Liberally Challenged

After being interviewed by the school administration, the prospective teacher said:

‘Let me see if I’ve got this right.

‘You want me to go into that room with all those kids, correct their disruptive behavior, observe them for signs of abuse, monitor their dress habits, censor their T-shirt messages, and instill in them a love for learning.

‘You want me to check their backpacks for weapons, wage war on drugs and sexually transmitted diseases, raise their sense of self esteem and personal pride.

‘You want me to teach them patriotism and good citizenship, sportsmanship and fair play, and how to register to vote, balance a checkbook, and apply for a job.

‘You want me to check their heads for lice, recognize signs of antisocial behavior, and make sure that they all pass the final exams.

‘You also want me to provide them with an equal education regardless of their handicaps, and communicate regularly with their parents in English, Spanish or any other language, by letter, telephone, Newsletter, and report card. ‘You want me to do all this with a piece of chalk, a blackboard, a bulletin board, a few books, a big smile, and a starting salary that qualifies me for food stamps.

‘You want me to do all this and then you tell me ……..

I Can’t Pray !!??

WIFE: “What would you do if I died? Would you get married again?”

HUSBAND: “Definitely not!”

WIFE: “Why not? Don’t you like being married?”

HUSBAND: “Of course I do..”

WIFE: “Then why wouldn’t you remarry? ”

HUSBAND: “Okay, okay, I’d get married again.”

WIFE: “You would?” (with a hurt look)

HUSBAND: (makes audible groan)

WIFE: “Would you live in our house?”

HUSBAND: “Sure, it’s a great house.”

WIFE: “Would you sleep with her in our bed?”

HUSBAND: “Where else would we sleep?”

WIFE: “Would you let her drive my car?”

HUSBAND: “Probably, it is almost new.”

WIFE: “Would you replace my pictures with hers?”

HUSBAND: “That would seem like the proper thing to do.”

WIFE: “Would you give her my jewelry?”

HUSBAND: “No, I’m sure she’d want her own.”

WIFE: “Would you take her golfing with you?

HUSBAND: “Yes, those are always good times.”

WIFE: “Would she use my clubs?

HUSBAND: “No, she’s left-handed.”

WIFE: — silence —

HUSBAND: “Drat!”

“Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy.  It’s inherent virtue is the equal sharing of misery.”

I am shocked that so many Americans are against building a mosque near Ground Zero. We should allow it, but in order to promote tolerance….

I propose that a gay nightclub be opened next door to the mosque to promote tolerance in the mosque. We could call it “The Turban Cowboy” or “You Mecca Me Hot”.

Next door on the other side could be a butcher shop that specializes in pork and pork products and makes a nice lunchtime pulled pork sandwich.

Then across the street, a very daring lingerie store, called “Victoria Keeps Nothing Secret”.

And of course, the area wouldn’t be complete without a three girl nudie car wash called “The Three Mosqueteers”.

And, skin heads and white supremacists would be renting a store-front tattoo parlor just above the butcher shop, which would be, of course, just a few feet down from the Armed Forces Recruiting Office and just a step or two from the VA administration office.

To make the neighborhood and street complete I also propose that we build the largest Southern Baptist Church in the country with shared parking with the mosque, which must allow use of their parking lot for old fashioned tent revivals.

You know…. just to promote that, “tolerance thing”!

Oh yeah, I almost forgot, Hell’s Angels are looking for a new area for a clubhouse. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Yep, I know the perfect area.

Hey, just trying to promote that tolerance thing. I’m a good person who has concerns for my fellow citizens — what can I say?

Signed,

Bubba Ray Smith, TPM (tolerance promoting manager) of the good ole US of A.

**This message was made in America without harming any cats or dogs or fish or horses, or cows or chickens or pigs or ferrets.

PS. Did I mention that the women from P.E.T.A. would be naked on every street corner raising awareness about the evils of wearing fur?

Gosh! I love this country! Wish everybody did!

A Slow Day In Texas

It’s a slow day in a little East Texas town. The sun is beating down, and the streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit….

On this particular day a rich tourist from back East is driving through town. He stops at the only hotel and lays a $100 bill on the desk saying he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the night.

As soon as the man walks up the stairs, the hotel proprietor grabs the hundred dollar bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher.

The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to pay his debt to the pig farmer.

The pig farmer then takes the $100 and heads off to pay his debt to the supplier of feed and fuel.

The guy at the Farmer’s Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has lately had to offer her “services” on credit.

The hooker runs to the hotel and pays off her room bill with the hotel owner.

The hotel proprietor then places the $100 bill back on the counter so the rich traveler will not suspect anything.

At that moment the traveler from the East comes down the stairs after inspecting the rooms. He picks up the $100 bill and states that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, walks out the door and leaves town.

No one produced anything.

No one earned anything.

However, the whole town is now out of debt and looks to the future with a lot of optimism.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the United States Government is conducting business today.

“We  need to raise the standard of living of our poor, unemployed, and minorities. For example, we have an estimated 12 million illegal immigrants in our country who need our help along with millions of unemployed minorities. Stock market windfall profits taxes could go a long way to guarantee these people the standard of living they would like to have as Americans.”

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie as I looked at him lying in his pen. the shelter was clean, and the people really friendly. 

I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street. 

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. 

And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did. 

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike. 

For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls – he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn’t really think he’d need all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he settled in. but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn’t going to. 

I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like “sit” and “stay” and “come” and “heel,” and he’d follow them – when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name – sure, he’d look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he’d just go back to doing whatever. When I’d ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey. 

This just wasn’t going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. 

The friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the “dang dog probably hid it on me.” 

Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter.. I tossed the pad in Reggie’s direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home. But then I called, “Hey, Reggie, you like that Come here and I’ll give you a treat.” Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction – maybe “glared” is more accurate – and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me. 

Well, that’s not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number. 

But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. 

“Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”……… 

“To Whoever Gets My Dog: 

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. 

I’m not even happy writing it. If you’re reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time… it’s like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong… which is why I have to go to try to make it right. 

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you. 

First, he loves tennis balls… the more the merrier. 

Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hordes them. 

He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. 

Doesn’t matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after it, so be careful – really don’t do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly. 

Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I’ll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones – “sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.” He knows hand signals: 

“back” to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and “over” if you put your hand out right or left. “Shake” for shaking water off, and “paw” for a high-five. He does “down” when he feels like lying down – I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business. 

I trained Reggie with small food treats. 

Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog. 

Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. 

Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand. 

He’s up on his shots. 

Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they’ll make sure to send you reminders for when he’s due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. 

Good luck getting him in the car – I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows. 

Finally, give him some time. 

I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. 

Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…. 

His name’s not Reggie. 

I don’t know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. but I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I’d never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything’s fine. But if someone else is reading it, well… well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It’ll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change in his demeanor if he’s been giving you problems. 

His real name is Tank. Because that is what I drive. 

Again, if you’re reading this and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with… and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call the shelter… in the “event”… to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word. 

Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I’m just writing it for my dog. I couldn’t imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. 

And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me. 

That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things… and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades. 

All right, that’s enough. 

I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. 

I don’t think I’ll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth. 

Good luck with Tank. 

Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every night – from me.” 

Thank you, Paul Mallory 

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer. 

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog. 

“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly. 

The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. “C’mere boy.” 

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. 

“Tank,” I whispered. His tail swished. 

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him. 

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek. “So whatdaya say we play some ball His ears perked again. 

“Yeah Ball You like that Ball “ 

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back……he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

THE  PLAN
A.     Back off and let those men who want to marry men, marry men
B.     Allow those women who want to marry women, marry women.
C.     Allow those folks who want to abort their babies, abort their babies.
D.     In three generations, there will be no liberals left.