sevener wrote:
If I ever get hold of the brainless moron in the white Mitsubishi who was taking pot shots at our cats yesterday from the window of his moving car, it will be him that needs the vet.
Fortunately the penilly challenged to$$er couldn't hit a bl00dy barn door and missed.
Can you tell that I have a lot of respect for these shotgun toting scumbags?
And that I was a tad upset?
I'm with you. If you find out who it is, put my name down for the lynching party!!!
I had to include this after your barn door comment. It' san olsie but a goodie:_
Before the battle of Hastings!
King Harold was inspecting his troops on the eve of the Battle of Hastings, chatting with them a bit, trying to raise their morale, that sort of thing.
He went to the swordsmen first, choosing a soldier at random from amongst the ranks. "Do you feel ready for the battle tomorrow?" he asked.
"Oh yes, sire," the swordsman responded eagerly.
"Handy with that thing are you?" Harold asked, indicating the man's sword.
"Reasonably so, sire," the man replied. "Watch." He bent down, picked up a handful of grass, flung it in the air, and waved his sword about. When the grass fell
down again, it had been cut into a neat line of soldier figures.
"Good work, man," said Harold, impressed, "and good luck in the battle."
"Thank you, sire," said the soldier.
King Harold proceeded to inspect the pikemen. "Are you looking forward to the battle?" he asked one of their number.
"Yes, sire," the man replied.
"Good with your pike, are you?" the King asked.
"Not bad," the pike man said. "See that flock of birds?" Harold nodded, and the pike flashed in the soldiers hand. It went sailing through the air, right through the centre of the flock, and when it came down five birds were skewered on it.
"Well done," said Harold, "and good luck in the battle tomorrow."
He then went to the archers, who stood proudly with their longbows, looking intimidating even to someone on their side. "Are you ready for tomorrow's battle?"
King Harold asked one bowman.
The man squinted at him a bit, and then said, "Good Lord, it's the King! Um, yes Sire, I'm ready."
"What can you do with that bow, then?" Harold asked him.
"What? Oh, this thing? I dunno. Someone gave me it yesterday and told me to stay with these people here."
"Well... do you see that barn over there, about twenty yards away?"
The archer peered in the direction of Harold's pointing finger. "Oh yes, I see it," he said at last.
"Do you think you could hit that?"
"I think so." He lined himself up with the barn, grunting with the effort of drawing the bow, and loosed the arrow. It sailed past the barn, five feet too high and ten feet to the left.
"Did I hit it?" he asked.
"Er, yes," said Harold, clapping him on the back. "Well done and good luck."
"Watch out for that man tomorrow, will you?" said Harold turning to the captain of archery. "He'll have somebody's bloody eye out with that thing."
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It was so upsetting and awful for the helpless animal.
