Please visit http://helpthemleave.com for more information.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than met the eye.

Reading his mom’s thoughts, Anthony volunteered, “I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Maria and I are just roommates.”

About a week later, Maria came to Anthony saying, “Ever since your mother came to dinner, I’ve been unable to find the silver sugar bowl. You don’t suppose she took it, do you?

“Well, I doubt it, but I’ll e-mail her, just to be sure.” So he sat down and wrote:

Dear Momma,

I’m not saying that you ‘did’ take the sugar bowl from my house, I’m not saying that you ‘did not’ take it. But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.

Love, Anthony

Several days later, Anthony received a response e-mail from his Momma which read:

Dear Son,

I’m not saying that you ‘do’ sleep with Maria, and I’m not saying that you ‘do not’ sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.

Love, Momma

Lesson: Never lie to your Momma

AMERICAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the band, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more. Sell one cow to buy a new president of the United States, leaving you with nine cows. No balance sheet provided with the release. The public buys your bull.

AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead.

FRENCH CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.

JAPANESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty time the milk. You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowikimon and market them worldwide.

A GERMAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You reengineer them so they live for 100 years, eat once a month, and milk themselves.

AN ITALIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows, but you don’t know where they are… You break for lunch.

A RUSSIAN CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
You count them again and learn you have 12 cows.
You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.

A SWISS CORPORATION
You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you. You charge others for storing them.

CHINESE CORPORATION
You have two cows.
You have 300 people milking them.
You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest the newsman who reported the numbers.

A BRITISH CORPORATION
You have two cows… both are mad.

A NEW ZEALAND CORPORATION
You have two cows… and the one on the left is kinda cute…

Police warn all male clubbers, partygoers and unsuspecting pub regulars to be more alert and cautious when accepting a drink offer from a woman.

There is a date rape drug going around called “beer” and it appears in liquid form. – The drug is being used by female sexual predators at parties to persuade male victims to have sex with them.

“Beer” is available virtually anywhere. All a women has to do is persuade a guy to consume a few units of “beer” and simply ask him home for “no-strings-attached sex”. Men are rendered helpless against such attacks.

After several “beers” men will often succumb to performing sex acts on horrific looking women who they would never normally be attracted to.

Men often wake up after having “beer” with only hazy memories of what happened to them the night before — just a vague feeling that something bad occurred.

At other times these unfortunate men might be conned into a familiar scam known as “a relationship” — apparently men are easier victims for this scam after the “beer” has been administered and they have already been sexually attacked. Forward this alert to every male you know……….

However, if you fall victim to this insidious drug and the predatory women administering it, there are male support groups where you can discuss the details of your shocking encounter in an open manner with a bunch of similarly affected victims.

For your nearest support group, look up “Taverns” in the yellow pages.

“Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother… Last week I had bad day at the office. I know you’ve been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my experience with you to make you realize it’s not so bad after all.

“Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It’s a wetsuit. This time of year, the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of shit sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose.

“Now this sounds like a damn good plan, and I’ve used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is I take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It’s like working in a Jacuzzi.

“Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my ass started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my ass started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony, I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now since I don’t have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn’t stick to it. However, the crack of my ass was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into my ass.

“I informed the dive supervisor of my problem over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with 5 other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make 3 agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling 35 minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

“When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my ass as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn’t shit for 2 days because my asshole was swollen shut.”

So, next time you’re having a bad day at work, or on the golf course, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your ass.

The Fire Marshall told her that this is not the first incident where a gel candle has exploded and caused a fire. He said that the gel builds up a gas and often times it explodes and sets fire to the room it is in, which is what happened to her. The fire was so hot it melted the smoke alarm, and they didn’t discover the fire until there was an explosion, which was her toilet blowing up, and then it was too late…the entire upstairs was engulfed in flames. Smoke damage and water damage have destroyed what wasn’t destroyed by fire.

Please pass this along to anyone I missed. I wouldn’t want this to happen to anyone else. Her family is deva! ! stated. All their mementos and everything of value and meaning are gone. Thanks and take care!

Note: Marty and I know a lady who loves the gel candles. She had one burning on her mantle and it caught fire just like the message above. She was at home at the time and saw it happen and grabbed the candle to keep it from setting her home on fire and it came apart in her hand. She saved her home but suffered 3rd degree burns to her hand and 3 fingers. Please if you or anyone you know have these candles, don’t light them, they are dangerous. Please pass this along.

And as if those two stories weren’t enough… My husband was home on vacation and had a gel candle lit on the top of the entertainment center. He too saw the candle burst into flames. His first instinct was to blow the candle out. Well, that didn’t work, so he blew harder….the gel from the candle splattered and went everywhere. Everywhere included his face. He had 1st, 2nd and 3rd degree burns all over his face. The gel doesn’t cool like wax does, so the bits that were still on his face continued to burn him. And you can’t wipe the stuff off, it just rolls up and keeps burning. Please don’t use gel candles. Fortunately his scars are not noticeable now, but the “what ifs” are tremendous.

We had a similar experience. I had received as a gift a gel candle from Avon. It was contained in a wine goblet, was sort of purple gel with glitter in the gel. We had it on our dresser in the bedroom. Once when it was burning, the entire solid turned to liquid and the glitter pieces “jumped” randomly out of the wine glass, taking drops of gel with it, getting all over the dresser and window curtain. A weird scene to say the least. Needless to say, I put the flame out and emptied the remaining liquefied gel into the toilet.

The following Monday, the pastor received a call at the church office, which was the phone that he’d used that Saturday night. The man that he spoke with wanted to know why he’d called on Saturday night. The pastor couldn’t figure out what the man was talking about. Then the man said, “It rang and rang, but I didn’t answer.”

The pastor remembered the mishap and apologized for disturbing him, explaining that he’d intended to call his wife.

The man said, “That’s OK. Let me tell you my story.

“You see, I was planning to commit suicide on Saturday night, but before I did, I prayed, ‘God if you’re there, and you don’t want me to do this, give me a sign now.’

“At that point my phone started to ring. I looked at the caller ID, and it said, ‘Almighty God’. I was afraid to answer!”

The reason why it showed on the man’s caller ID that the call came from “Almighty God” is because the church that the pastor attends is called Almighty God Tabernacle!!

If you believe that God answers prayers then pass this on.

God bless,

When I was quite young, my family had one of the first telephones in our neighourhood. I remember well the polished oak case fastened to the wall on the lower stair landing. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I even remembered the number – 105. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked into it. Once she lifted me up to speak to my father, who was away on business. Magic! Then I discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an amazing person – her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing that she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody’s number and when our clock ran down, Information Please immediately supplied the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-receiver came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. Amusing myself at the toolbench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be of much use crying because there was no one home to offer sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. “Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two, and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.” “I hurt my fingerrr-” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. “Isn’t your mother home?” came the question. “Nobody’s at home but me,” I blubbered. “Are you bleeding?”. “No”, I replied. “I hit it with the hammer and it hurts”. “Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it on your finger. That will stop the hurt. Be careful when you use the ice pick,” she admonished. “And don’t cry. You’ll be alright”.

After that, I called Information Please for everything. I asked for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was, and the Orinco–the romantic river I was going to explore when I grew up. She helped me with my Arithmatic, and she told me that a pet chipmunk–I had caught him in the park just that day before–would eat fruits and nuts. And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-up say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why was it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to whole families, only to end as a heap of feathers feet up, on the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern, for she quietly said, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow, I felt better.

Another day I was at the telephone. “Information,” said the now familiar voice. “How do you spell fix?”. F-I-X.” At that instant my sister, who took unholy joy in scaring me, jumped off the stairs at me with a banshee shriek-”Yaaaaaaaaaa!” I fell off the stool, pulling the receiver out of the box by its roots. We were both terrified–Information Please was no longer there, and I was not at all sure that I hadn’t hurt her when I pulled the receiver out. Minutes later, there was a man on the porch. “I’m a telephone repairman. I was working down the street and the operator said there might be some trouble at this number.” He reached for the receiver in my hand. “What happened?” I told him. “Well, we can fix that in a minute or two.” He opened the telephone box exposing a maze of wires and coils, and fiddled for a while with the end of the receiver cord, tightened things with a small screwdriver. He jiggled the hook up and down a few times, then spoke into the phone. “Hi, this is Pete. Everything’s under control at 105. The kid’s sister scared him and he pulled the cord out of the box.” He hung up, smiled, gave me a pat on the head and walked out the door.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then, when I was nine years old, we moved across he country to Boston-and I missed my mentor accutely. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back at home, and I somehow never thought if trying the tall, skinny new phone that sat on the small table in the hall. Yet, as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversation never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had when I know that I could call Information Please and get the right answer. I appreciated now how very patient, understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way back to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour between plan connections, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister who lived there now, happily mellowed by marriage and motherhood. Then, really without thinking what I was doing, I dailed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.” Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice that I know so well:”Information.” I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you tell me, please, how to spell the word ‘fix’?” There was a long pause. Then came the softly spoken answer. “I guess,” said Information Please, “that your finger must have healed by now.” I laughed. “So it’s really still you. I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during all that time….” “I wonder,” she replied, “if you know how much you meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls. Silly, wasn’t it?” It didn’t seem silly, but I didn’t say so. Instead I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister when the semester was over. “Please do. Just ask for Sally.” “Goodbye Sally.” It sounded strange for Information Please to have a name. “If I run into any chipmunks, I’ll tell them to eat fruits and nuts.” “Do that,” she said. “And I expect one of these days you’ll be off for the Orinoco. Well, good-bye.”

Just three months later, I was back again at the Seattle airport. A different voice answered, “Information,” and I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” “Yes,” I said. “An old friend.” “Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally had only been working part-time in the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago.” But before I could hung up, she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Villard?” “Yes.” “Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down.” “What was it?” I asked, almost knowing in advance what it would be. “Here it is, I’ll read it-’Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean’”

I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.

My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was 60. Now she’s 97 years old and we don’t know where the hell she is.

The only reason I would take up exercising is so that I could hear heavy breathing again.

I joined a health club last year, spent about 400 bucks. Haven’t lost a pound. Apparently you have to show up.

I have to exercise early in the morning before my brain figures out what I’m doing.

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.

I have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.

The advantage of exercising every day is that you die healthier.

If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.

And last but not least: I don’t exercise because it makes the ice jump right out of my glass.

You could run this over to your friends but why not just e-mail it to them!