Forward This! » Life

The Littel Guy

DarkBlak — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 23:37:06 +0000

A little guy is sitting at the bar just staring at his drink for half an hour when this big trouble-making biker steps next to him, grabs his drink, gulps it down in one swig and then turns to the guy with a menacing stare as if to say, ‘What’cha gonna do about it?’

The poor little guy starts crying.

‘Come on man I was just giving you a hard time,’ the biker says. ‘I didn’t think you’d CRY.’ ‘I can’t stand to see a man crying.

“This is the worst day of my life,” says the little guy between sobs. “I can’t do anything right.” “I overslept and was late to an important meeting, so my boss fired me.”

When I went to the parking lot, I found my car was stolen and I don’t have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took home. I found my wife in bed with the gardener and my dog bit me.

So I came to this bar trying to work up the courage to put an end to my life, and then you show up and drink the damn poison.

A Country and a woman’s age

DarkBlak — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 23:24:31 +0000

Between the ages of 15-20,a Woman is like Africa – she is half discovered,half wild.

Between the ages of 20-30, a Woman is like America – fully discovered and scientifically perfect.

Between the ages of 30-35, a woman is like Japan & India – very hot, very wise & beautiful.

Between the ages of 35-40, a Woman is like France – she is half destroyed after the war but is still desirable.

Between the ages of 40-50, she is like Germany – she lost the war but not the hope.

Between the ages of 50-60, a Woman is like Russia – very wide, very quiet but nobody goes there.

Between the ages of 60-70, she is like England, with glorious past but no future.

After 70, she becomes Siberia, everyone knows where it is, but no one wants to go there.

The Troubles Tree

DarkBlak — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 20:00:27 +0000

The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job.

A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stoney silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family.

As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. After opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation.

His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward, he walked me to my car. We passed the tree, and my curiosity got the better of me.

I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. “Oh, that’s my trouble tree,” he replied. “I know I can’t help having troubles on the job, but one thing for sure, troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children.

So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning, I pick them up again.” “Funny thing is,” he smiled, “when I come out in the morning to pick them up, there aren’t nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before.”