Post ALMOST anything you want thread

:banghead3:I just wasted over two hours of my valuable time on the last day of 2011 reading this entire post. Now I forgot what it was about! A bunch of old jokes that still made me laugh! And some members with a sense of humor. Possibly the only sense they have!
I did see one great looking station wagon . Thanks for that. I remember when I worked for a living before retiring. Jobs really are hard to find and keep now. Take what you can get and do the best you can.
Somewhere an illegal is waiting to take it from you for less. That's the American way!:2_thumbs_up_-_anima

 

Like the other thread that we had going, when you guess correctly you can post another car part you want the rest of us to guess.

Can you identify this steering wheel??? I made it easy to get you started.





I know it tooo easy.

 

Oh oh. Does this car have a steering wheel?

Sorry, Fannie. I really don't have any idea. Just being a smart@$$.

 

I was going to guess this one until I saw the steering wheels don't match.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiGzaRKAYr4&feature=related

 

Uh....68 Beaumont??

 

Cell phone use in the bathroom...hold on to your seat...

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over 48 hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of a$$ cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.

As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1. Occupied.

2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3. Poop smeared on seat.

4. Poop and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful crapper. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be.
Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Crapper was blathering to Mrs. Crapper about the lousey day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my a$$ cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:

(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids...love them... oh
God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My crap-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet.
I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.
Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous crap-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to crap in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

 

1969 Pontiac Beaumont, the 68 has square buckets around the gauges.

 

And Jim, I literally have tears in my eyes, that was a excellent post!

 

Congratulations, your correct! Would you like to post something for us to guess?




Jim...that is an amazing story...I'm really glad everything came out well...



Do you know why you $h** is tappered on the end?


:banana:

 

Jim 68 I was that man in stall #1. You are a sick puppy!

 

This thread is almost four years old and has 303 posts, and I haven't had anything to add until now..........

 

Jim... I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard and cried as a result.

Oh, god do I need a cigarette...

 

sick puppy, sheeeze...... even myself wouldn't have posed that!....... And I'm a sick puppy......

.....Jim, I hand over me keys to you

 

Oi! I am nobody's to be handed over to anybody!

 

I am just curious

What do think that these lyrics mean or are about? How would you interpret them?


Gateways


The core principle of freedom
Is the only notion to obey
The formulae of evolution and sin
Leading the way

The rebirth is near completion
As we slowly awaken from slumber

The malpractice of the spirit ends
Gateways!
When the gift is once again attained
Gateways!
No rules or restraints are longer valid
Gateways!
When the ancient future is reclaimed
Gateways!

No rules or restraints are longer valid
Gateways
When the ancient future is reclaimed
Gateways

It's all there for the eyes that can see
The blind ones will always suffer in secrecy
For it is the omen of what lies submerged - Breeding
Untouched within us - Bleeding

The core principle of freedom
Is the only notion to obey
The formulae of evolution and sin
Leading the way
The rebirth is the year of completion
As we slowly awaken from slumber
To receive the light that shines in darkness
The light that shines forevermore (forevermore)

Be the broken or the breaker
Be the giver or the undertaker
Unlock and open the door
Be the healer or the faker
The keys are in your hands
Realize you are your own sole creator
Of your own master plan
Be the broken or the breaker
Be the giver or the undertaker
Unlock and open the door
Be the healer or the faker
The keys are in your hands
Realize you are your own sole creator
Of your own master plan