Sunday, September 15th
In my quest for entertaining links to post on the site, I come across a lot of religious stuff, which I throw into a pile. Sunday is the day I empty this pile out for the week, and bundle all this Godly goodness up for you into this, the Weekly Inspirational Post. Read on and be enlightened!

A man dies and due to his evil and sinful life, goes to hell. The devil himself meets him at the gates of hell and tells him, "I don't know what all you've heard up there, but hell isn't all that bad a place. Let me ask you, do you like to smoke?"

The man answers, "Yes, I do"

"Oh, good then," the devil says, "You'll LOVE Mondays. Every Monday we all sit around and smoke cigarettes, cigars, pipes, try out new types of tobacco. Do you like to drink?"

The man answers, "Yeah, sure, I like to drink."

The devil says, "Good, you'll love Tuesdays, then. All we do on Tuesdays is sit around and drink beer, wine, and all kinds of different mixed drinks."

"You'll just love Tuesdays. Do you like to swear?"

"Sure," says the man, "I swear a lot."

"Great then. You'll love Wednesdays."

The devil says, "On Wednesdays, all we do is sit around and swear a lot, we try to make up new cuss words, and have a great time, you'll just love Wednesdays."

"Oh, by the way," asks the devil, "Are you gay?"

"Hell no," the man replies, "I hate fags!"

The devil looks at him, and says, "Oh man, you're gonna HATE Thursdays."

Wow, what a terrible joke. Have some linkage for inspiration instead:
Let The Dead Bury The Dead Jesus Had Short Hair Rapture Ready
Jesus H. Christ Pope Chart Virgin Mary Tree
Vatican Time Machine God Is PHAT Weeping Jesus 9/11 Mousepad
By: Dave
Sunday, Sep 15th 2002 (12:01am)
Saturday, September 14th
By: Scott
Saturday, Sep 14th 2002 (11:42am)
Nearly 300 baby pictures decorate Scalini's old-fashioned Italian restaurant in Cobb County. All the babies have one thing in common: They were born after their mothers ate the restaurant's eggplant parmigiana, a $9.95 hot boat of breaded eggplant smothered in cheese and thick marinara sauce, "guaranteed" to induce labor.
By: Dave
Saturday, Sep 14th 2002 (12:15am)
Joining this movement is simple. Just masturbate in your own way, focusing your thoughts and energy towards love and peace. Encourage others to do the same. Also, please fill out the petition below and share how you intend to masturbate for peace.
By: Dave
Saturday, Sep 14th 2002 (12:06am)
Who knew that you could find such talent in a Burger King?
By: Dave
Saturday, Sep 14th 2002 (12:01am)
Friday, September 13th
Hey ladies...getting bored with your fellow's equipment? Want to add a little spice to your bedroom activities? Do you at least want a giggle at your significant other's expense?

Check out Heartless' Holey Haven of Stupid Penis Tricks to give you hours of endless amusement!

My guess is that FireAngel will find the Elepenis most amusing...:-)
By: m0j0
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (10:19pm)
Whip out your bootleg Photoshop and job up this picture!

Best one gets a prize. What is it? Dunno yet.
By: Dave
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (1:40pm)
(more)   [Comments: 15]
It always amazes me when I hear these sound board phone calls and the people don't recognize the voices, or argue with someone who keeps repeating the same things over and over again. That being said, this is one damn good soundboard.
By: Scott
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (12:15am)
The already insanely bizarre art form of Animutation just stepped it up yet another notch with the ultra-groove masterpiece EARTH VS. FUNK! Get out your boogie shoes for this one!
By: Dave
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (12:15am)
The first Viennese Vegetable Orchestra consists exclusively of vegetable-based instruments, although where necessary, additional kitchen utensils such as knives or mixers are employed. After the performance, the instruments are subsequently made into a soup so that the audience can then enjoy them a second time.
By: Dave
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (12:15am)
Apparantly, the quest for massive schlongage isn't just limited to Johnny Punchclock - eggheaded scientists are also pursuing 'male enhancement' with considerable vigor, and are now growing penises in test tubes!
By: Dave
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (12:01am)
Is Friday the 13th bad for your health? It may be if you try to pronounce the term for fearing this unlucky day. Say it with me now, Paraskevidekatriaphobia or friggatriskaidekaphobia. Wow, with a name that big, Friday the 13th has to be an odd occurence, right? Wrong. The 13th day of a month is more likely to be a Friday than any other day.

But screw all this technical crap, it's Friday the 13th, you want to be scared! Now I ask you, what is scarier than a Phantom Ghost Dog?
By: Scott
Friday, Sep 13th 2002 (12:01am)
Thursday, September 12th
The International Association of People Who Dine Over the Kitchen Sink: No dress code, reservations, tipping, annoying table conversation; no "soup or salad" decision (have both if you like), no trying to catch the waiter's eye, no deciding whether to use the everyday dishes or the good stuff, no having to endure the waitress calling you "Hon" or "Dearie."
By: Some Nobody
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:56pm)
A man who publicly confronted astronaut Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin over whether he actually went to the moon said that the Apollo 11 hero almost sent him into space with a punch to the jaw.
By: Some Nobody
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:16am)
Dan Chambers presents Roger Moore's Requiem. Breathtaking. How can people not love the opera?
By: Dave
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:16am)
Most of the time Flash games are just too simple to keep me interested for more than a cursory moment. Well, those days are gone, I've been playing Hold The Button now for almost 14 hours!
By: Dave
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:11am)
With a little selective listening, the proof comes out: Mr. Rogers is a perv. Who knew?
By: Dave
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:06am)
If you're like me, there's nothing you desire more than the opportunity to run naked with a lot of other naked runners who are also running naked. Well, this is our lucky day!
By: Dave
Thursday, Sep 12th 2002 (12:01am)
Wednesday, September 11th

110 Stories

This is not real. We've seen it all before.
Slow down, you're screaming. What exploded? When?
I guess this means we've got ourselves a war.
And look at -- Lord have mercy, not again.
I heard that they went after Air Force One.
Call FAA at once if you can't land.
They say the bastards got the Pentagon.
The Capitol. The White House. Disneyland.
I was across the river, saw it all.
Down Fifth, the buildings put it in a frame.
Aboard the ferry -- we felt awful small.
I didn't look until I felt the flame.
The steel turns red, the framework starts to go.
Jacks clasp Jills' hands and step onto the sky.
The noise was not like anything you know.
Stand still, he said, and watch a building die.
There's no one you can help above this floor.
We've got to hold our breath. We've got to climb.
Don't give me that; I did this once before.
The firemen look up, and know the time.
These labored, took their wages, and are dead.
The cracker-crumbs of fascia sieve the light.
The air's deciduous of letterhead.
How dark, how brilliant, things will be tonight.
Once more, we'll all remember where we were.
Forget it, friend. You didn't have a choice.
That's got to be a rumor, but who's sure?
The Internet is stammering with noise.
You turn and turn but just can't turn away.
My child can't understand. I can't explain.
The towers drain out from Boston to LA.
The cellphone is our ganglion of pain.
What was I thinking of? What did I say?
You're safe? The TV's off. What do you mean?
I'm going now, but not going away.
I couldn't touch the answering machine.
I nearly was, but caught a later bus.
I would have been, but had this awful cold.
I spoke with her, she's headed home, don't fuss.
Pick up those tools. The subway job's on hold.
Somebody's got to pay, no matter what.
I love you. Just I love you. Just I love --
The cloud rolls on; I think of Eliot.
Not silence, but an emptiness above.
There's dust, and metal. Nothing else at all.
it's airless and it's absolutely black.
I found a wallet. I'm afraid to call.
I'll stay until my little girl comes back.
You hold your breath whenever something shakes.
St. Vincent's takes one massive trauma case.
The voice, so placid, till the circuit breaks.
Ten minutes just to grab stuff from my place.
I only want to hear them say goodbye.
They could be down there, buried, couldn't they?

My friends all made it, and that's why I cry.
He stayed with me, and he died anyway.
We almost tipped the island toward uptown.
Next minute, I'm in Macy's. Who knows how.
I really need to get this bagel down.
He'd haul ass, that's what Jesus would do now.
A fighter plane? Dear God, let it be ours.
We're scared of bombs and so we're loading guns.
Who didn't have a rude word for the towers?
The world's hip-deep in junk that mattered once.
Hands rise to heaven as asbestos falls.
The air is yellow, hideously thick.
A photo, private once, on fifty walls.
A candle in a teacup on a brick.
They found -- can you believe -- a pair of hands.
Oh, that don't hurt. Well, maybe just a bit.
The Winter Garden's shattered but it stands.
A howl is Mene Tekeled in the grit.
Some made it in a basement, so there's hope.
The following are definitely known . . .
You live, is how you learn that you can cope.
Yes, I sincerely want to be alone.
Don't even ask. That's what your tears are for.
The cats are in a shelter; we are not.
Pedestrians rule the Roeblings' bridge once more.
A memory of home is what we've got.
Tribeca with no people, that's plain wrong.
It's just a shopping bag, but who can tell?
Okay, okay, I'm moving right along.
The postcards hit two dollars, and they sell.
Be honest, now. You're proud of living here.
If this is Armageddon, make it quick.
Today, for you, the rose is free, my dear.
We're shooting down our neighbors. Now I'm sick.
I can't do that for fifty times the fare.
A coronary. Other things went on.
It goes, like, something mighty, and despair.
All those not now accounted for are gone.
Here is the man whose god blinked in the flash,
Whose god says sinful people should be hurt,
The man whose god is kneeling in the ash,
The man whose god is dancing on the dirt.
Okay, I ate at Windows now and then.
This fortune-teller went to Notre Dame?
They knocked 'em down. We'll stack 'em up again.
Oh, I'd say one or two things stayed the same.
Some nights I still can see them, like a ghost.
King Kong was right about the Empire State.
I'd rather not hear what you'll miss the most.
A taller building? Maybe. I can wait.
I hugged the stranger sitting next to me.
So this is what you call a second chance.
One turn aside, into eternity.
This is New York. We'll find a place to dance.
With resolution wanting, reason runs
To characters and symbols, noughts and ones.
--(c) 2001 John M. Ford
Flight 93
By: Dave
Wednesday, Sep 11th 2002 (12:02am)
Tuesday, September 10th
Hello, this is your pilot, Bruce Dickinson, speaking. We will be landing shortly. Local time is two mintues to midnight, and I think my spandex is creeping.
By: faedra
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (3:49pm)
If it's on a disk, Malata will play it.
By: faedra
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (3:17pm)
(more)   [Comments: 1]
First I'm thinking there's a Jet Ski on my porch. That can't be good.
By: faedra
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (9:09am)
Here at the Burger King Therapy Center we strive to be a compassionate solace for the tortured & battered souls of past, present and future BK employees. We hope you will find comfort in being here - A place to share your stories, your tears and your victories. Or just laugh everyone else's!
By: Some Nobody
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (12:11am)
The World RPS Society is the worldwide governing body of the sport of Rock Paper Scissors. It provides overall direction, guidance and policy control with a goal of promoting the sport to a wider audience.
By: Dave
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (12:11am)
3-D pr0n! Nuff said!
By: Dave
Tuesday, Sep 10th 2002 (12:06am)

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