I need to see the many faces of the Hoff. I have people that NEED to see the many faces of the Hoff. I want to see the many faces of the Hoff!
E y e - T a l i a n Why do Italians hate Jehovah's Witnesses? Because Italians hate all witnesses. Do you know why most men from Italy are named Tony? On the boat over to America they put a sticker on them that said - TO NY. You know you're Italian when . . . . You can bench press 325 pounds, shave twice a day and still cry when your mother yells at you. You carry your lunch in a produce bag because you can't fit two cappicola sandwiches, 4 oranges, 2 bananas and pizzelles into a regular lunch bag. Your mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant, travel agent and lawyer are all your cousins. You have at least 5 cousins living in the same town or on the same block.. All five of those cousins are named af ter your grandfather or grandmother. You are on a first name basis with at least 8 banquet hall owners. You only get one good shave from a disposable razor. If someone in your family grows beyond 5' 9", it is presumed his Mother had an affair. There were more than 28 people in your bridal party. You netted more than $50,000 on your first communion. . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . And you REALLY, REALLY know you're Italian when . . .. **Your grandfather had a fig tree. (or twelve) **You eat Sunday dinner at 2:00. (or 1:00) ***Christmas Eve . . . only fish. **Your mom's meatballs are the best. (my mom's are)** ***You've been hit with a wooden spoon or had a shoe thrown at you. **Clear plastic covers on all the furniture. **You know how to pronounce "manicotti" and "mozzarella." **You fight over whether it's called "sauce" or "gravy." (it's GRAVY!) You've called someone a "mamaluke." You've called someone a "jamoke"
My First Taser Experience (make that ONLY)... MY words... LOL... My wife is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to "Well, I have out-done myself once again." No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a Lifetime movie in the near future. Here goes... Last weekend I spied something at the pawnshop that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion was our 18th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Taser gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions) I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arc between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I l earned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome! Sparks, a blue arc of electricity, and a loud pop! Yipeeeeee! I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to her what that burn spot on the face of her microwave is. Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, etc. etc. There I sat in my recliner, my dog looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the dog) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping the dog for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. He is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? It seemed reasonable to me at the time. So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Taser in the other. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "No friggin' way!" Friggin' way - trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself. What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm sitting there alone, the dog looking on with his head cocked to one side as to say, "Don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight-- always 20-20. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time. Don't ya just hate that?) I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY*********! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, and then body slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position. The dog was standing over me making sounds I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "Do it again, do it again!" (NOTE: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Taser, one note of caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're lucky, you won't lodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep into your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-***** that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed t he landscape. My glasses were on the TV across the room. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce or two, I'm pretty sure. By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round, kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself. Miss 'em; sure would like to get 'em back. Never Touchin' the Taser Again!
Someone forwarded that to me. My brother did try a stun gun out on himself one time though, but the effect wasn't so dramatic.
How many guys do you know can beat up 8 guys with no problem, come off with a somewhat witty (well, nix that) remark, then eat 14 cheeseburgers and do it all again in 5 minutes? Add to it the emotional range of a dog and the ability to drone lines of cue cards with a completely monotone voice. Fame was inevitable.
No you are just confused. Seagal has his eyes closed even when he is awake. Rob has his eyes closed, only when he sleeps (which, based on photo evidence, is quite often).