I fucking HATE them.
In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University . On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee, inspected the elephant’s foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day. Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man. Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter could not help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly. Probably wasn't the same elephant. This is for everyone who sends me those heart-warming bullshit stories.
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   Thanks, chelly!  Thanks, Tora!  Thanks, littlem!   Thanks, taz-pie!   Thanks, Corey!     Old Farts Club Members (now on Facebook!) corey8/corey9 squintygirl (that's me!) adam antium pinkpiggyme travis76 grayehound kidaro P Shmoov Rock Deputy little g whisper in water Manos jmo9000 mikemills juliagoolia Luke... realslimnatey DarthG d3d steven218 steve_swartz Darth Veg WallsReallyWork spencekarl swedz littlem MadTheologian UberRyan mezo the czar hogboy vulcanhalfbreed F.A.B. typh chelly illustraTom angelito phones velusariot redsugar fatboyradio shirtflirt OCandCO lemonalle alacyt/avalanche_lily melhel86 nasti.girl. amy122166 - the greatest Evil Twin and prop girl anyone could ever ask for! deboraborialis taz-pie bkaiser jackanapes kayceislost pickledbib chemi hydro NatySpaghetti fc gravy Kitchen Patrol Fourty Four GldKttn18 funkie fresh Noobits kooky love iPear Butterfly Wings Mezbee hoesclothesandbankrolls squeegebeckenheim i carnt spell catdogpigduck herky xxreddawnxx MysteriousPete Mr Kawfy Aristarchus theurbanraptor MikeHarding morganian RussB Shix ladykat kirstenlovesdinner Tazocat bygrinstow Bonnie76 T-Lou   My Long and Boring Back Story When I was a young lass, I had the most incredible eyesight. I could read small typed pages from across the room and identify licence plates from a staggering distance. It was really cool. For a while there, I was invincible. INVINCIBLE! Life, however, always has a funny way of crash-landing you back to reality, and over the course of a few years, my eyesight went from fantastic to average to poor to complete crap. I would sit in class and squint at the blackboard all day and have absolutely no idea what I was looking at. In Grade Five, I became an expert note-taker by just writing down EVERYTHING my teacher said (which, incidentally, became a very handy skill none of my board-copying schoolmates had mastered when we all needed it in university) and spent my nights begging my mother for glasses. She didn't believe me. Also, she thought they would make me look nerdy. I walked around half-blind for almost three years until the fateful day my mom caved in and took me to the eye doctor, hurray! But what was it that finally convinced dear Mum? Was it the fact that I kept tripping on things I couldn't see in the street? No. Was it the fact that three of my teachers and the school nurse told my mother that I needed glasses, IMMEDIATELY? No. Was it the fact that I had to hold a book a centimetre from my face to actually make out the words? No. What convinced my mom to take me to the eye doctor was my squinting and how much she hated it. 'You look like you're smelling boiled cabbage all the time, stop making that face!' 'You're going to have terrible wrinkles when you get older, stop making that face!' 'It's going to freeze like that forever, you know, stop making that face!' And 'squintygirl' was born. It was, however, the same day I finally got glasses (the ugliest glasses you could ever possibly imagine, natch), so I never had to squint again. Nevertheless, I felt such an affinity for and alliance with squintygirl, that she stayed with me through successively uglier pairs of glasses as the years passed. Today, I have less ugly glasses and still don't squint, but I continue to salute that industrious little girl. Incidentally, my face never did freeze that way, but I am worried about wrinkles, now that I'm a member of Threadless' Old Farts Club. I guess Mom was right about something. (She was also right about the nerdy thing, too.) The Fighting Cacti, by Gina 
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Jun 10 '09 by
