our Pets'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-117099297315215386</id><published>2007-02-08T22:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-08T22:49:33.186-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Age Exam</title><content type='html'>An 85-year-old man was requested by his doctor for a sperm count as part of his  physical exam. The doctor  gave the man a jar and said, "Take this jar home and bring back a semen sample tomorrow." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day  the 85-year-old man reappeared at the doctor's office and gave him the jar, which was as clean and empty as on the previous day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor asked what happened.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man explained: "Well, doc, it's like this - first I tried with my right hand, but nothing. Then I tried with my left hand, but still nothing. Then I asked  my wife for help. She tried with her right hand, then with her left, still  nothing. She tried with her mouth, first with the teeth in, then with her teeth  out, still nothing. We even called up Mable, the lady next door and she tried too, first with both hands,  then an armpit, and she even tried squeezing it between her knees, but still nothing." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor was shocked! "You asked your neighbor?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man replied, "Yep. None of us could get the damned jar open."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-117099297315215386?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/117099297315215386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=117099297315215386&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/117099297315215386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/117099297315215386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2007/02/old-age-exam.html' title='Old Age Exam'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116361445274764369</id><published>2006-11-15T13:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T13:14:12.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Blondes</title><content type='html'>Lulu and Donna, 2 blondes, were doing some carpentry work on a Habitat for Humanity house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lulu, who was nailing down house siding, would reach into her nail pouch, pull out a nail and either toss it over her shoulder or nail it in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Donna, figuring this was worth looking into, asked, "Why are you throwing those nails away?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lulu explained, "When I pull a nail out of my pouch, about half of them have the head on the wrong end and I throw them away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Donna got completely upset and yelled, "You moron! Those nails aren't defective! They're for the other side of the house!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116361445274764369?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116361445274764369/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116361445274764369&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116361445274764369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116361445274764369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/11/two-blondes.html' title='Two Blondes'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116320078790199737</id><published>2006-11-10T18:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T18:19:47.913-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stress Management</title><content type='html'>In case you've had a rough day, here is a stress management technique recommended in all the latest psychological texts. The funny thing is that it really works... &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;1. Picture yourself near a stream. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;2. Birds are softly chirping in the cool mountain air. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;3. No one but you knows your secret place. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;4. You are in total seclusion from the hectic place called "the world," &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;5. The soothing sound of a gentle waterfall fills the air with a cascade of serenity. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;6. Bubbles slowly float to the surface creating a gentle gurgling sound. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;7. The water is so crystal clear you can easily make out the face of the person you're holding underwater.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116320078790199737?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116320078790199737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116320078790199737&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116320078790199737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116320078790199737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/11/stress-management.html' title='Stress Management'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116284650424394862</id><published>2006-11-06T15:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T15:55:04.246-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Man Laws</title><content type='html'>1. Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2: It is OK for a man to cry ONLY under the following circumstances:&lt;br /&gt;(a) When a heroic dog dies to save its master.&lt;br /&gt;(b) The moment Angelina Jolie starts unbuttoning her blouse.&lt;br /&gt;(c) After wrecking your boss's car.&lt;br /&gt;(d) One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into "The Crying Game".&lt;br /&gt;(e) When she is using her teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3: Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5: If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off  limits forever unless you actually marry her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy's fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man.  In fact, even remembering your buddy's birthday is strictly  optional. At that point, you must celebrate at a strip bar of the  birthday boy's choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9: When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought  her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the  purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11: It is permissible to drink a fruity alcohol drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach... and it's delivered by a topless model and only when it's free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14: Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16: Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to  drink as much as the other sports watchers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that's just greedy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19: If you compliment a guy on his six-pack, you'd better be talking  about his choice of beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of  yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:&lt;br /&gt;(a) Yeah, Baby, Push it!&lt;br /&gt;(b) C'mon, give me one more! Harder!&lt;br /&gt;(c) Another set and we can hit the showers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal, drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling  weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again  before  the discussion occurs about what a big mistake it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26: Thou shalt not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27: The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what  I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We've all heard about people having guts or balls. But do you really know the difference between them? In an effort to keep you informed, the definition of each is listed below:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"GUTS" is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to say, "are you still cleaning or are you flying somewhere?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"BALLS" is coming home late after a night out with the guys smelling  of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the ass and having the balls to say, "You're next!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We hope this clears up any confusion,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The International Council of Manlaws, Ltd.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116284650424394862?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116284650424394862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116284650424394862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116284650424394862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116284650424394862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/11/man-laws.html' title='Man Laws'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116284629058206617</id><published>2006-11-06T15:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-06T15:51:30.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Lost</title><content type='html'>(From Airways Magazine June 05 issue)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The scene is sometime in the old era when cockpits had round dials plus flight engineers and navigators. The crusty old-timer captain is breaking in a brand new navigator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The captain opens his briefcase, pulls out a .38 and rests it on the glare panel. He asks the navigator, "Know what this is for?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, sir," replies the newbie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I use it on navigators that get us lost," explains the captain, winking at his first officer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The navigator then opens his briefcase, pulls out a .45 an sets it on his chart table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's THAT for?" queries the surprised captain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, sir," replies the navigator, "I'll know we're lost before you will."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116284629058206617?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116284629058206617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116284629058206617&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116284629058206617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116284629058206617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/11/getting-lost.html' title='Getting Lost'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116216398127886881</id><published>2006-10-29T18:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-29T18:19:41.316-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How a Woman's Brain Works!</title><content type='html'>Have you ever wondered how a woman's brain works?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well....it's finally explained here in one, easy-to-understand illustration:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/How%20a%20Woman%20Brain%20Works.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/How%20a%20Woman%20Brain%20Works.png" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Every one of those little blue balls is a thought about something that needs to be done, a decision or a problem that needs to be solved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good thing a man's brain requires only two balls. ;-D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116216398127886881?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116216398127886881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116216398127886881&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116216398127886881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116216398127886881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/how-womans-brain-works.html' title='How a Woman&apos;s Brain Works!'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116208108646981422</id><published>2006-10-28T20:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T20:18:06.473-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex Quotes</title><content type='html'>Having sex is like playing bridge.  If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand."&lt;br /&gt;Woody Allen&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;Rodney Dangerfield&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"There are a number of mechanical devices which increase sexual arousal, particularly in women.    Chief among these is the Mercedes-Benz 380 SL."&lt;br /&gt;Lynn Lavner&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope."&lt;br /&gt;Camille Paglia&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Sex is one of the nine reasons for incarnation.   &lt;br /&gt;The other eight are unimportant."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;George Burns&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Women might be able to fake orgasms.   &lt;br /&gt;But men can fake a whole relationship."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Sharon Stone&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Jack Nicholson&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;" Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Barbara Bush (Former US First Lady, and you didn't think Barbara had a sense of humor)&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Robin Williams&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Women need a reason to have sex.   Men just need a place."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Billy Crystal&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Robert De Niro&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"There's a new medical crisis.    Doctors are reporting that many men are having allergic reactions to latex condoms.   They say they cause severe swelling.    So what's the problem?"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Dustin Hoffman&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"There's very little advice in men's magazines because men think, 'I know what I'm doing.   Just show me somebody naked !'"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Jerry Seinfeld&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Robin Williams&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"It's been so long since I've had sex, I've forgotten who ties up whom."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Joan Rivers&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Sex is one of the most wholesome, beautiful and natural experiences money can buy."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Steve Martin&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;" You don't appreciate a lot of stuff in school until you get older.    Little things like being spanked every day by a middle-aged woman.    Stuff you pay good money for l ater in life."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Elmo Phillips&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;" Bigamy is having one wife too many.  Monogamy is the same."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Oscar Wilde&lt;br /&gt;" It isn't premarital sex if you have no intention of getting married."&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;George Burns&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116208108646981422?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116208108646981422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116208108646981422&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208108646981422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208108646981422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/sex-quotes.html' title='Sex Quotes'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116208016669444556</id><published>2006-10-28T19:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T20:02:46.706-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Man with Teddy Bears</title><content type='html'>A woman meets a man in a bar. They talk; they connect; they end up  leaving together. They get back to his place, and as he shows her around  his apartment, she notices that one wall of his bedroom is completely  filled with soft, sweet, cuddly teddy bears. There are three shelves in  the bedroom with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears,  carefully placed in rows covering the entire wall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was  obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and  she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into  organizing the display. There were small bears all along the bottom  shelf,  medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and  huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf. She found  it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large a  collection of Teddy Bears, but doesn't mention this to him, and actually  is quite impressed by his sensitive side. They share a bottle of wine  and continue talking and, after a while, she finds herself thinking, "Oh  my God! Maybe,  this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future  father my children?" She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the  lips. He responds warmly. They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and  he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom  where they rip off each other's clothes and make hot, steamy love. She  is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity,  more heat than she has ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an intense,  explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying  there together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over, gently strokes  his chest and asks coyly, "Well, how was it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy gently  smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and  says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Help yourself to any prize from the middle  shelf."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116208016669444556?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116208016669444556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116208016669444556&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208016669444556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208016669444556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/man-with-teddy-bears_28.html' title='Man with Teddy Bears'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116208005483889964</id><published>2006-10-28T19:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-28T20:00:54.850-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Man with Teddy Bears</title><content type='html'>A woman meets a man in a bar. They talk; they connect; they end up  leaving together. They get back to his place, and as he shows her around  his apartment, she notices that one wall of his bedroom is completely  filled with soft, sweet, cuddly teddy bears. There are three shelves in  the bedroom with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears,  carefully placed in rows covering the entire wall!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;script&gt;(["mb","&lt;br /&gt;&gt;warmly. They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and \nhe romantically&lt;br /&gt;&gt;lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom \nwhere they rip off&lt;br /&gt;&gt;each other\'s clothes and make hot, steamy love. She \nis so overwhelmed that&lt;br /&gt;&gt;she responds with more passion, more creativity, \nmore heat than she has&lt;br /&gt;&gt;ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&gt;After an intense, \nexplosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy,&lt;br /&gt;&gt;they are lying \nthere together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over,&lt;br /&gt;&gt;gently strokes \nhis chest and asks coyly, &amp;quot;Well, how was it?&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&gt;The guy gently \nsmiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her&lt;br /&gt;&gt;eyes, and \nsays:&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&amp;quot;Help yourself to any prize from the middle \nshelf.&amp;quot;&lt;br /&gt;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;\n&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;\n&lt;hr /&gt;\nWe have the perfect Group for you. Check out the &lt;a&gt;\nhandy \nchanges to Yahoo! Groups.&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;\n\n\n",0] ); D(["ce"]);  //--&gt;&lt;/script&gt;It was  obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and  she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into  organizing the display. There were small bears all along the bottom  shelf,  medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and  huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf. She found  it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large a  collection of Teddy Bears, but doesn't mention this to him, and actually  is quite impressed by his sensitive side. They share a bottle of wine  and continue talking and, after a while, she finds herself thinking, "Oh  my God! Maybe,  this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future  father my children?" She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the  lips. He responds warmly. They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and  he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom  where they rip off each other's clothes and make hot, steamy love. She  is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity,  more heat than she has ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an intense,  explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying  there together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over, gently strokes  his chest and asks coyly, "Well, how was it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy gently  smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and  says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Help yourself to any prize from the middle  shelf."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116208005483889964?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116208005483889964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116208005483889964&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208005483889964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116208005483889964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/man-with-teddy-bears.html' title='Man with Teddy Bears'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116130738232479007</id><published>2006-10-19T21:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-19T21:23:02.416-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;CRUTCH!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://youtube.com/v/_zjfpdRlbbA"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://youtube.com/v/_zjfpdRlbbA" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br&gt;A breakdancer and skateboard on crutches - Cool!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116130738232479007?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116130738232479007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116130738232479007&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116130738232479007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116130738232479007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/crutch-breakdancer-and-skateboard-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116100748620332808</id><published>2006-10-16T10:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T10:04:46.226-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Talking Parrots</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A lady goes to her priest one day and tells him, "Father, I have a problem. I have a female parrot, but she only knows how to say one thing."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does she say?" the priest inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She says, "I`m a naughty girl. I`m a naughty girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest thought for a moment and said, "You know, I may have a solution to your problem. I have three male talking parrots, which I have taught to pray and read the Bible.  Bring your parrot over to my house, and we'll put her in the cage with my male parrots.  My parrots can teach your parrot to pray and worship, and your parrot is sure to stop saying, 'I`m a naughty girl; I`m a naughty girl.'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you," the woman responded, "this may very well be the solution."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, she brought her female parrot to the priest's house. As he ushered her in, she saw that his male parrots were inside their cage holding rosary beads and praying.  Impressed, she walked over and placed her parrot in with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few minutes, the female parrot said..."I`m a naughty girl; I`m a naughty girl."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was stunned silence.  Shocked, one male parrot looked over at the other male parrots and exclaimed, "Drop the beads, boys.... Our prayers have been answered!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116100748620332808?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116100748620332808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116100748620332808&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116100748620332808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116100748620332808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/talking-parrots.html' title='Talking Parrots'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116095324165202440</id><published>2006-10-15T18:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T19:00:41.740-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dating in 1959</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; It's the summer of 1959 and Harold goes to  pick up his date, Peggy Sue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harold's a pretty hip guy  with his own car and a duck tail hairdo.  When he goes to the front door, Peggy Sue's mother answers and invites him in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peggy Sue's not ready yet, so why don't you have a  seat?" she says. That's cool.  Peggy Sue's mother asks Harold what they're planning to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harold replies politely that they will  probably just go to the malt shop or to a drive in  movie.   Peggy Sue's mother responds, "Why don't you kids go out and screw? I hear all the kids are doing it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally this comes as quite a  surprise to Harold and he says, "Wha...aaat?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah," says Peggy Sue's mother, "We know Peggy Sue  really likes to screw;  why, she'd screw all night if we let  her!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harold's eyes light up and he smiles from ear to ear.  Immediately, he has revised the plans for the evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later, Peggy Sue comes downstairs in her little poodle skirt with Her saddle shoes, and announces that she's ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost breathless with anticipation, Harold escorts  his date out the front door while Mom is saying, "Have a good Evening  kids," with a small wink for Harold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 20 minutes later, a thoroughly disheveled Peggy Sue rushes back into the house, slams the door behind her and screams at her mother:   "Dangit, Mom! The Twist!  The Twist! It's called The Twist!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116095324165202440?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116095324165202440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116095324165202440&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116095324165202440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116095324165202440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/dating-in-1959.html' title='Dating in 1959'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116094974106753181</id><published>2006-10-15T18:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T18:02:21.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Man is walking down the street...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; A man is walking down the street when he is approached by a prostitute.  "For $200, I'll perform any act for you," she tells him, "provided that  you can describe the act in 3 words."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; The man thinks about the offer for less than a moment and gives the woman  $200.  "OK, tell me what you want me to do but remember, only in three  words," she tells him.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; The man, who has been quiet throughout the exchange says, "Paint my house."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116094974106753181?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116094974106753181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116094974106753181&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116094974106753181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116094974106753181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/man-is-walking-down-street.html' title='A Man is walking down the street...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116094963557326065</id><published>2006-10-15T18:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T18:00:35.583-04:00</updated><title type='text'>True Colors</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; Two Generals of the Napoleanic era were watching a battle from a  nearby bluff. Suddenly, a stray bullet struck one of them in the  shoulder. Without an instants' pause, he turned to his aide - "Fetch  me my red jacket," he commanded. As the aide rushed to comply, he  turned to the other General, and explained that he didn't want the  men to be demoralized by knowing he was wounded.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; The other General was clearly impressed. At that moment, a  cannonball shrieked between them, the wind from its' passing rocking  them both back on their heels. After a moment, the second General  turned to his aide, and ordered, "Fetch me my brown trousers ... "  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116094963557326065?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116094963557326065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116094963557326065&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116094963557326065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116094963557326065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/true-colors.html' title='True Colors'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116063007445160637</id><published>2006-10-12T01:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T01:14:34.460-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Chicken Little</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Chicken%20Little%20-%20joke.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/Chicken%20Little%20-%20joke.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116063007445160637?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116063007445160637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116063007445160637&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116063007445160637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116063007445160637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/chicken-little.html' title='Chicken Little'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116032502532901497</id><published>2006-10-08T12:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T10:06:49.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>New Transmission Design Feature?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; I had a car problem recently--the automatic transmission seemed to  be stuck in second gear.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; I took it to the mechanic, and he called to tell me that it was a  design feature.  When the transmission detects that something is  seriously wrong, it locks itself into second gear so you can get off  the highway, make it to a repair shop, or otherwise recover from the  situation without danger.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Something troubled me, though, after I got off the phone.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; It took me a minute, but I finally figured it out:  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; My transmission had booted into Safe Mode.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116032502532901497?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116032502532901497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116032502532901497&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116032502532901497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116032502532901497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/new-transmission-design-feature.html' title='New Transmission Design Feature?'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-116000918498071618</id><published>2006-10-04T20:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-04T20:46:24.996-04:00</updated><title type='text'>50th Wedding Anniversary</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt; On the evening of their 50th anniversary, a reminiscing wife found the  negligee she wore on her wedding night and put it on. She went to her  husband and said, "Honey, do your remember this?"  He looked up from his  newspaper and said, "Yes dear, I do.  You wore that same negligee the night  we were married.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "She said, "Yes, that's right.  Do you remember what you said to me that  night?"  He nodded and said, "Yes dear, I still remember."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; "Well, what was it?" she asked.  He was not much in the mood for this, but  he sighed and responded, "Well, honey, as I remember, I said, 'Oh, baby, I'm  going to suck the life out of those boobs and screw your brains out.'"  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; She giggled and said, "Yes, dear,that's it. That's exactly what you said.  So now it's fifty years later, and I'm in the same negligee. What do you  have to say tonight?"  He looked her up and down and replied, "Mission  accomplished."  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-116000918498071618?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/116000918498071618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=116000918498071618&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116000918498071618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/116000918498071618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/50th-wedding-anniversary.html' title='50th Wedding Anniversary'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115974829120963996</id><published>2006-10-01T20:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-10-01T20:18:11.220-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Living Will Form</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Living Will Form&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   I, __________________________, being of sound mind and body, do not wish to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Under no circumstances should my fate be put in the hands of pinhead politicians who couldn't pass ninth-grade biology if their lives depended on it.  Nor in the hands of lawyers/doctors who are interested simply in running up the bills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   If a reasonable amount of time passes and I fail to ask for at least one of the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;    Beer,&lt;br /&gt;   Margarita,&lt;br /&gt;   Jack Daniel,&lt;br /&gt;   Bloody Mary,&lt;br /&gt;   Rib Eye steak,&lt;br /&gt;   riding the Harley,&lt;br /&gt;   lobster or crab legs,&lt;br /&gt;   the remote control,&lt;br /&gt;   bowl of ice cream,&lt;br /&gt;   the sports page,&lt;br /&gt;   chocolate,&lt;br /&gt;   or sex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   ...it should be presumed that I won't ever get better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   When such a determination is reached, I hereby instruct my appointed person and attending physicians to pull the plug, reel in the tubes, and call it a day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   At this point, it is time to call a New Orleans Jazz Funeral Band to come do their thing at my funeral, and ask all of my friends to raise their glasses to toast the good times we have had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Signature: ___________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Date: _______________! _______ __ ___&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115974829120963996?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115974829120963996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115974829120963996&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115974829120963996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115974829120963996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/10/living-will-form.html' title='Living Will Form'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115944651453455580</id><published>2006-09-28T08:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-28T08:28:34.586-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Three Senior Ladies</title><content type='html'>Three senior ladies named Marlene, Janet and Connie were sitting on a park bench having a quiet conversation when a flasher approached from across the park.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flasher came up to the ladies, stood right in front of them and opened his trench coat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Connie immediately had a stroke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Janet also had a stroke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Marlene, being older and more feeble, couldn't reach that far.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115944651453455580?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115944651453455580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115944651453455580&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115944651453455580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115944651453455580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/three-senior-ladies.html' title='Three Senior Ladies'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115915483050695414</id><published>2006-09-24T23:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-24T23:27:10.516-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Fidel in Hell</title><content type='html'>Fidel dies and goes to heaven. When he gets there, St. Peter tells him that he is not on the list and that no way, no how, does he belong in heaven. Fidel must go to hell. So Fidel goes to hell where Satan gives him a hearty welcome and tells him to make himself right at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Fidel notices that he accidentally left his luggage back in heaven and tells Satan, who says, "No hay problema. I'll send a couple of little devils to get your stuff."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the little devils get to heaven, they find the gates are locked - St. Peter is having lunch - and they start debating what to do. Finally, one comes up with the idea that they should climb over the wall and get the luggage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they are climbing the wall, two little angels see them, and one angel says to the other, "My goodness! Fidel has been in hell no more than ten minutes and we're already getting refugees."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115915483050695414?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115915483050695414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115915483050695414&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115915483050695414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115915483050695414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/fidel-in-hell.html' title='Fidel in Hell'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115914174683246500</id><published>2006-09-24T19:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-24T19:49:16.550-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Switches for Men and Women</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/SFT%27s%20man%7Ewoman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/SFT%27s%20man%7Ewoman.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115914174683246500?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115914174683246500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115914174683246500&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115914174683246500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115914174683246500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/switches-for-men-and-women.html' title='Switches for Men and Women'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115904684966800928</id><published>2006-09-23T17:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-23T17:27:29.683-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend Carwash</title><content type='html'>A new scam is being pulled on women mainly in broad daylight. What happens is that when the intended victim stops at a traffic light, an almost NUDE, good looking, tanned, muscled young man comes up to her car and pretends to wash the windshield….&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he is doing this, another young, handsome athletic man opens the back door of the car, jumps in and insists the woman drive off with him to some lonely spot, where he has his way with her…. They are very good at this…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They got me three times Friday and five times Saturday..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...................I couldn't find them on Sunday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115904684966800928?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115904684966800928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115904684966800928&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115904684966800928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115904684966800928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/weekend-carwash.html' title='Weekend Carwash'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115896043682505767</id><published>2006-09-22T17:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T17:27:16.836-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A guy walks into a bar with an octopus...</title><content type='html'>A guy walks into a bar with an octopus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sits the octopus down on a stool and tells everyone in the bar that this is a very talented octopus. He can play any musical instrument in the world. Everyone in the bar laughs at the man, calling him an idiot. So he says that he will wager to anyone who has an instrument that the octopus can't play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A customer walks up with a guitar and sets it beside the octopus.  Immediately the octopus picks up the guitar and starts playing better than Jimmy Hendrix.  The guitar owner pays up. Another customer walks up with a trumpet.  This time the octopus plays the trumpet better than Miles Davis.  The trumpet-owner coughs up.&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;Then Jim, a Scotsman, plonks some bagpipes on the table.  The octopus fumbles with the bagpipes for a minute and then backs off with a confused look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ha!" the Scot says. "Can ye nae plae it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The octopus looks up at him and says, "Play it? I'm going to shag it as soon as I figure out how to get its pyjamas off."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115896043682505767?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115896043682505767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115896043682505767&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115896043682505767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115896043682505767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/guy-walks-into-bar-with-octopus.html' title='A guy walks into a bar with an octopus...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115887681531016918</id><published>2006-09-21T17:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-21T18:13:35.390-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Car Troubles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Car%20with%20Pickaxes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/Car%20with%20Pickaxes.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115887681531016918?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115887681531016918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115887681531016918&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115887681531016918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115887681531016918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday-car.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Car Troubles'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115880815496482740</id><published>2006-09-20T23:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-20T23:09:15.043-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Internet is for Porn</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=5430343841227974645&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;This is for sure the funnies WoW movie I've seen + it has the greatest catchy tune I've ever heard! Download it and you'll sing along very soon ;) Note that there is NO nudity or something like that in it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The song is from the Broadway show, Avenue Q (www.avenueq.com) and the soundtrack is available on Amazon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please note that I (the uploader) am not the creator of this funny movie. Hence that I DO NOT take ANY credits what-so-ever for it, I just uploaded it so you guys at WCM could see it. The guys over at Argent Dawn (EU) made this clip and my guess is that Evilhoof and Flayed is the creators of it so ALL credits to THEM for this great music video! You guys rock!&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115880815496482740?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115880815496482740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115880815496482740&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115880815496482740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115880815496482740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/internet-is-for-porn.html' title='Internet is for Porn'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115876391294080222</id><published>2006-09-20T10:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-20T10:51:53.063-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Portable Toilet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/unknown%285%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/unknown%285%29.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115876391294080222?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115876391294080222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115876391294080222&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115876391294080222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115876391294080222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday-portable.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Portable Toilet'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115858943613615743</id><published>2006-09-18T10:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-18T10:23:56.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Red-Neck Mama</title><content type='html'>Redneck Mama&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman walks into the downtown welfare office, trailed by 15 kids...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"WOW," the social worker exclaims," are they ALL YOURS???"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yep they are all mine," the flustered momma sighs, having heard that question a thousand times before. She says, "Sit down Leroy." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the children rush to find seats. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," says the social worker, "then you must be here to sign up. I'll need all your children's names." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This one's my oldest - he is Leroy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OK, and who's next?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, this one he is Leroy, also."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The social worker raises an eyebrow but continues. One by one, through the oldest four, all boys, all named Leroy.  Then she is introduced to the eldest girl, named Leighroy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All right," says the caseworker. "I'm seeing a pattern here. Are they ALL named Leroy?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their Momma replied,! "Well, yes-it makes it easier.  When it is time to get them out of bed and ready for school, I yell, 'Leroy!' An' when it's time for dinner, I just yell 'Leroy!' an' they all comes a runnin.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An' if I need to stop the kid who's running into the street, I just yell 'Leroy' and all of them stop. It's the smartest idea I ever had, namin' them all Leroy." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The social worker thinks this over for a bit, then wrinkles her forehead and says tentatively, "But what if you just want ONE kid to come, and not the whole bunch?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I call them by their last names."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115858943613615743?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115858943613615743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115858943613615743&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115858943613615743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115858943613615743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/red-neck-mama.html' title='Red-Neck Mama'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115824819475233287</id><published>2006-09-14T11:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-14T11:36:34.770-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Kitten/Puppy Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/unknown%284%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/unknown%284%29.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115824819475233287?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115824819475233287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115824819475233287&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115824819475233287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115824819475233287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday_14.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Kitten/Puppy Love'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115818809979651623</id><published>2006-09-13T18:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T18:54:59.876-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Man skydives with turbine engines strapped to his feet</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-5417019303200331106&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Wow - that takes big hairy ones!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115818809979651623?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115818809979651623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115818809979651623&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115818809979651623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115818809979651623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/man-skydives-with-turbine-engines.html' title='Man skydives with turbine engines strapped to his feet'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115816008857308514</id><published>2006-09-13T10:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T11:18:18.986-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter from Bob</title><content type='html'>It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger.  When you notice this, try not to yell at them.  Some are oversensitive, and there's nothing worse than an oversensitive woman.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My name is Bob.  Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife.  When I took "early retirement" last year, it became necessary for my wife to get a full-time job along with her part time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed.  Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age.  I usually get home from the golf course about the same time she gets home from work.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner.  I don't yell at her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table.  I generally have lunch in the Men's Grill at the&lt;br /&gt;club so eating out is not reasonable.  I'm ready for some home cooked grub when I hit that door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating.  But now it's not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner.  I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won't clean themselves.  I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think.  For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour.  But, boys, we take 'em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement.  I tell her to stretch it out over&lt;br /&gt;two or even three days.  That way she won't have to rush so much.  I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn't hurt her any (if you know what I mean).  I like to think tact is one of my strong points.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the yard. I try not to make a scene.  I'm a fair man.  I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while.  And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support my wife.  I'm not saying that showing this much consideration is easy.  Many men will find it difficult.  Some will find it impossible!  Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older.  However,&lt;br /&gt;guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile.  After all, we are put on this earth to help each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Signed,&lt;br /&gt;Bob&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EDITOR'S NOTE:  Bob died suddenly on May 27th.  The police report says that he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club rammed up his ass, with only 2 inches of grip showing.  His wife was arrested and charged with murder; however, the all-woman jury found her Not Guilty, accepting her defense that he accidentally sat down on it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115816008857308514?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115816008857308514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115816008857308514&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115816008857308514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115816008857308514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/letter-from-bob.html' title='Letter from Bob'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115815838726763456</id><published>2006-09-13T10:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T10:39:47.286-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Pilot's Seat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/unknown%283%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/unknown%283%29.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115815838726763456?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115815838726763456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115815838726763456&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115815838726763456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115815838726763456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday-pilots.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Pilot&apos;s Seat'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115798900478458834</id><published>2006-09-11T11:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-11T11:36:48.740-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Lady's Motorcycle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Lady_Motorcycle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/Lady_Motorcycle.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115798900478458834?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115798900478458834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115798900478458834&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115798900478458834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115798900478458834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday-ladys.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Lady&apos;s Motorcycle'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115792590025108908</id><published>2006-09-10T18:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T18:05:00.263-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hospital Tour</title><content type='html'>A wealthy hospital benefactor was being shown around the hospital. During her tour she passed a room where a male patient was masturbating furiously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my GOD!" screamed the woman. "That's disgraceful! Why is he doing that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor who was leading the tour calmly explained, "I'm very sorry that you were exposed to that, but this man has a serious condition where his testicles rapidly fill with semen, and if he doesn't do that at least five times a day, he'll be in extreme pain and his testicles could easily rupture."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, well in that case, I guess it's okay," said the woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they passed by the very next room, they saw a male patient laying in bed while a nurse performed oral sex on him. Again, the woman screamed, "Oh my GOD! How can THAT be justified?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again the doctor spoke very calmly: "Same illness, better health plan."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115792590025108908?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115792590025108908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115792590025108908&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115792590025108908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115792590025108908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/hospital-tour.html' title='Hospital Tour'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115772846660546471</id><published>2006-09-08T11:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-08T11:14:26.606-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Guy and Girl in a Van</title><content type='html'>A young couple were making passionate love in the guy's van when suddenly the girl, being a bit on the kinky side, yells out 'Oh big boy, whip me, whip me!' The guy, not wanting to pass up this unique opportunity, obviously did not have any whips to hand, but in a flash of inspiration, he opens the window, snaps the antenna off his van and proceeds to whip the girl until they both collapse in sado-masochistic ecstasy. About a week later, the girl notices that the marks left by the whipping session are starting to fester a bit so she goes to the doctor. The doctor takes one look at the wounds and asks 'Did you get these marks having sex?' The girl is a little embarrassed but admits that, yes, she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nodding his head knowingly the doctor exclaims, 'I thought so, because in all my years in this profession..... ...you've got the worst case of van aerial disease that I've ever seen.....'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115772846660546471?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115772846660546471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115772846660546471&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115772846660546471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115772846660546471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/guy-and-girl-in-van.html' title='Guy and Girl in a Van'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115772805853784956</id><published>2006-09-08T10:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-08T11:07:38.716-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday - Car Tally</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Car%20Tally.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/Car%20Tally.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115772805853784956?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115772805853784956/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115772805853784956&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115772805853784956'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115772805853784956'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday-car-tally.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday - Car Tally'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115763172850209048</id><published>2006-09-07T08:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T08:22:08.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wax is NOT Your Friend</title><content type='html'>All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold  the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet.  Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right  side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. OH NO! What have I done???!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. WHAT?! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. My LIFE FLASHES BEFORE ME!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*?  Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement- epoxied myself to the porcelain!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hoo-ha?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.  YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.  While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOODNESS!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115763172850209048?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115763172850209048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115763172850209048&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115763172850209048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115763172850209048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/wax-is-not-your-friend.html' title='Wax is NOT Your Friend'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115763122211402162</id><published>2006-09-07T08:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T08:14:54.783-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things You Don't See Everyday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Beer%20in%20Giant%20Frig.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/400/Beer%20in%20Giant%20Frig.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I've received a lot of funny or unusual pictures, so I'm starting a series called "Things You Don't See Everyday"  I'll try to post one picture a day.  I hope you enjoy it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115763122211402162?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115763122211402162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115763122211402162&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115763122211402162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115763122211402162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/things-you-dont-see-everyday.html' title='Things You Don&apos;t See Everyday'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115738891975928109</id><published>2006-09-04T12:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-04T12:55:20.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Commercial</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-4258709948981631990&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;I just got a Blaupunkt radio for the minivan. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Visit www.vewgle.com &lt;br /&gt;The google video forum...&lt;br /&gt;to discuss this and other videos.&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115738891975928109?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115738891975928109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115738891975928109&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115738891975928109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115738891975928109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/funny-commercial.html' title='Funny Commercial'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115714809717223372</id><published>2006-09-01T17:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-01T18:01:40.093-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Be Careful For What You Wish...</title><content type='html'>A man was sick and tired of going to work every day while his wife stayed home. He wanted her to see what he went through so he prayed: "Dear Lord: I go to work every day and put in 8 hours while my wife merely stays at home. I want her to know what I go through, so please allow her body to switch with mine for a day. Amen."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God, in his infinite wisdom, granted the man's wish. The next morning, sure enough, the man awoke as a woman.He arose, cooked break fast for his mate, awakened the kids, Set out their school  clothes, fed them breakfast, packed their lunches,Drove them to school, came home and picked up the dry cleaning, took it to the cleaners. And stopped at the bank to make a deposit, went grocery shopping, Then drove home to put away the groceries, paid the bills and balanced the checkbook.  He cleaned the cat's litter box and bathed the dog. Then it was already 1 P.M. and he hurried to make the beds, do the laundry, vacuum, dust, and sweep and mop the kitchen floor. He  ran to the school to pick up the kids and got into an argument with them on the way home. He set out milk and cookies and got the kids organized to do their homework,then set up the ironing board and watched TV while he did the ironing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 4:30 he began peeling potatoes and washing vegetables for salad, breaded the pork chops and snapped fresh beans for supper. After supper, he cleaned the kitchen, ran the ndishwasher, folded laundry, bathed the kids, and put them to bed. At 9 P.M. he was exhausted and, though his daily chores weren't finished, he went to bed where he was expected to make love, which he managed to get through without complaint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, he awoke and immediately knelt by the bed and said, Lord, I don't know what I was thinking. I was so wrong to envy my wife's being able to stay home all day. Please, oh please, let us trade back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Lord, in his infinite wisdom, replied, "My son, I feel you have learned your lesson and I will be happy to change things back to the way they were. You'll just have to wait nine months, though. You got pregnant last night."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115714809717223372?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115714809717223372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115714809717223372&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115714809717223372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115714809717223372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/09/be-careful-for-what-you-wish.html' title='Be Careful For What You Wish...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115682133038995476</id><published>2006-08-28T23:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-28T23:15:30.400-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Eleven People on a Rope</title><content type='html'>Eleven people were hanging on a rope under a helicopter, ten men and one woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rope was not strong enough to carry them all, so they decided that one had to leave, because  otherwise they were all going to fall. They weren't able to name that person, until the woman gave a very touching speech. She said that she would voluntarily let go of the rope, because, as a woman,  she was used to giving up everything for her husband and kids, or for men in general, and was used to always making sacrifices with little in return As soon as she finished her speech, all the men  started clapping their hands.......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115682133038995476?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115682133038995476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115682133038995476&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115682133038995476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115682133038995476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/eleven-people-on-rope.html' title='Eleven People on a Rope'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115680109047441846</id><published>2006-08-28T17:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-28T17:39:50.686-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wanna Bet?</title><content type='html'>One day, an old lady went to the Bank of Canada with a large bag full of money. The old lady insisted on speaking to the president of the Bank in order to open a savings account because, she said, she had a lot of money. After much discussion an employee took her to the office of the president.  The president of the Bank asked her how much she wanted to deposit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said $165,000.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curious, he asked her how she had saved such a large sum of money.  &lt;br /&gt;The old lady said she made bets. &lt;br /&gt;The president, quite surprised, asked: “Which kind of bets?”&lt;br /&gt;The old lady said: “For example, I bet you $25,000 that your testicles are square”&lt;br /&gt;The president started to laugh and pointed out that this kind of bet was impossible to win!&lt;br /&gt;The old lady replied: “Would you like to make a bet?”&lt;br /&gt;“Certainly”, answered the president, “I can guarantee you that my testicles are not square”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old lady said to him: “Given the size of the bet, I’ll come back tomorrow at 10 AM with my lawyer as a witness, if it’s alright with you”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No problem” said the president.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening, the president became very nervous about the bet and spent a long time in front of his mirror examining his testicles, turning them in all directions, again and again, in order to make sure that his testicles could not be seen as square and therefore be sure to win this bet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the next day, 10 AM sharp, the old lady arrived with her lawyer at the office of the resident.  The president then dropped his trousers so that she and her lawyer could see everything.  The old lady came closer and asked him if she could touch them. “Of course please do!”, said the president, given the fact that there was so much money involved, “you must be 100% sure.” &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady, smiling, started to do so..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The president looked up to see the lawyer banging his head against the wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked the old lady “What is he doing?”  She answered: “It’s probably because I bet him $100,000 that around 10 AM today, I would be holding the testicles of the president of the Bank of Canada in my hands!”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115680109047441846?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115680109047441846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115680109047441846&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115680109047441846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115680109047441846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/wanna-bet.html' title='Wanna Bet?'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115664272320141727</id><published>2006-08-26T21:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-26T21:38:43.213-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Preaching to a Bear</title><content type='html'>A priest, a Pentecostal preacher and a Rabbi all served as chaplains to the students of Northern Michigan University in Marquette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They would get together two or three times a week for coffee and to talk shop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, someone made the comment that preaching to people isn't really all that hard. A real challenge would be to preach to a bear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing led to another and they decided to do an experiment They would all go out into the woods, find a bear, preach to it, and attempt to convert it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seven days later, they're all together to discuss the experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father Flannery, who has his arm in a sling, is on crutches, and has various bandages, goes first. "Well," he says, "I went into the woods to find me a bear. And when I found him I began to read to him from the Catechism. Well, that bear wanted nothing to do with me and began to slap me around. So I quickly grabbed my holy water, sprinkled him and, Holy Mary Mother of God, he became as gentle a lamb. The bishop is coming out next week to give him first communion and confirmation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reverend Billy Bob spoke next. He was in a wheelchair, with an arm and both legs in casts, and an IV drip. In his best fire and brimstone oratory he claimed, " WELL brothers, you KNOW that we don't sprinkle! I went out and I FOUND me a bear. And then I began to read to my bear from God's HOLY WORD! But that bear wanted nothing to do with me. So I took HOLD of him and we began to wrestle. We wrestled down one hill, UP another and DOWN another until we came to a creek. So I quick DUNKED him and BAPTIZED his hairy soul. And just like you said, he became as gentle as a lamb. We spent the rest of the day praising Jesus."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They both looked down at the rabbi, who was lying in a hospital bed. He was in a body cast and traction with IV's and monitors running in and out of him. He was in bad shape.  The rabbi looks up and says, "Looking back on it, circumcision may not have been the best way to start."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115664272320141727?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115664272320141727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115664272320141727&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115664272320141727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115664272320141727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/preaching-to-bear.html' title='Preaching to a Bear'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115651771556531300</id><published>2006-08-25T10:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-25T10:55:15.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'>One-Liners</title><content type='html'>If you can't enjoy yourself, enjoy somebody else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Strip mining prevents forest fires.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose we should all count our blessings, especially since they're dwindling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't need drugs. I get the same effect, just by standing up fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saw it ... Wanted it ... Had a fit ... Got it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so far behind I think I'm first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter what temperature a room is, it's always room temperature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The extra mile isn't half as long as all those other miles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frustration is trying to find your glasses without your glasses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is really like a shower. One wrong turn and you're in hot water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without my ignorance, your knowledge would be meaningless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today everyone wants instant gratification, no matter how long it takes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They who are afraid to ask are ashamed of learning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Four categories of body fat in Georgia: normal, overweight, obese and deputy sheriff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The irony of life is that, by the time you're old enough to know your way around, you're not going anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God made man before woman so as to give him time to think of an answer for her first question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss the good old days when the Americans were the good guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can learn many things from children, like how much patience you have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vacation in Asia: It makes you feel taller.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aspire to inspire before you expire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To err is human, but to really foul things up requires a committee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For every action there is an equal and opposite criticism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, all we have is a bunch of snapshots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife and I had words, but I didn't get to use mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A man without a woman is like a neck without a pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three secrets of success in public speaking are: be sincere, be brief, be seated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laughter is an Instant Vacation!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Observation:  Most people meet the right one after they've married the wrong one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An optimist laughs to forget. A pessimist forgets to laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115651771556531300?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115651771556531300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115651771556531300&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115651771556531300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115651771556531300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/one-liners.html' title='One-Liners'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115628135226149808</id><published>2006-08-22T17:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-22T17:25:07.106-04:00</updated><title type='text'>International Talk Like A Pirate Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/KevinBellPoster.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:5 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/KevinBellPoster.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This poster was created by Kevin Bell and plundered from the &lt;a href="http://www.talklikeapirate.com/"&gt;International Talk Like A Pirate Day &lt;/a&gt; website.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115628135226149808?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115628135226149808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115628135226149808&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115628135226149808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115628135226149808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/international-talk-like-pirate-day.html' title='International Talk Like A Pirate Day'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115617910912286687</id><published>2006-08-21T12:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-21T12:51:49.133-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Women in Leather</title><content type='html'>When a woman wears leather clothing, a man's heart beats quicker, his throat gets dry, he goes weak in the knees, and he begins to think irrationally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever wonder why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because it makes her smell like a New Truck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115617910912286687?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115617910912286687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115617910912286687&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115617910912286687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115617910912286687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/women-in-leather.html' title='Women in Leather'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115610475618818994</id><published>2006-08-20T16:03:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-20T16:12:36.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Story of Genesis</title><content type='html'>In the beginning there was Peter and Tony and Mike and Anthony and Chris.&lt;br /&gt;Then Chris left and John joined. And it was bad.&lt;br /&gt;Then John left and John 2 joined. And it was better.&lt;br /&gt;Then Anthonly left and John 2 was sacked and Phil joined.&lt;br /&gt;Things then get very complicated...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115610475618818994?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115610475618818994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115610475618818994&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115610475618818994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115610475618818994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/story-of-genesis.html' title='The Story of Genesis'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115610436004103959</id><published>2006-08-20T16:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-20T16:06:00.053-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tip of Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/Fox%20with%20Dogs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/Fox%20with%20Dogs.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are in deep trouble, say nothing, and try to look like you know what you're doing!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115610436004103959?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115610436004103959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115610436004103959&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115610436004103959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115610436004103959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/tip-of-day.html' title='Tip of Day'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115609542956512038</id><published>2006-08-20T13:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-20T13:37:09.576-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Golf vs. Sex</title><content type='html'>A golfer is in a competitive match with a friend, who is ahead by a couple of strokes. "Boy, I 'd give anything to sink this putt," the golfer mumbles to himself. Just then, a stranger walks up beside him and whispers, "Would you be willing to give up one-fourth of your sex life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking the man is crazy and his answer will be meaningless, the golfer also feels that maybe this is a good omen so he says, "Sure," and sinks the putt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two holes later, he mumbles to himself again, "Gee, I sure would like to get an eagle on this one." The same stranger is at his side again and whispers, "Would it be worth giving up another fourth of your sex life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shrugging, the golfer replies, "Okay." And he makes an eagle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the final hole, the golfer needs another eagle to win. Without waiting for him to say  anything, the stranger quickly moves to his side and says, "Would winning this match be worth giving up the rest of your sex life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Definitely," the golfer replies, and he makes the eagle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the golfer is walking to the club house, the stranger walks alongside him and says, "I haven't really been fair with you because you don't know who I am. I'm the devil, and from this day forward you will have no sex life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nice to meet you ," the golfer replies, "I'm Father O'Malley."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115609542956512038?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115609542956512038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115609542956512038&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115609542956512038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115609542956512038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/golf-vs-sex.html' title='Golf vs. Sex'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115575217592293525</id><published>2006-08-16T14:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-16T14:16:15.923-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Pastor's Ass</title><content type='html'>The pastor entered his donkey in a race and it won. The pastor was so pleased with the donkey that he entered it in the race again, and it won again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The local paper read: PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, the local paper headline read: BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR'S ASS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey. The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The local paper, hearing of the news, posted the following headline the next day: &lt;br /&gt;NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bishop fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the paper read: NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bishop was buried the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story is....being concerned about public opinion can bring you much grief and misery...and even shorten your life. So be yourself and enjoy life... Stop worrying about everyone else's ass and you'll be a lot happier and live longer!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115575217592293525?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115575217592293525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115575217592293525&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115575217592293525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115575217592293525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/pastors-ass.html' title='The Pastor&apos;s Ass'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115575156067656940</id><published>2006-08-16T14:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-16T14:06:00.706-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Coffee and Sex</title><content type='html'>An Irish woman of advanced age visited her physician to ask his help in reviving her husband's libido.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What about trying Viagra?" asks the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not a chance," she said. "He won't even take an aspirin!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not a problem," replied the doc. "Give him an Irish Viagra. Drop it into his coffee. He won't even taste it. Give it a try and call me in a week to let me know how things went."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't a week later that she called the doctor, who inquired as to progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poor dear exclaimed, "Oh, faith, bejaysus and begorrah! T'was horrid. Just terrible, doctor!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really? What happened?" asked the doctor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I did as you advised and slipped it in his coffee and the effect was almost immediate. He jumped hisself straight up, with a twinkle in his eye and with his pants a-bulging fiercely! With one swoop of his arm, he sent the cups and tablecloth flying, ripped me clothes to tatters and took me then and there, making wild, mad, passionate love to me on the tabletop! It was a nightmare, I tell you, an absolute nightmare!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why so terrible?" asked the doctor. "Do you mean the sex your husband provided wasn't good?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, no, no, no, Doctor, the sex was fine indeed!&lt;br /&gt;"'Twas the best sex I've had in 25 years!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But sure as I'm sittin' here, I'll never be able to show me face in Starbucks again!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115575156067656940?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115575156067656940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115575156067656940&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115575156067656940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115575156067656940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/coffee-and-sex.html' title='Coffee and Sex'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115567479581176947</id><published>2006-08-15T16:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-15T16:46:35.823-04:00</updated><title type='text'>New Jersey Hunters</title><content type='html'>A couple of New Jersey hunters are out in the woods when one of them falls to the ground. He doesn't seem to be breathing, his eyes are rolled back in his head. The other guy whips out his cell phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps to the operator: “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator, in a calm soothing voice says: “Just take it easy. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead.” There is a silence, then a shot is heard. The guy's voice comes back on the line. He says: “OK, now what?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115567479581176947?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115567479581176947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115567479581176947&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115567479581176947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115567479581176947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/new-jersey-hunters.html' title='New Jersey Hunters'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115565945213807580</id><published>2006-08-15T11:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-15T12:31:52.203-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Train Ride</title><content type='html'>The train was quite crowded, so a U. S. Marine walked the entire length looking for a seat, but the only seat left was taken by a well dressed, middle-aged, French woman's poodle. The war-weary Marine asked, "Ma'am, may I have that seat?" The French woman just sniffed and said to no one in particular, "Americans are so rude. My little Fifi is using that seat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Marine walked the entire train again, but the only seat left was under that dog. "Please,  ma'am. May I sit down? I'm very tired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She snorted, "Not only are you Americans rude, you are also arrogant!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time the Marine didn't say a word; he just picked up the little dog, tossed it out the train window, and sat down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman shrieked, "Someone must defend my honour! Put this American in his place!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An English gentleman sitting nearby spoke up, "Sir, you Americans often seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing. You hold the fork in the wrong hand. You drive your autos on the wrong side of the road. And now, sir, you seem to have thrown the wrong bitch out the window."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115565945213807580?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115565945213807580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115565945213807580&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115565945213807580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115565945213807580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/train-ride.html' title='Train Ride'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115559037678854119</id><published>2006-08-14T17:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-14T17:19:36.806-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Purina Diet</title><content type='html'>A stupid question deserves an appropriate answer....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in Wal-Mart buying a large bag of Purina for my Labrador Retriever and was in line to check out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting The Purina Diet again, although I probably ahouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pants pockets with Purina nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry &amp; that the&lt;br /&gt;food is nutritionally complete so I was going to try it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now nthralled with my story, particularly a tall guy behind her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Horrified, she asked if I'd been poisoned and was that why I was in the hospital. I said  no.....I'd been sitting in the street licking my balls and a car hit me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought the tall guy was going to have to be carried out the door.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115559037678854119?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115559037678854119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115559037678854119&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115559037678854119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115559037678854119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/purina-diet.html' title='The Purina Diet'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115551098447872642</id><published>2006-08-13T19:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-13T19:16:24.490-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Private Part Died Today!</title><content type='html'>An old man, Mr. Goldstein, was living the last of his life in a  nursing home.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;One day he appeared to be very sad and depressed. Nurse Tracy asked if  there was anything wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Nurse Tracy," said Mr. Goldstein, "My Private Part died today, and I am very sad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing her patients were forgetful and sometimes a little crazy, she replied, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Goldstein, please accept my condolences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following day, Mr Goldstein was walking down the hall with his Private Part hanging out of his pajamas, when he met Nurse Tracy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Goldstein," she said, "You shouldn't be walking down the hall like that.. Please put your Private Part back inside your pajamas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, Nurse Tracy," replied Mr. Goldstein, " I told you yesterday that my Private Part died." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you did tell me that, but why is it hanging out of your  pajamas?"&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Well, he replied, "Today's the viewing."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115551098447872642?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115551098447872642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115551098447872642&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115551098447872642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115551098447872642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/my-private-part-died-today.html' title='My Private Part Died Today!'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115551082992631517</id><published>2006-08-13T19:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-13T19:13:49.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You ain't seen nothing yet</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-972237604942546574&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Talk about break dancing... check this out!&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115551082992631517?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115551082992631517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115551082992631517&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115551082992631517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115551082992631517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/you-aint-seen-nothing-yet.html' title='You ain&apos;t seen nothing yet'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115542574081117226</id><published>2006-08-12T19:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-12T19:35:40.820-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How Women Park</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-7717675522522374428&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;My kind of woman!&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115542574081117226?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115542574081117226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115542574081117226&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542574081117226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542574081117226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/how-women-park.html' title='How Women Park'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115542490928158710</id><published>2006-08-12T19:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-12T19:21:49.290-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing the Piano with your...</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=4209601446239649192&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;How to play the piano with balls!!  Very funny!!!&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115542490928158710?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115542490928158710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115542490928158710&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542490928158710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542490928158710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/playing-piano-with-your.html' title='Playing the Piano with your...'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115542453443697679</id><published>2006-08-12T19:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-12T19:15:34.520-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Lawnmower flying lessons</title><content type='html'>&lt;table xmlns="http://purl.org/atom/ns#" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td colspan="2"&gt;&lt;embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-6176177807909233039&amp;amp;hl=en" style="width:400px; height:326px;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt; &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr/&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;Flying Lawn Mower Lessons!!!&lt;br /&gt;                &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115542453443697679?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115542453443697679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115542453443697679&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542453443697679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115542453443697679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/lawnmower-flying-lessons.html' title='Lawnmower flying lessons'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115524071521948921</id><published>2006-08-10T16:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T16:11:55.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Stay Awake in Meetings</title><content type='html'>As reported by my friend, Alice. Thought I'd pass this along, useful tool....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How to Stay Awake in Meetings:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Before (or during) your next meeting, seminar, or conference call, prepare yourself by drawing a square. (I find that 5" x 5" works well)&lt;br /&gt;2. Divide the square into columns -- 5 across, 5 down. (This gives you 25 1" blocks)&lt;br /&gt;3. Write one of the following words/phrases in each block:&lt;br /&gt;Strategic Fit, Core Competencies, Best Practice, Bottom Line, Revisit, Expeditious, To Tell You the Truth (or Truth Is), 24/7, Out of the Loop, Benchmark, Value-added, Pro-active, Win/Win, Think OUtside the Box, Fast Track, Result-driven, Empower(ment), Knowledge Base, At the End of the Day, Touch Base, Mind-set, Client-focus(ed), Paradigm, Game Plan, Leverage ... and my personal fave: Synergy&lt;br /&gt;4. Check off the appropriate block when you hear one of those words/phrases.&lt;br /&gt;5. When you get five blocks horizontally, vertically or diagonally, yell, "BULLSHYTE!" You've just played "Bullshyte Bingo."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some testimonials from other players:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I had been in the meeting for only 5 minutes when I won!"&lt;br /&gt;"My attention span at meeting has improved dramatically." Adam, in Atlanta&lt;br /&gt;"What a gas! Meetings will never be the same for me!" David, in Florida&lt;br /&gt;"The atmosphere was tense in the last process meeting as 14 of us waited pensively for the last block!" Dan in New York&lt;br /&gt;"The speaker was stunned as 8 of us screamed BULLSHYTE for the third time in 2 hours" Ben, in Colorado&lt;br /&gt;"When I won and yelled, "BULLSHYTE!" the woman sleeping next to me slid off her chair!" Paul, in Ohi&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115524071521948921?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115524071521948921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115524071521948921&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115524071521948921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115524071521948921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/how-to-stay-awake-in-meetings.html' title='How to Stay Awake in Meetings'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115521887679028622</id><published>2006-08-10T10:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T10:10:50.083-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Updated On Notice List</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/OnNotice2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/OnNotice2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To create your own On Notice list, go to &lt;a href="http://www.shipbrook.com/onnotice/"&gt;http://www.shipbrook.com/onnotice/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115521887679028622?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115521887679028622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115521887679028622&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115521887679028622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115521887679028622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/my-updated-on-notice-list.html' title='My Updated On Notice List'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115521866590407813</id><published>2006-08-10T10:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-10T10:04:26.216-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My On Notice List</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/1600/OnNotice.php.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/283/1938/320/OnNotice.php.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115521866590407813?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115521866590407813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115521866590407813&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115521866590407813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115521866590407813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/my-on-notice-list.html' title='My On Notice List'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115462068375031777</id><published>2006-08-03T11:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T11:58:03.773-04:00</updated><title type='text'>New Drug Name</title><content type='html'>In Pharmacology, all drugs have two names, a trade name and generic name. For example, the trade  name of Tylenol also has a generic name of Acetaminophen. Aleve is also called Naproxen. Amoxil is also call Amoxicillin and Advil is also called Ibuprofen. 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 the names  of "cocktails", "highballs" and just a good old-fashioned "stiff drink". Pepsi will market the new  concoction by the name of: MOUNT &amp; DO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thought for the day: 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 and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115462068375031777?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115462068375031777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115462068375031777&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115462068375031777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115462068375031777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/08/new-drug-name.html' title='New Drug Name'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115426855840235746</id><published>2006-07-30T10:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-30T10:11:42.396-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Email Scare</title><content type='html'>I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing. Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason. I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time. I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program. I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish. I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers. I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day. Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains. I no longer can buy gasoline without taking a man along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas. I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans. I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer. And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face... Disfiguring me for life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS. I no longer go to shopping malls  because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me. I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise. I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army. I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan. I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike. I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have Their recipe. Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt. Thank you too for all the endless advice Andy Rooney has given us. I can live a better life now because he's told us how to fix everything. And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 bill I see in the parking lot because it  probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg. Oh, and don't forget this one either! I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies! If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful day....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115426855840235746?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115426855840235746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115426855840235746&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115426855840235746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115426855840235746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/07/another-email-scare.html' title='Another Email Scare'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19557067.post-115343782019291249</id><published>2006-07-20T19:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-07-20T19:23:40.206-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Gentle thoughts for today</title><content type='html'>Birds of a feather flock together and crap on your car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I'm feeling down, I like to whistle. It makes the neighbor's dog run to the end of his chain and gag himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A penny saved is a government oversight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat have gotten to be really good friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He who hesitates is probably right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you ever notice:  The Roman Numerals for forty (40) are " XL."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think there is good in everybody, you haven't met everybody.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can smile when things go wrong, you have someone in mind to blame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sole purpose of a child's middle name is so he can tell when he's really in trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's always a lot to be thankful for if you take time to look for it. For example I am sitting here thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don't hurt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19557067-115343782019291249?l=oakrill.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/feeds/115343782019291249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19557067&amp;postID=115343782019291249&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115343782019291249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19557067/posts/default/115343782019291249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oakrill.blogspot.com/2006/07/gentle-thoughts-for-today.html' title='Gentle thoughts for today'/><author><name>Kat</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
