MeanLaureen
<font color=purple>Slam Dancer Extraordinaire<br><
- Joined
- Apr 29, 2001
- Messages
- 6,718
My apologies if this has already been posted.. I thought it was hilarious though 
Inspection Teams....
Have you noticed anything fishy about the inspection teams who have arrived
in Iraq? They're all men!
How in the name of the United Nations does anyone expect men to find Saddam's
stash? We all know that men have a blind spot when it comes to finding
things. For crying' out loud! Men can't find the dirty clothes hamper. Men
can't find the jar of jelly until it falls out of the cupboard and splatters
on the floor.... and these are the people we have sent into Iraq to search
for hidden weapons of mass destruction?
I keep wondering why groups of mothers weren't sent in.
Mothers can sniff out secrets quicker than a drug dog can find a gram of
dope. Mothers can find gin bottles that dads have stashed in the attic
beneath the rafters. They can sniff out a diary two rooms and one floor away.
They can tell when the lid of a cookie jar has been disturbed and notice when
a quarter inch slice has been shaved off a chocolate cake. A mother can smell
alcohol on your breath before you get your key in the front door and can
smell cigarette smoke from a block away. By examining laundry, a mother knows
more about their kids than Sherlock Holmes. And if a mother wants an answer
to question, she can read an offender's eyes quicker than a homicide
detective.
So... considering the value a mother could bring to an inspection team, why
are we sending a bunch of old men who will rely on electronic equipment to
scout out hidden threats?
My mother would walk in with a wooden soup spoon in one hand, grab Saddam by
the ear, give it a good twist and snap, "Young man, do you have any weapons
of mass destruction?" And God help him if he tried to lie to her. She'd march
him down the street to some secret bunker and shove his nose into a nuclear
bomb and say, "Uh, huh, and what do you call this, mister?" Whap! Thump!
Whap! Whap! Whap! And she'd lay some stripes across his bare bottom with that
soup spoon, then march him home in front of the whole of Baghdad. He'd not
only come clean and apologize for lying about it, he'd cut every lawn in
Baghdad for free for the whole darn summer.
Inspectors my butt... You want the job done? Call my mother.
Inspection Teams....
Have you noticed anything fishy about the inspection teams who have arrived
in Iraq? They're all men!
How in the name of the United Nations does anyone expect men to find Saddam's
stash? We all know that men have a blind spot when it comes to finding
things. For crying' out loud! Men can't find the dirty clothes hamper. Men
can't find the jar of jelly until it falls out of the cupboard and splatters
on the floor.... and these are the people we have sent into Iraq to search
for hidden weapons of mass destruction?
I keep wondering why groups of mothers weren't sent in.
Mothers can sniff out secrets quicker than a drug dog can find a gram of
dope. Mothers can find gin bottles that dads have stashed in the attic
beneath the rafters. They can sniff out a diary two rooms and one floor away.
They can tell when the lid of a cookie jar has been disturbed and notice when
a quarter inch slice has been shaved off a chocolate cake. A mother can smell
alcohol on your breath before you get your key in the front door and can
smell cigarette smoke from a block away. By examining laundry, a mother knows
more about their kids than Sherlock Holmes. And if a mother wants an answer
to question, she can read an offender's eyes quicker than a homicide
detective.
So... considering the value a mother could bring to an inspection team, why
are we sending a bunch of old men who will rely on electronic equipment to
scout out hidden threats?
My mother would walk in with a wooden soup spoon in one hand, grab Saddam by
the ear, give it a good twist and snap, "Young man, do you have any weapons
of mass destruction?" And God help him if he tried to lie to her. She'd march
him down the street to some secret bunker and shove his nose into a nuclear
bomb and say, "Uh, huh, and what do you call this, mister?" Whap! Thump!
Whap! Whap! Whap! And she'd lay some stripes across his bare bottom with that
soup spoon, then march him home in front of the whole of Baghdad. He'd not
only come clean and apologize for lying about it, he'd cut every lawn in
Baghdad for free for the whole darn summer.
Inspectors my butt... You want the job done? Call my mother.
