The Manny.
Ian slipped on a banana peel, and his bottom hit the ground— HARD. None of the children gave even the slightest snicker. All of them carried on with their daily chores. Sasha came tumbling down the stairs- her newly found method of speedier moving than crawling, or walking. This, too, did not seem to faze the other kids. They continued to carry out their tasks~ but as soon as Ian went to open the front door…a grand burst of laughter proceeded out of the McGregor villa. Ian had had enough, and was ready to storm back in when he was greeted by a little birdie. It cooed, and cooed. Ian tried to shoo it away. Then it began to laugh. This was now all too much for Ian. He ran toward the little birdie and took a dive trying to grab a hold of it. The little birdie flapped its wings, and took off into the beautiful indigo cotton candy like evening sky. Ian had landed in a pile of the McGregor’s cow dung. What a day he was having! He took a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves. This had been quite an arduous time for him. Not only had he been instructed to watch over the McGregor hyper bunch, but he had to also make sure that even their livestock- including the indoor and outdoor pets- had to be all taken extra care of. Ian stared at his reflection in the front entrance glass door. In his current state, he looked like some kind of manny who just happened to have finished performing a circus act- either being chased by a pack of cackling hyenas, or swimming in a tank full of great white sharks. This was the end of trying to be a serious manny. Maybe he would just have to work on being hired as a birthday clown for children in other parts of the village, or at least further away from the McGregor estate.
https://youtu.be/lvPvBTSr-mc?si=BzCOi0gA1kmXf0YM
Sunday 01.26.2025 #TheManny.
They Were Actually Dogs
Before anything else... this has to be said.
Miss Caroline Lenore insists that future scholars the future people who read about these incursions after the fact...
That she-- at fourteen years old-- genuinely had no idea how she ended up among Coven meetings for a Cold guerrilla war that had never been meant to break the oh-so frail veil shielding the unnatural, unexplainable to mortal eyes.
Therein was the first lie then, Caroline Lenore would write.
Incursions of witches against werewolves, moving against the scattered cabals of Vampire lands and drafting prophets across Europe in chains, it'd never been against France as a country.
There was no war-- should not be recorded-- as a war of France against Sweden and small, isolated holdings deep in Italy.
Perhaps there'd been an entirely unseen, unknowing third Party of provoking humans, perhaps they'd been the ones a little too close to the Covens, they'd sold plants that turned out to poison their potions and medical salves unknowing that they'd take lives.
Possibly the Wolves had had no choice but to expand their territories what with four cubs being born to a pair.
No one entirely knows how or if the wailing souls-- Ghosts-- even joined the conflict to begin with.
All Caroline Lenore knew is that she tried to focus on the good that came from befriending Yvette Evers. A witch-in-training from Petit Epee Way.
The Pearls of Culture
They claim that American’s have no culture when they’re the ones lacking in culture…
When they come to this country their morals and values are gone. They say it’s because “American women are just giving it away”.
Are they really? Or are the ’Greater Middle Eastern “men”’pretending to be interested to get into a white woman’s pants?
Aren’t they the ones selling the stories? I doubt they’re the ones who approach women by simply and honestly saying, “I just want to fuck” because according to them that’s “distasteful”. But if the women here are whores then why are they so concerned with logistics?
When they go to their country they can’t fuck around because their government and their people would kill them. They don’t do what they want in the mother land because of their culture?
Hypocrisy is when someone cries wolf while wearing sheep’s skin.
My counter arguments always begin and end with the cold and hard facts;
Culture is something that’s engrained into one’s soul; culture is not a jacket you hang up when it’s convenient, culture is something you love and admire, not something you disregard like the shit that comes out of the asshole.
These “greater” men are the worst of cowards, and I’m disgusted that we gift them our love, so they can boast about how much better they are than others.
They respect nothing and no one—they aren’t even worthy of being called pigs. Perhaps this is why they haven’t the stomach to eat the holy swine.
They have no integrity and they have no culture because they disown it when they leave their country.
Then they go back and marry their women—and feed them the leftovers.
And they proudly state that they respect women, but that women in America don’t respect themselves—but lying and cheating to get the prize, doesn’t really make anyone a winner.
Nuclear 9/11
An accidental submarine run in, that's all it took. They happened to be nuclear subs, one American, one Russian. In a split second the world was immersed in nuclear war. The stockpiling began; the naive went for food and toilet paper, those more aware geiger counters or dosometers, and the batteries required to keep the functioning. The devices and batteries stored in every possible location to attempt assurance one would survive if they survived to use them. Most of the immediate deaths happened in the first forty eight hours. Missles were launched at all major cities and nuke stockpiles immediately when war was declared. Most were vaporized before they could clock what was happening, more still died of radiation burns so severe, their flesh was no longer connected to their bones. A small number suffered the slow, agonizing demise of radiation sickness. The length of their suffering diminished but worsened by the lack of medical care. These unlucky souls were caught up in the explosions at stockpile sites because these were the only ones that created substantial fallout.
That was it, the war was over. It ended faster than it started since the countries involved were immediately annihilated after years of stalemate.
What survivors there were sought sanctuary in less affected regions. Rural healthcare infrastructure was easily overwhelmed by survivors in desperate need of care they weren't equipped to provide. The extent of irradiated land is too vast to create monitered exclusion zones, especially since the government and economy are in shambles. Survivors hoard geiger counters to this day and pull them out when trecks to the old cities are undertaken in remembrance of the day forever etched into their minds. Country borders are used as checkpoints crossed only after radiological briefings. Permission is limited to survivors, ever since the decontamination efforts were abandoned. I've heard stories from survivors who have dared to return of the wildlife that thrives in the absence of humans. The former territories of the Russian Federation and the United States of America serve as vast reminders of what happens when countries have nuclear stockpiles.
Conquered By Intercontinental Corn Dogs
DISCLAIMER: Please note that the following work is a piece of (hopefully) humorous, tongue firmly planted in cheek, satire. Shallowgenepool doesn't truly prescribe to the notions portrayed in said satirical work. As a result, Shallow provides the following statement to anyone offended by this work:
Oh, get a sense of humor! I bet you're about as fun as a 5 day old corpse at an orgy, unless you're into that kind of thing, in which case eeew! There is no hope for you, you humorless perv!
I happen to agree with the example, of the French and France when it comes to picking a fight with another country and I think I have more than enough reasons to make my case.
You see, when I was in high school I made the mistake of taking four years of Advanced Placement French. In terms of applying what I learned to everyday life, being able to ask, "Where is the restroom," en Francais has been about as useful as a condom dispenser in a convent. Still, as a curious teen who was fascinated by other cultures, I decided to try to learn something interesting in between conjugating the verb etre, learning the French names for farm animals, and discovering that the Pepe Le Pew cartoons that I loved were actually a pretty good reflection of French society. So, after four long years of being emersed in the French language, culture, and history, I came to one conclusion. The French people, and France basically suck. It is for this reason that I suggest that we the people of the United States declare war on France and I will do my best to make a case for obliterating these snail eating, cheese sniffing, chain-smoking, bathing phobic, surrender babies off the face of the planet.
A lot of people will tell you that the French people are arrogant and rude. My French teacher, who lived and taught in France for many years confirmed this. Per ma prof, Madame Bell (her real name and a really nice lady), the French people consider their culture and language superior to all others, this is ESPECIALLY true with Americans, who they see as the inbred, trailer park cousins of the English. This low view of Americans leads them to treat us with a barely (if at all) concealed distain.
One thing that we share with the French is the idea that everyone should speak our language. However, even if we have to resort to hand gestures and pop culture references we Americans usually and good-naturedly try to muddle our way through when someone is trying to communicate with us in a language other than English. Now, the situation is a lot different when a non-French speaking American goes into a business that's not typically visited by tourists in France. Instead of experiencing a good-natured attempt to be understood the American is likely going to be treated like a French whore with a nasty case of genital warts after she's been identified as the patient zero that infected half of a village in the French countryside. In other words, good luck because Monsieur Pierre in his customer service role will likely look at you like he wants to shove the Eiffel Tower up your bum just to hear you squeal like a pig. Even though a significant number of the French have a decent working knowledge of the English language, the best a non French speaking American can hope for is that Pierre will like take their money (probably overcharging), give them what the came in for with at best indifferent service, and then immediately insult the American the minute they walk out the door.
In their conceit, the French will tell you that they have the best food on the planet. Since our French class rarely had more than eight students and Madame Bell was a gifted cook, she was able to prepare authentic French food for the class once a year at her home with her equally talented and French cuosine versed husband. So, I can attest to the fact that the French know their way around a kitchen. HOWEVER, I would put the food served at a good California taco truck or a small family owned Italian place in Chicago, Detroit, or New York up against anything the best French chef can prepare. So, is their food good? Yes. Is it better than anyone else's? Fuck No! Keep in mind that they eat escargot, or snails (also known as snot in a half-shell or snot to go). So who are they to judge who has the best food? Frankly, I think the chain smoking of the French populace has warped their taste buds to the point that they'd eat the rectal discharge of a plague ridden rat if it was served on a toasted baguette and paired with a wine that complements rodent excrement.
France also receives a lot of undeserved hype in the love department because they have erroneously been bequeathed with the reputation for having some of the most romantic places and being some of the most romantic people on Earth. However, I would argue that romance and all things romantic are subjective and no one place has a monopoly on locations or people that make a person get tingly below their navel equator.
Of course, France is known for romantic spots such as the Eiffel Tower and the Champs Elysees. I don't get it. Frankly (no pun intended), the Eiffel Tower looks like it was built by a toddler using Tinker Toys who has a bright future ahead of him designing butt plugs for those of discerning and/or disconcerting taste (if you were born after 1990 feel free to Google Tinker Toys). As to romantic locations, I would assert that we Americans are exceptionally good at finding romantic locals and are great improvisors in taking a venue that isn't romantic and turning it into a rendezvous point that'll tighten the front of his Levi's and moisten her nickers just as easy as a moonlit stroll on the Champs Elysees in less than thirty seconds. For example, how much woo has been pitched in the backseat of a Camaro, or in the upstairs bathroom at a senior year kegger party? We Americans have plenty of places that are romantic, and if just such a place like a moonlit night on the beach isn't available, we can use our imaginations and the picture of the sailboat above the toilet to put us there while we deflower each other in that small space between the door and the towel holder.
Probably the biggest exaggeration about the French is that they are filled with romantic people. Sorry, according to Madame Bell, French men:
1. Tend to be, "Handsy" and could write the book on how to sexually harass and be totally inappropriate with a complete stranger. If they did write this book, I'm guessing a certain politician(s) could write the introduction with the caption, "Ignore It If They Refuse. They Really Want You To Grab Them By The Mommy Parts."
2. Stink. Between the chain smoking and an indifferent relationship with the shower, French men are definitely oozing something and it isn't sex appeal.
In short, the French people are about as successful romantically as Pepe Le Pew and for the same reasons. They're pushy and their barely passing acquaintance with frequent bathing make them a bit too odorous to be true Don Juans.
As to romantic people, we're Americans, and all you have to do is put a few beers or a couple of strawberry daiquiris in us and we gain both romantic confidence and a less than picky idea of who is worthy of fucking from bar close to the hazy hungover fallout of trying to remember your one night stand's name while searching for your underwear. As to locale, I would assert that we're just not picky. If a picturesque place to make love isn't available, we're just as happy going down on each other on a sleeping bag inside a park gazebo.
Now, if my argument hasn't convinced you to declare war on France yet, let me offer one last argument. The war would be virtually bloodless. Why? It's simply a matter of taking advantage of France's seemingly uncontrollable and immediate compulsion to surrender to anything German. Don't believe me? Keep in mind that they surrendered with barely a sneeze to the Germans TWICE in less than forty years. Fuck, when the rest of the world entered the World Wars, even the French Canadians felt the pull of France's compulsion to raise a white flag and called in sick.
Keeping these historical precedents in mind, conquering France could be accomplished simply by opening a few Wienerschnitzels in strategic places around the country such as near the home of France's president, Elysee Palace, the Luxemburg Palace, home of the French senate, and their military headquarters located at Hexagon Balard in Paris. How would this be successful you may ask? Simple. It's because just the sight of anything German in their country makes the French font du pee-pee in their pantalons and give up. My guess is that France's president would be on the phone to the United Nations in less than a week after seeing the newly opened Wienerschnitzel's first, "Two for Three Euro's Chili Dog Special" trying to set up a day and time to hand over the keys to the nation and formally surrender to the nation that deployed the intercontinental corn dogs on their soil.
Of course, since we haven't had a solid win in the war department since the second world war, the US of A would happily take this one. In conclusion, it is my considered, opinion that we should declare war on France. We would actually be doing them a favor by introducing them to such modern wonders as daily showering, the surgeon general's warning about smoking, and that when a woman says, "No" she means "No," Francois. In addition, we would beat a nation with more evil intentions from taking over France because if history has taught us anything, it's that France is always a nation ripe for the taking. Just imagine if North Korea or Iran were to open a few Volkswagen dealerships around France. The French people would find themselves under the control of an Axis of Evil nation and as annoying as they are, no one deserves that.
Border
It was a sunny day, but I suddenly saw smoke across the line. It was normal for the Tribes to camp and make fire, yet It was my duty to see through the telescope and report each and every change across the land. I went to the observation room and switched on our new improved telescope and camera in the direction of the smoke. This was the latest developed by our own engineers and the neighbors had no idea about it. It can show them to us perfectly even if they are camouflage. It can also show the difference in body temperature of the people hiding and their surroundings. I saw through the lense and was shocked of what was before me, it was no Tribes it was a group tanks. The troop may not know that I have seen them, yet they are dangerous. I took a copy of the image by our high quality camera and rushed to my seniors. My seniors was busy training some new cadets so they asked me to wait, but I showed them the emergency symbol and they announced a break. "Let it be important, or you might be punished if it were any animal stepping on the wire like last time", one of them told me. "Yes sir", saying it with a salute I handed over the images to them. They saw it and told,"it's clear China is declaring a war on Russia and they are having tanks", the person looked at me and asked,"how long it will take for them to know that they are being watched". "Approximately 4 hours sir", I replied. "Prepare the tanks available here and inform to bring the nearest within 2-3hrs. Also prepare long distant missiles and all the other weapons, China has no clue about", he ordered.
Quest For The Enchanted Club
Enchanted swords? Surely you jest.
Of enchanted weapons, clubs are best.
It won't suck out your opponent's soul,
Nor in their chest leave a giant hole -
But when its magic starts to crackle
It's even more useful than spackle
For should its sorcery cease to work,
You can still head-crack the opposing jerk.
Why So Tight Lipped?
911,What's your emergency?
It'S Mark Tucker.She made me laugh again.
Are you serious?
How bad is it this time?
It was deadpan.
One joke after another.
It really hurts.
I tried not to SMILE.
But she was relentless.
She had you in stitches eh?
That's not funny.
ok,I'LL send help right away.
Ow,that hurts.She's gonna PAY for this.
Were almost done here Mr Tucker.
There how does that feel?
Just Joking.
Ok,now were gonna run a few tests.
Knock knock?
I'm sorry,i couldn't help myself.
Mr Tucker.Here's an hour of deadpan jokes.
I'LL be in the next room.
If you feel any discomfort wave to me.
An hour passes by.
Everything looks good Mr Tucker.
We'll have you hooked back up to the iv in no time.
Meals on wheels,get it!
I guess in your case Mr Tucker laughters not the best medicine.
Although one time i had a patient with severe constipation.
I gave him an audio of dark comedy.
He laughed so hard he shit himself.
It gives a new meaning to comedy relief.
Before you go Mr Tucker,please sign here.
This is for the cost FOR ambulance,emergency room visit,and THE STITCHES...
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