OMG! That is sooo funny!

~~
Stephenie Hamilton
Macromedia Certified ColdFusion Professional
CFXHosting





-----Original Message-----
From: Harkins,Patrick [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] 
Sent: Tuesday, March 18, 2003 4:25 PM
To: CF-Community
Subject: RE: Do you know everyone in the cf-community? :-)


the response to Pablo's question is not mine but you may find a smile in
it.
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 damn summer.

Inspectors my ass... You want the job done? Call my mother.

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