Three unlucky jungle explorers were captured by a band of cannibals. Whilst being tied to three respective stakes, the chieftain announces that the hapless adventurers were about to die. "After you're dead, you'll be skinned. The skin will be used to increase our canoe armada, and the rest of you will be food for us and our families." This announcement was met with gasps of despair from the bound trio. "There is one small favor I can offer you," the chief went on. "We'll let you choose your own method of death from what we have captured from other explorers". Some of the tribal members begin walking by displaying various implements of war and death. The first explorer chose a crusty looking musket. Thankfully the powder load still fired, and he was dispatched without much fuss. The second chose a knife and quickly drew it across his throat. Both carcasses were hauled off by various tribesmen. The third explorer stood there resolute and deep in thought. After a few moments the chieftain, "There is no escape, you need to decide now, or I'll decide for yo..." "Do you have a fountain pen in any of that junk?" the explorer interrupted? Baffled the chieftain sent two of his men to rummage. They came back bearing the pen and a bottle of ink. When the explorer noticed the ink was Noodler's Baystate Blue, his grin spread from ear to ear. Gathered round the explorer, spears in hand, the cannibals looked on as he was released and set to work filling the pen with ink. Confused, the chief began to speak, "I'm afraid we have no paper and even if you wrote a final letter, we'd have no way of sending it anywh..." Cackling with triumphant glee, the explorer raised the pen into the air and began ramming it into his torso nib first again and again. He then fell upon the ground gasping a death rattle. Horrified, the chief drew close as the man beckoned him for one final word. "But why this painful death? When you had so many other more merciful options?" the chief asked. Laughing, the man gasped his last statement into the chief's ear, "You'll make no boats from me now, and your mouths will be blue for months!"
31. During a recent password audit, it was found that a blonde was using the following password: "MickeyMinniePlutoHueyLouieDeweyDonaldGoofySacramento" When asked why such a long password, she said she was told that it had to be at least 8 characters long and include at least one capital.
32. Two crows were in a field when they noticed a figure that looked like a man in the distance. "See that over there? What is that?", says the first crow. The second crows takes a long look, "That's a scarecrow. Looks authentic, doesn't it." "How can you tell it's a scarecrow and not a person?", replies the first crow. "Look at it's hand. No cellphone", says the second crow.
33. Three friends stranded on a deserted island find a magic lamp. Inside it is a genie who agrees to grant each friend one wish. “I want to go home,” says the first friend. The genie grants her wish. “I want to go home, too,” says the second friend. And the genie sends him back home. “I’m lonely,” says the third friend. “I sure wish my friends were back here."
34. A cruise ship passes by a remote island, and all the passengers see a bearded man running around and waving his arms wildly. “Captain,” one passenger asks, “who is that man over there?” “I have no idea,” the captain says, “but he goes nuts every year when we pass him.”
35. After Sunday church, the priest would hand us each an orange and a big cookie. A little girl once lied and took two oranges, but the priest told her she mustn't lie because God is watching. Then, the girl took two cookies and lied about it. When asked why she had done that, she said because she thought that God was only watching oranges.
36. I was in my garden when I got the news that my father had fallen from a 20 feet ladder and was in the hospital. I rushed to the hospital expecting that my father had some major fractures, but he was alright except for some minor cuts. When I told him that it was a miracle, he disagreed and told me, "Son, I had just fallen from the first step of the ladder."
The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"
Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!
The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.
For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!
The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!
In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.
"The little horse wins!"
"Lath, an easy winner!"
"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"
People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.
Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.
"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."
Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.
A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.
"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"
Agba leaned forward in his saddle.
There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."
How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.
The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.
Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.
He had kept his word!
For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.
The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in
There's a man crawling through the desert. He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here. He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last. He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade, pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right. He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst. He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark. By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills, and that'll be all he needs. As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights. Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars. He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car. He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water, this is his last day. He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid. Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do. Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking. As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke. He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a large rock, and takes the bottle.
“BETTER NATE THAN LEVER!!!”
