We start my Glorious Week of Vacation™ with a Grab-Bag™ item, courtesy of the Sibling Unit™.
Subject: Fwd: Electric Fence
If you have ever used an electric fence or know someone who has one you should read this.
The language used is a bit salty, but ‘he tells it like it is’ without cursing.
If you don’t laugh hysterically at this,….CHECK YOUR PULSE…this is funny….and true. This was sent by a retired dentist.
We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the backyard, and a few months ago, I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To make sure this never happened to me, I got an electric fence and ran a single wire along the top of the fence.
Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for 26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it 7.5 feet into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you have in the ground, the better the fence works.
One day I’m mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel push mower. The hot wire is broken and laying out in the yard. I knew for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.
It seems as though I hadn’t remembered to unplug it after all.
Now I’m standing there, I’ve got the running lawnmower in my right hand and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an upside down cow on fire on the cover.
Time stood still.
The first thing I notice is my pecker trying to climb up the front side of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs & Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was literally at one with the engine.
It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of shit lawnmower were fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.
Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied 3 different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you’re all leaned back and BAM BAM BAM you just crap your pants 3 times. It seemed like there were minutes in between but in reality it was so close together it was like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy turning 8 grand.
At this point I’m about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can’t let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences … but Dad always had those piece of shit chargers made by International or whoever that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled.
This one I could not let go of. The 8 foot long ground rod is now accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom soil. At this point I’m thinking I’m going to have to just man up and take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.
‘Damn!,’ I think, as I remember I just filled the tank!
Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it. Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest I think ‘Oh God please die …. Pleeeeaze die’. But nooooo, it settles into the rough lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI motor waiting for the go command from its owner’s right foot.
So here I am in the middle of July, 104 degrees, 80% humidity, standing in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that day …. he left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the misery my own stupidity had created.
I honestly don’t know how I got loose from the wire ….
I woke up laying on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was beside me, out of gas. It was later on in the day and I was sunburned.
There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.
Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep I realized a few things:
1 – Three of my teeth seem to have melted.
2 – I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek (not the left, just the right).
3 – Poop, pee, and vomit when all mixed together, do not smell as bad as you might think.
4 – My left eye will not open.
5 – My right eye will not close.
6 – The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I think our little session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was better than new after that.
7 – My nuts are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot long.
8 – I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of the number 4 (still don’t understand this???).
That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things. I appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.
The good news, is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I can clearly visualize what my security system will do to him, and THAT gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over, which also reminds me to triple check before I mow.
Mheh. 
Oh, snap.
(Hat tip:  Former LENSnetter Bob Blaylock.)
Well, never let it be said that the dumbass doesn’t have a sense of humor.
We always knew that Donna McCrabbs, aka the World’s Greatest Ever Quarterback Ever In The History Of Ever, Ever!™, had a severely overinflated opinion of himself.  Certainly all of Leftist Libtardia™ always thought so, and made it a point to shout down anyone who dared to disagree.
Now McBlabby is…(snicker)…tooting his own horn.
During an appearance on the interview show Barfly , former Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb said he saw himself as a Hall of Famer, even invoking the name of a few former greats to make his point.
“Absolutely,” McNabb said when asked if he would vote for himself for the Hall of Fame. “One thing that people don’t realize [is] I never played the game to make it to the Hall of Fame. I played the game because I love it. I played the game to win. I’m a competitor. When I step out on that field, I feel like I’m the best player on the field. … I played at the pinnacle, I played at the highest of my career. And I would vote for myself for the Hall of Fame, and I played with probably two or three other Hall of Famers.”
Yeah, well, Reggie White was a helluva lot better player than you ever were, Donna.
Helluva lot better man, too, come to think of it.
“Peyton never won the big game until he won the Super Bowl finally. Dan Marino never won the big game. But does that mean his career is a failure? No, not at all,” McNabb said. “And a lot of times, if we want to sit and look at the numbers for certain players, then we need to look at numbers for all of them.”
“When we want to sit and look at numbers — because that’s what it is when it comes to the Hall of Fame — my numbers are better than Jim Kelly, better than Troy Aikman, better than a lot of the guys who are in the Hall of Fame. But one thing they do have is a Super Bowl.”
That may  have just a weeeeeeeeee  little bit to do with it, don’t you think?
But no worries, Donna.  You may get in the Hall some day.  On the Senior ballot, perhaps.
But you know the old adage: If one could buy you for what you were worth, and sell you for what you thought  you were worth… 
Great Honkin’ Cthulu, we could use more backbone like this in the GOP.
As reported in detail at Lost Lettermen and the Kansas City Star, 5-year-old Emma Burton of Olathe, Kan., refused to participate in a class coloring assignment when she and her classmates were told to color in a Jayhawk, the mascot of the University of Kansas. The coloring exercise was part of the kindergarten class’ celebration of the state of Kansas.
However, Emma wouldn’t comply with her teacher’s instructions. Instead, according to her mother — Bug Bytes blogger Julie Burton — the four-foot tall tot brazenly refused to color the Jayhawk on the grounds that she doesn’t like the University of Kansas. She took the Jayhawk sheet she had been handed, walked up to her teacher and asked for a Powercat (the mascot of Kansas State) to color. When Burton was told there weren’t any Powercats to color, she threw the Jayhawk in the trash.
Go read the rest.
Honors her father & mother?  Doesn’t back down in the face of oppressive official adversity?
Damn, I love that kid! 
Well, Denizens, I’ve gotta do something to get my blood pressure under control, seeing as Roger Goodfella’s No Fair League can’t be arsed to hire full-time zebras who would be somewhat more than fairly competent to know the difference between a busted route & intentional grounding…
…so here, to try to get us all in a better mood today, comes this from Ronaldus Magnus:
Enjoy.
So the paper insert inside the box of Just For Men  said…
(Hey, you  try turning completely gray before age 30 and going 14 years like that and see how you  feel, m’kay???)
…it said “Out of respect for the environment, our gloves have changed to a more sustainable material.”
And so did the other  paper insert they put inside the box.
And the overwhelming likelihood is that this batch of boxes, at the very least, contained an extra paper insert, just like mine.
“Respect for the environment”???
(snort)
Stop the presses!
I can’t believe this is happening!!!
If/when this shows up in the papers, it’ll probably be in six-inch “2nd coming” type!!!!!
This is abso-fucking-lutely in-fucking-credible!!!1!!ONE!!1!!1ELEVENTYTEEN!!1~1
Spread the word. 
(Hat tip to a co-worker of mine, who shall remain nameless. (And is probably eternally grateful for it.))
Unfortunately, Denizens, I don’t have any stories to tell about having kicked an Occupussy’s ass during my Black Friday shopping experience (yes, I went – scored myself a damn good monitor, too), so here’s something gleaned from the Backyard™, courtesy of my sister-in-law:
Note, if you will, that this particular laptop is running…Ubuntu.
Cool, huh? 
Got this from a friend o’ mine off o’ Facebook Hell™…
I know, I know…the Vicar’s having a Facepalm Moment™ Right About Now™… 
(Crossposted to the Rott – this was just too damned good not to share.)
(Hat tip Drudge – although I tend to wonder if he’d really want it, y’know?)
They use the corner of their huts as personal toilets.
They wipe their asses…with their hands.
They view women as less valuable than farm animals – in fact, they’d rather have sex with the animals.
They are the Most Offensive Creatures On The Face Of The Earth™
And they are offended…when they hear you fart.
(No, I’m not making this up. Or to be more succinct – I shit you not.)
So here’s the news: audible farting has been banned for some Marines downrange because it offends the Afghans.
I know there are many things in the Afghan culture that don’t seem normal to Americans and it’s hard to spend seven months working in someone else’s back yard. Still, the Marines I saw downrange are doing a pretty good job at trying to do the right thing around the Afghans.
They’re not supposed to cuss because it could be misunderstood (that one goes out the window a lot). And they stay away from talking about politics, religion or girls because those topics could escalate into major disagreements (they can’t communicate anyway because of the language barrier).
But farting? That’s practically a sport. Ok, it’s not soccer, but a good contest could open the door for cross-cultural exchanges, jokes and other gallows humor.
So, for all Marines getting ready to go downwind, I mean downrange, be forewarned — you may have to hold it in… at least until you get back to your hooch where you can loudly crop dust your friends.
Doesn’t that just rip you a new one?
OTOH, I think we’ve found a way to rid ourselves of Bawney Fwank…
[SCENE:  On the bridge of ISS Poseidon, the Realm’s new Federation-class prototype.  Admiral Darth Venomous is still mired away in Facebook Hell™, and the bridge is empty, save for a couple of technicians named (ironically enough) Berkeley & Zhamno.
Zhamno is fiddling around with the Ops controls.  Berkeley is egging him on.]
BERKELEY:  Yeah, yeah!  Do it!  C’mon!
[Zhamno touches one last control.  On the viewscreen, the picture changes.]
ZHAMNO:  Schweet!
[At that moment, the turbolift doors fly open, revealing Supreme General Rayegun, who isn’t the happiest of campers right at that moment.]
RAYEGUN:  What in the name of Fek’lhr  are you two doing?!?!
BERKELEY, ZHAMNO:  GENERAL, SIR!!!  Uh…uh…(ulp!)
RAYEGUN:  Never mind that.  Quit playing with the effing tractor beam and prep this bridge!  We launch in fifteen minutes!
BERKELEY:  Uh…sir?
RAYEGUN:  We’ve located the Admiral.  We’re going to assist Mrs. Venomous in rescue operations.
ZHAMNO:  But…but, sir…what about your ship?
RAYEGUN:  The Generalette took it.  Something called a “girls’ night out”.  Don’t ask, just move!!!
BERKELEY, ZHAMNO:  Yes, sir, aye aye, sir!!!  {They scurry as Rayegun exits.]
—
Prayers & well wishes for the quake area.
…comes from “Another Drew” on Patterico’s board, when he says…
There is now conclusive evidence that Osama Bin Laden is dead. Last week he registered to vote in Chicago.
Thread winner.  Blog winner.  Blogosphere winner.
The competition can stop now. 
Payback is such  a bitch, ain’t it, Miami?
BWAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!!!!11!!!!ONE!!!ELEVENTYTEEN!!!1!~
For your weekend merriment, this came from LC ORWN, engine builder for Rottie Racing (link):
On a tour of Florida, the Pope took a couple of days off to visit the coast for some sightseeing.
He was cruising along the beach in his Popemobile when he heard a frantic commotion just off shore
A helpless man wearing a New York Yankees jersey was struggling frantically to escape the jaws of a 25 ft shark.
As the Pope watched, horrified, a speedboat came racing up with 3 men wearing Boston Red Sox jerseys aboard. One quickly fired a harpoon into the sharks side. The other 2 reached out and pulled the bleeding , semi-conscious Yankee fan from the water and using autographed Manny Ramirez baseball bats, the three Beantown heroes beat the shark to death and dragged it into the boat.
Immediately the Pope shouted and summoned the men to the beach, ” I give you my blessing for your brave actions” he told them. ” I had heard that there was some bitter hatred between Red Sox fans and Yankee fans, but now I have seen with my own eyes that this is not the truth”
As the Pope drove off, the harpooner asked his buddies, ” who was that? ”
“It was the Pope” one replied, ” he is in direct contact with God and has access to all of God’s wisdom”
”Well,” the harpooner said, ”he may have access to all of God’s wisdom, but he sure doesn’t know anything about shark fishing..How’s the bait holding up?”
Denizens, for your weekend we’re going to combine a little countdownage, a little cute-overloadage and a little ROFLMAO-age.
(In other words, I triple-dog-dare you to watch the following without cracking a smile.  Seriously.  I dare you.)
Laugh with me!  A-hahahahaha…!
Seven.  Six.