Just received an e-mail,

"Your Wiki Is Growing! 1 new member"

Don't ask.

Actually it's, http://askoranswer.wetpaint.com:80/?mail=1142

If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through
the pet syndrome, including toilet flush burials for dead
goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out
LOUD!

Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.

Here's what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me
there was "something wrong" with one of the two
lizards he holds prisoner in his room.

"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm
serious, Dad. Can you help?"

I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and
followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards
was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I
immediately knew what to do.

"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"

"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having
babies."

"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are
Bert and Ernie, Mom!"

I was equally outraged.

"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't
want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife.

"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their
cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this
sarcastically!)

"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I
reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet
voice, while gritting my teeth).

"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you
know," she informed me (Again with the sarcasm!).

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see
what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make
the best of it.

"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,"
I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle
of birth."

"Oh, gross!" they shrieked

"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do
with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted
to know.

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what
looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing
a scant second later.

"We don't appear to be making much progress," I
noted.

"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.

"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.

"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed
the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug.
It disappeared. I tried several more times with the
same results.

"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know.

"Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You
see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to
the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.

"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.

"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to
him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I
mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy
is of her womb, for G~ d's sake .).

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and
peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.

"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested
scientifically.

"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs.
Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not
in labour. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. . .
Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And
occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most
male species, they um . . um . . . masturbate. Just
the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed,
glancing at my wife.

We were silent, absorbing this.

"So, Ernie's just . just . . .. excited," my wife offered.

"Exactly," the vet replied , relieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to
giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not
believing that the woman I married would commit
the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.

Tears were now running down her face. "It's just .that . .
I'm picturing you pulling on its .. . . its. . . teeny little . . "
She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once
more.

"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and
hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into
the car.. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad,"
he told me.

"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing
with laughter.

Two lizards: $140.

One cage: $50.

Trip to the vet: $30.

Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie:

Priceless!

Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class.

Lizards lay eggs!

THE REDHEAD

A man is dining in a fancy restaurant and there is a gorgeous redhead sitting at the next table. He has been checking her out since he sat down, but lacks the nerve to talk with her.

Suddenly she sneezes, and her glass eye comes flying out of its socket toward the man.

He reflexively reaches out, grabs it out of the air, and hands it back.

"Oh my, I am so sorry," the woman says as she pops her eye back in place.

"I"m sure that must have embarrassed you so let me pay for your dinner to make it up to you," she says.

They enjoy a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards they go to the theatre followed by drinks. They talk, they laugh, she shares her deepest dreams and he listens, he shares his and she listens.

After paying for everything, she asks him if he would like to come to her place for a nightcap and stay for breakfast.

They have a wonderful, wonderful time.

The next morning, she cooks a gourmet breakfast with all the trimmings. The guy is amazed and totally impressed. Everything had been SO incredible!

"You know," he said, "you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet? "

"No," she replies. . . . .
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"You just happened to catch my eye."

Long week-end away from the computer again, I have not read the posts that my friends left but I will as soon as I have written this wee bit.

As some will know one of my hobbies is collecting old post cards, this is the latest acquisition,

The Peoples Palace, Glasgow, from 1911(?) Today the front is exactly as it was then, unfortunately the Winter Gardens at the rear was destroyed by fire a few years ago, but has now been rebuilt to the same specifications.

The museum tells the story of Glasgow from 1750 to the present day, complete with Billy Connolly's Banana Boots.

The old card has another story to tell. Posted in Glasgow at 5.15 pm to an address in Edinburgh, with arrangement for meeting in Glasgow the following day, the confidence that the sender had that the card would be delivered in time for the meeting to take place, changed days.

The message is also interesting, it reads,

My Dear Mother,
I will meet you tomorrow at 3.25 at Queen Street ( station .
Don't have any fear, just come on, they will be very careful for a long time now,
Love Susan.

I wonder, what was the story behind that?

Unfortunately I can't credit this photo to anyone, I can only wish that it had been taken by myself. I call it, There Must Be Some One Else.

Day out in the car yesterday, a bit misty but warm enough, of course finished up at a garden centre, their coffee and scones ( how do you pronounce that word/ ) always seem to be the nicest, I'm sure that some commercial bakery is producing "home baked scones".

Taken into the sun with backlight mode used produced this picture.

Just a setting sun in the mist produced this.

Away now to watch the tele and "Question time" as usual I will be shouting at the idiot replies from the panel members.

Night-Night.

For those that saw the post, "CRUSHING BLOWS" by kendrive, and if you didn't it is worth a look, http://kendrive.blog.co.uk/2007/10/25/crushing_blows~3191835

Shaking seems to be OK.

I found this whilst I was cleaning up my e-mails, I thought some others may like to read it. This is a good story. It may give you ideas.

The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"

"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class,

Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!

And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."

I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.

Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."

Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.

Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."

That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."

The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart ......

I read the post by jenray, "http://www.blog.co.uk/user/jenray/" on the vanillacustard.blog.co.uk
"The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost"

This reminded me of a post that I put on my blog back in April.

Ways We Might Have Gone. by Frank Mc Donald.

Two roads are on offer, and what will it matter
If this one or that one is chosen today?
Who has a globe to look into the future?
What will it mean if we choose the wrong way?
Who knows the reason for making decisions
That decades from now may condemn us to hell?
Lights that entice-are they simple illusions?
Will happiness follow? Or pain? Who can tell?
A lifetime is over-we look back in wonder
At roads we neglected to journey along;
But who is to say that we could have fared better,
That we opted to go where we did not belong?
A tradesman, a teacher, a Cromwell, a Caesar,
The highways they followed all finish in dust;
Now fate in its mercy has made us an offer
That needs no decision- for take it we must.

Isn't that a wonderful poem.

Three Labrador retrievers -- one brown, one yellow and one black were sitting in the waiting
room at the vet's surgery when they struck up a conversation.
The black lab turned to the brown and said, "So why are you here?"
The brown lab replied, "I'm a pisser. I piss on everything--the Sofa,
the curtains, the cat, the kids.
But the final straw was last night when I pissed in the middle of my owner's bed."
The black lab said, "So what is the vet going to do?"
"Gonna cut my nuts off," came the reply from the brown lab.
They reckon it'll calm me down."
The black lab then turned to the yellow lab and asked, "Why are you here?"
The yellow lab said, "I'm a digger. I dig under fences, dig Up Flowers and trees,
and I dig just for the heck of it. When I'm Inside,I dig up the carpets.
But I went over the line last night when I dug a great big hole in my owner's couch."
"So what are they going to do to you?" the black lab inquired.
"Looks like I'm losing my nuts too," the dejected yellow lab said.
The yellow lab then turned to the black lab and asked, "Why are you here?"
I'm a humper," the black lab said. "I'll hump anything. I'll Hump the cat,
a pillow, the table, post-boxes, whatever. I want to hump everything I see.
Yesterday, my owner had just got out of the shower and was Bending
down to dry her toes, and I just couldn't help myself.I Hopped on her
back and started humping away."
The yellow and brown labs exchanged a sad glance and said,
"So, Nuts off for you too, huh?"

The black lab said, "No, I'm just here to get my nails clipped."

Tradesmen, who needs them? I do. Now that the chimney has been rebuilt I need the ceiling in the bedroom re-plastered, promised Monday, now put back to Tuesday week, most of the stuff from the bedroom is in the second bedroom, I will just be able to slide in to bed, the rest is in the spare room, I can just slide in to the seat at the computer, ah well, it's not the end of the world.

Pictures now of two of my birds,

Owl by Beswick.

Snowy Owl by Royal Doulton, model by John G Tongue in 1984 made for Whyte and MacKay Scotch Whisky.

Tomorrow, a couple of my ladies.

Dear Sir,

I wish to apply for an operation to make me sterile. My reasons are
numerous, and after being married for 7 years and having 7 children I
have come to the conclusion that contraceptives are totally useless.

After getting married I was advised to use the 'Rhythm Method.'
Despite trying the Tango and the Samba, my wife fell pregnant and I
ruptured myself doing the Cha Cha Cha.

A doctor suggested using the 'Safe Period.' At the time we were
living with in-laws and had to wait for 3 weeks for a safe period
when the house was empty. Needless to say, this didn't work.

A lady of several years experience informed us that if we made love
whilst breast feeding we would be alright. It's hardly Newcastle
Brown Ale, but I did finish up with clear skin, silky hair and felt
very healthy, and my wife was pregnant.

Another old wives' tale we heard was that if my wife jumped up and
down after intercourse this would prevent pregnancy. After constant
breast feeding, including my earlier attempts, if my wife jumped up
and down she would finish up with two black eyes and eventually knock
herself unconscious.

I asked a chemist about the 'Sheath.' The chemist demonstrated how
easy it was to use, so I bought a packet. My wife fell pregnant
again, which doesn't really surprise me as I fail to see how a Trojan
stretched over the thumb, as the chemist showed, can prevent babies.

She was supplied with the 'Coil' and after several unsuccessful
attempts to fit it, we realized we had got a left hand thread and my
wife is definitely a right hand screw.

The 'Dutch Cap' came next; we were very hopeful of this as it did not
interfere with our sex life at all, but alas it did give my wife
severe headaches. We were given the largest size available but it was
still too tight across her forehead.

Finally we tried the 'Pill.' At first it kept falling out, then we
realized we were doing it wrong. My wife started putting it between
her knees, thus preventing me getting anywhere near her; this did
work for a while until the night she forgot the Pill.

You must appreciate my problem. If this operation is unsuccessful, I
will have to revert to oral sex, although just talking about it can
never substitute for the real thing.

Yours faithfully,

Strathclyde Country Park, at Motherwell, Scotland, landscaped about 15 years ago by the local authority parks department when they discovered the remains of a roman bath house, circa 200 AD.

Unfortunately because the remains were at a depth below the water table it would not be safe for the public to visit, so the site was excavated, photographed and all items numbered, then removed whilst the site was built up, the bricks were then replaced exactly on the spot above where they had first been discovered.

About 100 yards away is a bridge, also dated to about 200 AD.

The picture below is taken from a post card in my collection of the same Roman Bridge, the post office date stamp is for 21st August, 1922.

I suppose it's natural, Hazel and I, we're both "knocking on a bit" in years, a bit "stick in the mud", what has become regular is "normal", but, we have decided on change, to become more adventurous.

It came about by sheer chance, we, literally, bumped into a neighbour, if we had seen her coming we would have crossed the road, now that's not a nice thing to admit, but, it's true. Her first words were, "I'm just back from Iceland", and then we stood there listening, "Have you ever been there?", how nice the people were, how clean every thing was, it's not too far to travel, etc, etc, we did, eventually manage to get away.

Hazel and I walked on in silence for a bit, I'm wondering what the score is in the football match Rangers v Celtic, Hazel was the first to say, "Maybe we are stuck in a rut, we do always go to the same place, and, I'm not complaining, it suits me, but, perhaps some thing different next time?"

"Well, I'm happy to try" I said, "We are on first name terms with many of them at the usual place, I know that it's always much the same but they do tell us about the new things, I've no real complaints about it, but I will go along with what you decide".

So, she has decided, next week we travel a little bit further than we usually do, and we will visit Iceland.

Anyway, their carrier bags are bigger than Sainsbury's, they fit the pedal bin better.

My God, I must have written an amazing blog yesterday, 2,865 page views on just one day, I wish that I had read it. What did I miss?

Question 1:

If you knew a woman who was pregnant, who had 8 kids already, three who were deaf, two who were blind, one mentally retarded, and she had syphilis, would you recommend that she have an abortion?
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Read the next question before looking at the response for this one.

Question 2:
It is time to elect a new world leader, and only your vote counts.
Here are the facts about the three candidates. Who would you vote for?

Candidate A.

Associates with crooked politicians, and consults with astrologist
He's had two mistresses.
He also chain smokes and drinks 8 to 10 martinis a day.

Candidate B.

He was kicked out of office twice, sleeps until noon, used opium in
college and drinks a quart of whiskey every evening.

Candidate C

He is a decorated war hero. He's a vegetarian, doesn't smoke, drinks an
occasional beer and never cheated on his wife.

Which of these candidates would be your choice?

Decide first... no peeking, then scroll down for the response.
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Candidate A is Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Candidate B is Winston Churchill.
Candidate C is Adolph Hitler.
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And, by the way, on your answer to the abortion question:

If you said YES, you just killed Beethoven.
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Pretty interesting isn't it?
A person should think before judging someone.

Never be afraid to try something new.

Remember:

Amateurs...built the ark.

Professionals...built the Titanic

In the Garden today,

Actually it is in the house at the back of the garden, but next year it will be mine as I dug up a cutting today and planted it.

Spread peanuts in their shells about for the squirrels, but they were too late, Mr and Mrs Magpie came and stole them all,

Spent an hour at a country park, most of it watching the meercats,

More about the park later, the sun shone, it was a good day.

THE SECRET TO A HAPPY LIFE?

A person walking by noticed an old lady sitting on her front step, so he walked up to her and said, 'I couldn't help noticing how happy you look! What is your secret for such a long, happy life?'

'I smoke ten cigars a day,' she said. 'Before I go to bed, I smoke a nice big joint. Apart from that, I drink a whole bottle of Jack Daniels every week, and eat only junk food. On we ek-ends, I pop pills and do no exercise at all.'

'That is absolutely amazing at your age!', says the walker. 'How old are you?'

'Thirty-four,' she replied.
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Further proof
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PICTURE BELOW
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here it is
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So, the employees of the BBC are going on strike, so what, the only losers will be themselves in their pay packet, viewers and listeners have all the alternative stations that they need.

The BBC is top heavy with waste, cut it out and reduce the cost of the licence. We don't need very expensive employees to sit and chat with those that only turn up to promote their latest book or film, we don't need programmes on cooking, gardening, DIY, quizzes or dancing, there are plenty of other places to find those.

My digital television channel guide tells me that there are 15 BBC television channels and 14 radio channels! Why?

It's the BBC, the first word is British, for the people in Britain, why special programmes for those living in Scotland, Wales, N. Ireland, we are all British, our first language is English. Can anybody explain why there is a BBC Asian Network? or a World Service?

How about just two television channels, that will give them 48 hours to fill with fair and honest reporting on events that concern the British, give us programmes that other channels will not show due to their requirements of audience size and advertising.

Four radio stations are enough, Modern Music, Popular/easy listening music,Currant Affairs/Talk/News and Comedy, and Classical Music and drama.

I'm sorry BBC employees, you made hay while the sun shone for you, we have all read of the extravagant travel costs, taxi usage, personal expenses etc of the staff employed by the BBC, nothing lasts for ever, get on with your jobs, say good-bye to those that have to go, because quite frankly, I don't care.

Glasgow Tony was sitting on a park bench munching on one candy bar after another. After the 6th one a man on the bench across from him said, "Son, you know eating all that candy isn't good for you. It will give you acne, rot your teeth, and make you fat."

Glasgow Tony replied, "You know, my grandfather lived to be 107 years old."

The man asked, "Did your grandfather eat 6 candy bars at a time?"

Glasgow Tony answered, "No, he minded his own f*cking business.

A father asked his 10-year old son if he knew about the birds and the bees.

"I don't want to know," the child said, bursting into tears. "Promise me you won't tell me."

Confused, the father asked what was wrong.

The boy sobbed,

"When I was six, I got the 'There's no Easter Bunny' speech.
At seven, I got the 'There's no Tooth Fairy' speech.
When I was eight, you hit me with the 'There's no Santa' speech.
If you're going to tell me that grown-ups don't really get laid, I'll have nothing left to live for."

Dear Deirdre,
I've never written to you before, but I really need your advice. I have suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me. The usual signs. phone rings but if I answer, the caller hangs up.
My wife has been going out with 'the girls' a lot recently although when I ask their names she always says, 'Just some friends from work, you don't know them.' I always try to stay awake to look out for her coming home, but I usually fall asleep.
Anyway, I have never approached the subject with my wife. I think deep down I just didn't want to know the truth, but last night she went out again and I decided to really check on her. Around midnight, I decided to hide in the garage behind my golf clubs so I could get a good view of the whole street when she arrived home from a night out with 'the girls'. When she got out of the car she was buttoning up her blouse, which was open, and she took her panties out of her purse and slipped them on.
It was at that moment, crouching behind my clubs, that I noticed that the graphite shaft on my driver appeared to have a hairline crack right by the club head.
Is this something I can fix myself or should I take it back to the pro shop where I bought it?
Confused Husband

HOW TO TELL THE SEX OF A BIRD

This Is AMAZING!!!

Until now I never fully understood how to tell The difference Between Male and Female Birds. I always thought it had to be determined surgically.

Until Now.

Which of The Two Birds Is a Female??? Below are Two Birds. Study them closely...See If You Can Spot Which of The Two Is The Female.

It can be done. Even by one with limited bird watching skills.

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Subject: FW: The Breast Cancer site

A favor to ask, it only takes a minute....

Please tell ten friends to tell ten today! The Breast Cancer site is having trouble getting enough people to click on their site daily to meet their quota of donating at least one free mammogram a day to an underprivileged woman. It takes less than a minute to go to their site and click on 'donating a mammogram' for free (pink window in the middle).

This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate sponsors /advertisers use the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for advertising.

Here's the web site! Pass it along to people you know.

http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/

AGAIN, PLEASE TELL 10 FRIENDS TO TELL 10 TODAY

Subject: Common Sense.
London Times Obituary of the late Mr. Common Sense

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense,
who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old
he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic
red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as:

Knowing when to come in out of the rain;
why the early bird gets the worm;
Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not
children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but
overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old
boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens
suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his
condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing
the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Elastoplast to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became
contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received
better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating
when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home
and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a wom