A big fire in Boston.
But my wife says I'm just beating a dead horse.
It's 3am. Rain lashes down, wind howls fiercely. Lightning periodically illuminates the countryside. A ramshackle house stands alone in a field, the only sign of human habitation for miles around.
Lancelot furiously bangs on the door of the decrepit hovel. "Awaken! I am in need of assistance in the name of king and country!"
An elderly man sleepily opens the door.
"Good sir, I have been riding at full gallop for hours with an urgent message for King Arthur. My valiant steed has collapsed with exhaustion from under me. I must take your horse to further my ride. You will be compensated, but time is of the essence!"
The old man says, "I am a poor and humble peasant, unable to afford a horse. I live here alone, but for the company of my lifelong companion Toby." He gestures towards the low embers barely glowing in the fireplace, and Lancelot sees an enormous English sheepdog, wheezing fitfully in its sleep. Even a cursory glance is enough to see that Toby has had a long and not particularly easy life. What hair is left around the mange is matted. He stinks. He is asthmatic.
Lancelot does not hesitate for an instant. "That beast must carry me far enough to get to the next dwelling. I know not whether he will survive the ordeal, but I have no choice."
The old man recoils in horror. "In faith, you must jest... I wouldn't send a knight out on a dog like this!"
But my doctor says I have 80 of them
But when it stopped lying, it turned out to just be 10$.
Doctor: hey man you’re a beast
Me: really? I’m a beast? I knew I was in perfect shape
Doctor: no I said you’re OBESE
Once upon a time, this guy named Fred decided that he was rough and tough enough to seek his fortune in the Wild West.
So, Fred found his way to a frontier town and became the bartender at the wildest saloon in the territory. He soon proved how rough and tough he was, and the owner of the bar was pleased with how he broke up fights and didn't skim too much off the receipts. He told Fred that he (Fred) was doing a fine job, but he should remember one thing:
"If you ever hear even a rumor that Mad Martin is coming to town, just save what you can, put a bottle of Red Eye on the counter, and head out of town as fast as you can."
Fred was pretty perplexed at this, and sought explanation. He was told that Mad Martin was an old mountain man who lived up in the hills and only came to town once or twice a year. However, Martin was the most dangerous guy they'd ever heard of and few had ever encountered him and lived to tell the tale.
Fred listened carefully and then promptly forgot all about it. Until, one day a few months later, a cowboy came riding through town at full speed, yelling, "Martin's coming! Head for the hills!" The result was incredible. Everybody in town immediately jumped on their horses and took off for the hills. Except Fred. He wanted to see this guy because he didn't believe he could be all that tough. So, Fred just put the bottle of Red Eye on the bar, hid behind the counter, and waited.
He didn't wait long. Soon there was a noise in the street. As Fred looked out a hole in the wall, he saw this huge, mean-looking guy ride down the center of the street on the biggest bull buffalo that Fred had ever seen. The guy stopped the buffalo in front of the bar, jumped off the beast, punched it in the head (dropping the critter to its knees) and bellowed, "Wait here til I get back!"
The fellow turned and walked up the steps. Fred saw that the guy had a pair of huge mountain lions on leashes. He tied them both to a post and kicked them soundly, hollering, "You pussycats stay here til I'm done!" The cats fearfully sat down.
Into the bar stormed the fellow, ripping the doors off the wall as he passed. With two strides he approached the bar, picked up the bottle of Red Eye, bit off the neck, and downed it all in one gulp. Poor Fred, thoroughly frightened by now, let out a little whimper. The guy klooked down over the bar and roared, "What the hell do you think you're looking at!?"
Fred managed to say, "N..n..n..nothing, mister. Do you want another
... keep reading on reddit ➡A huge pair of jaws crushes their boat, trapping them in the beasts mouth. As water and krill fill the cavity, one man claws at the inside desperately as the other sits calmly on the tongue. Furious, the panicked man screams at the other as to how he can be so calm. He replies in an even tone, "In times like these I just remember that famous saying: All's whale that ends whale!"
Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.
Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.
Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.
The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.
Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.
Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.
One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.
Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.
“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.
The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.
“Yes of course” replied Trevor
... keep reading on reddit ➡At first the curse just brought him bad luck, causing vital equipment to break and provoking frequent but small injuries to him and his crew. Soon, however, the curse darkened and diggers the man had hired to help work his claim began to die in bizarre ways.
One was killed by an African scorpion that should never have made it to Alaska, let alone have survived the cold. A second drank a gallon of the mercury used to separate the gold from the ore. A third was found with a tree growing up through his body.
The man himself who owned the claim became more and more pale. His eyes became all white. His skin began to give off an overpowering smell of sulfur. He slept all day and at night he wandered the mountain above his claim, coming back each day looking more like a beast than a man.
The curse became so bad the last worker alive ran away to the nearest town to tell the authorities what was happening at the claim.
In an attempt to save the claim owner's life and lift the curse, a priest was brought in by dogsled to perform an exorcism on the man.
A sherriff from the town came with the priest as a bodyguard.
The exorcism was long, but apparently successful. Immediately the man's color returned, the sulfur smell disappeared, and he was able to sleep through the night for the first time in six months.
After the man awoke, the sherriff immediately arrested the man and brought him back to town with the priest. Standing in front of the judge, the sherriff was asked what charge the law had against the claim owner whose life had just been so dramatically turned around.
The sherriff looked at the man, then looked back at the judge and said in a slow and rumbling voice, "Possession as a miner."
