Saturday, October 15, 2005

You have two cows: slightly Zip-updated

You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
You feel guilty for being successful so you send one to the Katrina victims.
Oprah has you on her show to applaud your efforts. Barbara Streisand sings for you.

You have two cows.
Your neighbor has none.
So? They can go fuck themselves.

You have two cows.
The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor.
You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.

You have two cows.
The government seizes both and provides you with milk.
You wait in line for hours to get it.
It is expensive and sour.

You have two cows.
You sell one, buy a bull and build a herd of cows.

You have two cows.
Under the new Bush Farm Program, the government sends one to Iraq, buys the other one from you for $100, then hires Halliburton to milk it for $4,000 a day, then pours the milk down the drain.

You have two cows.
You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one.
You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when one cow drops dead. You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized and are reducing expenses.
Your stock goes up.

You have two cows.
You go on strike because you want three cows.
You go to lunch and drink wine.
Life is good.

You have two cows.
You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains.
Most are at the top of their class at cow school.

You have two cows.
You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give excellent quality milk and run a hundred miles an hour.
Unfortunately, they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.

You have two cows but you don't know where they are.
While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman.
You break for lunch.
Life is good.

You have two cows.
You have some vodka.
You count them and learn you have five cows.
You have some more vodka.
You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.

You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private parts.
You get a $40 million grant from the US government to find alternatives to milk production, but use the money instead to buy weapons to use against Americans.

You have two cows.
They go into hiding.
They send video tapes of their mooing.

You have two bulls.
Employees are regularly maimed and killed attempting to milk them.

You have a black cow and a brown cow.
Everyone votes for the best looking one.
Some of the people who actually like the brown one best accidentally vote for the black one.
Some people vote for both.
Some people vote for neither.
Some people can't figure out how to vote at all.
Finally, the Supreme Court tells you which one you think is the best-looking cow.

You have millions of cows.
They make real California cheese.
Only five speak English.
Most are illegals.
Arnold likes the ones with the big udders

You have two cows.
You get drunk on tequila and ride them all over the pasture.
Then you milk them and use the cream to mix with Kahlua.
Then you get drunk again.

9 comments: said...

thanks for the morning chuckle, kz...i lifted this and posted it on Duluth's

your blog goes really well with a big mug of mocha java (fresh roasted, of course) and Dylan's Blonde On Blonde and The Grateful Dead's Dead Set (both on my old skool turntable, BTW)

Holly in Cincinnati said...

Very funny! What is Prairie Chapel Ranch?

dusty said...

lol..good one KZ..I got a big ol smile..thanks woman :)

Karen Zipdrive said...

In 1999, Bush's mastermind Karl Rove told Bush he needed to get himself a ranch to further his new and improved macho cowboy image.
Bush located a piece of scrubby, fallow farmland in Crawford and dubbed it the suitably macho-Christian name "Prairie Chapel Ranch."
After he's finished his "term of office" (impeachment notwithstanding) he plans to dump the ranch prop and probably move to a Dallas mansion where he can live out his days counting all the kickback money he gathered from eight years of pimping for corporate America.
Goodbye, plaid cowboy shirts and boots, hello Ivy League yachting wear.

dusty said...

nah..not yachting wear..he will be more into the golf and casual friday's type of stuff..the man has never worked a day in his life..why start now?

Blake said...

Funny stuff.

Karen Zipdrive said...

Dusty you raise a good point.
What is the appropriate wardrobe for an aging filthy rich frat boy whose chief avocations are drinking, snorting coke and riding his little bike?

JimBob said...

The appropriate wardrobe is a prison outfit, with the pants around the ankles, whilst cellmate Bubba Joe gives "our hero" what our hero's been giving us for the last few years...

Yo Dog! I thought I was the only one who listened to turntable tunes these days. Just got done spinning the original Red album from Hagar (still can't find it on CD!).

dusty said...

LOL..thanks for that visual Jimbob..