My goal for 2016 was to lose just 10 pounds. Only 15 to go.
Ate salad for dinner! Mostly croutons and tomatoes. Really just one big, round crouton covered with tomato sauce. And cheese. FINE, it was a pizza. I ate a pizza.
How to prepare Tofu:
1. Throw it in the trash.
2. Grill some Meat.
I just did a week's worth of cardio after walking into a spider web.
I don't mean to brag but...I finished my 14-day diet in 3 hours and 20 minutes.
A recent study has found that women who carry a little extra weight live longer than men who mention it.
Kids today don't know how easy they have it. When I was young, I had to walk 9 feet through shag carpet to change the TV channel.
Senility has been a smooth transition for me.
Remember back when we were kids and every time it was below zero out they closed school? Me neither.
I may not be that funny or athletic or good looking or smart or talented....I forgot where I was going with this.
I love being over 50. I learn something new every day...and forget 5 others.
A thief broke into my house last night...He started searching for money so I woke up and searched with him.
My dentist told me I need a crown. I was like: I KNOW !, Right?
I think I'll just put an "Out of Order" sticker on my forehead and call it a day.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Saturday, March 12, 2016
President Obama Has a Huge Penis He is Very Proud of...
Whoever replaces president Obama will have a challenge in
regard to penis size.
Look at that confidence!
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Only a Cop
Just have to share this email from one of my friends...
This long, passionate, very well written monologue, should be read through to the end by every active and retired public safety officer, every news reporter and actually by every citizen of this nation. Please read it and forward it to all you can.
Proud of my career,
Ken B
Only a Cop By Harry T. O'Reilly
I was at a cocktail party recently in Manhattan and my host, in efforts to get conversation going between people with mutual interests, introduced me to a shiny, well-groomed young man who had recently earned his master's degree in criminal justice. When he learned that I was a retired cop who was now teaching at John Jay College, he remarked that his father was a cop. When I asked where his father worked, he replied, "Oh, you wouldn't know him. He never did anything important. He's only a cop in the 32nd Precinct."
My host saw the look on my face and before I could put my drink down so both hands could be free to choke him, he whisked the kid off to a neutral corner to protect him, rushed back, and begged me to forget about it. I couldn't, so I'm writing this column in the hope this message will reach that young man and so many people like him who are so quick to minimize the role of the working policeman in our society.
I've never worked in the 32nd Precinct, and I don't personally know any cops who do; but I've visited there a few times, much against my will, when I was "flown" in to supervise a detail of men who were supplementing the precinct's manpower during various crises over the years, and I know what it is like to work there. I don't know that kid's old man, but I do know policemen, and I know that whether your beat is in New York City's Harlem district or in 3 suburb of Los Angeles, the nature of the job doesn't vary that much. The volume of activity may be greater or less, and the surroundings may appear to be different, but the dangers and the problems and the stresses and the heartaches are very much the same.
Listen closely, son, I'm going to tell you about your father. Your reference to him as "only a cop" upset the hell out of me, because "only a cop" implies a sense of failure or lack of achievement because he's not a sergeant or lieutenant or higher. How many brothers and sisters do you have? Did grandpa die and leave you a ton of money? If not, are you aware of the financial realities of raising and educating a family? Do you have any idea of how difficult the competition is to be promoted in an occupation where there are limited vacancies and opportunities for advancement? Are you aware that if you have to work a second, and sometimes and third job to make ends meet, that maybe you are too weary to study or to attend promotion-tutorial classes? Are you aware that for many men, being "only a cop" can be so fulfilling that there may be no desire to be promoted?
Have you ever noticed those green, white and blue bars over your father's shield? Have you ever asked what they represent? I can assure you, he didn't get them in a Cracker Jacks box. Each one of them represents a superior achievement in a job where bravery, courage, danger and brilliant police work are considered routine.
While the chiefs and bosses were sitting in headquarters sending down orders to "use restraint" and while the sociologists were trying to explain (if not to justify) why people were rioting and looting, he was more concerned with staying alive as boards, bricks and rifle fire came down from the rooftops. Despite his own fears, he was very careful as he fired his revolver towards the rooftop not to hit one of the innocent, curious, decent people who struck their heads out of the windows of the apartments where they had barricaded themselves in fear.
He never told you about the time when half a cinder block thrown by a "social protester" crashed through the roof of the radio car, narrowly missing his head as he and his partner drove along a side street on patrol.
He never told you about the rats, the pissy hallways, the fights or the dead babies. You never knew that when you were a kid he wrestled with you on the living room floor while the Popeye cartoons blared out of the television set that a few hours earlier he was wrestling around on a filthy sidewall; with someone who was intent on taking his pistol from him and blowing his head off.
You wonder why he didn't show too much emotion when you cut your hand playing ball and had to get stitches. Perhaps he has become jaded to pain and suffering. Perhaps he felt that your hurt was small in comparison to the accident which he handled the night before where he saw brains splattered across a windshield and a severed arm and smelled fiery death. Perhaps you should be proud and grateful that after that he still had enough feeling left to kiss the boo-boo and hug you and pat your head, brief though the moment of tenderness may have been.
When you complained of him "never being home," he was usually out moonlighting to make the extra money required to pay off the house that he couldn't afford, but bought anyway, in order to get you away from the old neighborhood when he saw the violence and crime increasing. When you complained that he "wasn't there when you needed him," it wasn't his choice-he was out earning the money to pay your tuition while you whined to your friends about how he didn't care about you or understand you.
When he came home from work after a hard day and seemed a little abrupt to you, you sulked and felt abused and unwanted. You didn’t know that yet another case had been thrown out of court due to some legal technicality after he risked his ass making the arrest; or that he had been hauled down to the civilian complaint review board again on some unwarranted charge because his accuser knew that lodging charges against the officer can be helpful to the defense in a criminal prosecution; or that an overzealous boss who never worked in a combat zone before was on his back over some petty rules infraction.
Maybe your pop is at fault for not sharing his job-related problems with his family. Maybe we all are. Maybe in our efforts to protect our loved ones from our frustrations and pain, we fail to communicate to tell them the very facts which would help them to understand our anger.
Perhaps you would have understood if your father was a “hollerer,” one of those cops whose wife always complains that he “takes the job home with him,” the guy who yells and rants and gets it off his chest and then goes back the next day to do the job again. Maybe your pop needed that kind of ventilation to void himself of the frustration he felt, and the humiliation and painful criticism of his work at the hands of the self-styled “community leaders,” who by their visible and vocal presence purport to represent a community whose decent, hard-working people do not share their views of the police, but who are more concerned with day-to-day existence and survival in a poverty area than they are in politics or community affairs.
When he came home late for dinner with a few drinks on his breath, maybe he had to stop off so that he could open his heart about some painful aspect of the job to brother officers who could understand what he was saying, rather than to inflict pain on those of you who he chose to protect. Perhaps he underestimated the strength of you and your mother, who might have willingly shared the pain and commiserated with him; or perhaps it would have been too much for you to handle. Who knows.
Your father has listened to the station-house rhetoric for years. He knows the old timers who claim to have given up, but who still fight you to get up the stairs first on a gun run; he knows the young buffalos who bitch beyond reasonable bitching but still do the job; and he knows the angries, the men who never seem to feel good about themselves because of the seemingly endless struggle against an unrealistic bureaucracy that demands so much of them and offers so little in the way of reward or compensation. After all they are “only” cops.
Your father has sat in the back room of the precinct and listened to the negative remarks and ethnic slurs of his colleagues which, to an outside observer might indicate a deep-rooted hatred for the people of the community. But he tolerates the remarks, not because he’s afraid to take a stance, but because he knows that cop’s true feelings, and that the same cop who is doing the bad mouthing would not hesitate for one instant to crawl into a burning tenement and risk his life to save a child of the same ethnic minority which he was defaming a few hours before.
He has shared the joy of birth - in fact, there are kids walking around the neighborhood bearing his first name, just as you do - because he delivered their mothers of babies in a taxicab or in an overcrowded sweltering tenement apartment. He has smiled with his people, and he has grieved over the deaths, the shameful waste of precious life, which is part of the life style of his community.
He has stood in the rain with tears streaming down his face as they buried yet another of his brothers who was killed in the line of duty. You never heard about it, but he lost a piece of himself each time it happened, and it happened far too many times.
Your “only a cop” description tells me that perhaps you think your old man isn’t too smart; yet he had the wisdom to insulate you from the hardships and hurts of his life and to try and raise you in an atmosphere of normalcy that was denied him for at least eight hours a day for the greater part of his adult life.
Now son I’ll get off your case. I can understand your feelings, and so can your old man, believe it or not. I am not looking to lay any guilt trip on you. Maybe your father didn’t talk to you enough. Maybe you weren’t listening. As the song says, “There ain’t no good guys and there ain’t no bad guys.” But I’d like you to take a step back and take a good look at your old man again. You’re looking at a man who has seen more of the evil and negative side of life than anyone else you have ever known, and yet he is still able to be sweet and gentle when the time is right to be soft.
He is a strong man, with a strength born of surviving a steady diet of painful episodes, any one of which might shatter a lesser man. He has been through the fire that can destroy or purify, and he has emerged as tempered steel. Try talking to him sometime about the theory you have learned on the way to your master’s degree.
You missed something somewhere along the line in your education if you can say that as a working cop your father "never did anything important.” Maybe if you can communicate with your pop and combine your formal learning with his street wisdom and knowledge of the real world, you can get something to get that will give you the impetus to effect the changes necessary to create a viable criminal justice system at some point in the future. The one we have now isn't working too well, I’m afraid. It’s you and the people like you who will have to be the catalyst for change.
Just remember as you proceed in your career that your pop is, as all cops are, part of the thin blue line that each day preserves our civilization as a misguided society systematically places frustrating stumbling blocks in his way while protecting the rights of the criminal element and virtually ignoring the rights of their victims. It’s an awesome job, and yet he can still come home at the end of a tour and kiss mom on the cheek, ask you how things went in school, go on with his life, and go back into the pits again tomorrow. I guess being “only a cop” is a pretty worthwhile thing to be.
Harry T. O’Reilly, known to his friends as “Harry-O,” is the director of investigative services training and educating project, Aurora, Illinois. He commutes frequently from New York City, where he is an adjunct assistant professor in the Department of Law and Police Science at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Since his retirement in 1977, he has been affiliated with the Criminal Justice Center of John Jay College and serves as the director of investigative services.
A 20 year veteran of the New York City Police Department, Mr. O’Reilly served as a Detective Supervisor in robbery, burglary, homicide and sex crime units. He was decorated 23 times for outstanding police work and had published numerous articles, texts, movies and television scripts dealing with police related subjects. He also lectures to police audiences throughout the country.
This article originally appeared in the “Police Badge” magazine, of which Mr. O’Reilly was an Associate Editor.
This long, passionate, very well written monologue, should be read through to the end by every active and retired public safety officer, every news reporter and actually by every citizen of this nation. Please read it and forward it to all you can.
Proud of my career,
Ken B
Only a Cop By Harry T. O'Reilly
I was at a cocktail party recently in Manhattan and my host, in efforts to get conversation going between people with mutual interests, introduced me to a shiny, well-groomed young man who had recently earned his master's degree in criminal justice. When he learned that I was a retired cop who was now teaching at John Jay College, he remarked that his father was a cop. When I asked where his father worked, he replied, "Oh, you wouldn't know him. He never did anything important. He's only a cop in the 32nd Precinct."
My host saw the look on my face and before I could put my drink down so both hands could be free to choke him, he whisked the kid off to a neutral corner to protect him, rushed back, and begged me to forget about it. I couldn't, so I'm writing this column in the hope this message will reach that young man and so many people like him who are so quick to minimize the role of the working policeman in our society.
I've never worked in the 32nd Precinct, and I don't personally know any cops who do; but I've visited there a few times, much against my will, when I was "flown" in to supervise a detail of men who were supplementing the precinct's manpower during various crises over the years, and I know what it is like to work there. I don't know that kid's old man, but I do know policemen, and I know that whether your beat is in New York City's Harlem district or in 3 suburb of Los Angeles, the nature of the job doesn't vary that much. The volume of activity may be greater or less, and the surroundings may appear to be different, but the dangers and the problems and the stresses and the heartaches are very much the same.
Listen closely, son, I'm going to tell you about your father. Your reference to him as "only a cop" upset the hell out of me, because "only a cop" implies a sense of failure or lack of achievement because he's not a sergeant or lieutenant or higher. How many brothers and sisters do you have? Did grandpa die and leave you a ton of money? If not, are you aware of the financial realities of raising and educating a family? Do you have any idea of how difficult the competition is to be promoted in an occupation where there are limited vacancies and opportunities for advancement? Are you aware that if you have to work a second, and sometimes and third job to make ends meet, that maybe you are too weary to study or to attend promotion-tutorial classes? Are you aware that for many men, being "only a cop" can be so fulfilling that there may be no desire to be promoted?
Have you ever noticed those green, white and blue bars over your father's shield? Have you ever asked what they represent? I can assure you, he didn't get them in a Cracker Jacks box. Each one of them represents a superior achievement in a job where bravery, courage, danger and brilliant police work are considered routine.
While the chiefs and bosses were sitting in headquarters sending down orders to "use restraint" and while the sociologists were trying to explain (if not to justify) why people were rioting and looting, he was more concerned with staying alive as boards, bricks and rifle fire came down from the rooftops. Despite his own fears, he was very careful as he fired his revolver towards the rooftop not to hit one of the innocent, curious, decent people who struck their heads out of the windows of the apartments where they had barricaded themselves in fear.
He never told you about the time when half a cinder block thrown by a "social protester" crashed through the roof of the radio car, narrowly missing his head as he and his partner drove along a side street on patrol.
He never told you about the rats, the pissy hallways, the fights or the dead babies. You never knew that when you were a kid he wrestled with you on the living room floor while the Popeye cartoons blared out of the television set that a few hours earlier he was wrestling around on a filthy sidewall; with someone who was intent on taking his pistol from him and blowing his head off.
You wonder why he didn't show too much emotion when you cut your hand playing ball and had to get stitches. Perhaps he has become jaded to pain and suffering. Perhaps he felt that your hurt was small in comparison to the accident which he handled the night before where he saw brains splattered across a windshield and a severed arm and smelled fiery death. Perhaps you should be proud and grateful that after that he still had enough feeling left to kiss the boo-boo and hug you and pat your head, brief though the moment of tenderness may have been.
When you complained of him "never being home," he was usually out moonlighting to make the extra money required to pay off the house that he couldn't afford, but bought anyway, in order to get you away from the old neighborhood when he saw the violence and crime increasing. When you complained that he "wasn't there when you needed him," it wasn't his choice-he was out earning the money to pay your tuition while you whined to your friends about how he didn't care about you or understand you.
When he came home from work after a hard day and seemed a little abrupt to you, you sulked and felt abused and unwanted. You didn’t know that yet another case had been thrown out of court due to some legal technicality after he risked his ass making the arrest; or that he had been hauled down to the civilian complaint review board again on some unwarranted charge because his accuser knew that lodging charges against the officer can be helpful to the defense in a criminal prosecution; or that an overzealous boss who never worked in a combat zone before was on his back over some petty rules infraction.
Maybe your pop is at fault for not sharing his job-related problems with his family. Maybe we all are. Maybe in our efforts to protect our loved ones from our frustrations and pain, we fail to communicate to tell them the very facts which would help them to understand our anger.
Perhaps you would have understood if your father was a “hollerer,” one of those cops whose wife always complains that he “takes the job home with him,” the guy who yells and rants and gets it off his chest and then goes back the next day to do the job again. Maybe your pop needed that kind of ventilation to void himself of the frustration he felt, and the humiliation and painful criticism of his work at the hands of the self-styled “community leaders,” who by their visible and vocal presence purport to represent a community whose decent, hard-working people do not share their views of the police, but who are more concerned with day-to-day existence and survival in a poverty area than they are in politics or community affairs.
When he came home late for dinner with a few drinks on his breath, maybe he had to stop off so that he could open his heart about some painful aspect of the job to brother officers who could understand what he was saying, rather than to inflict pain on those of you who he chose to protect. Perhaps he underestimated the strength of you and your mother, who might have willingly shared the pain and commiserated with him; or perhaps it would have been too much for you to handle. Who knows.
Your father has listened to the station-house rhetoric for years. He knows the old timers who claim to have given up, but who still fight you to get up the stairs first on a gun run; he knows the young buffalos who bitch beyond reasonable bitching but still do the job; and he knows the angries, the men who never seem to feel good about themselves because of the seemingly endless struggle against an unrealistic bureaucracy that demands so much of them and offers so little in the way of reward or compensation. After all they are “only” cops.
Your father has sat in the back room of the precinct and listened to the negative remarks and ethnic slurs of his colleagues which, to an outside observer might indicate a deep-rooted hatred for the people of the community. But he tolerates the remarks, not because he’s afraid to take a stance, but because he knows that cop’s true feelings, and that the same cop who is doing the bad mouthing would not hesitate for one instant to crawl into a burning tenement and risk his life to save a child of the same ethnic minority which he was defaming a few hours before.
He has shared the joy of birth - in fact, there are kids walking around the neighborhood bearing his first name, just as you do - because he delivered their mothers of babies in a taxicab or in an overcrowded sweltering tenement apartment. He has smiled with his people, and he has grieved over the deaths, the shameful waste of precious life, which is part of the life style of his community.
He has stood in the rain with tears streaming down his face as they buried yet another of his brothers who was killed in the line of duty. You never heard about it, but he lost a piece of himself each time it happened, and it happened far too many times.
Your “only a cop” description tells me that perhaps you think your old man isn’t too smart; yet he had the wisdom to insulate you from the hardships and hurts of his life and to try and raise you in an atmosphere of normalcy that was denied him for at least eight hours a day for the greater part of his adult life.
Now son I’ll get off your case. I can understand your feelings, and so can your old man, believe it or not. I am not looking to lay any guilt trip on you. Maybe your father didn’t talk to you enough. Maybe you weren’t listening. As the song says, “There ain’t no good guys and there ain’t no bad guys.” But I’d like you to take a step back and take a good look at your old man again. You’re looking at a man who has seen more of the evil and negative side of life than anyone else you have ever known, and yet he is still able to be sweet and gentle when the time is right to be soft.
He is a strong man, with a strength born of surviving a steady diet of painful episodes, any one of which might shatter a lesser man. He has been through the fire that can destroy or purify, and he has emerged as tempered steel. Try talking to him sometime about the theory you have learned on the way to your master’s degree.
You missed something somewhere along the line in your education if you can say that as a working cop your father "never did anything important.” Maybe if you can communicate with your pop and combine your formal learning with his street wisdom and knowledge of the real world, you can get something to get that will give you the impetus to effect the changes necessary to create a viable criminal justice system at some point in the future. The one we have now isn't working too well, I’m afraid. It’s you and the people like you who will have to be the catalyst for change.
Just remember as you proceed in your career that your pop is, as all cops are, part of the thin blue line that each day preserves our civilization as a misguided society systematically places frustrating stumbling blocks in his way while protecting the rights of the criminal element and virtually ignoring the rights of their victims. It’s an awesome job, and yet he can still come home at the end of a tour and kiss mom on the cheek, ask you how things went in school, go on with his life, and go back into the pits again tomorrow. I guess being “only a cop” is a pretty worthwhile thing to be.
Harry T. O’Reilly, known to his friends as “Harry-O,” is the director of investigative services training and educating project, Aurora, Illinois. He commutes frequently from New York City, where he is an adjunct assistant professor in the Department of Law and Police Science at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Since his retirement in 1977, he has been affiliated with the Criminal Justice Center of John Jay College and serves as the director of investigative services.
A 20 year veteran of the New York City Police Department, Mr. O’Reilly served as a Detective Supervisor in robbery, burglary, homicide and sex crime units. He was decorated 23 times for outstanding police work and had published numerous articles, texts, movies and television scripts dealing with police related subjects. He also lectures to police audiences throughout the country.
This article originally appeared in the “Police Badge” magazine, of which Mr. O’Reilly was an Associate Editor.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
An old Italian man and his tomatoes in the garden joke
An old Italian man lived alone in the country. It was Spring and he wanted to dig his tomato garden, as he had done every year, but it was very hard work for the aging man as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was currently in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
Dear Vincent,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If only you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me.
Love Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
Not for nothing, but don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES.
Love Vinnie
At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived at the old man's house and dug up the entire area. However, they didn't find any bodies, so they apologized to the old man and left.
That same day the old man received another letter from his son.
Dear Dad,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love Vinnie
Dear Vincent,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If only you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me.
Love Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
Not for nothing, but don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES.
Love Vinnie
At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived at the old man's house and dug up the entire area. However, they didn't find any bodies, so they apologized to the old man and left.
That same day the old man received another letter from his son.
Dear Dad,
Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love Vinnie
Two engineering students and a girl - joke
Two engineering students were walking across a university campus when one said, "Where did you get such a great bike?"
The second engineer replied, "Well, I was walking along yesterday, minding my own business, when a beautiful woman rode up on this bike, threw it to the ground, took off all her clothes and said, "Take what you want."
The first engineer nodded approvingly and said, "Good choice; the clothes probably wouldn't have fit you anyway."
The second engineer replied, "Well, I was walking along yesterday, minding my own business, when a beautiful woman rode up on this bike, threw it to the ground, took off all her clothes and said, "Take what you want."
The first engineer nodded approvingly and said, "Good choice; the clothes probably wouldn't have fit you anyway."
Girl at the Doctors Office - joke
A girl goes into the doctor's office for a checkup. As she takes off her blouse, the doctor notices a red 'H' on her chest. "How did you get that mark on your chest?" asks the doctor. "Oh, my boyfriend went to Harvard and he's so proud of it he never takes off his Harvard sweatshirt, even when we make love," she replies.
A couple of days later, another girl comes in for a checkup. As she takes off her blouse, he notices a blue 'Y' on her chest. "How did you get that mark on your chest?" asks the doctor. "Oh, my boyfriend went to Yale and he's so proud of it that he never takes off his Yale sweatshirt, even when we make love," she replies.
A couple of days later, another girl comes in for a checkup. As she takes off her blouse, he notices a green 'M' on her chest. "Do you have a boyfriend at Michigan?" asks the doctor.
"No, but I have a girlfriend at Wisconsin, Why do you ask?"
College Graduate Joke
The College graduate with a science degree asks, "Why does it work?"
The College graduate with an engineering degree asks, "How does it work?"
The College graduate with an accounting degree asks, "How much will it cost?"
The College graduate with an arts degree asks, "Do you want fries with that?"
The College graduate with an engineering degree asks, "How does it work?"
The College graduate with an accounting degree asks, "How much will it cost?"
The College graduate with an arts degree asks, "Do you want fries with that?"
Monday, June 29, 2015
Funny Paraprosdokians by Winston Churchill (who loved them)
Winston Churchill loved Paraprosdokians which are figures of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected; frequently humorous.
1. Where there's a will, I want to be in it.
2. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on my list.
3. Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
4. If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.
5. We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.
6. War does not determine who is right - only who is left.
7. Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit . . . Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.
8. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research.
9. I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.
10. In filling out an application, where it says, 'In case of emergency, Notify:' I put 'DOCTOR'.
11. Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy.
12. You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.
13. I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not so sure.
14. To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.
15. Going to synagogue doesn't make you a Jew any more than standing in a garage makes you a mechanic.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Actual Complaints From Dissatisfied Customers On Vacation
These Are Actual Complaints Received By "Thomas Cook Vacations" From Dissatisfied Customers:
1. "They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax."
2. "On my holiday to Goa in India, I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry. I don't like spicy food."
3. "We went on holiday to Spain and had a problem with the taxi drivers as they were all Spanish."
4. "We booked an excursion to a water park but no-one told us we had to bring our own swimsuits and towels. We assumed it would be included in the price."
5. "The beach was too sandy. We had to clean everything when we returned to our room."
6. "We found the sand was not like the sand in the brochure. Your brochure shows the sand as white but it was more yellow."
7. "It's lazy of the local shopkeepers in Puerto Vallartato close in the afternoons. I often needed to buy things during 'siesta' time -- this should be banned."
8. "No-one told us there would be fish in the water. The children were scared."
9. "Although the brochure said that there was a fully equipped kitchen, there was no egg-slicer in the drawers."
10. "I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits like custard creams or ginger nuts."
11. "The roads were uneven and bumpy, so we could not read the local guide book during the bus ride to the resort. Because of this, we were unaware of many things that would have made our holiday more fun."
12. "It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems unfair."
13. "I compared the size of our one-bedroom suite to our friends' three-bedroom and ours was significantly smaller."
14. "The brochure stated: 'No hairdressers at the resort.' We're trainee hairdressers and we think they knew and made us wait longer for service."
15. "When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners."
16. "We had to line up outside to catch the boat and there was no air-conditioning."
17. "It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel."
18. "I was bitten by a mosquito. The brochure did not mention mosquitoes."
19. "My fiancée and I requested twin-beds when we booked, but instead we were placed in a room with a king bed. We now hold you responsible and want to be re-reimbursed for the fact that I became pregnant. This would not have happened if you had put us in the room that we booked."
1. "They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax."
2. "On my holiday to Goa in India, I was disgusted to find that almost every restaurant served curry. I don't like spicy food."
3. "We went on holiday to Spain and had a problem with the taxi drivers as they were all Spanish."
4. "We booked an excursion to a water park but no-one told us we had to bring our own swimsuits and towels. We assumed it would be included in the price."
5. "The beach was too sandy. We had to clean everything when we returned to our room."
6. "We found the sand was not like the sand in the brochure. Your brochure shows the sand as white but it was more yellow."
7. "It's lazy of the local shopkeepers in Puerto Vallartato close in the afternoons. I often needed to buy things during 'siesta' time -- this should be banned."
8. "No-one told us there would be fish in the water. The children were scared."
9. "Although the brochure said that there was a fully equipped kitchen, there was no egg-slicer in the drawers."
10. "I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits like custard creams or ginger nuts."
11. "The roads were uneven and bumpy, so we could not read the local guide book during the bus ride to the resort. Because of this, we were unaware of many things that would have made our holiday more fun."
12. "It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems unfair."
13. "I compared the size of our one-bedroom suite to our friends' three-bedroom and ours was significantly smaller."
14. "The brochure stated: 'No hairdressers at the resort.' We're trainee hairdressers and we think they knew and made us wait longer for service."
15. "When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners."
16. "We had to line up outside to catch the boat and there was no air-conditioning."
17. "It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel."
18. "I was bitten by a mosquito. The brochure did not mention mosquitoes."
19. "My fiancée and I requested twin-beds when we booked, but instead we were placed in a room with a king bed. We now hold you responsible and want to be re-reimbursed for the fact that I became pregnant. This would not have happened if you had put us in the room that we booked."
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Bums, Bare Breats and Strawberries Joke.
A bum is selling strawberries door to door to housewives.... one attractive woman opens her door to the bum and seductively bares her breast... the bum starts crying...
The housewife "what's wrong you poor man?"
Bum "I've lost my home, my family, my job and now I'm going to get fucked out of my strawberries!"
The housewife "what's wrong you poor man?"
Bum "I've lost my home, my family, my job and now I'm going to get fucked out of my strawberries!"
Alligator Joke
Two alligators are sitting on the edge of a swamp. The small one turns to the big one and says, “I don't understand how you can be so much bigger than me. We are the same age; we were the same size as kids. I just don't get it.”
Well, says the big alligator,“what have you been eating? “Lawyers, same as you,” replies the small alligator.
“Hmmmm. Well, where do you catch them?” “Down at that law firm on the edge of the swamp.”
“Same here. Hmmm. How do you catch them?” Well, I crawl under a BMW and wait for someone to unlock the door. Then I jump out, bite them, shake the crap out of them, and eat them!
“Ah!” says the big alligator, “I think I see your problem. By the time you get done shaking' the crap out of a lawyer, there's nothin' left but an asshole and a briefcase.”
Saturday, August 31, 2013
President Obama walks into a local bank - political joke
President Obama walks into a local bank in Chicago to cash a check. He is surrounded by Secret Service agents. As he approaches the cashier he says, "Good morning Ma'am, could you please cash this check for me?"
Cashier:
"It would be my pleasure sir. Could you please show me your ID?"
Obama:
"Truthfully, I did not bring my ID with me as I didn't think there was any need to. I am President Barack Obama, the President of the United States of AMERICA !!!!"
Cashier:
"Yes sir, I know who you are, but with all the regulations and monitoring of the banks because of 9/11, impostors, forgers, money laundering, and bad mortgage underwriting not to mention requirements of the Dodd/Frank legislation, etc., I must insist on seeing ID."
Obama:
"Just ask anyone here at the bank who I am and they will tell you. Everybody knows who I am."
Cashier:
"I am sorry Mr. President but these are the bank rules and I must follow them."
Obama:
"I am urging you, please, to cash this check. I need to buy a gift for Michelle for Valentine's Day"
Cashier:
"Look Mr. President, here is an example of what we can do. One day, Tiger Woods came into one of our bank branches without ID. To prove he was Tiger Woods he pulled out his putter and made a beautiful shot across the bank into a coffee cup. With that shot we knew him to be Tiger Woods and cashed
his check."
"Another time, Andre Agassi came into the same place without ID. He pulled out his tennis racquet and made a fabulous shot where the tennis ball landed in a coffee cup. With that shot we cashed his check. So, Mr. President, what can you do to prove that it is you, and only you, as the President of the United States?"
Obama:
Obama stands there thinking, and thinking, and finally says, "Honestly, my mind is a total blank...there is nothing that comes to my mind. I can't think of a single thing. I have absolutely no idea what to do and I don't have a clue."
Cashier:
"Will that be large or small bills, Mr. President?
Cashier:
"It would be my pleasure sir. Could you please show me your ID?"
Obama:
"Truthfully, I did not bring my ID with me as I didn't think there was any need to. I am President Barack Obama, the President of the United States of AMERICA !!!!"
Cashier:
"Yes sir, I know who you are, but with all the regulations and monitoring of the banks because of 9/11, impostors, forgers, money laundering, and bad mortgage underwriting not to mention requirements of the Dodd/Frank legislation, etc., I must insist on seeing ID."
Obama:
"Just ask anyone here at the bank who I am and they will tell you. Everybody knows who I am."
Cashier:
"I am sorry Mr. President but these are the bank rules and I must follow them."
Obama:
"I am urging you, please, to cash this check. I need to buy a gift for Michelle for Valentine's Day"
Cashier:
"Look Mr. President, here is an example of what we can do. One day, Tiger Woods came into one of our bank branches without ID. To prove he was Tiger Woods he pulled out his putter and made a beautiful shot across the bank into a coffee cup. With that shot we knew him to be Tiger Woods and cashed
his check."
"Another time, Andre Agassi came into the same place without ID. He pulled out his tennis racquet and made a fabulous shot where the tennis ball landed in a coffee cup. With that shot we cashed his check. So, Mr. President, what can you do to prove that it is you, and only you, as the President of the United States?"
Obama:
Obama stands there thinking, and thinking, and finally says, "Honestly, my mind is a total blank...there is nothing that comes to my mind. I can't think of a single thing. I have absolutely no idea what to do and I don't have a clue."
Cashier:
"Will that be large or small bills, Mr. President?
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