Scary stories are best when told by a true believer.On a cold, dark night, the women and children clustered cozily around the fireplace at Aunt Ader’s old house while the men were out hunting.By the firelight, mothers in straight back wooden chairs bumped rhythmically back and forth to lull their little ones off to sleep, as their older kids stretched out pallets in the front room enticed by oft-repeated family tales, some funny, some sad, some terrifying.
I recall this sad story as deliciously heartbreaking, though I never knew any of these distant relatives of relatives.My Great-Aunt Jo told of her pregnant Cousin Lou on her daddy’s side from way over in Alabama.Back before Aunt Jo was born, Cousin Lou left her baby Jessie Mae on a pallet under the shade of an oak while picking beans with her family nearby.Lou looked back often to check her sleeping baby.It was resting so well, she picked on a bit longer, hoping to get enough beans to can a few jars. Little Jessie never made a peep. When Lou’s basket was filled, she came back to retrieve the baby and was horrified to find the shade had shifted and the baby burned beet-red in the sun.Lou and her mother, Ruth, rushed to sponge the baby with cool spring water. For three days, Little Jessie lingered between life and death, before dying.The family had to restrain poor grief-stricken Lou from pulling the baby from the coffin at the burial.She gave birth to a seven-month baby a few days later that only lived a few hours. Though she went home to live with her husband, all she did was pine for her lost babies.She became catatonic, unable to eat, dress herself, or leave the chair where she rocked her dead child’s rag doll.
A few months after her grieving young husband took her home to her mama, Ruth, it became obvious she was pregnant again.It was hoped the new baby would bring her back to life though she never responded to the new baby Sally, just kept rocking Baby Jessie’s doll. Ruth was left to raise little Sally and manage her sick daughter.On good days, Lou was like a docile child, sitting quietly or doing simple tasks.On rough days, she cried and rocked her rag doll.On her worst days, she wailed and tried find her baby or throw herself in the well.When she finally roused enough to try to hang herself, Ruth had to put her in the asylum where poor, deranged Lou managed to hang herself after a couple of months. Because she’d killed herself, she was hastily buried at the asylum and couldn’t have a Christian burial with her lost babies.Afterwards, people swore they could hear Lou crying, trying to get to her babies’ graves in the church cemetery dark, moonless nights.I still get tingles thinking of it.
Who would have ever thought chicken wings would need their own day? When I was a kid, chicken wings would have only come before back and neck on the request list. Mother broke the leg-shaped portion off and gave it to babies long before they learned about drumsticks. Of course, she wrestled off the gristly end so they wouldn’t choke. It served as a kind of greasy pacifier to be pried out of their grubby list fist after they went to sleep. Who’d have thought chicken would be a sought after specialty treat?
I live life simply: a cotton-dress with pockets is a must. My days are spent puttering around the yard with my dogs with my red wagon and shovel at the ready. I have no patience with shopping, society, or Facebook. It matters not about your house, income, or status. I enjoy time with a few good friends and family.
An american, a russian, and an italian. The guards come for the american, bind his hands and drag him off. The other 2 hear his screams for sn hour, then nothing. In another hour the guards drag him back in, cut his bonds and dump him on a bunk. “All my training was for nothing, i told them everything.”
They take the russian bind his ha ds and drag him out. And for 4 hours the others hear screaming, then nothing. In Another hour, the guards drag the russian back in, cut him loose crying. I yhought after a life in rusdia i had suffered the worst but it was nothing compared to what they did. I told them everything.
The guards then took the italian, bound him, and dragged him out. All day, and all night the others listen to his screams. After what seemed like forever the guards dragged the italian back in, cut him loose and dump him.
The russian says”you must be the toughest man on earth!”
The american says “how did you not break?”
The italian says, “i wanted to, i tried to tell them everything. But they wouldn’t untie my hands!!!
Wish I Was Rich
A genie came to me and asked, “What’s your first wish?” I answered, “I wish I was rich!” Then the genie said, “What’s your second wish, Rich?”
Grandma Jones…
Grandma Jones from the valley had never experienced a sick day in her life, so she didn’t take it kindly when a bad case of the mulligrubs sent her to the hospital for observation.
By the time a pair of husky interns got Grandma tucked into bed, she had managed to complain about everything: the temperature, the lights, the skimpy gown, the food and the mattress – especially, the mattress.
Suddenly, Grandma spotted a small plastic item with a button, attached to a cord.
“What’s that?” she demanded with great suspicion, suspecting it might be one of those high tech items the city folks talked about.
“If you need anything in the middle of the night, Grandma,” said one of the interns, “just press that button.”
“What does it do, ring a bell?” she asked.
“No, it turns on a light in the hall for the nurse on duty,” the intern replied.
“A light in the hall?” responded Grandma. “Look, I’m the sick one around here. If the night nurse needs a light on in the hall, she can get up and switch it on herself.”
Church Cake!
Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this — especially all the ladies who bake for church events Alice was to bake a cake for the church ladies’ group bake sale, but she forgot to do it until the last minute.
She baked an angel food cake and when she took it from the oven, the center had dropped flat.
She said, “Oh dear, there’s no time to bake another cake.”
So, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake.
Alice found it in the bathroom … a roll of toilet paper.
She plunked it in and covered it with icing.
The finished product looked beautiful, so she rushed it to the church. Before she left the house, Alice had given her daughter some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the minute it opened, and to buy that cake and bring it home.
When the daughter arrived at the sale, the attractive cake had already been sold.
Alice was beside herself.
The next day, Alice was invited to a friend’s home where two tables of bridge were to be played that afternoon.
After the game, a fancy lunch was served, and to top it off, the cake in question was presented for dessert.
Alice saw the cake, she started to get out of her chair to rush into the kitchen to tell her hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, one of the other ladies said, “What a beautiful cake!”
Alice sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess (who was a prominent church member) say,
Uncle Dunc and Aunt Lucille had a houseful of kids.Sometimes we were lucky enough that Bert, the eldest would drop in our games, raising our rough play to fever pitch.Naturally, he tired of us soon, leaving us deflated when he went about the business.I was always leery of the two big girls, since they seemed smart-aleck.Ava, the oldest, was pretty with a bouncy, blonde ponytail.Though I overheard Mother whispering she was trashy for mowing in her swimsuit out by the road, I thought it made perfect sense and worked well for her since she married a guy with a greasy ducktail and had a baby before her seventeenth birthday.I kept a watch on both girls to see if they sprouted leg hair like Aunt Lucille.
I believe Ava saw herself like this.
Prudy, the next girl was skinny with a lot of pimples and wore those pointy bras common to the late fifties and early sixties.Her swimsuit kind of wrinkled over her skinny behind so she didn’t mow out by the street.In fact, she worked as a carhop down at the drive-in for a while after dropping out of high school before hooking Toxie, who worked at the filling station and always smelled like oil.Red rags always hung out of his back pocket.I never had any contact with Toxie except when he yelled at me from under the hood of an old car suspended from a tree branch in Uncle Dunc’s front yard when I hit a ball into it.I never really liked him much after that.
Carolyn was just a couple of years ahead of me, but must have been easier to control than her big sisters.Her long hair, parted down the middle was braided so tightly it pulled her eyes back and hung in tight, thin braids almost to her waist.The other girls must have rebelled against their mother in their dress and behavior, but at ten or so, mousy little Carolyn suffered under Aunt Lucille’s bossiness, since she only wore dresses and had to attend fundamentalist church services along with her mother and younger twin brothers.They were wild little boys a couple of years younger than I, still peed their pants a good bit, and didn’t seem worried by Aunt Lucille at all.Carolyn said she wouldn’t be allowed to have boyfriends, drop out of school, or cut her hair till she was sixteen.I was only six or seven at the time, but that seemed very unfair to me.
I made a point to stay out of Aunt Lucille’s way since she yelled at kids a lot and was fond of using a switch on Carolyn and the little boys when she could catch them.I certainly never asked to spend the night like I did at Cousin Sue’s and Cousin Cathy’s house.We only visited Uncle Dunc for a year or so, until he moved off Aunt Ader’s Place, which incidentally was very near Daddy’s favorite brother.I heard later he gave up drinking after a car-wreck left him paralyzed and he had no one to depend on but Aunt Lucille.
Aunt Lucille adapted well to Uncle Dunc’s disability. Before long she was hauling him regularly to gospel meetings along with beleaguered Carolyn and the recalcitrant twins. I heard he even got sanctified and was no longer Dunc the Drunk.
I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife that I had a drinking problem, and to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else. I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.
I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.
I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank.
I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.
I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.
When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.
I’m not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I’m not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don’t know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.
…. spending so much of his free time in the local bar, so one night he took her along with him. “What’ll you have?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. The same as you I suppose,” she replied. So, the husband ordered a couple of Jack Daniel’s and threw his down in one shot.
His wife watched him, then took a sip from her glass and immediately spit it out. “Yuck, that’s TERRIBLE!” she spluttered. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff!”
“Well, there you go,” cried the husband. “And you think I’m out enjoying myself every night!”
The man downed it with one swallow, put a five dollar bill on the bar, and turned and rushed out of the bar.
The bartender picked up the five dollar bill, and folded it carefully and tucked it in his vest pocket.
Just at that moment he looked up at the boss standing in the doorway staring at him.
Doing a bit of fast thinking he said, “Hi boss, did you see that fellow just now? Came in here, bought a double martini, gave me a five dollar tip, and rushed out without paying.”
So, the bartender does just that, and hands the man the bill. The drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender slaps the guy around a few times then throws him out into the street.
The very next day, the same drunk walks into the bar and once again says, “Bartender, buy everyone in the house a drink, pour yourself one, and give me the bill.” The bartender figures that he can’t possibly be stupid enough to pull the same trick twice, so he gives him the benefit of the doubt. He pours a round of drinks for the house, has a drink himself, and hands the drunk the bill.
Again, the drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender can’t believe it. He picks the guy up, beats the living daylights out of him, and then throws him out into the street.
The next day, the same drunk walks back into the same bar and says, “Bartender, buy every one in the house a drink and give me the bill.”
In disgust, the bartender says, “What, no drink for me this time?” The drunk replies, “Nope! You get too violent when you drink.”
Myth #1: The Guinness served in Ireland is different to the rest of the world
Actually, the Guinness served in Ireland is most likely the same as that served in Boston or Berlin. However, many people will attest that Guinness simply tastes better in Ireland, which is why the myth spread. There’s a certain amount of sentimentality in this myth, but when you dig into it, most of the reasoning is pretty circumstantial.
There are a few reasons why it may taste better in Ireland – most likely freshness and rapid keg turnover (a pub in Dublin will serve the freshest Guinness in the world) – but the actual product is not any different to the black stuff served around the world. Also, a Guinness drinker in Ireland is guaranteed to have their drink poured correctly in Ireland than in some parts of the world, which will have an impact on the quality of the experience.
Myth #2: Lite beers will help you lose weight
On average, a lite beer will have 90-100 calories, while a regular beer might have under 200. In the grand scheme of things, lite beers will contribute very little to your dietary goals, and considering their typical lack of taste, you’d be better off drinking one or two regular beers.
Myth #3: Dark beers are stronger in alcohol
The color of beer has no relation to its alcohol content. For example, Guinness, one of the most popular dark beers has an alcohol volume of 4.2%, while several light-colored Belgian beers have alcohol content of 8%+.
Myth #4: Corona beer contains urine
This was a nasty rumor claiming that Mexican brewery workers were relieving themselves into the beer. Allegedly, the rumor was spread by a Heineken distributor and was only refuted following a lawsuit by Corona.
Myth #5: Imported beers are stronger than American beers
Traditionally, American beers measure their alcohol content by weight, while many other countries (across Europe and in Canada) measure by volume. The alcohol by weight figure will always appear lower than the alcohol by volume – for example, 4% ABW = 5% ABV, hence the myth creation.
Myth #6: Beer should be served ice-cold for best flavor
This is an unfortunate myth perpetuated by the major commercial breweries – especially for their lite beers. The fact is, flavor typically diminishes when beer is served ice-cold. It may make for a thirst-quenching, refreshing beverage, but often bears little resemblance to traditional beer. Several beers are, in fact, best served much closer to room temperature or slightly cool and are considered undrinkable when icy cold – such as Guinness and many of the traditional English ales.
Myth #7: The best beers have green bottles
Another myth that circulated imported beers. Brown glass is the best color to protect beer from light, which is why most beers are bottled with it. A shortage of brown glass in Europe during the last century led to many breweries using green glass to bottle their beer – therefore, green bottles represented imported beer for many years and people incorrectly assumed the color indicated a better beer.
Myth #8: “Beer before liquor, never sicker – liquor before beer, in the clear”
This is common drinking advice shared but not scientifically true. In reality, alcohol is alcohol, and the overall quantity you imbibe will determine your resulting (in)sobriety or hangover. Drinking beer before drinking hard liquor may prolong the onset of inebriation. However, it won’t ultimately matter whether you drink beer first or last; it’s the quantity of alcohol that does the damage.
Myth #9: You can’t get a hangover from drinking organic beer
If only being eco-friendly was this rewarding! This myth is based on the idea that organic beer is cleaner or purer than other beer, but there’s no existing proof that it manages to avoid giving hangovers when consumed in sufficient quantities.
Myth #10: Beer will raise your cholesterol levels
Beer actually contains no fat and no cholesterol! Perhaps this is one reason that Guinness was originally advertised as good for your health.
Myth #11: A good beer must be high in alcohol
Many people unfairly associate low alcohol with low flavor. There are plenty of poor quality beers that are high in alcohol content, and the opposite is also true. Some of the famous Belgian and German beers have traditionally high average alcohol content – perhaps 8% or 10%. However, the alcohol content is only one feature and doesn’t necessarily account for the good taste. In England, many of the best mild ales have alcohol content of 4% or less – resulting from a higher tax on stronger beer. Of course, the advantage is finding good-tasting, lower alcohol beers is that you can drink more of it!
Myth #12: Beer kills brain cells
Possibly the most damning of all beer myths, and we’re happy to explode this for you. An Australian study has determined that beer is not responsible for killing brain cells as was once thought
Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England (and the English know their beer!)
A handful of 7 year old children were asked, ‘what they thought of beer.’ Some interesting responses, but the last one is especially touching.
Tim- ‘I think beer must be good. My dad says the more beer he drinks the prettier my mom gets.’
Melanie – ‘Beer makes my dad sleepy and we get to watch what we want On television when he is asleep, so beer is nice.
Grady – ‘My Mom and Dad both like beer. My Mom gets funny when she drinks it and takes her top off at parties, but Dad doesn’t think this is very funny.’
Toby – ‘My Mom and Dad talk funny when they drink beer and The more they drink the more they give kisses to each other, which is a good thing.’
Sarah – ‘My Dad gets funny on beer. He is funny. He also wets his pants sometimes, so he shouldn’t have too much.
Lilly – ‘My Dad loves beer. The more he drinks, the better he dances. One time he danced right into the pool.’
Ethan – ‘I don’t like beer very much. Every time Dad drinks it, he burns the sausages on the barbecue and they taste disgusting.’
Shirley – ‘I give Dad’s beer to the dog and he goes to sleep.’
I saw a disturbing site yesterday that still preys on my mind. In Opelousas, Louisiana we saw a man holding a panhandling sign in the pouring rain. I held no animosity toward him, since he likely suffers from addiction or mental health issues. I was disturbed that he held a drenched dog on a leash at his side. He hadn’t provided the dog a box or blanket for shelter. A few yards away next to a highway marker, a woman restrained three other drenched dogs, none covered or sheltered.
A large live oak that would have well-sheltered them all stood a couple of hundred yards away. A large shopping center with multiple covered areas stood directly across the busy highway. I was bothered for the poor people standing in the rain but can’t get those dogs out of my mind. The people were restrained by their minds but the dogs by people with leashes.
If you could bring back one dinosaur, which one would it be?
Now that’s a question that bears on my mind constantly. I suppose I would have to bring back The Great Fruit Salad Dinosaur. Perhaps it would have survived the meteor and evolved into a shy, nocturnal, bowl-sized beast we could have domesticated. The little guy grazed on dandelions and crab grass, clearing weeds and snails from flowerbeds leaving behind citrus- scented excrement high in nitrogen, the size of sand grains, and beneficial to the landscape.
Since it was shy and nocturnal we wouldn’t develop affection for it. At the end of its one month lifecycle, it lays tiny eggs in flowerbeds that morph into small, brilliant flowers. The petals drop and mature in days. The little beasts synchronize their reproductive cycles so there are always plenty of blossoms, landscapers, and mature beasts. At their end of life, they turn golden brown and crawl up on the patio where they can be easily harvested and washed, before collapsing into delicious cubes tasting of strawberries, grapes, melon, peaches, and banana.
Scary stories are best when told by a true believer. On a cold, dark night, the women and children clustered cozily around the fireplace at Aunt Ader’s old house while the men were out hunting. By the firelight, mothers in straight back wooden chairs bumped rhythmically back and forth to lull their little ones off to sleep, as their older kids stretched out pallets in the front room enticed by oft-repeated family tales, some funny, some sad, some terrifying.
I believe Ava saw herself like this.
Nutsrok 