Gosh, now Sounds is in a quandry, she is not sure whether she wants the cookies or the red necks (minus the cattle prod....Sounds is very old and a genius at improvisation)
Gosh, now Sounds is in a quandry, she is not sure whether she wants the cookies or the red necks (minus the cattle prod....Sounds is very old and a genius at improvisation)
Sancho’s stonewalling (the bastard). Sound-O ran off with my persuaders. I’ve got some cookie slut from inside the loop undercutting my price. I’ve gotta move a warehouse full of Do-Si-Dos with a fleet of gas guzzlers. Countries all over the middle-east are on the brink of civil war. Oil is up over 100 dollars per barrel. Markets are crashing and burning all over the world. The DAX, the FTSE, the Dow, the Hang Seng are in the basement. What am I supposed to do?
I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do: I’m gonna Sell – Sell – Sell! I locked in my fuel hedges last fall at 75 dollars a barrel. I’m going to slay the competition! I’m a businesswoman, by god and greed is good.
Power to the people, baby. Power to the people.
(but for a democracy to work, you gotta vote)
Say it ain't so, Joe.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-VUb...eature=related
Sorry Uncle Sancho, I and the red necks took a bit of a detour...I sold alot of cookies to Wayne Newton and the Elvis impersonators in Vegas; dropped the girl scouts at the bunny ranch.....Are we going to carry our story to March....
Going once...
Going twice...
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Hmm, I’m game, but I’m running short of ideas and I’ve got the Girl Scouts of America after me with a defamation suit. Also, Sound-O, I think it’s just you and me cracking each other up. But what the hey, here I go again:Originally Posted by soundofmusic
Sorry Uncle Sancho, I and the red necks took a bit of a detour...I sold alot of cookies to Wayne Newton and the Elvis impersonators in Vegas; dropped the girl scouts at the bunny ranch.....Are we going to carry our story to March....
Vegas! Vegas? Surely you jest. Vegas is for suckers. The real money’s up there at that casino on Wall Street. That’s where I’m headed.
I absolutely killed with cookies this season. I snagged a couple of high-profile investors from East-Cobb County (East-Snob County) by promising them a 20 percent rate of return on their investment by the end of the cookie run – guaranteed by the full force of the GSA. They already knew about my fuel hedges so I let it slip that my silent partners in Dubai weren’t sure they wanted any more investors in our consortium. You should have seen their eyes bug out. Ha! I couldn’t take their money fast enough. And, of course, they each had two friends and those four each had two friends. Within a week I had half the people in those hoity-toity neighborhoods north of Atlanta taking out a second mortgage and sending whatever they could to my “special,” off-shore, cookie-consortium account.
The North Georgia Girl Scouts made so much money this year, we got to meet Hillary!
New topic: Speaking of red-necks, I was over at my neighbor’s house today, helping him set some fence posts. Their big news was their new cat. You see, my neighbors have an eight-year-old with special needs. In their words, “That boy there, he ain’t right.” Anyway, the kid always wanted a cat, so they’d gone over Pet-Smart last weekend and adopted one. My neighbor said, “The boy seen him a big, puffy white cat and started petting him and the cat started purring, so I figured that’s the one - I reckon.” I said, “Well, Roy-Gene, what’s the cat’s name?” He said, “Now that’s a problem, Sancho. The cat already has a name, but we gotta change it.” I said, “Do tell.” He said, “The cat’s name is Puff-Daddy, but we been callin’ him Stone-Wall.”
So it is, where I live. I had to bite my lip.
An explanation may be needed for anybody unfamiliar with my region of the United States. In most parts of the U.S.A., red-neck is euphemism for a mentally-challenged bigot, but in certain circles it is bandied about with much enthusiasm and often self-applied with great reverence.
Say it ain't so, Joe.
My timing has always been lame; wouldn't you know that the very time I decide to go visit the theatres and do a bit of trading on wall street....
Well, I didn't quite have the cash to pay for my ticket, so I dressed myself as a pedigree white persian, taking pet class and thought that one of the hoity toity passengers would take pity and keep me at the Ritz when I did my lost cat routine...
Didn't realize that Bubba Bodine worked at the Atlanta airport and saw that "right perty pussy" with no tag and no ticket....took me to the petmart for the night and tipped off his friends with the 8 year old who "just ain't right ever since Brenda Jean dropped him on his head" Now I'm not to fond of sticky fingered children; but when I got my third bath, I bit the**### out of him and flew to lit net...wherever the heck we are...
Epilogue to The Great Cookie Caper, by Sound-O and Sanch-O
Yo! I’m the phat cat, known ‘round here as Puff-Daddy. What up? I’m here to tell you what went down with the great cookie sale of 2011. I can do it ‘cos I got some time on my paws. I’m traveling. I ain’t lyin’. I’m out-doors, don’t ‘cha know. I had to leave those hillbilly-rednecks down south and get back to tha ‘hood. I gots to be with my peoples. Umm-Hmm. I gots to get all down in South Florida where the sun is high in the sky, where it feels good on my fur. Am I right?
I ‘spose the eight-year-old was nice enough and he petted me real good and his mama, Brenda-Jean, bought me a rhinestone collar that matched her purse – so I gots me some bling. But lawd was they dumb. Ain’t no hep cat could stay there. Am I right?
The last time I saw Sancho, the bastard, he was sitting on his back porch, working his way through his second box of thin mints. I sez to him, I sez, “Yo, frashizzle my nizzle.” He only looked up long enough to hurl a shoe at me. But that don’t confront me, I just strutted right by with my tail in the air.
The Girl Scout never made it to Wall Street. She never even made it to Manhattan. They stopped her in Queens. Somebody tipped off The Securities and Exchange Commission about her cookie-based Ponzi scheme and they were waiting for her at the airport. They slapped the cuffs on her the minute she deplaned at LaGuardia. The agent wanted to run her straight over to Riker’s Island without a trial, but then they discovered she was a juvenile, so they just sent her to bed without her dinner instead.
Sound-O went big-time. And I mean big-time. When she hit Wall Street, she recognized a soft market immediately – before anyone else. She started shorting stocks and raking in the cash. Then she saw the bottom and figured it was a ‘V’ and not a ‘U’ and started buying like a crazed dope fiend. She made millions on Pork-Rind futures and then – she just walked away. She paid cash for a 20,000 square-foot mansion and is now a well-known and well-regarded cat rancher in South Florida.
And me? Well don’t ‘cha worry ‘bout me. Like I said, I’m out-doors, but some cats just roll that way. Am I right? Mmm-Hmm. I’m struttin’ all the way to South Florida, to that great-big Cat Ranch in the sun. I’ll be alright. I got my shades on. I got my bling on. I got my 40 ouncer on. And I got my rap on:
Meow!Stray cat strut, I'm a ladies' cat
I’m a feline Casanova, hey, that’s where I’m at
Had a shoe thrown at me by a mean old man
I get my dinner from a garbage can*
*from Stray Cat Strut, by Brian Setzer
(So, my apologies to the man with the crazy blond hair and that big orange guitar)
Say it ain't so, Joe.
Wow, Uncle Sancho...we are goodAs it happened, I got taken for a ride on that mansion deal. I asked for a bunny ranch; I always wanted to raise fluffy little rabbits; I picked up puff kitty on the way. It seems I purchased "the bunny ranch"; puff kitty is overjoyed of course....
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