"Something just ain't right about that Boy"

What's up Santa....

Well it's that time of year again, and I'm writing to tell you that I was a good boy this year.....
NO, REALLY!. I paid my taxes, gave to charity, helped a couple of friends out in a pinch and even finally learn to quit messing with the helicopter pilots while still in the air.
I quit gambling, don't smoke any more and cut way back on the drinking........well kinda........Ok, two out of three ain't bad.

I even did a few good deeds this year..... I took in a stray black kitten that was surely destined to be some alligator's lunch, and gave her a good home. And then there was that little old lady I helped cross the street one day...(The Judge dropped the assault and purse snatching charges after I explained I was just trying to get her to the other side of the street).
How the hell was I to know she was just standing there waiting for the bus?

And I did the "Green Thing" this year too. I put two solar panels on my roof to do my part so the north pole wouldn't melt because I didn't want you, Mrs. C. and all the little elves to fall into the deep, dark, cold water and die of Hypothermia.
To bad I had to cut down all the trees to get enough sun it to make them work.
I even quit dropping firecrackers off the balcony to terrorize the raccoons that like to have their little orgies on my patio at 3am on the morning.

So, as you can clearly see Santa, I have finally turned over a gigantic new leaf, so to speak.
Which brings me to the point of this letter....and don't worry....I'm not asking for that friggin pony again this year. After forty years, I GET THE MESSAGE!
But I've done ok for myself and I can buy any damn pony I want now!

So, what I would like to ask for this year is a playmate for my kitten.........a bunny.
To be specific......a Playboy Bunny.
Now, I'm not going to be picky, <Santa inserts Bunny of the month > or any month will do.
I think they're all blondes anyway.

I promise to pet her, feed her, give her a bath everyday, and keep her nice and warm at night.
I'll play with her a lot, take her for rides in the car and buy her some tight sweaters so as not to catch cold and get sick.

I know I haven't been so good at times in the past, but you owe me big time Santa for waiting all those years for that Danm Pony!

Have a Good Trip!

Your Boy,
P2


P. S.
Santa, if you decide to make a pit stop again this year when you come by P2's pad,
PLEASE FLUSH! Gees!
What's Mrs. C. feeding you up there anyway?

By Wally G.

Everyday people get the shit kicked out of them by second-rate implements. Be it discount baseball bats, flimsy aluminum pipes, or after market no-waffle head hammers, nearly everyone has at one time or another gone through the de-humanizing experience of being severely pummeled with a lesser quality product.
Well, I’m proud to say the crowbar that landed me in the hospital three weeks ago retailed for 29.95, and is sold only in the better hardware store nationwide.
Let me tell you, this is the kind of crowbar you’d tell everyone about if your lower jaw hadn’t been smashed and wired shut.

Sure, it hurt my ego when the Titan SureGrip model 43 crowbar was first driven unexpectedly into the back of my head. And yes, I did cry about it for a couple of hours afterwards, but that night, I was hit by something even harder than that 20 inch, curved piece of high-carbon steel: the realization that there’s no shame in being beat down by the best crowbar money can buy!

While I originally harbored some resentment toward my assailant for knocking out 12 of my teeth, all it took was one look at that blazing orange and white Titan logo arching toward my face to realize I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Even while chocking on my vital fluids and drifting in and out of consciousness, it was hard to ignore Titans superior quality and craftsmanship with each two-handed, overhead blow to my ribcage. Pleading desperately for mercy, I was immediately struck by the crowbars sturdy hexagonal cross-section structure, which prevented any bending of the shaft. Most of all, I was impressed by how its cushioned Sure-grip handle allowed my assailant to confidently pummel away at my helpless facedown frame without fear that it would slip loose.
No way! Not the SureGrip 43!

The way I look at it, if you’re going to lose three pints of blood, you might as well lose it to the crowbar most trusted by demolition professionals the world over. After all, how many people can really say they were bludgeoned within an inch of their lives by the only crowbar to receive a perfect Five-Star rating in Hard Hat News Magazine?

Everybody says it must have been some psychopath that beat me and left me a bloody mess. And while at first that seems to make sense. But ask yourself this: Would your run of the mill psychopath purchase the highest quality crowbar on the market today?
I think not!

At the end of the day, after countless radiology exams and CAT scans, that’s what separates me from the other wimps in my ward. And while it’s possible that many of us will forget our names or what year it is again, I alone will always remember the superior brand name responsible for the debilitating trauma to my frontal lobe.

Sure I may never be able to walk unassisted, but after months of physical therapy, I will hold my head high. Thing could have been worse, I might have had to live out my life with the humiliation of nearly checking out of this world at the hands of an imported inferior quality mass produced, stamped cast steel crowbar!