E R N I E ' S   H O U S E   O F   W H O O P A S S

I Know You Are All Caring People!

I am a very sick boy little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She is crying. Don't cry, Mommy! Mommy is always sad, but she says it's not my fault. I asked her if it was God's fault, but she didn't answer, and only started crying harder, so I don't ask her that anymore. The reason she is so sad is that I'm so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn't hurt, except when I go to sleep. The doctors gave me an artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was the best they could do on account of us havin' no money or insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money.

Mommy doesn't work because she said employers don't hire crying people. I said, "Don't cry, Mommy," and she hugged my burlap body. Mommy always gives me hugs, even though she's allergic to burlap, and it chafes her real bad. I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this e-mail.

Dr. Van Nostrem from the clinic said if you foward this e-mail then Bill Gates will team up with AOL and do a survey with NASA. Then the astronauts will collect prayers from school children all over America and take them up to space so that theangels can hear them better. Then they will go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection in church and send the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me better then. Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Or maybe just use my lungs and heart, when the doctors make them. The doctors said that every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can take another prayer to the angels.

Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don't want my leaves to rot before I turn 10. If you don't forward this e-mail, that's OK. Mommy says you're a mean heartless shithead who doesn't care about a poor little boy with only a head. She says that if you don't stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you die a long slow horrible death so you can burn forever in hell. What kind of goddamned person are you that you can't take five fucking minutes to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and then maybe help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?

Please help me. This really sucks. I try to be happy but it's hard.

I wish I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy.

Thank You.

Billy 'Smiles' Evans,
the boy with just a head.
And a burlap sack for a body.

Happy Memorial Day.

In August 2003 I had the honor of meeting SFC Paul Smith's sister Lisa, her husband Brad, and the rest of their family when I made a trip to Atlanta. We ate, drank, and were merry. Well, as merry as the situation would allow of course, but I think I may have had an easier time with it than our hosts. With the great weather and the openness of a road trip, it had a little more of a vacation feel than it should have. I knew this, and was silently embarassed for it at the time, but I didn't understand why.

In April of this year Paul was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in Iraq that day, and I was invited to the presentation ceremony in Washington DC. To stand in a room filled with such bravery and patriotism was like a boyhood dream. I snapped pictures with Medal of Honor recipients, marvelled that I was standing in the same room as our President, and felt a twinge of pride because I had a better seat than reporters from CNN did. Again, that silent embarassment was there, but I was able to easily tune it out since there were so many other things to focus on and enjoy. After all, I was standing in the White House, right?

The following spring afternoon I found myself standing in the middle of Arlington National Cemetary. It was a tough winter season and the grass had bare patches in some places, but the contrast between the white headstones and the green grass was enough to hold your gaze. As we waited for Paul's wife Birgit and their children to show up, I passed the time chatting with some of Paul's soldiers about the days events, and how warm the sun was, and whatever else passed through our minds. The official party arrived and a hush came over the rest of us as conversations came to a close. We sat in chairs and listened as the band played songs, and people make speeches to try and recount Paul's herosim that fateful day in Iraq. The crowd was quiet of course during all this of course, and soon as with all military funerals, a bugler worked her way up the gentle slope of a hill and readied herself to play "Taps". I've heard it before. We all have -- you know, the song from countless action movies just

But as Taps played I came to realize there were tears working their way down my cheeks. I gave hurried glances around me and found others doing the same. It hit me, I didn't get it up until that point. Paul's herosim wasn't written on the pages of some overpriced novel in an airport bookshop. It wasn't the latest action packed summer blockbuster movie. It wasn't even just some words on a webpage anymore. Paul was a person, just like you or me. I didn't just hear about what Paul had left behind, I was experiencing it. I didn't just read about his family, I was sitting two rows back from them and they were crying with grief. It's one thing to read, "he prevented an enemy attack on the aid station just up the road," and it's an entirely different world to be standing among the very people he saved. Sergeant First Class Paul Ray Smith wasn't just a name on a wall, or the source of a good story around the lunchtable, he was a soldier who died defending his country.

The wife of one of Paul's soldiers summed it up best. She said to Birgit, "My husband came home because yours didn't."

Stop and think about that for a second. My husband came home because yours didn't. That my friends is what Memorial Day is all about. Remembering the sacrifice of those are among us no more. We honor them not only by telling their stories, but by living a life worthy of the cost of theirs.

Back in Atlanta two years ago, Lisa gave me this. It's Paul's Sapper coin, and is something he earned when he graduated the Sapper Leadership Course a few years earlier. For those of you outside the military circle, coins such as these are highly treasured items. They are a physical testament to your accomplishments; like feathers were to Native American warriors in generations past. Of all the coins Paul had, he was most proud of this one. He carried this coin with everywhere he went, him every day. He carried it to formation, to the grocery store, to training exercises, to little league games, and finally, off to war. He had it on him on April 4th, 2003 when he was killed.

I am humbled just to hold it in my hand. Because, I get it now. Thank you for teaching me, Sergeant Smith. And Happy Memorial Day.

http://www.fallenheroesmemorial.com
http://www.wtv-zone.com/Mary/PASSINGOFGENERATION.HTML
http://mirrored.flabber.nl/new.twin.towers/newtwintowers.swf

I See Dead People!

Great big gobs of greasy grimey gopher guts. Little birdie's dirty feet. Ostrich eyes are rolling down the toilet seat. Damn I forgot my spoon, but I remembered my strawwwwwwwwwww.

Behold. A soldier recently back from Afghanistan send me a collection of pictures of very dead people. Very dead. I have them here for your viewing pleasure. Take note that some of these are so juicy, that this is the first time I have ever put a disclaimer page between you and the content in question. So if I'm doing that, you know they're good - check em out.

Pop Quiz Hot Shot!

You can afford about $30,000 for a new car.

Do you become one of the first to own one of the new Dodge Chargers? Or do you go old school and get an absolutely bitchin classic? What do you do! What do you do?

Finally Justics Is Done.

For the last five years, my birthday tradition was me and a bunch of guys would go out on a casino boat out of Lynn for some boozin. This year? It was too fucking cold. Only today, for the first fucking time this year, it's gotten past 75 degrees at my fucking house. What the fuck? We're only a few days from June and it's been rainy, pissy and 45 degrees here for three weeks. I don't know how much more of this shit I can take. I mean I wanna get out on the water and have a little fun ya know?

Art class. It's not how it used to be.

C'mon, who's the man, eh? People think I ain't got skillz. C'mon, even the chick cops love me!

Stop, or My Mom Will Shoot.

This, ladies and germs, is why having Level IV body armor is so important to our troops deployed overseas who are stuck fighting crazy people.

Hmmm, how cool are you. Can you pass the cool guy test? hey ladies, don't laugh, the joke is on you, too.

And The Hits Just Keep On Comin.

So Aetna got me again. Now that all this horseshit is straightened out, yesterday evening I went to go pick up my meds. Which I do. And then I go back outside and reach for my keys to lunlock my truck, only to see them sitting on the front seat. Apparently thet fell out of my jacket pocket whilest I was reaching over to my laptop bag to grab my wallet. Hmmm. Where's my cell phone? In my laptop bag.

I sat there in the 43 degree rain debating smashing in one of the panels of the rear slider window, but then thought better of it. A walked to the next building over where there was a payphone, and called AAA. Which as a side point, I'd just like to say that one who doesn't have AAA is stupid - it's well worth it's weight in gold.

So dial them up I do, and a tow truck they promise. ETA? "Within the hour."

Okay great. Now I could camp out inside the gas station but then I can't see my truck and the imminently approaching tow truck. And thus I am doomed to camp out outside the gas station under an awning, so I'm at least partly sheltered from the elements. Did I mention it's 43 degrees.? And I don't have any fucking hair?

Twice my heart lept into my throat as I see a tow truck slow down as they approach the parking lot.... and continue on by. Someobody kill me.

So an hour and twenty minutes later, The Man comes around. And for those curious, yes it's the same man I saw drive by twice before, "Sorry I'm late I had a cop call across the street." He pulls out a couple window shims and a long pointy stick and twenty seconds later my door is open. Do you know how easy it owuld have been for him to stop by and do that *before* his other call? I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm coughing, and I'm pissy.

And now today on Wednesday? I'm coughing, my throat hurts, and I'm pissy.

great blog written by some troops over in iraq

Helpful Tips To Make Life Simpler.

Old telephone books make ideal personal address books. Simply cross out the names and addresses of people you don't know.

Fool other drivers into thinking you have an expensive car phone by holding an old TV or video remote control up to your ear and occasionally swerving across the road and mounting the curb.

Lose weight quickly by eating raw pork and rancid tuna. I found that the subsequent food poisoning and diarrhea enabled me to lose 12 pounds in only 2 days.

Avoid parking tickets by leaving your windshield wipers turned to fast wipe whenever you leave your car parked illegally.

No time for a bath? Wrap yourself in masking tape and remove the dirt by simply peeling it off.

Apply red nail polish to your nails before clipping them. The red nails will be much easier to spot on your bathroom carpet. (Unless you have a red carpet, in which case a contrasting polish should be selected).

If a person is choking on an ice cube, don't panic. Simply pour a jug of boiling water down their throat and presto, the blockage is instantly removed.

Save on booze by drinking cold tea instead of whiskey. The following morning you can create the effects of hangover by drinking a shotglass of dish washing liquid and repeatedly slamming your head into the wall.

Aetna Health Insurance Sucks.

So it's allergy season here in sunny (ha!) New England, which means it's time to refill my prescription of Allegra. I pull out the bottle I last had filled in October, and sure enough the prescription is good until October of this year and there's three refills left. Cool. That means no trip to the doc, just hop online to the pharmacy, click, click, click and bingo go pick it up. Right? WRONG.

I swing down to the local pharmacy and ask to pick up my much needed allergy meds -- my throat has been sore from all kinds of green shit running down the back of my throat for the past three days -- and no I have not sucked off The Hulk. "Sorry," the woman behind the counter says, "YPOFHIC has denied the charge." Somehow, this doesn't surprise me since I know, well, Aetna sucks. So I ask the obvious question, "Why?" "This medication needs to be pre-approved."

Now excuse me, but doesn't that kind of sound like a requirement that a fucking prescription fulfills? I mean hey, leave it to me to interpret the word literally. But I know it's not Ms Pharmacist's fault so no use freaking on her, so I drive back to the office and call MPOFHIC toee just how they fucked up this time. Keep in mind this is the same company who denied a co-worker's office visit fee when he had a cold, since Aetna wanted proof it wasn't a pre-existing condition. No shit.

I manage to force my way through all of their voice driven menu systems ("you rotten cocksucker" is not recognized, btw) and after about ten fucking minutes get some useless abortion on the other end of the phone. Normally I'm pretty easy going, but at this point I'm miserable and pissed off.

Now I know this isn't a medical emergency or anything, but what the fuck? So I call my doc and explain the situation to one of his staff gals. I am comforted when it appears she is painfully familiar with this situation, as apparently she's gone through it before for pther patients. What the fuck? Since when is a doctor writing down on a piece of paper, "Joe Schmoe needs [this] medication," NOT good enough? No wonder why people freak out on their insurance companies so much. It's like now we have to run a fucking gauntlet to prove we're worthy of our medication?

So my doctor makes the call, and MPOFHIC in their unending mercy, "approves" me to take for Allegra for a whole fucking year. Yippi-dee-fucking-doo-dah day. Thank you Oh Sweet Merciful Aetna. You know, I'm the kind of guy these assholes make millions off of. In the past ten years, I've used my health insurance a grand total of two times, excluding my annual four month dose of allergy meds. Not anymore baby. I'm gonna get this shit refilled every fucking month for the next 12 months. I'm going to schedule a physical. And blood tests. I'm gonna go in for every little nit-picking-fucking thing. Bang my knee riding? Doctor visit. Sniffles? Doctor visit. Nick my balls shaving? Doctor visit. Shit, I just might go in and pillow bite my way

Well, I'll end this update now, since I HAVE TO GO BLOW MY FUCKING NOSE. Waste my time, you useless cocksuckers? I'll get the last laugh. Aetna you suck.

iraqi insurgents hiding on a tugboat busted trying to mine a harbor

My Dog Is A Tard Lover.

You know, there's just something magical about the way a girl looks at my cock for the first time. Magical I tell you. And I might point out she's not the only one who loves my cock. I like it myself, and therefore there's no way I'd have it hacked up in surgery by having a penis pump put in like this crazy bastard did.

Oh, and this coming week there's a party at my house and you're all invited. There will be naked limbo. Only rule? Girls, if you're on the rag, please don't play.

I Do It For The Spoils Of War.

Bah! Hah! Hah! Hah! My hat's off to Hannity & Colmes of FOX News, for laying the complete smackdown on Michael Crook! Tell me I didn't call it when I said, "...yuppie twit living in his mothers basement..." I mean look at this guy he's the uber-tool. (Right menu bar, US & World section, "Forsake Our Troops? link)". My prediction? We'll be reading about his real-life ass beating within a week.

Sometimes people will ask me how much time I spend into EHOWA each week. How much effort is there to keeping the site updated. Do I use any whiz-bang tools to make the process easier. Do I have any help. And if there is x-amount of work, what do I get out of it?

Well, I'll tell you. The site takes about, eh, one sometimes two hours a day. It's not too bad since I got wireless on my laptop, which means I can sit my ass on the couch and work on the updates and answering emails while still remaining semi-lazy. I do the entire site by hand, in wordpad. Yep, you heard me, wordpad. No scripts, no shortcuts. Old skool baby. A few people help me with administering the forums, but as far as the main site goes, I do it all myself. My house, my rules. If you see a typo, it's mine. All the stuff under "My Thoughts" are exactly that. If you see a picture, I picked it out. And what do I get out of it? Well, you tell me what else I can do where I can get told great stories like this...

So there you have it folks, the inner-workings of EHOWA in a nutshell. On bad days I'm tied to email for a few hours treying to find all the good shit. Yeah it's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. So, I hope you enjoyed your tour, please tip your waitress and try the veal!

Caught With yer Pants Down.

Okay, someone please explain to the dick-tator that tighty whiteys are for little boys, not mass murderers.

To the naked eye, this looks like your normal cool ass fucking Dodge Ram. However look a little closer and you'll see it's stuffed with more weed than Dave Chapelle's snack cabinet.

I can't make out the language this site is in... Spanish? Portugese maybe? But I do understand the other language it speaks...babes, man. Lots of hot babes. I know, pretty eyepopping stuff, eh?

ACHTUNG! With all these fucking new viruses going around, as of yesterday I am having 100% of my email filtered through spamarrest. It works like this. The first time you email me you will receive an auto-challenge that prompts you to go to spamarrest.com and type in a simple challange word (apple, melon, zebra, whatever) to verify you're a real person and what you're sending isn't junk mail. Once you authenticate yourself once, you're good forever (or until I decide to block you if you're being an asshole). Ya see, for you sending me legitimate mail taking the 10 seconds to authenticate yourself is no big deal. But to a scumbag spammer who sends out 100,000 at a time, taking 10 seconds to verify each one isn't practical, hence their email gets filtered out. So I get less spam and viruses, and you get more atten

Jesus H Tap Dancing Christ.

Godammit, I was driving to work this morning, and I-95 is all fucking ripped up near the I-93 interchange. Some fucker in front of me kicked up a stone and boom, now I have a crack in my windshield.

People ask me what the best part is about shaving your head. Well, I'll tell you. You don't have to worry about some drunk bastard leaving you looking like the Elephant Man.

Just goes to show you how stupid can people be nowadays. Let's just say sometimes it's a miracle we're all still alive.

What's the difference between your wife and your job? After five years, your job still sucks. So help me God, i'm qutting this shithole and buying my own bar.

got bling? that bitch has got spinnaz on her grill yo!

Forsake Forsakethetroops.info.

Everyone knows I'm a huge supporter of our troops, so it was no surprise that over the past month or so I've gotten numerous emails from people telling me about www.forsakethetroops.info. Don't bother trying to go there the site is now offline however here's a cached copy if you're really interested. In fact the first email was way back in February of this year and after browsing through the site I wasn't sure if it was a just hoax or some oblivious tool living in their own world a'la Stephen Bouvet. Truth be told I never really did ever come to a decision on which I believed to be true. I mean his message was soooooo far out there, I didn't think anyone could honestly and truly be that stupid and still manage to not step out in front of a bus.

But my advice was always the same: the best way to combat this mental midget is to not circulate his website around. Don't forward it to friends saying, "Look at this asshole," don't post it to bulletin boards saying, "Can you believe this shit." Just ignore him and let the site die of it's own obscurity. That was back in February when his alexa rating was like 5,000,000+

So you can imagine my dismay a few weeks ago when I heard some tool on the radio talking about the website that mocked the killing of our troops over in Iraq. I sighed to myself and made a point to check his alexa rating again. This time it was about 1,200,000 -- that's about a tenfold increase in traffic for you non-webby people.

Now this assclown had an address and telephone number posted on this site and urged people to contact him. Now that to me just makes it too suspicious. Nobody wanting to spread such an inflammatory message would willingly post their personal info out there. It'd be like someone from the KKK walking around handing out business cards with their home address and telephone number. It's just too stupid to conceive.

So when someone suggested I check out the site again yesterday, I wasn't altogether surprised to read the site had gone offline.

And so, let forsakethetroops.info ride off into the sunset of obscurity -- where I told you it should go from day one. This, I command.

Back From Florida Baby.

Took a quick trip to Florida for a SFC Paul Smith building dedication and some R&R with Sir Jimbeau. Had us a good old time. Had bathtubs full of beer, met a really unbelievable gal who I thought could have been 'The One' but alas, no luck.

Either way, it was sure as hell nice to get down south and out of the New England weather. It's still fucking 60 degrees here and it's mid fucking May.

And any of you crazy fuckers better back off my man Leeroy. Because Leeroy's got skillz, too.

And Now Back To FrankenDoggie.

Well, you God damned people have done it again.

Once again I have cast down the gauntlet of challenge, and once again you have picked it up. And for that, I am grateful. And I'm not the only one, there's now a three legged dog out there with a full set of lips now.... whoot!

An email update from Joann on everyone's favorite FrankenDoggie!

So there you have it folks. Looks like we kicked ass and chewed.....bubblegum. I'll post any updates as Joann sends them in, but for now I think Gypsy is gonna be a-ok. I'd love to say that there won't ever be a request like this again, but I think we both know better than that. See you next year!

Personal Ads I've Been Tempted To Answer.

Bitter, unsuccessful middle aged loser wallowing in an unending sea of inert, drooping loneliness looking for 24 year old needy leech-like hanger-on to abuse with dull stories, tired sex and Herb Alpert albums. Baby, you are my Tijuana Taxi.

Me -- trying to sleep on the bus station bench, pleading with you to give me a cigarette; you-choking on my odor, tripping over your purse trying to get away; at the last moment, our eyes meeting. Yours were blue. Can I have a dollar?

Imp and angel. Disembodied head in jar, 24, seeks pixie goddess to fiddle with while Rome burns. You bring beer. No. I make joke. You like laugh? I like comebacks and confessions. Send photo of someone else.

Three toed mango peeler searching for wicked lesbian infielder. Like screaming and marking territory with urine? Let's make banana enchiladas together in my bathtub. You bring the salsa.

I like eating mayonnaise and peanut butter sandwiches in the rain, watching Barney Miller reruns, peeing on birds in the park and licking strangers on the subway; you eat beets raw, have climbed Kilimanjaro, and sweat freely and often. Must wear size five shoes.

There is a little place in the jumbled sock drawer of my heart where you match up all the pairs, throw out the ones with holes in them, and buy me some of those neat dressy ones with the weird black and red geometrical designs on them.

Mmmm Pez! Rabid Wonder Woman fan looking for someone in satin tights, fighting for our rights and the old red, white 'n blue. You look like Linda Carter? Big plus. Know all words to theme song? Marry me

This Negeo's Got Skillz Man!

The other day I saw another Microsoft commercial on TV: sublime choral music drifts through the background as the unseen user surfs through the Internet and various Microsoft content using Internet Explorer. The commercial closes with the Microsoft slogan "Where do you want to go today?" and a final, furious blast of music. It's a very cool effect. But if you dig a little deeper...

As it turns out, the background music is the Dies Irae of Mozart's Requiem Mass. And the words of the final blast of music which accompanies "Where do you want to go today?" are actually "confutatis maledictis, flammis acribus addictis..." In English: "When the damned are confounded, and consigned to sharp flames..."; which describes exactly where I want to go today.

Unfortunately, while Explorer will take you to hell for free, the upgradeto purgatory is pretty steep.

Man, Now I Need A New Jacket.

This past weekend I went to a strip club. When I got inside I noticed a seat conspicuously unoccupied in the front row. Seizing the opportunity, I sat down. As soon as the first dancer walked out, the guy directly behind me yelled, "Yeah baby! That's what I've been waiting for!"

I just turned around and gave him a dirty look in protest. A few minutes into the show, the dancer did a move and snatched off her top, revealing two pasties. The guy behind me goes off again. "Yeah baby! Shake those things."

Again, I turned around and I said, "Hey buddy, calm down!"

After a few moments, the dancer did another move, and snatched off her dress, revealing a very thin G-string. The asshole behind me yells out, "Oh baby! You're almost there!"

So now I'm getting pissed off. "Hey, shut the fuck up, will ya!?"

A few minutes later, the dancer stretched out on the floor and snatched off both the pasties and the G-string, and the whole club went wild, except for the asshole behind me. Curious, I turn around and asked, "So asshole, where's your enthusiasm now?"

"Well," said the guy as he started to zip up his pants, "all over your back."

Moving on, I can't decide if this is a stripper just practicing her routine in a mirror, or if she's filming it for a boyfriend.

I'm in Training. Again. Somebody Kill Me.

Okay, just a little understanding at what our boys over in Iraq are having to fucking deal with on a daily basis.

Icky, icky, icky, poo. Here are some photos of a base housing unit at Mountain Home AFB in Idaho. Somebody's momma didn't teach them to pick up their toys before bedtime. Fucking gross.

Ha Ha Ha Ha! These guys are great! Guys, if you're looking for pickup lines, these appear to work well. I'd suggest the family guy approach, but hey that's me. No limits, no rules, no shame.

So what do Darth Vader and his stromtroopers do when they're hungry? Well, they go the fucking supermarket and use their ATM card, duh!

Slap Your Co-Worker Day Is Here!.

Today is the official Slap Your Irritating Coworker Day! Do you have a co-worker who talks nonstop about nothing, working your last nerve with tedious and boring details that you don't give a damn about? Do you have a co-worker who always fucks stuff up, creating more work for you? Do you have a co-worker who kisses so much ass, you can look in their mouth and see what your boss had for lunch? Do you have a co-worker who is so fucking obnoxious, when he/she enters a room, everyone else clears it?

Well, on behalf of Ike Turner, I am so very very glad to officially announce today as Slap Your Irritating Coworker Day! There are the rules you must follow:

Now, study the rules, break out your list of folks that you want to slap the living day lights out of and get to slapping...and have a great day!

Well, I hope that certainly sparked your interest. And if you're looking for more, there's a pretty god damned good collection of pictures over at the

Look Before You Eat That Taco.

Here's a little cautionary tale for all you pigs out there.

It has long puzzled me that on more than one occasion I have felt something very weird brushing against my hog while I was having sex. The weird feeling was as if the inside of the woman's vagina was hairy. Both times this happened, I assumed that hair from the outside of her vagina was being forced inside by overly enthusiastic thrusting. The two women I have experienced this with were both slutty (and bone-ugly) one-night stands, so I didn't want to stick my head down there and find out what the hell was going on. In other words, I didn't look to see if she had unusually long pubic hair that could curl around into her vagina to provide this strange sensation.

Recently, while reading my newsgroups, I found out the real reason for this interesting little phenomenon. It seems that if a man has a sex-change operation, the penis and the testicles are removed without removing the skin that covers the testicular sack. This sac is folded back into the body cavity to provide the lining for what is then called the neovagina. Often, hair continues to grow on the surface of this formerly exterior skin. Thus one way to tell if you are unknowingly bonking a postoperative transsexual is if you feel a strange hairy feeling on the inside of what you think is a real vagina. This is not a sure way to tell, because the newsgroup article which explained things to me was about electolysis of the testicular sac before the operation. Apparenty this procedure is used to prevent furry vagina syndrome.

The good part is that I couldn't get any diseases from them. This is because a neovagina doesn't contain any natural fluids other than what you yourself put in there. Since both of them were wet when I stuck it in, I guess they had lubricated themselves in advance. Hopefully that wasn't some other dude's man juice, which would indeed be a particularly disgusting and possible disease-laden problem.

Consider this a warning - beware of furry vagina syndrome! Next time you feel hair on the inside of your partner's vagina, you are almost certainly with someone who has an interesting history. - donated by anonymous poster

Oh, and Go Red Sox!

You People Shock Me Sometimes.

Sometimes I get emails that say something to the effect of, "Oh my God, I can't believe that you posted something so horrible as [insert horrible thing here]."

And to that I can only say, shit people I only post what you send me.

tree stump 1 - tree stump 2 - tree video

Extreme Terrorist Makeover.

Why life as a top Al Qaeda operative is not good for your health and well-being, not to mention your skin. Al Qaeda's number 3, Abu Farraj al-Libbi, has been captured by the Pakistani authorities. A Libyan national, al-Libbi burned his bridges and is believed to be behind two assassination attempts against President Musharraf. He's also believed to have been in charge of sleeper cells in the United States and Great Britain, following the capture of the previous number 3, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed.

Speaking of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, two years ago he was another exhibit for the case that life on the run from the US authorities can be rather rough.

And, of course, let's not forget about Saddam.

The ultimate makeover, however, belongs to Abu Ali, also known as Qaed Senyan al-Harthi, bin Laden's security guard suspected to have played a major role in the October 2000 attack on the destroyer USS Cole. Abu Ali and several of his colleagues, of course, had a close encounter with a Hellfire missile while driving through Yemen. Ali was identified as the one in the vehicle by a mark on his leg, which was blown off in the blast and found near the scene.

Perhaps Bin Laden will be next? The first victim of the Army's newest vehicle, the M1 ASS "Advanced Silent Stalker"?

Speaking of makeovers ladies, if your ass doesn't look like these, it's time to hit the gym a little more. Oooh, look, she's got a 1984 Denver mint dime in her back pocket.

five beautiful girls on a couch. you know, without clothes and stuff

Slow Down There, Partner.

Being a big supporter of the military has certain advantages. For example, when troops get the opportunity while they're out parading around Iraq, some take some photos for me so I can look cool.

Then I had a kid write in and explain that this is where his father sleeps each night, and this is the sign his father sees while driving to work every day. Again, very cool stuff.

But the real treat comes in something like this... photos taken of a sailor's dorm room in Groton, CT. Yeah baby, it's good to see the military is still using those red govermnent issue mattresses like I had at Town Hanscom!

Women. What could you say? Who made 'em? God must've been a fucking genius. Hair. They that hair's everything you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls and just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips. And when they touched yours were like that first swallow of wine after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-hah! Big ones, little ones. Nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns, or second-hand Steinways, but what's between them... passport to heaven. I need a drink. Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing. Pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me son? I'm givin' ya pearls here.

Random Offensives.

So for the past few weeks the guy in the next house has been cranking his stereo, racing his cars engine at all hours of the morning, and a bunch of otheR annoying shit. Finally, this fucking asshole gets evicted and they rented the place to some chick. She seemed like a bitch at first, but as it turns out I think she's gonna be my new favorite neighbor.

Q. What is black and white and has a dirty name?
A. Sister Mary Fuckface.

I ran into a friend the other night and he saw the front of my truck was all dented smashed in - coverd with leaves, grass, branches, dirt and blood. He asks his friend: "What's happened to your car?" "Well," the friend responses, "I ran into a Canadian." "OK," says the man, "that explains the blood... But what about the leaves, the grass, the branches and the dirt?" "Well, I had to chase him all through the park."

Q. Did you hear about the black guy who tried to pass himself off as Mexican?
A. He gave himself away by saying, "Adios, Motherfucker."

Two guys are working on a dock unloading some cargo. "Hey," says the first one, "you hear there's a homo working here now?" "No," says the other guy, "do you know who the fuck he is?" "Oh I can't tell you that!" "Aw, c'mon!" "Okay, but you have to kiss me first."

"Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons." - General MacArthur

Q. What's the difference between an old rabbi and an old priest?
A. An old rabbi cuts it off, and an old priest sucks it off.

Back Up On All Threes.

Not sure if this is of any interest, but I have a small 3500 Watt Generator for sale, its great for camping or other uses where power is required. Let me know if you're interested, details are enclosed in the attachment.

Sorry for the picture quality, the photo didn't turn out so good.

Well, just think John, life could have been worse. You could drive a riced up Honda Civic.

Actually, I was in touch with Joann this morning, and Gypsy is doing terrific. Since posting the original story on EHOWA on Monday morning, the shelter has seen an influx of an additional $5,000 in donations. Not quite as high as I wanted to be, but still pretty good. I'm setting up a specific page for Gypsy here, and as you can see, she's adjusting to "civilian life" pretty well. But alas, it does appear that her piano playing days are over...

so, how many sex offenders live in YOUR neighborhood?

Sorry I Am Out of The Office.

I am currently out at a job interview and will reply to you if I fail to get the position.

I'm not really out of the office. I'm just ignoring you.

Sorry to have missed you but I am at the doctors having my brain removed so that I may be promoted to management.

I will be unable to delete all the unread, worthless emails you send me until I return from vacation on 5/18. Please be patient and your mail will be deleted in the order it was received.

Thank you for your email. Your credit card has been charged $5.99 for the first ten words and $1.99 for each additional word in your message.

Thank you for your message, which has been added to a speedy queuing system. You are currently in 352nd place, and can expect to receive a reply in approximately 19 weeks.

Please reply to this e-mail so I will know that you got this message. I am on holiday. Your e-mail has been deleted.

Hi. I'm thinking about what you've just sent me. Please wait by your PC for my response.

Hi! I'm busy negotiating the salary for my new job. Don't bother to leave me any messages.

I've run away to join a different circus.

Happy Birthday To Me. Now I Need Your Help.

"When a man's best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem." -- Edward Abbey

A few months ago, I posted that in general I don't like people. And while sure there was some jest in that statement, there was also some truth. People lie. People steal. People borrow your money and don't pay it back. People back into your car and don't leave a note. People are selfish. People murder. People set dogs on fire. People force dogs to fight and then discard their shattered bodies like garbage. People suck.

On the morning of April 11th, a kind old woman in Belmont, North Carolina came across the crumbled body of what she thought was a dead dog on the side of the road. Expecting the worst, she took the time to look closer and was both delighted and horrified to find this female pit bull barely alive; shattered limbs unable to carry her body any further, blood seeping from maggot infested wounds, skin stretched taunt over exposed ribs, dull broken eyes looking up at her begging for relief. This dog didn't have the strength to lift her head as the woman approached, she could only offer a muffled whimper. Surely others had driven past this horribly wounded dog, but no one bothered to stop. Not until this woman did. Such is the nature of man, I guess. But, thankfully our Good Samaritan did stop, and she scooped this dog's limp body up in her arms and brought her to the Eastridge Animal Hospital.

There veterinarians examined her and came to the conclusion she should be saved, but it was going to require some pretty extensive (and costly!) surgery. Upon hearing of Gypsy's condition, Joann Hager of Tri County Animal Rescue immediately told the vets to go ahead with treatment -- she would find a way to pay for it.

As best anyone can guess, Gypsy (as she is now named), was used in dog fights. Her ears were cut away so her opponent would have nothing to bite on to and drag her to the ground. She had bite wounds all over her body and the tissue around the wounds was rotting and putrid. In fact, when the veterinary staff tried to feed her, she couldn't eat because of the bite wounds inside her mouth. Yes, I said inside.

As of this writing, Gypsy has undergone several surgeries over the past few days. The damage to her right front leg was so extensive the doctors were forced to amputate it. Dead and dying tissue was cut away leaving this lovable dog horribly disfigured. The stents that were sewn into her skin to allow her wounds to drain give this lovable dog a nightmarish look. As you look at her post-surgery pictures you may think Gypsy is baring her teeth or growling; she's not. The dead tissue around her mouth has rotted away; she no longer has lips to cover her teeth. And yet despite all this, she still managed to wag her tail after her first surgeries. That my friends, is why dogs rule.

Gypsy has taken the first steps on her long road to recovery. But she is not out of the woods just yet. Doctors in Tennessee will need to perform plastic surgery to recreate the portions of her face that have rotted away. These upcoming procedures, on top of the care she's already received, come at a substantial price. While Tri County Animal Rescue has received more than enough letters of encouragement, they have not received enough donations to pay for Gypsy's medical care.

When I spoke with Joann on Friday, she estimates they had received just over $6,000 in donations -- well shy of the $10,000 they estimate her care to cost. This leaves at least a $4,000 deficit, probably more when all is said and done. That my friends, is where you come in.

With Sean Schaefer debacle last week, I received many emails of people writing in and admitting they were guilty of the same thing - never having stepped up to help when they could have. Just brushing aside my requests and thinking, "Oh someone else will donate." Well now is your opportunity to make a difference and you couldn't ask for a better one. Kids, the only thing standing between this lovable three legged pooch and a full recovery is a few thousand dollars. Is the army of EHOWA going to let that happen? I think not.

So, as has become a custom here at EHOWA, this will be one of the two times a year when I will ask you, my faithful readers, for help. So I am asking you, I am begging you, to donate what you can to the Tri County Animal Rescue to pay for the remainder of Gypsy's medical costs. Five bucks. Ten bucks. Twenty bucks. Whatever you can spare.

And I don't want to hear, "Oh I don't have the cash right now." Sure you do. Five bucks - the cost of quick lunch in drive thru. Ten bucks - a round of beers. Twenty bucks - popcorn and two movie tickets. You can do it. I know we can knock this right out of the ballpark if we all pitch in.

Take a moment and look at your dog laying next to you. Try to imagine what it would be like if their leg were so horribly mangled doctors would have to cut it off. Think of them having so many untreated wounds that the flesh was actually rotting off their bodies. Now try to imagine if your dog didn't have you in their corner caring for them. That's what Gypsy is going through right now.

So crack those piggy banks. Make me proud. Please donate to Gypsy.

A human being visited unspeakable cruelty on this poor dog. Think about that for a second. A dog. Man's best friend. The fact that someone would do this to a dog tells me what kind of a person they are. What does that say about us if turn a blind eye?

One More Day.

One of my subscribers who just returned from a deployment in Iraq wished you all to see this.

Two little old ladies were attending a rather long church service. One leaned over and whispered, "My butt is going to sleep." "I know," replied her companion, "I heard it snore three times."