On Wed, 13 Dec 2006 14:18:19 -0800, jo4hn wrote:

J T wrote:
Mon, Dec 11, 2006, 9:04pm (Tom Watson) doth
lament:
Bindlestiff: snip of a sad tale
[more snippage]


Jehovah's Witnesses. LOL I politely told them to get lost. It's
always fun, when you're in the right mood, with nothing better to do, to
bring out a chair, and sit and listen to them. NOT invite them in, not
bring out chairs for them, just sit and listen to them. For some reason
they never visit me anymore. LMAO



JOAT
I am, therefore I think.


Once upon a time, I owned a Fiat. One of Italy's finest [fill in the
blank]. One cold, misty, and altogether miserable day, I was under the
car trying to fix something or other. The wrench slipped off the bolt
and I crunched a knuckle or two on some unforgiving piece of steel. Now
I am rubbing dirt and grease into my wounds to staunch the bleeding
while my mouth is expressing my dismay in some of my finest, most
obscene curses of the car, the day and my bad luck. Some motion caught
my eye and I turned to the side to see two pairs of nicely shined shoes
and the bottoms of well pressed trousers. I rolled out from under the
car to snarl at two JWs with eyes like saucers and mouths agape. One
finally found his voice long enough to apologize for their bad timing.
I said something like "no ****, Little Beaver" and they hurried off.
Made the day a little better.

I believe I've told the story of Mustafa here before, but people seem to
like it so I'll repeat it.

At one time I was an active target shooter. A friend and I had planned a
day at the range. As soon as we got set up, it started to rain. Hard.
One of those rains where the targets turned to mush and you couldn't see
them from the line anyway. So we decided to hang it up and went home.
On the way to the parking area I slipped in the mud. At the time I had
hair down to my ass, beard, etc, most of it not very well maintained.

We got to my place, he went in first, I went after, bringing both our
armamentariums for the purpose of cleaning them. I closed the door, took
three steps, and there came the dreaded knock. I turned, and opened the
door, mud from head to toe, bearded, long haired, unkempt, not in a
particularly good mood, and festooned with a small arsenal. It was the
Witnesses. For some reason the Muse was upon me that day and I turned and
yelled in a mock Middle Eastern accent toward the back of the apartment
"Hey, Mus-ta-FA, want to discuss religion with the infidel?" I turned
around. There was a shoe.

Didn't see another JW again until I had moved to another state halfway
across the country.

--
--John
to email, dial "usenet" and validate
(was jclarke at eye bee em dot net)