My favorite cousin just bought a dog and named him Snuffaluffagous.
We hold him just like he's a little kid! You should see it. He lays his head on your shoulder just like a little kid would. We think he thinks he's human. Nice story teej.
Posts by bigboi
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10Talking Dog
by teejay in" he rings the bell and the owner tells him the dog is in the back yard.
the guy goes into the back yard and sees a mutt sitting there.
"you talk?
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The True Meaning of Christmas for Lurkers.
by bigboi inby o. henry .
one dollar and eighty-seven cents.
and sixty cents of it was in pennies.
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bigboi
"The Gift of the Magi."
By O. HenryOne dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at eight dollars per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the men dicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining there unto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid thirty dollars per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to twenty dollars, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they wer e thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only a dollar and eighty-seven cents with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only a dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling-something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an eight-dollar flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the a ir shaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and s tood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by s ubstance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation -- as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value -- the description applied to both. Twenty-on e dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the eighty-seven cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends - - a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do -- oh! What could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At seven o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habi t of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please, God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two -- and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, no r any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again -- you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice -- what a beautiful gift I've got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you -- sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could eve r count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year -- what is the difference? A mathematici an or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut of a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! A quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs -- the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshiped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims -- just the shade to wear in the beautiful varnished hair. They were expensive comb s, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men -- wonderfully wise men -- who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it b e said that of all who gave gifts, these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.-- O. Henry. -
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To all who read the board, a special wish
by ozziepost into fellow posters, friends and lurkers,
with thankful hearts.
we lift a prayer.
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bigboi
Right back at cha Mr. and Mrs. Ozzie. Hope you two are having a wonderful holiday.
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bigboi
HA!
Wait til he sees what I put on the table with his milk and cookies!
Me tinks ol Saint Nick'll be having a change of heart about this Internet thing.
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I support Israel, but ....
by Preston in... i find the zionist support from christian fundamentalists to be nothing short of bizzare.
besides the theological assumption that "nations that bless israel will in trun be blessed" can't the reason why they support israel be viewed as nothing short of anti-semetic?
to be fair, christian fundamentalists are one of the largest contributors and supporters of israel in the world today.
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bigboi
So what do you think, is the Christian-zionist approach tinged with anti-semitism or just the opposite since their support has done much good for Israel on a material level?
Due to their literal interpretation of the Bible, many Christian Fundamentalist leaders believe that Armageddon will take place at the literal mountain of Meggiddo and that Jesus will return and rule the Earth from the the actual city of Jerusalem. I'm unclear exactly on what roles they think the US and Israel will play in this specifically, but I think the above is an accurate synopsis of the commonly held fundie view.
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How the West sacrifices the rest
by expatbrit insometimes you can only shake your head:us blocks cheap drugs agreement.
the united states has blocked an international agreement to allow poor countries to buy cheap drugs.
one-hundred and forty-three countries stood on the same ground, we were hoping to make that unanimous.
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bigboi
Got dayum Francois! I can't believe a republican just authored that post.
IMO, it's just plain old corporate greed. They want to protect their profits at the expense of ppl who would probably be better off dead anyway. That old ideal of compassion for your fellowman is thing sorely lacking in the offices of CEO's nowadays.
This shouldn't be an issue.
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OJ makes me sick
by hannibal indid anyone see oj simpson on espn last night?.
dan patrick interveiwed that scumbag.dan asked him... .
ya, so do you still spend money trying to find nicoles killer?.
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bigboi
Waiting - that is such a good point to make .It kinda reminds me of the jesus trial where the jews released a murderer only to further their own personal agenda. The jury was mostly black ,so go figure this one out.
That "jesus trial" you allude had nothing to do with the guilt or innocence of either of the two men involved. Especially since they both were already found guilty and were sentenced to die. Keep on posting your vague inaccuracies and empty rhetoric. Personal agendas? I could believe that if the jury was entirely composed of black ppl. However, you need a unanimous decision for a guilty verdict in a criminal trial. Even the jurors that didn't happen to be black could not look past the perjury and bias of Mark Furman.
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Larc Nearly A 7001-er? End Of The World?
by SpannerintheWorks inas of this moment, larc has posted 6991 times!
a record!
but what's in store for him when he gets to 7001, i wonder?
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bigboi
Seven thousand is also a symbolic number which means "Larc get into an internet 12 step program, and get a life."
Roger that dude, you've got waaaaaaaay too much time on yer hands.
Just funnin' ya Larc, thanks for all the effort u put into posting here.
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OJ makes me sick
by hannibal indid anyone see oj simpson on espn last night?.
dan patrick interveiwed that scumbag.dan asked him... .
ya, so do you still spend money trying to find nicoles killer?.
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bigboi
I've never understood why ppl get so riled up over OJ Simpson. Rich ppl get off for criminal offenses all the time. It happened before OJ and is still happening after him. What happens just as often and is a true tragedy is ppl getting put away for crimes they didn't commit, like those five teenagers who were coerced into confessing to the rape of that NYC medical student. Stuff like that happens everyday in this country, yet what draws the ire and attention of everyone is bunch of rich caineheads, whose lives probaby didn't resemble that of any ordinary Americans.
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Employee of the Year
by Bendrr inno, not me this year.
i won last year.
i just wanted to talk about this year, it's bothering me.
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bigboi
Shop politics, boy ya gotta love em.
The way I look at it, is it's a money thing. Mechanics always get better treatment in auto repair shops because their work brings in more money. Especially if the shop sells parts. They literally make a killing in the markups on parts. So it's no surprise that shop managers put up with mechanics that happen to be assholes. Believe me, there is always a high percentage of asshole techs in any group of mechanics.
Bottomline is the guy should have more respect for shop traditions and for tire techs who are able to inspect vehicles and make him money. Although I understand why your shop manager seems to not want to get involved, all he is worried about is his cash flow, I doubt he really cares about the interpersonal relationships between the guys working.
Edited by - bigboi on 17 December 2002 19:51:19
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