The REAL Night Before Christmas
(By Parents)
'Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
I searched for the tools
To hand to my spouse
Instructions were studied
And we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage
"Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's townhouse to boot!
And now, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes,
My heart skipped a beat -
Let no parts be missing
Or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
If we can't get it right, it goes straight to the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept веnт at our work,
Till our eyes, they went blurry; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not run to the store for one single thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most magical, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose
I gratefully went, though I suppose
There's something to say for those self-deluded-
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!
A. Know that although the cat has the advantage of quickness and lack of concern for human life, you have the advantage of strength.
Capitalize on that advantage by selecting the battlefield. Don't try to bathe him in an open area where he can force you to chase him. Pick a very small bathroom. If your bathroom is more than four feet square, I recommend that you get in the tub with the cat and close the sliding-glass doors as if you were about to take a shower. (A simple shower curtain will not do. A berserk cat can shred a three-ply rubber shower curtain quicker than a politician can shift positions.)
B. Know that a cat has claws and will not hesitate to remove all the skin from your body. Your advantage here is that you are smart and know how to dress to protect yourself.
I recommend canvas overalls tucked into high-top construction boots, a pair of steel-mesh gloves, an army helmet, a hockey face-mask, and a long-sleeved flak jacket.
C. Use the element of surprise. Pick up your cat nonchalantly, as if to simply carry him to his supper dish. (Cats will not usually notice your strange attire. They have little or no interest in fashion as a rule.)
D. Once you are inside the bathroom, speed is essential to survival. In a single liquid motion, shut the bathroom door, step into the tub enclosure, slide the glass door shut, dip the cat in the water and squirt him with shampoo.
You have begun one of the wildest 45 seconds of your life.
E. Cats have no handles. Add the fact that he now has soapy fur, and the problem is radically compounded. Do not expect to hold on to him for more than two or three seconds at a time. When you have him, however, you must remember to give him another squirt of shampoo and rub like crazy. He'll then spring free and fall back into the water, thereby rinsing himself off. (The national record for cats is three latherings, so don't expect too much.)
F. Next, the cat must be dried. Novice cat bathers always assume this part will be the most difficult, for humans generally are worn out at this point and the cat is just getting really determined. In fact, the drying is simple compared with what you have just been through. That's because by now the cat is semi-permanently affixed to your right leg. You simply pop the drain plug with your foot, reach for your towel and wait. (Occasionally, however, the cat will end up clinging to the top of your army helmet. If this happens, the best thing you can do is to shake him loose and to encourage him toward your leg.) After all the water is drained from the tub, it is a simple matter to just reach down and dry the cat.
In a few days the cat will relax enough to be removed from your leg. He will usually have nothing to say for about three weeks and will spend a lot of time sitting with his back to you. He might even become psychoceramic and develop the fixed stare of a plaster figurine. You will be tempted to assume he is angry. This isn't usually the case. As a rule he is simply plotting ways to get through your defenses and injure you for life the next time you decide to give him a bath. But at least now he smells a lot better.
Two Statues …..
……
There are two statues in a park; one of a nudе man and one of a nudе woman. ….
…..
They had been facing each other across a pathway for a hundred years, when one day an angel comes down from the sky and, with a single gesture, brings the two to life.
The angel tells them, “As a reward for being so patient through a hundred blazing summers and dismal winters, you have been given life for thirty minutes to do what you’ve wished to do the most.”
He looks at her, she looks at him, and they go running behind the shrubbery. The angel waits patiently as the bushes rustle and giggling ensues. After fifteen minutes, the two return, out of breath and laughing.
The angel tells them, “Um, you have fifteen minutes left, “Would you care to do it again?”
He asks her. “Shall we?”
She eagerly replies, “Oh, yes, let’s! But let’s change positions. This time, I’ll hold the рigеоn down, and you shiт on its head.”
( …. And what were you thinking??)
My job is so fсuкing unbelievable. I’ll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with:
First, there is this supermodel wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but dамn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on make-up. She is extremely self-centred and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breathe.
The next chick is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I’m not sure she even showers, much less shaves her “womanly” parts. I think she might be a lеsвiаn, because every time we drive by the hardware store she moans like a cat in heat.
But the jewel in the crown has got to be the fсuкing stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I’m sure after work. He probably hasn’t been sober any time in the last ten years, and he’s only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960’s, and to make things worse, he brings his big fсuкing dog to work. Every fсuкing day I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-sтоnеd from the second-hand smoke. Неll, sometimes I even think it’s trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonald’s and Burger King, every single fсuкing day.
Anyway, I drive these fcuktards around in my van and we solve mysteries and sh1t.