<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324</id><updated>2011-04-22T05:01:59.921+08:00</updated><title type='text'>the junkyard</title><subtitle type='html'>it's rubbish, it's clutter... but i just can't throw them to oblivion</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>289</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-113693794277700519</id><published>2006-01-11T08:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-01-11T08:05:42.790+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WORLD'S EASIEST QUIZ(Passing requires 4 correct answers)1) How long did the Hundred Years War last?2) Which country makes Panama hats?3) From which animal do we get catgut?4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?5) What is a camel's hair brush made of?6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal?7) What was King George VI's first name?8) What color is a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/113693794277700519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/113693794277700519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2006_01_01_archive.html#113693794277700519' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-113017559935459899</id><published>2005-10-25T01:22:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-10-25T01:39:59.363+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE NICEST ALPHABETAlthough things are not perfectBecause of trials or painContinue in thanksgivingDo not begin to blameEven when the times are hardFierce winds are bound to blowGod is forever ableHold on to what you knowImagine life without His loveJoy would cease to beKeep thanking Him for all the thingsLove imparts to theeMove out of "Camp Complaining"No weapon that is knownOn earth can yield </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/113017559935459899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/113017559935459899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_10_01_archive.html#113017559935459899' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-112481772221323148</id><published>2005-08-24T01:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T01:22:45.643+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it.Happy moments, praise God.Difficult moments, seek God.Quiet moments, worship God.Painful moments, trust God.Every moment, thank God. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/112481772221323148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/112481772221323148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_08_01_archive.html#112481772221323148' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111439844017668686</id><published>2005-04-25T11:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-25T11:07:20.176+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One night a guy takes his girlfriend home. As they are about to kiss each other goodnight at the front door, the guy starts feeling a little horny. With an air of confidence, he leans with his hand against the wall and smiling, he says to her, "Honey, would you give me a blow job?"Horrified, she replies, "Are you mad? My parents will see us!""Oh come on! Who's gonna see us at this hour?"He asks </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111439844017668686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111439844017668686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111439844017668686' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111405265717848332</id><published>2005-04-21T10:50:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-21T11:04:17.180+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A man's daughter had asked the local minister to come and pray with her father. When the minister arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows.An empty chair sat beside his bed. The minister assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. "I guess you were expecting me, he said.""No, who are you?" said the father.The minister told him his name and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111405265717848332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111405265717848332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111405265717848332' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111387865268046384</id><published>2005-04-19T10:39:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-19T10:44:12.680+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A Filipino parked his brand-new BMW in front of his office building, ready to show it off to his colleagues. As he got out, a truck passed too close and completely tore off the door on the driver's side.The Filipino immediately grabbed his cell phone, dialled the police, and within minutes a policeman pulled up. Before the policeman had a chance to ask any questions, the Filipino started </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111387865268046384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111387865268046384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111387865268046384' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111353133915140743</id><published>2005-04-15T10:07:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-15T10:17:20.043+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Remove your contact lenses when you are planning to have or attend a BBQ party or whatever that's got to do with flames.There's this horrible true story about a 21 year old guy in Malacca. He wore a pair of contact lenses during a barbecue party. While he was barbecuing, he stared at the lit charcoals. After a few seconds, he started to scream for help and moved rapidly, jumping up and down. No </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111353133915140743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111353133915140743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111353133915140743' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111284381432928358</id><published>2005-04-07T11:09:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-07T11:16:54.333+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It's not the student's fault if he fails in his subjects.Bakit?Because the year only has 365 days.  And when you take these things into consideration... 1. Sundays - 52 Sundays in a year. Sunday is rest day.? Therefore... days left: 313.2. Summer - 50 days of very hot weather. Mahirap mag-aral kapag mainit.  Days left: 263.3. Sleep - Kailangan ng 8 hours araw-araw, hindi ba?  Calculate. This </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111284381432928358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111284381432928358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_04_01_archive.html#111284381432928358' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111190237883821353</id><published>2005-03-27T13:27:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-27T13:46:18.843+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Registered nurse si Maria sa States. Kasama nya ang kanyang ina na nagpagamot doon. Namatay ang ina nito. Dahil sa kamahalan ng pamasahe pabalik sa Pilipinas, nagtipid si Maria. Pinauwi na lang niya ang kabaong ng kanyang ina na mag-isa. Pagdating ng kabaong, napansin ng mga kapamilya niya na dikit ang mukha sa salamin ng ataul. Nagkomento tuloy and isang anak, "Ay, naku! Tingnan mo 'yan... hindi</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111190237883821353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111190237883821353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111190237883821353' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111112470163005006</id><published>2005-03-18T13:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-18T13:45:01.633+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You are everything to somebody, right now at this very minute...someone is very proud of yousomeone is thinking of yousomeone cares about yousomeone misses yousomeone wants to talk to yousomeone wants to be with yousomeone hopes you aren't in troublesomeone is thankful for the support you have providedsomeone wants to hold your handsomeone hopes everything turns out all rightsomeone wants you to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111112470163005006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111112470163005006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111112470163005006' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111095326805625372</id><published>2005-03-16T13:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T14:07:48.066+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Check your LOVE attitude....To find your love attitude number, add your birth month and your birthdate together. Keep reducing it until it's a single digit.Example:January 28 1+28 = 29 2+9 = 11 1+1 = 2;Your love attitude number is 2.If your number is:OneYou are charming imaginative and independent. Usually your style is ahead of others; you know what's in and what's way out. Sometimes you're a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111095326805625372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111095326805625372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111095326805625372' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111060676751989434</id><published>2005-03-12T13:35:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-12T13:52:47.523+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This is a true story that happened in Japan.In order to renovate the house, someone in Japan tears open the wall.Japanese houses normally have a hollow space between the wooden walls. When tearing down the walls, he found that there was a lizard stuck there because a nail from outside hammered into one of its feet. He sees this, feels pity, and at the same time curious, as when he checked the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111060676751989434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111060676751989434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111060676751989434' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111034922529388531</id><published>2005-03-09T14:12:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-09T14:20:25.296+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>REMOVING GALLSTONES NATURALLYby Dr Lai Chiu-NanIt has worked for many. If it works for you please pass on the good news. Chiu Nan is not charging for it, so we should make it free for everyone. Your reward is when someone, through your word of mouth, benefits from the regime.Gallstones may not be everyone's concern. But they should be because we all have them. Moreover, gallstones may lead to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111034922529388531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111034922529388531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111034922529388531' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-111000207032339734</id><published>2005-03-05T13:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-05T13:54:30.323+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The US INS recently released this list of names of Filipinos who changed their names when they became naturalized U.S. Citizens. Who knows... you might encounter them one day.Happy Reading!Gregorio Talahib - George BushTomas Cruz - Tom CruiseMacario Maldonado - Mac DonaldRemegio Batungbacal- Remington SteelVictoria Malihim- Victoria SecretBienvenido Jurado - Ben HurJuanito Lakarin - Johnny </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111000207032339734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/111000207032339734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111000207032339734' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110965858603674860</id><published>2005-03-01T13:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T14:30:49.893+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>CANCEROUS FOOD/PRODUCTSSATAY LOVERSIf you all eat satay, don't ever forget to eat the cucumber, because eating satay together with carbon after barbequing can cause cancer. But we have a cure for that... cucumber should be eaten after we eat the satay because it is an anti-carcinogen.PRAWNS and VIT CDo not eat shrimp/prawn if you have just taken vitamin C pills! This will cause you to die in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110965858603674860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110965858603674860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#110965858603674860' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110957018064612971</id><published>2005-02-28T13:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-02-28T13:56:20.653+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Somewhere in Milaor, Camarines Sur, there lived a fourth grader boy who would follow this route to school everyday: he has to cross the rugged plains and cross the dangerous highway where vehicles are recklessly driving to and from.Once past this highway, the boy would take a short cut by passing by the Church every morning just to say Hi to God, and faithfully say his, "Magandang umaga po" in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110957018064612971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110957018064612971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110957018064612971' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110919304883217615</id><published>2005-02-24T05:07:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-02-24T05:10:48.836+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A woman arrived at the Gates of Heaven. While she was waiting for Saint Peter to greet her, she peeked through the gates. She saw a beautiful banquet table. Sitting all around were her parents and all the other people she had loved and who had died before her.They saw her and began calling greetings to her "Hello! How are you? We've been waiting for you! Good to see you."When Saint Peter came by,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110919304883217615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110919304883217615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110919304883217615' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110901607925428939</id><published>2005-02-22T03:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-02-22T04:01:19.256+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What IfWhat if God decided to stop leading us tomorrow because we didn't follow Him today?What if God couldn't take the time to bless us today because we couldn't take the time to thank Him yesterday?What if we never saw another flower bloom because we grumbled when God sent the Rain?What if God didn't walk with us today because we failed to recognize it as His day?What if, God took away the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110901607925428939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110901607925428939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110901607925428939' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110845935621085287</id><published>2005-02-15T17:20:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-02-15T17:22:36.213+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A cool thing to know about your brain...Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer are in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe and the biran </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110845935621085287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110845935621085287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_02_01_archive.html#110845935621085287' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110689206940572371</id><published>2005-01-28T13:51:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-28T14:01:09.406+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WORKPLACE VOCABULARY404Someone who's clueless. From the World Wide Web error message "404 NotFound," meaning that the requested document could not be located.ADMINISPHEREThe rarefied organisational layers beginning just above the rank andfile. Decisions that fall from the "adminisphere" are often profoundlyinappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were designed tosolve. This is </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110689206940572371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110689206940572371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110689206940572371' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110671565724559315</id><published>2005-01-26T13:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-26T13:00:57.246+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>EASY WAY TO HEAVENAn exasperated mother, whose son was always getting into mischief, finally asked him, "How do you expect to get into Heaven?"The boy thought it over and said, "Well, I'll run in and out and in and out and keep slamming the door until St. Peter says, 'For Heaven's sake, Dylan,come in or stay out!'" </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110671565724559315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110671565724559315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110671565724559315' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110655297808489179</id><published>2005-01-24T15:41:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-24T15:49:38.083+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A man walks into a restaurant with a full-grown ostrich behind him, and as he sits, the waitress comes over and asks for their order.The man says, "I'll have a hamburger, fries and a Coke," and turns to the ostrich. "What's yours?""I'll have the same," says the ostrich.A short time later, the waitress returns with the order. "That will be $6.40, please," and the man reaches into his pocket </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110655297808489179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110655297808489179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110655297808489179' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110612207549565987</id><published>2005-01-19T15:47:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-19T16:07:55.496+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Things I did not know:1. The citrus soda 7-UP was created in 1929; "7" was selected because the original containers were 7 ounces. "UP" indicated the direction of the bubbles.2. Mosquito repellents don't repel. They hide you. The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they don't know you're there.3. Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least 6 feet away from a toilet to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110612207549565987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110612207549565987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110612207549565987' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110603897634933091</id><published>2005-01-18T16:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-18T17:02:56.350+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The multi-purpose card is the latest version of our perpetually metamorphosing IC. With an embedded smart chip, it can also store our medical history,driver's license, act as an ATM card, serve as an electronic purse and even be used at the National Library.A likely scenario when ordering pizzas in the near future...Operator: Thank you for calling Pizza Hut. May I have your...Customer: </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110603897634933091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110603897634933091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110603897634933091' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110551448952594417</id><published>2005-01-12T15:09:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-12T15:21:29.526+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>God's BoxesI have in my hands two boxeswhich God gave me to hold He said, "Put all your sorrows in the black boxand all your joys in the gold." I heeded His words and in the two boxesboth my joys and sorrows I stored but though the gold became heavier each daythe black was as light as before with curiosity, I opened the black I wanted to find out why and I saw, in the base of the box</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110551448952594417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110551448952594417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110551448952594417' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110532948904723895</id><published>2005-01-10T11:50:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-01-10T11:58:09.046+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Subject: Qantas Pilot &amp; Engineer DialogueOriginal internal Qantas emailAfter every flight, pilots fill out a form called a gripe sheet, which conveys to the mechanics problems encountered with the aircraft during the flight that need repair or correction.The mechanics read and correct the problem, and then respond in writing on the lower half of the form what remedial action was taken, and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110532948904723895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110532948904723895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2005_01_01_archive.html#110532948904723895' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110309504772188011</id><published>2004-12-15T15:14:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T15:17:27.720+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110309504772188011'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110309504772188011'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110309504772188011' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110301641556859405</id><published>2004-12-14T17:17:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-14T17:26:55.566+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't know where to start." We will then drink beer.Because I'm a man, when I catch a cold, I need someone to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110301641556859405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110301641556859405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110301641556859405' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110274949092802552</id><published>2004-12-11T14:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-11T15:18:10.926+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>IF NOAH WERE A FILIPINO...It is the year 2003 and Noah lives in the PHILIPPINES.The Lord speaks to Noah and says: "In one year I am going to make it rain and cover the whole earth with water until all is destroyed. But I want you to save the righteous people and two of every kind of living thing on the earth.Therefore, I am commanding you to build an Ark." In a flash of lightning, God </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110274949092802552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110274949092802552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110274949092802552' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110265205349522781</id><published>2004-12-10T13:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-10T12:20:22.696+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>An interesting speech delivered by a CEO of a premier IT company of India during an employee session with another IT company in India. He is incidentally, one of the top 50 Influencial people of Asia according the latest Asiaweek publication and also the new IT Advisor to the Thailand Prime Minister.________________________________________________________________Extract of Mr. Narayana </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110265205349522781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110265205349522781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110265205349522781' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110256414825724318</id><published>2004-12-09T11:44:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-09T11:49:08.256+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>GOT A GRIP ON YOUR FOOT?While sitting at your desk, make clockwise circles with your right foot.While doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand.Your foot will change direction. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110256414825724318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110256414825724318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110256414825724318' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110240454884246401</id><published>2004-12-07T15:24:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-07T15:29:08.843+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>There was this guy named MARK. One night, he was walking all alone sa Balete Drive (e di ba, that road is infamous for having ghosts daw, white ladies and stuff?) Tapos sobrang dilim ng paligid, walang katao-tao...Habang naglalakad siya, may narinig siyang tumawag sa name niya... "MARK! MARK! MARK!" Lumingon siya, pero, WALANG TAO!!! Binilisan niya yung lakad, tapos may tumatawag pa rin sa </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110240454884246401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110240454884246401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110240454884246401' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110231227460070081</id><published>2004-12-06T13:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-06T13:51:14.600+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Which one will you choose?A group of children were playing near two railway tracks, one still in use while the other disused. Only one child played on the disused track, the rest on the operational track.The train came, and you were just beside the track interchange. You could make the train change its course to the disused track and save most of the kids. However, that would also mean the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110231227460070081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110231227460070081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110231227460070081' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110215643438620455</id><published>2004-12-04T18:28:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-04T18:33:54.386+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A bus stops and two Italian men get on. They sit down and engage in an animated conversation. The lady sitting behind them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of the men say the following..."Emma come first.""Den I come.""Den two asses come together.""I come once-a-more.""Two asses, they come together again.""I come again and pee twice.""Then I come </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110215643438620455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110215643438620455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110215643438620455' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110205640919036396</id><published>2004-12-03T14:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-03T14:46:49.190+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A magazine recently ran a "Dilbert Quotes" contest. They were looking for people to submit quotes from their real life Dilbert-type managers.Here are the Top Ten finalists:No. 10One day my Boss asked me to submit a status report to him concerning a project I was working on. I asked him if tomorrow would be soon enough. He said, "If I wanted it tomorrow, I would have waited until tomorrow </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110205640919036396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110205640919036396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110205640919036396' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110186998925565230</id><published>2004-12-01T10:52:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-12-01T10:59:49.256+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>An E-mail to the Wrong Wife(This was voted as the best e-mail joke in Australia in 2001)After being nearly snowbound for two weeks last winter, a Seattle man departed for his vacation in Miami Beach, where he was to meet his wife the next day at the conclusion of her business trip in Minneapolis. They were looking forward to pleasant weather and a nice time together.Unfortunately, there </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110186998925565230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110186998925565230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_archive.html#110186998925565230' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110180630157036387</id><published>2004-11-30T17:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-30T17:18:21.570+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE ONE THAT GOT AWAYIn your life, you'll make note of a lot of people; ones with whom you shared something special, ones who will always mean something. There's the one you first kissed, the one you first loved, the one you lost your virginity to, the one you put on a pedestal, the one you're with... and the one that got away.Who is the one that got away? I guess it's that person with whom </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110180630157036387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110180630157036387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110180630157036387' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110171090268655594</id><published>2004-11-29T14:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-29T14:48:22.686+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>RIO DIAZ (Cancer Patient) TESTIMONYSix months ago, my family was preparing for my funeral, but I stand here before you today by God's grace because He still has a purpose for my life. Let me share with you my story.In April, l99l, I began to host Eat, Bulaga!, a noontime show that brought me fame beyond my wildest dreams. I earned good money while I made people laugh. What a blessing!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110171090268655594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110171090268655594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110171090268655594' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110144790887268008</id><published>2004-11-27T12:57:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-28T12:56:15.880+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The most destructive habit................... worryThe greatest joy............................. givingThe greatest loss............................ loss of self-respectThe most satisfying work..................... helping othersThe ugliest personality trait................ selfishnessThe most endangered species.................. dedicated leadersOur greatest natural resource.........</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110144790887268008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110144790887268008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110144790887268008' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110128856679939538</id><published>2004-11-24T17:19:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-24T17:29:26.800+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Poopie (shit) ListGHOST POOPIE:  The kind where you feel the poopie come out, but there is nopoopie in the toilet.CLEAN POOPIE: The kind where you poopie it out, see it in the toilet, butthere is nothing on the toilet paper.WET POOPIE:  The kind where you wipe your butt 50 times and it still feelsunwiped, so you have to put some toilet paper between your butt and yourunderwear so you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110128856679939538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110128856679939538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110128856679939538' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110118151335060620</id><published>2004-11-23T11:41:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-23T11:45:13.350+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A man is sitting reading his newspaper when his wife sneaks up behind him and whacks him on the head with a frying pan."What was that for?" he asks."That was for the piece of paper in your trouser pocket with the name of Mary Ellen written on it!" she replies."Don't be silly." he says. "Two weeks ago when I went to the races Mary Ellen was the name of one of the horses I bet on."She seems</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110118151335060620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110118151335060620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110118151335060620' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110109573858351281</id><published>2004-11-22T11:39:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-22T11:55:38.583+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the school's students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question."Everything God does is done with perfection Yet, my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110109573858351281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110109573858351281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110109573858351281' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110093162194320510</id><published>2004-11-20T14:09:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-20T14:20:21.943+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I GOT 32!Below is Dr. Phil's test. (Dr. Phil scored 55 -- he did this test on Oprah -- she got a 38.) Some folks pay a lot of money to find this stuff out. Read on, this is very interesting!Don't peek but begin the test as you scroll down and answer. Answers are for who you are now...not who you were in the past.Have pen or pencil and paper ready.This is a real test given by the Human </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110093162194320510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110093162194320510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110093162194320510' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110075263230496204</id><published>2004-11-18T13:28:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-18T12:38:32.450+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Lord, I love you and I need you, come into my heart, and bless me, my family, my home, and my friends, in Jesus' name. Amen."Why do people turn simple, pure and honest prayers like this into forwarded emails? Should there really be the promise of a miracle to get people to pray?And why do we have to pass this on to '7 people' for the miracle to happen? Quid pro quo... is that how people </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110075263230496204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110075263230496204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110075263230496204' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110065744995120875</id><published>2004-11-17T10:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T10:10:49.950+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A young man had been to Wednesday night Bible Study. The Pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice. The young man couldn't help but wonder, "Does God still speak to people?"After service he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways.It was about ten o'clock</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110065744995120875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110065744995120875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110065744995120875' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110057720931236061</id><published>2004-11-16T11:49:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-16T11:55:44.173+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One day a German florist came to a barber for a haircut. After the cut, he paid the barber and the barber replied: "I am sorry, I cannot accept money from you, I am doing a community service".The florist was happy and left the shop. The next morning when the barber went to open his shop, he found a thank you card and a dozen roses waiting at his door.A British cop came for a haircut and when </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110057720931236061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110057720931236061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110057720931236061' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-110038484414082834</id><published>2004-11-14T06:04:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-11-14T06:27:24.140+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>As I was walking down life's highway many years ago, I came upon a sign that read, 'Heavens Grocery Store.'When I got a little closer, the doors swung open wide. And when I came to myself, I was standing inside.I saw a host of angels, they were standing everywhere. One handed me a basket and said, "My child, shop with care."Everything a human needed was in that grocery store and what you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110038484414082834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/110038484414082834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_11_01_archive.html#110038484414082834' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109908773752184009</id><published>2004-10-30T05:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-10-30T06:08:57.523+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Not your everyday zodiac but still quite interesting....God of Prophets (January 1 to February 2)Those born under this sign have a sure talent for recognising Mr./Ms. Right the first time they see him/her - for them it's often a matter of love at first sight. When this happens, usually at a chance meeting in public places like shopping malls or restaurants, you can attract him/her by </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109908773752184009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109908773752184009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_10_01_archive.html#109908773752184009' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109753940563346341</id><published>2004-10-12T07:59:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-10-12T08:03:25.633+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The story goes that some time ago a mother punished her 5 year old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper.Money was tight and she became even more upset when the child used the gold paper to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her mother the next morning and said, "This is for you, Momma."The mother was </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109753940563346341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109753940563346341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_10_01_archive.html#109753940563346341' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109592279254313791</id><published>2004-09-23T14:54:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-09-23T14:59:52.543+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WHAT WOMEN WANT.......An AllegoryYoung King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So the monarch offered him freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109592279254313791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109592279254313791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_09_01_archive.html#109592279254313791' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109321786339573148</id><published>2004-08-23T07:32:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-23T07:37:43.396+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Once upon a time in the kingdom of Heaven, God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael the Archangel found him, resting on the seventh day.He inquired of God, "Where have you been?"God sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds, "Look, Michael. Look what I've made."Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, "What is it?"."It's a planet," </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109321786339573148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109321786339573148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109321786339573148' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109298814725759126</id><published>2004-08-20T15:02:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T15:49:07.256+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Does your name begin with:AYou are not particularly romantic, but you are interested in action. You mean business. With you, what you see is what you get. You have no patience for flirting and can't be bothered with someone who is trying to be coy, cute, demure, and subtly enticing. You are an up-front person. You often don't get hints and you never pass any. Brains turn you on. You must feel</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109298814725759126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109298814725759126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109298814725759126' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109281882908176261</id><published>2004-08-18T16:40:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-18T16:48:19.943+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion's guest room. Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement.As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it.When the younger angel asked why, the older angel replied, "Things </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109281882908176261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109281882908176261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109281882908176261' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109270009965682653</id><published>2004-08-17T07:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-17T07:48:19.656+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Happened in Makati Med... (daw)One night while she was on her way to the fifth floor to check on her patient (she was on the basement) sumakay sya sa elevator. May lady dun... silang dalawa lang. Then the door opened on the 3rd floor, they saw a young girl running towards the elevator as if sasakay sya. The doctor closed the door immediately.Tinanong sya nung lady... "Doc, bakit nyo sinara? </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109270009965682653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109270009965682653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109270009965682653' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109251780736769232</id><published>2004-08-15T04:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-15T05:10:07.366+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>TIPS ON HEALTHY LIVINGHEADACHE? EAT FISH!Eat plenty of fish - fish oil helps prevent headaches. So does ginger, which reduces inflammation and pain.INSOMNIA? HONEY!Use honey as a tranquilizer and sedative.ASTHMA? EAT ONIONS!Eating onions helps ease constriction of bronchial tubes.ARTHRITIS? EAT FISH, TOO!Salmon, tuna, mackerel and sardines actually prevent arthritis.UPSET STOMACH? </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109251780736769232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109251780736769232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109251780736769232' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109237408785062145</id><published>2004-08-13T13:07:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-13T13:14:47.850+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well, read on and expand on your general knowledge.Mosquito repellents don't repel. They hide you. The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they don't know you're there.No piece of paper can be folded in half more than 7 times.Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least 6 feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush.It's physically </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109237408785062145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109237408785062145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109237408785062145' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-109210582257508185</id><published>2004-08-10T10:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-08-10T10:45:57.916+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Frog and the PenisA man with a 25 inch long penis goes to his doctor to complain that he is having a problem with this cumbersome instrument and has had more than one complaint."Doctor," he asked, in total frustration, "is there anything you can do for me?"The doctor replies, "Medically son, there is nothing I can do. But, I do know this witch who may be able to help you." So the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109210582257508185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/109210582257508185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109210582257508185' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108995379026204553</id><published>2004-07-16T12:41:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-07-16T12:56:30.263+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>MARRIAGE (PART 1) A typical macho man married a typical good-looking lady and, after the wedding, laid down the following rules: "I'll be home when I want, if I want, and at what time I want, and I don't expect any hassle from you. I expect a great dinner to be on the table unless I tell you otherwise. I'll go hunting, fishing, boozing, and card playing when I want with my old buddies and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108995379026204553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108995379026204553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_07_01_archive.html#108995379026204553' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108855999160794801</id><published>2004-06-30T09:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-30T09:46:31.606+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A mother and a baby camel were walking around, and suddenly the baby camel asked .... Baby: Mother, mother, may I ask you some questions? Mother: Sure! Why son, is there something bothering you? Baby: Why do camels have humps? Mother: Well son, we are desert animals, we need the humps to store water and we are known to survive without water. Baby: Okay, then why are our legs long and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108855999160794801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108855999160794801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108855999160794801' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108813197724575649</id><published>2004-06-25T10:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-25T10:52:57.246+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What It Means to Be PoorShared by: neiltwisterOne day a father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the countryside with the firm purpose of showing his son how poor people can be. They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?""It was great, Dad."</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108813197724575649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108813197724575649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108813197724575649' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108795116686584948</id><published>2004-06-23T08:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-23T08:39:26.866+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Naglalakad nagtetext nasagasaan  -   PATAY!Kumakain nagtetext nabilaukan    -   PATAY!Nagdadrive nagtetext nabangga    -   PATAY!May celfon walang nagtetext      -   NAGPAKAMATAY!............................Ano rin daw ang difference ni Prince Charles At Kulangot! - Si Prince Charles ay "heir to the throne" while ang Kulangot ay  "Thrown to the Air".............................Bakit </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108795116686584948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108795116686584948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108795116686584948' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108780761013804716</id><published>2004-06-21T16:04:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-21T16:46:50.136+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Bathroom Problems By UnknownA gentleman had a serious problem. He had made several attempts to get into the men's restroom, but found it to be occupied. A lady noticed that he was walking funny, taking small steps, and with a look of pain and anxiety on his face. "Sir," she said, "the ladies restroom is unoccupied. You may use it if you promise not to touch any of the buttons on the wall." He </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108780761013804716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108780761013804716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108780761013804716' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108746638863007030</id><published>2004-06-17T17:56:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-17T17:59:48.630+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>HIRIT PINOY1. "Burn the bridge when you get there."2. "Anulled and void."3. "Mute and academic."4. "C'mon let's join us!"5. "If worse comes to shove."6 "Are you joking my leg?"7. "It's not my problem anymore, it's your problem anymore."8. "What are friends are for?"9. "You can never can tell."10. "Well well well. Look do we have here!"11. "Let's give them a big hand of applause."12.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108746638863007030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108746638863007030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108746638863007030' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108735451390087008</id><published>2004-06-16T10:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-16T10:55:13.900+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>TOP 5 ADULT JOKESNo. 5A man bumps into a Woman in a hotel lobby and as he does, his elbow goes into her breat. They are both quite startled. The man turns to her and says "Ma'am, if your heart is as soft as your breast, I know you'll forgive me,"She replies, "If your dick is as hard as your elbow, I'm in room 221."*******************************************************No. 4A </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108735451390087008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108735451390087008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108735451390087008' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108726972462797222</id><published>2004-06-15T11:18:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-06-15T11:22:04.626+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One day Satan and Jesus were having a conversation. Satan had just come from the Garden of Eden, and he was gloating and boasting. "Yes, sir, I just caught the world full of people down there. Set me a trap, used bait I knew they couldn't resist. Got 'em all!" "What are you going to do with them?" Jesus asked. Satan replied, "Oh, I'm gonna have fun! I'm gonna teach them how to marry and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108726972462797222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108726972462797222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_archive.html#108726972462797222' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108374479025533279</id><published>2004-05-05T16:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-05-05T16:17:28.233+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A SMALL AFFAIRA woman is having an affair during the day while her husband is at work. Her 9 year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them and hides in the bedroom closet to watch. The woman's husband also comes home.She puts her lover in the closet, not realizing that the little boy is in there already.The little boy says, "Dark in here."The man says, "Yes, it is."Boy - "I have a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108374479025533279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108374479025533279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_05_01_archive.html#108374479025533279' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108332273060404136</id><published>2004-04-30T18:58:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-30T19:03:01.466+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The man whispered, "God, speak to me"and a meadowlark sang.But, the man did not hear.So the man yelled, "God, speak to me"and the thunder rolled across the sky.But, the man did not listen.The man looked around and said, "God let me see you."And a star shined brightly.But the man did not see.And, the man shouted, "God show me a miracle."And, a life was born.But, the man did </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108332273060404136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108332273060404136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108332273060404136' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108313883637471844</id><published>2004-04-28T15:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-28T15:58:04.483+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I've learned that you cannot make someone love you.All you can do is stalk them and hope they panic and give in. I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes.I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and it only takes suspicion, not proof, to destroy it.I've learned that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes.After that, you'd better have</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108313883637471844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108313883637471844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108313883637471844' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108304924867653548</id><published>2004-04-27T15:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-27T15:04:56.140+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A Pinoy went to a bar in Hawaii to have some drinks. At the counter, he sat next to the famous Hollywood director, Steven Spielberg who was already ahead by a quart of alcohol. After a couple of beers, the Pinoy sensed that Spielberg was glaring at him. Suddenly, in a flash the Pinoy crashed down from his stool, felled by a vicious hook from the director.Picking himself up, he yelled, "Wat da </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108304924867653548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108304924867653548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108304924867653548' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108295479577128672</id><published>2004-04-26T12:46:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-26T12:50:41.170+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You have this friend since elementary and after college the both of you lose contact with each other. But she is someone really special to you, and you're someone very special to her too. Five years later you receive a phone call from her.  "Hi, I'll visit you" she says.  "Hi, Leah, when?" you ask her.  "Just wait for me" she replies.  It seems weird but you prepare for her coming </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108295479577128672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108295479577128672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108295479577128672' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108281381051265639</id><published>2004-04-24T21:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-24T21:40:53.890+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>How to keep a healthy level of insanity:1. At lunch time, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.3. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.4. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "in".5. Put decaf in the coffee </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108281381051265639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108281381051265639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108281381051265639' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108269320569663321</id><published>2004-04-23T12:06:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-23T12:10:47.653+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Ever wonder...why the sun lightens our hair, but darkens our skin? ...why women can't put on mascara with their mouth closed? ...why you don't ever see the headline "Psychic Wins Lottery"? ...why "abbreviated" is such a long word? ...why doctors call what they do "practice"? ...why you have to click on "Start" to stop Windows 98? ...why lemon juice is made with artificial flavor, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108269320569663321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108269320569663321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108269320569663321' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108255106552648526</id><published>2004-04-21T20:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-21T20:41:45.000+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell.  He painted a sign advertising the 20 pups and set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard.As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy."Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies.""Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat of the back of his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108255106552648526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108255106552648526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108255106552648526' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108243366190875622</id><published>2004-04-20T12:01:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-20T12:04:59.950+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A first-grade teacher was having trouble with one of her students. The teacher asked, "Harry, what is your problem?"Harry answered, "I'm too smart for the first-grade. My sister is in the third-grade and I'm smarter than she is! I think I should be in the third-grade too!"The teacher had enough. She took Harry to the principal's office.While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108243366190875622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108243366190875622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108243366190875622' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108234578321372415</id><published>2004-04-19T11:36:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-19T11:40:19.436+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Joe was a successful lawyer but he was increasingly hampered by incredible headaches. When his career and love life started to suffer, he sought medical help. After being referred from one specialist to another, he finally came across an old country doctor who solved the problem. "The good news is that I can cure your headaches ... The bad news is that it will require castration. You have a</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108234578321372415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108234578321372415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108234578321372415' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108210607044441111</id><published>2004-04-16T17:01:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-16T17:05:03.450+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One day, you get lost in the wilderness while travelling. It gets dark and you have no choice but to seek refuge in a small hut nearby. The owner tells you all his rooms are haunted. Which room will you choose?The room where:A) a human head stares at you maliciously from outside your windowB) the bathroom door creaks open and close, and there are sounds of a woman sighingC) the bed starts</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108210607044441111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108210607044441111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108210607044441111' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108200850030412776</id><published>2004-04-15T13:55:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-15T13:58:51.076+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Proxy Father The Smiths had no children and decided to use a proxy father to start their family.On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, “I’m off. The man should be here soon.”Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. “Good morning, madam. You don’t know me but I’ve come to …”“</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108200850030412776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108200850030412776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108200850030412776' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108167101098235737</id><published>2004-04-11T16:10:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-11T16:13:57.200+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>B.A.R.S. The World Health Organisation (WHO) has just issued an urgent warning about BARS (Beer &amp; Alcohol Requirement Syndrome). A newly identified problem has spread rapidly throughout the world. The disease, identified as BARS (Beer &amp; Alcohol Requirement Syndrome) affectspeople of many different ages. Believed to have started in Ireland in 1500 BC, the disease seems to affect people who </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108167101098235737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108167101098235737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108167101098235737' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108157852100268487</id><published>2004-04-10T14:28:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-10T14:32:25.670+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Facts of the 1500'sThe next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used  to  beHere are some facts about the 1500s:Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath n May and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108157852100268487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108157852100268487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108157852100268487' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108148772238336612</id><published>2004-04-09T13:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-09T13:19:05.810+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, between the legs of me wife!" That won him the top prize for the best toast of the night! He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the prize for the best toast of the night!" She said, "Aye, what was your toast?"John said, "Here's to spending the rest of me life, sitting in church beside me wife." "Oh,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108148772238336612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108148772238336612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108148772238336612' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108141421703008369</id><published>2004-04-08T16:50:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-08T16:53:58.793+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>There was an Asian lady married to an English gentleman and they lived in London. The poor lady was not very proficient in English, but managed to communicate with her husband. The real problem arose whenever she had to shop for groceries.One day, she went to the butcher and wanted to buy pork legs. She didn't know how to put forward her request, and in desperation,she lifted up her skirt to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108141421703008369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108141421703008369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108141421703008369' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108133809333526183</id><published>2004-04-07T19:41:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-07T19:47:29.936+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>There's no such thing as a bad hug, only good ones and great onesnon-fattening and they don't cause cancer or cavities..all natural with no preservatives, artificial ingredients or pesticide residue...cholesterol-free, naturally sweet, 100% wholesome and they are a completely renewable resource...Easy to care for, they don't require batteries, tune-ups, or x-rays...non-taxable, fully </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108133809333526183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108133809333526183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108133809333526183' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108087921055385250</id><published>2004-04-02T12:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-02T12:17:04.640+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A young, good-looking representative from Laguna sponsored a bill recommending Filipino language be used in all levelsof accounting firms and banking institutions. The solon claimed it will provide a better understanding of the business transactions for those who are inexperienced and non-English speaking citizens.The bill received unanimous approval from the House and was presented to the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108087921055385250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108087921055385250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108087921055385250' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108079948386407129</id><published>2004-04-01T14:04:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-04-01T14:08:16.793+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>That night, Sue had a quarrel with her mum and without bringing anything with her, she ran out of the house. While she's walking on the street, she discovered that she doesn't have any money on her, not even a cent to make a phone call. As she was walking along the street, she spots a noodle stall, it smells so nice, how she longed for a bowl. But, she has no money. After awhile, the boss </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108079948386407129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108079948386407129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108079948386407129' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108025902504593373</id><published>2004-03-26T07:57:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-26T08:00:29.000+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Ang galing ng Pinoy: 1) A couple placed an ad,"Have 4 sons, need advice on how to get a daughter." Responses... Yank: Keep trying! Briton: Change doctor! Aussie: Follow a special diet. Indian: Practice Yoga! Pinoy: LET ME TRY!  2) Population policies of countries: China: Stop at 1 child. Singapore: Stop at 2 children Phil: STOP AT 4 A.M.!  3) Ano kadalasan ang sinasabi kapag </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108025902504593373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108025902504593373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108025902504593373' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-108019707073901462</id><published>2004-03-25T14:44:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-25T14:47:54.090+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>10 COMMANDMENTS FOR WORKING HARD1. Never walk without a document in your hands.People with documents in their hands look like hardworking employees heading for important meetings. People with nothing in their hands look like they're heading for the cafeteria. People with a newspaper in their hand look like they're heading for the toilet. Above all, make sure you carry loads of stuff home </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108019707073901462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/108019707073901462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108019707073901462' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107999963888572143</id><published>2004-03-23T07:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-23T07:57:18.936+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Years ago, I asked God to give me a spouse. "You don't own because you didn't ask" God said. Not only did I ask for a spouse but also I explained what kind of spouse I wanted. I want a nice, tender, forgiving, passionate, honest, peaceful, generous, understanding, pleasant, warm, intelligent, humorous, attentive, compassionate and truthful spouse. I even mentioned the physical characteristics </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107999963888572143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107999963888572143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107999963888572143' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107992353192230898</id><published>2004-03-22T10:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-22T10:48:51.106+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>After a WhileBy Veronica A. ShoffsalAfter a while, you learn the subtle differenceBetween holding a hand and chaining a soul…And you learn that love doesn't mean leaningAnd company doesn't mean security…And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contractsAnd presents aren't promises…And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open,With the grace of an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107992353192230898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107992353192230898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107992353192230898' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107966934147381049</id><published>2004-03-19T12:09:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-19T12:12:17.090+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Jose Javier (Joey, the film director) Reyes wrote this to some of his friends regarding that infamous incident concerning a wayward elephant roaming Quezon City, and it's been forwarded to their friends. Hilarious! Just thought you guys would enjoy it more than the sedate accounts in the papers. This really happened a couple of weeks ago(?)The latest sensation yesterday afternoon, aside from </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107966934147381049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107966934147381049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107966934147381049' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107948805900375026</id><published>2004-03-17T09:47:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-17T09:50:51.326+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions." How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key. You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107948805900375026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107948805900375026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107948805900375026' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107941851911136790</id><published>2004-03-16T14:28:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-16T14:31:50.640+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This story is of something that was alleged to have happened just few years ago at the University of San Carlos,  Cebu City  Philippines There was a professor of philosophy who was deeply committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend the entire semester attempting to prove that God couldn't exist. His students were always afraid to argue with him because of his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107941851911136790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107941851911136790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107941851911136790' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107932746949573594</id><published>2004-03-15T13:11:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-15T13:14:19.873+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Joke 1 Boy goes 4 blood test. Nurse takes the sample but can't find cotton so she sucks his finger. Boy is so happy he asks, 'Can I gat a urine test also?' Joke 2 Do you know why guys fart louder? Because in between their legs, there is 1 microphone &amp; 2 speakers. Joke 3 A wife asks hubby how many women he had slept with. Husband proudly replies only you darling. With the others I was </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107932746949573594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107932746949573594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107932746949573594' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107913709462463878</id><published>2004-03-13T08:18:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-13T08:21:38.216+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>SEX                                       A guy is nearing the end of his senior year in high school. Unfortunately, he still has to share a room with his younger brother who is only 9 years old.  One night, he decides to bring his girlfriend home for a little fun. They have bunk beds and the guy notices that his little brother is already asleep on the lower bunk, so he and his girlfriend </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107913709462463878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107913709462463878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107913709462463878' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107904735399294479</id><published>2004-03-12T07:22:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-12T07:25:40.030+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>THE WONDER OF FORGIVINGI found a new book and I'm excited to share it with you. It's Forgiveness Therapy by David Schell.Here are some of my favorites:* Forgiveness means bending without breaking, being strong enough to withstand the heavy weight of injury but resilient enough to recover. Be forgiving.* Forgive yourself; for what you regret doing and for what you wish you had done, for </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107904735399294479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107904735399294479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107904735399294479' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107896415442987759</id><published>2004-03-11T08:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-11T08:18:59.186+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>PRAYER FOR THE GRACE TO BE MERCIFUL TOWARDS OTHERS O Most Holy Trinity! as many times as I breathe, as many times as my heart beats, as many times as my blood throbs through my body, so many thousand times do I want to glorify your mercy. I want to be completely transformed into Your mercy and to be Your living reflection, O Lord.  May the greatest of all divine attributes, that of Your </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107896415442987759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107896415442987759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107896415442987759' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107889140358122943</id><published>2004-03-10T12:03:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-10T12:06:27.403+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WHEN YOU READ THIS - LET IT REALLY SINK IN.THEN CHOOSE HOW YOU START YOUR DAY TOMORROW.Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say.When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"He was a natural motivator.If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107889140358122943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107889140358122943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107889140358122943' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107880923492477452</id><published>2004-03-09T13:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-09T13:16:57.356+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Please take a moment to relax your mind and humble your heart to focus on Christ. Allow God, to be the only person on your mind while you read this prayer. If we can take the time to read long jokes, stories, etc., we should give the same respect to this prayer. Friends that pray together, stay together.Dear Lord, I thank You for this day. I thank You for my being able to see and to hear this </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107880923492477452'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107880923492477452'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107880923492477452' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107871430666990310</id><published>2004-03-08T10:51:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T10:54:47.140+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into the Harvard University President's outeroffice.The  secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at  Harvard and probably didn't even deserve to be in Cambridge."We want to see the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107871430666990310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107871430666990310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107871430666990310' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107844516285780266</id><published>2004-03-05T08:06:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-05T08:08:59.826+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A girl is telling her Mother how everything is going wrong, she's failing math, her boyfriend broke up with her and her best friend is moving away.  Meanwhile, her Mother is baking a cake and asks her daughter if she would like a snack, and the daughter says, "Absolutely Mom, I love your cake."  "Here, have some cooking oil," her Mother offers. "Yuck" says her daughter. "How about a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107844516285780266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107844516285780266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107844516285780266' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5012324.post-107830144868008700</id><published>2004-03-03T16:10:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2004-03-03T16:13:43.420+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Funny how we set our clocks to arise at 4:00am or 5:00am to be at the job by 7:30, yet when Sunday comes we can't get to church for the 11:00 a.m. service to praise the one who gave us the jobs! Funny how we call God our Father and Jesus our brother, but find it hard to introduce them to our family. Funny how small our sins seem, but how big "their" sins are. Funny how we demand justice for</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107830144868008700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5012324/posts/default/107830144868008700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thejunkyard.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107830144868008700' title=''/><author><name>Jet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11997852243256368304</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Nt4sNLJctwc/SBAKLiXGS5I/AAAAAAAAAAM/lspJ_Q8IqOs/S220/2438105764_9907e9e53a_s.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
