^^^ I knew my title wouldn't last....
Any chick that I've encountered in my lifetime that uses the word nut in that way, is a total slut freak skank.
Wait a damn minute WHAT !? We're in April? April? So where in the hell pray tell me did March go?
Forget it............ Mmmmmmmm Oooooooxyyyyyyyy's
Goddamnright, I mean god damn right, they're out there, even if ya gotta pay'm to say it, they're still out there bless their souls.
Goddamnright, I mean god damn right, they're out there, even if ya gotta pay'm to say it, they're still out there bless their souls.
I ain't never kicked one out of bed for it...
And for those that have always pondered to themselves, "I wonder what side Smokey dresses on". Well, ponder and you shall receive.
If "what side Smokey dresses on" is what you thought or have ever thought when you saw that pic then we need to have a talk.
And god bless every one of them for it. There's nothing like thinking you might have gone a step too far in the sack and she gives you "that look" and you realize that the shit just got real and you ain't seen nothing yet.
Always glad to see a new page! Oh boy.
Exactly, and hell why would we? When I contributed to some developing countries GDP via their entertainment industry I liked to think that some of the words I'd tell the budding starlets to say was in some honorablw way teaching conversational english fot use in their future. Well, as long as we weren't playing "Snuff Porn Director". That one never ends with the thought there's gonna be a sequel.
Had something to do with the caption I seen with this when I found it. Now stop staring at Smokey's junk.
On another note, IMHO that is a perfect specimen of a young lady. Damn fine design.........
Kid must be packing 10"...
Sent from my HTC6535LVW using Tapatalk
Sent from my HTC6535LVW using Tapatalk
I gingerly climbed on top of the plastic contraption now ringing my porcelain throne. It soon became apparent that I couldn't keep my britches at my ankles as I normally did. No, they had to go entirely, along with my underthings. And if there is anything more ridiculous on this planet than the sight of a human man wearing a t-shirt and nothing else, I have yet to experience it. So in the interest of saving myself this unfortunate view, I doffed the shirt as well. Now entirely naked, I again attempted to step onto the device. I was unsure, but it seemed to hold. I settled down to the seat, with only the extremities of my posterior touching. My knees were up at my chest. This, plus my complete nakedness, felt very primal. It felt third-world and adventurous. It felt... RIGHT. I concentrated on the task at hand. I had felt a slight urge to go, and had been eager to try out the new purchase. I had been intrigued by the promise that my business would henceforth require substantially less effort on my part, because of the wild beast–man position it forced upon me. But I was still skeptical. It sounded too good to be true. Surely the difference couldn't be that dras— HOLY HELL I'M POOPING.
Well, let me clarify. It wasn’t so much that I was dropping a deuce. Oh, it was being dropped; that much was undeniable. But I couldn't really claim agency on said descent. Gravity was doing the work. I was merely the meaty husk from which it made its hasty escape. Used to more of a segmented approach to waste disposal, I was quite surprised that the creature making its egress from my nethers had more the appearance of a python. Smooth, and consistent in width, it coiled luxuriously in a pool of toilet water that is (or at least was) cleaner than the water that most of the people on this planet drink. As it continued to coil, my emotional state flowed from one of surprise, to horror, to amazement, and then again to horror as the snake coiled higher and higher, like soft serve ice cream at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. It was now surfacing above the water line. But still, the snake showed no signs that it was anywhere near finished with its journey. In a panic, I pawed at the flusher. The poor toilet strained, but eventually sent things on their way. But I wasn’t done yet. As the toilet flushed the waste away, more came to replace it. As the flush subsided, the coil started anew. And then I was done. I tried to catch my breath as the toilet flushed a second time. I felt my liver shift and expand, unsure what to do with all the extra space now afforded to it. I cleaned up and stood, almost dizzy after the affair. “Wow. A+++”, I thought to myself. “Would poop again.”
“Very well,” my bowels seemed to answer, “let’s have another go!”
“Surely you’re joking”, I thought, scrambling to once again work myself into proper Tarzanic stance. There couldn’t possibly be anything left inside of me. I genuinely began to worry that what would come out next might be some vital organ, brought to a freedom-seeking frenzy by all the commotion. But no, it was yet another perfectly formed tube of human excrement. I sat, mouth agape, as number two (round two) breached the water line and came to a graceful finish, leaving an improbable conical shape below me. As I flushed the toilet for the third time in what had astoundingly only been about 70 seconds I wondered if life would ever be the same again.
Well, let me clarify. It wasn’t so much that I was dropping a deuce. Oh, it was being dropped; that much was undeniable. But I couldn't really claim agency on said descent. Gravity was doing the work. I was merely the meaty husk from which it made its hasty escape. Used to more of a segmented approach to waste disposal, I was quite surprised that the creature making its egress from my nethers had more the appearance of a python. Smooth, and consistent in width, it coiled luxuriously in a pool of toilet water that is (or at least was) cleaner than the water that most of the people on this planet drink. As it continued to coil, my emotional state flowed from one of surprise, to horror, to amazement, and then again to horror as the snake coiled higher and higher, like soft serve ice cream at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. It was now surfacing above the water line. But still, the snake showed no signs that it was anywhere near finished with its journey. In a panic, I pawed at the flusher. The poor toilet strained, but eventually sent things on their way. But I wasn’t done yet. As the toilet flushed the waste away, more came to replace it. As the flush subsided, the coil started anew. And then I was done. I tried to catch my breath as the toilet flushed a second time. I felt my liver shift and expand, unsure what to do with all the extra space now afforded to it. I cleaned up and stood, almost dizzy after the affair. “Wow. A+++”, I thought to myself. “Would poop again.”
“Very well,” my bowels seemed to answer, “let’s have another go!”
“Surely you’re joking”, I thought, scrambling to once again work myself into proper Tarzanic stance. There couldn’t possibly be anything left inside of me. I genuinely began to worry that what would come out next might be some vital organ, brought to a freedom-seeking frenzy by all the commotion. But no, it was yet another perfectly formed tube of human excrement. I sat, mouth agape, as number two (round two) breached the water line and came to a graceful finish, leaving an improbable conical shape below me. As I flushed the toilet for the third time in what had astoundingly only been about 70 seconds I wondered if life would ever be the same again.
Doug Smith is on his deathbed and knows the end is near. His nurse, his wife, his daughter and 2 sons, are with him.
He asks for 2 witnesses to be present and a camcorder be in
place to record his last wishes, and when all is ready he
begins to speak:
"My son, Bernie, I want you
to take the Mayfair houses.
"My daughter Sybil, you
take the apartments over in the east end."
"My son, Jamie, I want you
to take the offices over in the City Centre.
"Sarah, my dear wife,
please take all the residential buildings on the banks of
the river."
The nurse and witnesses are blown away as they did not realize
his extensive holdings, and as Doug slips away, the nurse
says, "Mrs. Smith, your husband must have been such a
hard-working man to have accumulated all this property".
The wife replies,
“The asshole had a paper route."
He asks for 2 witnesses to be present and a camcorder be in
place to record his last wishes, and when all is ready he
begins to speak:
"My son, Bernie, I want you
to take the Mayfair houses.
"My daughter Sybil, you
take the apartments over in the east end."
"My son, Jamie, I want you
to take the offices over in the City Centre.
"Sarah, my dear wife,
please take all the residential buildings on the banks of
the river."
The nurse and witnesses are blown away as they did not realize
his extensive holdings, and as Doug slips away, the nurse
says, "Mrs. Smith, your husband must have been such a
hard-working man to have accumulated all this property".
The wife replies,
“The asshole had a paper route."
Evolution in teaching math since the1950's:
5. Teaching Math In 1990's
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands He does this so he can make a profit of $20. What do you think of this way of making a living? Topic for classparticipation after answering the question: How did the birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong answers, and if you feel like crying, it's ok.)
6. Teaching Math In The 2000's
Same question as number 5 but if you have special needs or just feel you need assistance because of race, color, religion, sex, age, childhood memories, criminal background, then don't answer and the correct answer will be provided for you.
7. Teaching Math In 2017
Un hachero vende una carrtada de maderapara 100 pesos El costo de la producciones es 80 pesos. Cuanto dinero ha hecho?
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5. Teaching Math In 1990's
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands He does this so he can make a profit of $20. What do you think of this way of making a living? Topic for classparticipation after answering the question: How did the birds and squirrels feel as the logger cut down their homes? (There are no wrong answers, and if you feel like crying, it's ok.)
6. Teaching Math In The 2000's
Same question as number 5 but if you have special needs or just feel you need assistance because of race, color, religion, sex, age, childhood memories, criminal background, then don't answer and the correct answer will be provided for you.
7. Teaching Math In 2017
Un hachero vende una carrtada de maderapara 100 pesos El costo de la producciones es 80 pesos. Cuanto dinero ha hecho?
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Some how i missed the previous post(s) about "good girls" and their morals.
In high school for both guys and gals the saying was "stay moral go oral"
In college I know of a couple boy friend/girl friend couples who would on occasion run down to Vegas get married for the weekend and then get it annulled or something like that.I
I am not of the majority religion wise around here so I never had issue with sex before marriage. And neither did a few girls I found. If your on the outside looking in this place can be pretty entertaining.
In high school for both guys and gals the saying was "stay moral go oral"
In college I know of a couple boy friend/girl friend couples who would on occasion run down to Vegas get married for the weekend and then get it annulled or something like that.I
I am not of the majority religion wise around here so I never had issue with sex before marriage. And neither did a few girls I found. If your on the outside looking in this place can be pretty entertaining.
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One of my friends yanked one of these like he was pull starting a chainsaw, needless to say that promptly ended the festivities.
Naw, just a little queef.
You mother fuckers are killing me.
You got really mad when I queefed, I can't believe that you don't remember it!
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I don't have asthma. But some of these were so funny I had trouble catching my breath.
Sadly, ever since my wife saw the CC statement I've been locked out of my account on Russian Little People All-male Fisters so I don't have access to the images some of you guys get a kick out of. And I don't have stories like AJ and Dirty D could probably tell about playing tummy sticks with their teammates at their Little League slumber parties. But I'll do my best to share real-life tales in the hopes some guys think "TRUE DAT BROTHER, I'VE BEEN THERE!" and crack a grin.
Being gorgeous, I have a long history of women throwing themselves at me. And even when I was in high school, whenever I went out on a date my mother would warn me "dress for success son". A lesson I've kept with me all these years. So I would buy condoms in a three pack. One for Friday night. And two for Saturday -- I was still a teen after all. But college was different all together. The girls were different. They were more open to adventure and experimentation. And I had, believe it or not, a lot more stamina. So I started buying condoms in a six-pack. One for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I took Sunday off because I had to study at some point. Surprisingly, as I got older, I have not lost any of my drive. In fact, I think I'm hornier than I've ever been. So after I got married I started buying condoms in 12 packs. One for January. One for February. One for...
Sadly, ever since my wife saw the CC statement I've been locked out of my account on Russian Little People All-male Fisters so I don't have access to the images some of you guys get a kick out of. And I don't have stories like AJ and Dirty D could probably tell about playing tummy sticks with their teammates at their Little League slumber parties. But I'll do my best to share real-life tales in the hopes some guys think "TRUE DAT BROTHER, I'VE BEEN THERE!" and crack a grin.
Being gorgeous, I have a long history of women throwing themselves at me. And even when I was in high school, whenever I went out on a date my mother would warn me "dress for success son". A lesson I've kept with me all these years. So I would buy condoms in a three pack. One for Friday night. And two for Saturday -- I was still a teen after all. But college was different all together. The girls were different. They were more open to adventure and experimentation. And I had, believe it or not, a lot more stamina. So I started buying condoms in a six-pack. One for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I took Sunday off because I had to study at some point. Surprisingly, as I got older, I have not lost any of my drive. In fact, I think I'm hornier than I've ever been. So after I got married I started buying condoms in 12 packs. One for January. One for February. One for...
I'll play. 
Gonna burn for this one.... they're stoking the fires....
R
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A man and his heavily pregnant wife are walking through the park. By the side of the path, they see a large, steaming dog turd. The wife stops.
"What is it?" her husband asks. "I don't know why" she says "but I've got a real craving to just eat that dog shit straight off the ground". He laughs nervously. She stares at him.
"You're... serious?" he says. "Yes. I don't know what it is, I just really want to. I'm going to do it". She starts to bend down and he puts a hand on her shoulder.
"Whoa, hang on, hang on. You're not going to do this. I can't believe you're serious". She glares at him. "My body knows what it needs. If I'm craving it, there must be a good reason". Seeing that she means it, the man decides to humour her.
"Okay, okay" he says. "We'll take it home and cook it and then you can eat it. I'm not having you eating dog shit off the ground". So he picks it up in his handkerchief, wraps it tightly and puts it in his coat pocket.
As they walk home, he tries to distract her. He points out a red squirrel. He talks about space exploration. He pretends to forget her middle name. But as soon as the front door closes, she turns to him.
"Where's that dog shit? I really want to eat it. I've been thinking about it all the way home". He frowns. "I thought maybe you'd go off the idea" he says. "You still want to do this?" "Look" she says. "How many times have you been pregnant?"
"Sweetheart..." "How many times?" he sighs. "None".
"None. Exactly! So you don't know what it's like. You have to be in tune with your body. If I'm craving something, that means that the baby needs it. This is for the wellbeing of our child. Do you understand?"
"I just think..."
"Do you understand?"
"... Yes".
So he goes into the kitchen and unwraps his handkerchief. The turd sits there, fat and glistening. The smell of it makes him gag.
"How do you want this done?" he calls through to the front room. "It's up to you" his wife shouts back. "Just make it quick. I really want it".
So, he dusts a chopping board with flour and puts the turd in the middle. He starts to roll it, coating the outside. He adds paprika, cumin, pepper - anything to mask the smell! When it's covered in flour and spices, he heats some oil in a pan, adds garlic and drops the turd in. As soon as it hits the heat, a disgusting stench fills the kitchen. It's all he can do not to throw up.
"Smells good" his wife shouts from the next room. He rolls the turd over in the pan. It sizzles. After a few minutes with his hand over his nose, he decides it's done and slides it out of the pan and onto the centre of a plate. It sits there gleaming like a huge dead slug. He carries it through to his wife and sits down at the table opposite her.
"Listen" he says. "I know you're dead set on doing this, but I'm asking you -I'm PLEADING with you- please don't. I don't think you know what you're doing. Please, darling, don't do this!"
She stares at him across the table for a moment. Then, with barely suppressed rage in her voice, she says: "Listen. I know that this is what our child, our unborn child, needs. That may not mean a lot to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me. So I'm going to eat this dog shit whether you think it's a good idea or not. Because you know what? This isn't your decision to make". They stare at one another for a few seconds. Then he nods.
"Okay" he says. "I... I understand".
"Thank you" she says.
He sets out a knife, a fork, a glass of water and the plate in front of her. By now, the smell has filled the whole house. She picks up the knife, picks up the fork and stares at the turd. A flicker of concern passes across her face. She hesitates.
"What if..." she says "what if it makes me ill?" Her husband says nothing. "I mean, I know I want it, but what if it makes our baby ill?" She looks up at him. "You need to try it". It takes him a moment to register what she's said.
"WHAT?"
"You need to try it. To make sure it's okay. Please. For our child?"
"I..." He looks at her. He looks at the knife and the fork and the plate and the turd. "I..." He thinks of all they've been through together, all they've got to look forward to. He thinks of his baby girl. He doesn't know it's a girl, but he can feel it, he can just tell. "I..." And the turd, lying in the centre of the pristine white plate. He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, I'll do it. For you. For us. All three of us".
She pushes the plate towards him. He picks up the knife, the fork. Carefully, tentatively, he cuts a slice off the end of the turd. As he cuts into it, the stench hits him again. He gags and nearly cries. He spears the slice on the end of the fork and lifts it to his mouth. In the moment before he takes it, he makes eye contact with his wife. Then he closes his eyes and pushes the slice of turd into his mouth.
He bites down on it and it covers his tongue. He clenches his jaw. Flecks of brown form at the corners of his mouth. There are tears rolling down his face. A surge of vomit rises into his throat and he swallows as hard as he can. It all goes down - the vomit, the turd, the tears.
When his mouth is empty, he gasps like a diver surfacing for air. He grabs at the table to hold himself upright. He hacks and coughs, frantically trying to get rid of every trace of the flavour.
"How was it?" asks his wife. He gasps and wipes the tears from his eyes.
"That was... the single... most disgusting experience... of my life. The taste! Oh god, the taste! I thought the smell was bad, but once I tasted it, I just... In that moment, I wanted to die, just so wouldn't have to taste it any more. I felt like I was going to pass out, it was so bad".
"Oh" says his wife. "Right". She looks at the turd. She looks up at her husband, struggling for breath. She looks back at the turd. "Well" she says "I don't think I'll bother then".
"What is it?" her husband asks. "I don't know why" she says "but I've got a real craving to just eat that dog shit straight off the ground". He laughs nervously. She stares at him.
"You're... serious?" he says. "Yes. I don't know what it is, I just really want to. I'm going to do it". She starts to bend down and he puts a hand on her shoulder.
"Whoa, hang on, hang on. You're not going to do this. I can't believe you're serious". She glares at him. "My body knows what it needs. If I'm craving it, there must be a good reason". Seeing that she means it, the man decides to humour her.
"Okay, okay" he says. "We'll take it home and cook it and then you can eat it. I'm not having you eating dog shit off the ground". So he picks it up in his handkerchief, wraps it tightly and puts it in his coat pocket.
As they walk home, he tries to distract her. He points out a red squirrel. He talks about space exploration. He pretends to forget her middle name. But as soon as the front door closes, she turns to him.
"Where's that dog shit? I really want to eat it. I've been thinking about it all the way home". He frowns. "I thought maybe you'd go off the idea" he says. "You still want to do this?" "Look" she says. "How many times have you been pregnant?"
"Sweetheart..." "How many times?" he sighs. "None".
"None. Exactly! So you don't know what it's like. You have to be in tune with your body. If I'm craving something, that means that the baby needs it. This is for the wellbeing of our child. Do you understand?"
"I just think..."
"Do you understand?"
"... Yes".
So he goes into the kitchen and unwraps his handkerchief. The turd sits there, fat and glistening. The smell of it makes him gag.
"How do you want this done?" he calls through to the front room. "It's up to you" his wife shouts back. "Just make it quick. I really want it".
So, he dusts a chopping board with flour and puts the turd in the middle. He starts to roll it, coating the outside. He adds paprika, cumin, pepper - anything to mask the smell! When it's covered in flour and spices, he heats some oil in a pan, adds garlic and drops the turd in. As soon as it hits the heat, a disgusting stench fills the kitchen. It's all he can do not to throw up.
"Smells good" his wife shouts from the next room. He rolls the turd over in the pan. It sizzles. After a few minutes with his hand over his nose, he decides it's done and slides it out of the pan and onto the centre of a plate. It sits there gleaming like a huge dead slug. He carries it through to his wife and sits down at the table opposite her.
"Listen" he says. "I know you're dead set on doing this, but I'm asking you -I'm PLEADING with you- please don't. I don't think you know what you're doing. Please, darling, don't do this!"
She stares at him across the table for a moment. Then, with barely suppressed rage in her voice, she says: "Listen. I know that this is what our child, our unborn child, needs. That may not mean a lot to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me. So I'm going to eat this dog shit whether you think it's a good idea or not. Because you know what? This isn't your decision to make". They stare at one another for a few seconds. Then he nods.
"Okay" he says. "I... I understand".
"Thank you" she says.
He sets out a knife, a fork, a glass of water and the plate in front of her. By now, the smell has filled the whole house. She picks up the knife, picks up the fork and stares at the turd. A flicker of concern passes across her face. She hesitates.
"What if..." she says "what if it makes me ill?" Her husband says nothing. "I mean, I know I want it, but what if it makes our baby ill?" She looks up at him. "You need to try it". It takes him a moment to register what she's said.
"WHAT?"
"You need to try it. To make sure it's okay. Please. For our child?"
"I..." He looks at her. He looks at the knife and the fork and the plate and the turd. "I..." He thinks of all they've been through together, all they've got to look forward to. He thinks of his baby girl. He doesn't know it's a girl, but he can feel it, he can just tell. "I..." And the turd, lying in the centre of the pristine white plate. He takes a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, I'll do it. For you. For us. All three of us".
She pushes the plate towards him. He picks up the knife, the fork. Carefully, tentatively, he cuts a slice off the end of the turd. As he cuts into it, the stench hits him again. He gags and nearly cries. He spears the slice on the end of the fork and lifts it to his mouth. In the moment before he takes it, he makes eye contact with his wife. Then he closes his eyes and pushes the slice of turd into his mouth.
He bites down on it and it covers his tongue. He clenches his jaw. Flecks of brown form at the corners of his mouth. There are tears rolling down his face. A surge of vomit rises into his throat and he swallows as hard as he can. It all goes down - the vomit, the turd, the tears.
When his mouth is empty, he gasps like a diver surfacing for air. He grabs at the table to hold himself upright. He hacks and coughs, frantically trying to get rid of every trace of the flavour.
"How was it?" asks his wife. He gasps and wipes the tears from his eyes.
"That was... the single... most disgusting experience... of my life. The taste! Oh god, the taste! I thought the smell was bad, but once I tasted it, I just... In that moment, I wanted to die, just so wouldn't have to taste it any more. I felt like I was going to pass out, it was so bad".
"Oh" says his wife. "Right". She looks at the turd. She looks up at her husband, struggling for breath. She looks back at the turd. "Well" she says "I don't think I'll bother then".
Only cuz we're back home.
Go ahead and staple that little trinket on kitty, have Band Aids handy.
Apparently he was also saving noses. He'd keep them until he had half a dozen or so, then slice them thin and put them on a pizza. Dahmer-nose pizzas were apparently on of his favorite things.
Well, if you are PPB... you don't choose 1 through 5....
Seven year old Mohammad entered his classroom on the first day of school. "What's your name?" , asked the teacher. "Mohammad," he replied. "You're in Ireland now," replied the teacher, "So from now on you will be known as Mike. "Mohammad returned home after school. "How was your day, Mohammad?", his mother asked. "My name is not Mohammad. I'm in Ireland and now my name is Mike." "Are you ashamed of your name? Are you trying to dishonor your parents, your heritage, your religion? Shame on you!" And his mother beat the shit out of him. Then she called his father, who beat the shit out of him again. The next day Mohammad returned to school. The teacher saw all of his fresh bruises. "What happened to you, Mike?", she asked. "Well shortly after becoming an Irishman, I was attacked by two fucking Muslims."
An Israeli is on vacation and is visiting a zoo in England when he sees a little girl leaning into the lion’s cage.
Suddenly, the lion grabs her by the cuff of her jacket and tries to pull her inside his cage, right under the eyes of her screaming parents.
The Israeli runs to the cage and hits the lion square on the nose with a powerful punch.
Whimpering from the pain the lion jumps back letting go of the girl, and the Israeli brings her to her terrified parents, who thank him profusely.
A reporter has watched the whole event. The reporter says to the Israeli: ‘Sir, this was the most gallant and brave thing I’ve ever seen a man do in my lifetime.’
The Israeli replies, ‘Why, it was nothing, really. The lion was behind bars. I just saw this little girl in danger and acted as I felt right.’
The reporter says, ‘Well, I’ll make sure this doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m a journalist, and tomorrow’s paper will have this story on the front page. So, what country are you from, what do you do for a living and what political affiliation do you have?’
The Israeli replies, “I’m from Israel . I serve in the Israeli army and I vote for the Likud.”
The journalist leaves.
The following morning, the Israeli buys the paper to see news of his actions, and reads, on the front page:
“RIGHT-WING ISRAELI ASSAULTS AFRICAN IMMIGRANT AND STEALS HIS LUNCH.”
Suddenly, the lion grabs her by the cuff of her jacket and tries to pull her inside his cage, right under the eyes of her screaming parents.
The Israeli runs to the cage and hits the lion square on the nose with a powerful punch.
Whimpering from the pain the lion jumps back letting go of the girl, and the Israeli brings her to her terrified parents, who thank him profusely.
A reporter has watched the whole event. The reporter says to the Israeli: ‘Sir, this was the most gallant and brave thing I’ve ever seen a man do in my lifetime.’
The Israeli replies, ‘Why, it was nothing, really. The lion was behind bars. I just saw this little girl in danger and acted as I felt right.’
The reporter says, ‘Well, I’ll make sure this doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m a journalist, and tomorrow’s paper will have this story on the front page. So, what country are you from, what do you do for a living and what political affiliation do you have?’
The Israeli replies, “I’m from Israel . I serve in the Israeli army and I vote for the Likud.”
The journalist leaves.
The following morning, the Israeli buys the paper to see news of his actions, and reads, on the front page:
“RIGHT-WING ISRAELI ASSAULTS AFRICAN IMMIGRANT AND STEALS HIS LUNCH.”
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