f(x)=e^x
f'(x)=e^x

OH SHI-

for Tiger Woods jokes!

It was just reported that Phil Mickelson contacted Tiger's wife to pick up some tips on how to beat Tiger!

Apparently the police asked Tiger's wife how many times she hit him. She said "I don't know exactly, but put me down for a 5."

Tiger Woods is so rich that he owns lots of expensive cars. Now he has a hole-in-one.

What's the difference between a car and a golf ball? Tiger can drive a ball 400 yards.....

What were Tiger Woods and his wife doing out at 2.30 in the morning? They went clubbing.

Tiger Woods crashed into a fire hydrant and a tree. He couldn't decide between a wood and an iron.

Ping just offered Elin Woods an endorsement contract pushing her own set of drivers. They're said to be named Elin Woods..."clubs you can beat Tiger with."

Word that Elin Woods was using a golf club as a "Rescue Club" now has been proved to be untrue as it now appears she was actually trying to knock the shit out of a Drive.

News travels fast. The Chinese are already making a movie about Tiger Woods' crash. They are calling it, " Scratching Swede, Lying Tiger.

Tiger just changed his nickname but still kept it in the cat family--his new name? Cheetah.

As Elin Woods was attacking Tiger he said "You need to keep your wrists straighter."

NOTE: The following is/was my submission to October's Punkoween Writing Contest. For the sake of length, I had to cut it down a bit. However, here you can see the full text as I intended it to be. Also, play the music while reading. It goes well with it.

Major Tom

The desert remains quiet even as the train soars through it. Passengers sleep soundlessly in the Victorian-decorated room, unaware of the danger outside.
The foreman is the first to notice something in the distance. "Hph. Must be a rabbit or sumtin" he thinks to himself. The dark sky, covered by the impossible stars has created shadows of everything. The foreman, being 50 years of age, is experienced and knows all sorts of creatures live in the desert; some apparently so gruesome the general public only hears bits of gossip about. These are the type of creatures that haunted broken down trains, or so he hears from other crew members of the Trans-Continental Rocket Train. However, he's not concerned; he's dismissed these rumors before. Just the other day he was hearing about this idea of a flying machine. "Why would we need that?" he replied. "When we this steam powered train that goes 200 kilos per hour?"
He still sees the object, which is looking like it's coming closer. The foreman decides to take caution. Not wanting to harm the train, he walks inside his break van to a hook on the wall. Taking the bell off the hook, he calls to the engineer to slow down the vehicle. Steam hisses as the train slows. Passengers don't even notice and sleep as the foreman makes his way to the front. After the foreman leaves the executive class car, a man wakes up. No one even stirs as he gets down a brown leather case from the overhead. A rag time tune plays in the background, through an amplifier system. The composer is Scott Joplin, the man thinks to himself. It's interesting new music, and the man is amused by the composition of the piece. Surely it was written by a white man.
He opens his case to reveal a small frame. Not wanting to wake the other passengers, he takes a step outside his car and into the storage car. He turns the knobs of the Oriental-decorated frame, creating static. A gauge to the side reads 66.7, and a woman's face appears where a picture should be. "Hey you" he says.
"You seem to be in a good mood" she replies.
"Well, I'm finally coming home. Been working too long in New England; full of upper class pricks."
"Understandable honey. Just make sure you bring back something for the kids."
"Of course. I bought something off the station at Kana-"A loud roar is heard as the man is pulled quickly off the car into the desert. The Phone-O-Frame lands on the floor of the car as the woman on the other end screams out her husband's name.
The rest of the passengers have woken up, either due to the roar or the scream. Either way, the men tell their wives to stay calm and take down their luggage to reveal guns. The range of weapons is amazing; some with light weapons such Colt Peacekeepers to Winchester rifles and shotguns. However, one man draws attention by revealing a newer weapon, one never seen before. It's a smaller gun with a magazine attached to the bottom. The manufacture's name reads Heckler and Koch. "What?" he asks the other passengers. "Them Germans make damn fine weapons, and this here's a beauty. While you guys need to load after 4 shots, I'm shootin' like no tomorrow. 30 rounds per clip; I highly recommend when ever you guys take that jet-boat to Europe you invest in one of these bad boys. Future of guns, this is. Gas operated. No need to cock the hammer. Full-auto." The man hits the top of the gun, and a click is heard, telling the rest of the men his gun is loaded.

"Don't you think we should call ahead for some military backup or something?" a younger man holding a shotgun asks.
"Don't see the need to. They be busy with other affairs. Probably some coyote got lucky with a jump. Who knows?" a heavier man responds, indicating he will be the leader of this hunting party.
"Besides," another man says. "Military don't have any affairs on this train."
The men slowly make their way down the train. When they get to the brake van they come across the foreman, who's frantic. "I can't call them through the phone. If they don't have control of the train we could all die!"
"Calm down there partner. Grab yourself some gear and help us find out the source of this problem. You hear that roar earlier?"
"Thought it was just a bear or sumtin."
"Might have been something else. We need to find what ever it is, it's scaring the lady-folk."
The foreman takes down his Winchester and continues to walk with the men. Outside the executive car they find the Phone-O-Frame, cracked. "This ain't no drop crack" one man says. "This here's a scratch of a mean creature. Look at how deep it is."
"Be careful men. Don't want to lose any of you" the leader tells them.
"Are you sure we shouldn't call ahead for help?" the nervous man asks again.
"Ah, you sissy. There's nutin to be afraid of. This is probably one big misunderstandin, there's nuthin out-" The man is whisked off the train by an unseen force.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? FIRE!" the leader yells. Shots ring out as shell casings land on the iron floor. Nothing yells. The men cease fire. Nothing is hit. Nothing is bleeding. The men, despite all their bullets, have hit nothing.
The nervous man is visibly shaking now. "I knew I shouldn't come on this train. I hate these trains man. Should have taken that buggy to the West. DAMMIT!"
Some men try to calm him down while the others prepare themselves to go into the executive car. Opening the door, a horror scene awaits their eyes.
Blood is sewn across the Oriental rug. The Turkish furniture ruined with red spots. The Scott Joplin tune repeats over the speaker system, stuck in a loop. "Jesus Christ. What the hell happened in here?" the leader asks.
"My god. It looks like a massacre."
A gun shot is heard behind the men. They turn around to see a body lying on the floor. The nervous man has put a bullet in his head, not wanting to live in this world any longer. The other men stand and shake their head.
The leader tells the group to keep their spirits up. They decide to see if the engine room is under control. As the move through the blood-ridden car to the front a man near the window is pulled out through the small opening, breaking the glass. The men open fire, only to hit nothing again.
"DAMMIT!" the leader swears. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN-"
Another man near the window is ripped from the train. Glass once again shatters. Some men bother to fire, despite knowing the accuracy of their bullets. The leader doesn't even bother lifting his seemingly heavy gun. "STAY AWAY FROM THOSE GOD DAMN WINDOWS!" he yells.
The men crowd near the middle of the car. Their footsteps create a sound, one only from walking on wet carpet. Unfortunately, this Oriental carpet is wet with blood. They make their way to the front of the car, where the engine room lies ahead. Two men walk up, ready to pull the door open. The rest ready their guns. A cool wind blows in through the windows, blowing out the candle-lit room. The men wait, letting their eyes adjust to the moonlight. The two in the front rip open the door.
Pure darkness comes rushing out. Like a tidal wave, it knocks over several men and drags them into the engine room, their screams drowning out the sound of the train. Men fire, yet the darkness appear to ignore their bullets. The black mass shuts the door and the car catches fire spontaneously. Men yell as the room begins to burn. Some jump out the windows, while others go to the back, where they find the door has been locked. The leader, trying to keep his sanity, makes his way to the front door and yanks it open. The sight before him baffles him.
Despite a creature taking at least 10 of the men, there is no sight of them in the car, nor is the engineer or the conductor. The engine room is clean, spotless, but NO ONE'S CONTROLLING THE TRAIN.
The leader rushes over to the dashboard to the various knobs and switches, all of which is set to the maximum. He tries turning them down but they are jammed. He looks for the handle called Manuel Override, but alas, it is broken too. The man is slowly losing his cool, but what really makes him lose his insanity is when he looks through the magnifying telescope. Peering down, he sees the tracks lead RIGHT OFF A CLIFF. He turns to warn the others, yet in the blazing room they are gone. He sprints to the back of the train, yet the women are gone too. He turns to see the pitch black come straight at him, realizing in his final thoughts he has lost all of it, and screams his heart out.

500 miles away in the quaint little town a woman named Evelyn Rose wakes up with a startle. Visibly shaken, she walks out of her bedroom and into her kitchen, where her boiler is still heating up her apartment via pipes. The clock in her kitchen reads 5:00 AM, and she realizes she needs to get up for her job. She sticks a pot on the stove and the steam from her boiler heats it up. The pot makes a DING sound, telling Evelyn the water is ready. She moves the pot over to an automatic filter, where she pours the water in and out it comes as coffee into a cup. A pack of cigarettes lay on the table, opened. She slides the thin piece of rolled tobacco out of its package and sucks on the end of it while striking a match. Lighting the cigarette, she walks back into the bedroom to her closet while the lump on her bed rolls over. She pulls out a pair of khaki pants, a dark blue blouse, and a pair of boots. Putting them on, she also pulls out a well worn brown duster, a leather holster with a FN Model, a smaller ankle holster with a Colt Detective Special, a pair of handcuffs, and a slightly tarnished badge reading Sheriff.
Evelyn walks back into her small kitchen, cigarette almost out. She picks up the coffee and begins to drink; peering out her window at the town she calls home. Dawn is breaking, the sun highlighting the red rock in the outskirts of town. The sky is not unlike a painting at this point, shades of yellow, red, orange fill the open sky. However, to the east lie rain clouds, meaning the need to dig ditches and prevent buildings from floating away. "I hope those clouds blow in a different direction" she thinks to herself.
She looks down at the dirt road of Main Street in Harrison. The milkman in his self-buggy is beginning his run. The light in the office of the Harrison Reporter is on. A few drunks are leaving Leroy's Bar. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but her gut tells her otherwise. And for once, she thinks, it's not the coffee.
It's this one man that's out of the ordinary. He appeared just last night, wearing very odd clothes. Black cobbled shoes, black duster, dark glasses, some sort of small suitcase, black hat, and what looks like a military uniform confused a good majority of the town. He claimed to want to see Robert Alton Harris, founder of the town and entrepreneur of the General store. After he was let into Harris's mansion, he was not seen again.
A phone rings in the kitchen. It's the station master at the train depot. He speaks so frantically that Evelyn can't understand him. She tells him to calm down, and that she'll be over in a bit.
The lump has finally gotten out of the bed. "Everything okay?" it asks.
"Yes" replies Evelyn. "You can go back to bed."
"Ok" it mutters.
"I should really get that woman an alarm clock" thinks Evelyn as she walks out of her apartment.

It's much too early to use the noisy buggy, so Evelyn decides to ride the horse from the office to the train depot. Locking the office up, she leaves a note to her deputy, telling him to meet her at the place of panic. She rides over across town as the day gets brighter. She dismounts and ties her horse to a pole proudly supporting the Union. Still, the news (when it gets out this far) is pretty grim.
The war is still raging, and General Lee doesn't want to give up, despite being outnumbered. Perhaps it's the naval support he's getting from Spain that's helping, but then again, those ships are sinking faster than a rocky relationship built on booze because of the cannons built on Cuba. France and England is too busy to care with their war. The Union's superiority comes from those manufacturers. Ever since Whitney came up with that steamboat idea of his, the North basically used the same technology to produce everything from self-propelled buggies to automatic weapons. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on some of those automatic weapons Evelyn thinks.
The train depot is empty, despite the Rocket Train was supposed to come in today. Checking her watch, she realizes the train is here early, yet no one's here. The station manager finds her, frantic. "What's going on here?" she asks.
"There's no one on the train" he stutters. "Absolutely no one on a train that can fit 400."
"That's not right. Are you sure about this?"
"Positive. Train arrived early without calling first. You know how they are about being on time. There was something odd because not even a radio signal was coming from that train. I went in to check, and no one was there. Empty, like all of them disappeared or something."
"Hm" she thinks. "That feeling was right."
She walks into the open door of the lower class section of the train. Suitcases are opened and scattered among the floor. She walks up toward the front of the train, with each car being the same as the last. Outside the break van she finds several bullet casings, all of different calibers. The cracked Phone-O-Frame lies beside them. "Something big happened here. A group of men with these types of guns don't just disappear" she tells herself.
The upper class car is spotless, like nothing happened to it. The Gramophone is still playing over the amplifier system. Several more casings are on the floor.
Inside the engine room the controls are set at park, nothing out of the place. The engineer's log on the side says everything is working, nothing is wrong with the train. The problem with this though is the train is early, which would have been recorded, and nobody's on the train. "There's something definitely wrong here" she says out loud.
Walking off the train she notices the strange man from before. He seems to be eyeing the train, looking at its wheels and its super-powered steam engine. "Excuse me Miss" he asks. "But isn't this train early?"
"Yes sir. Wasn't supposed to come in till later."
"Oh. OH. Excuse me; I didn't realize you were the sheriff of this small town. Please accept my apologizes."
"No problem. Not many people back East see a lot of female sheriffs, but out here they take anyone they can get. Evelyn Rose, Officer.......?"
"Major Tom Reynolds of the 5th Battalion 2 Regiment of the Union, Sheriff Rose."
"Please, just call me Evelyn. Most people around these parts do so anyways, so what's one more person?"
"I know what you mean. Sometimes those colonels are strict on the matter too."
"So, pardon me for asking, but what are you doing here?"
"I am waiting for a man who is supposed to be on this train. His name is Corporal Gibbs, have you hear of him?"
"Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."
"It's okay. We worked together early in the war, when Sherman went for his death march to Atlanta. Of course, that was before those bloody Spaniards joined the Feds. And those were the days when you actually had to aim the gun too. Ah, those were the days....."
"That answers one part of my question, but not the other. What are you doing in this town?"
"I'm sorry, but that's a purely confidential manner."
"I see."
"What's the meaning of this Officer?"
"Well, for one thing, your buddy isn't on this train. For that matter, nobody's on this train. It's like they all vanished into thin air."
"Hm."
"How did you get into town again?"
"Oh no, I'm late for my meeting with Mr. Harris. Will you excuse me?" Major Tom leaves the station.
"Something about him doesn't fit with me" thinks Evelyn as her deputy walks into the station.

Noontime and the town is blooming with busy people, buggies, horses, carriages, and loose gunmen. Of course, the gunmen know better than to start a gunfight. They do not want to get on the bad side of the sheriff. A beautiful woman with a gun, hell, no one wants to piss her off. They've seen it all too many times, her temper. No, what makes her even madder are the out of town morons who try to flirt with her without her consent. Then comes the comment on why she's carrying the gun, and then a duel where she shoots the poor sucker in the crouch. As he lies there in the fetal position she walks over to him and whispers in his ear, "Too bad boy. Problem is I prefer women."
It is for this reason the majority of the men in this town only carry their guns for wild savage animals, which are know to roam the open land outside of town.
Leroy's Bar is the popular drinking hole. Run and owned by Leroy Jethro, a veteran of several Indian and Mexican wars, it is here where most of the town's rumors either start or get talked about. Because of this, Evelyn is a regular patron.
The automatic piano plays in the background a country song as some of the drunk are hopelessly singing along about the sad story of Ryan, the man who sold his soul to the Devil for immortality and a shot better than anyone. The piano, run by the boiler out back, occasionally hisses perfectly in beat to the song.
Pulling up a stool to the bar, Evelyn asks for the usual from Leroy, who goes to the back to prepare her drink. She looks up at the back wall of the bar, filled with pipes. All of them, it seems, are filled with different drinks, so all Leroy has to do is open a faucet and the liquid pours out. She is always fascinated by this and despite Leroy explaining time after time how it works Evelyn never seems to get it.
The gossip today is about the new man in town, this Major Tom. Everything from the odd clothes to the purpose of his presence is being discussed. "I don't like how this man struts about town" says Leo, a regular. "He acts like he's better then us folk."
"Leo, didn't cha hear? Man served under General Sherman."
"So? Hell, half the male Union at this point has."
Meanwhile, in the corner, some men are talking about the wilder rumors about the officer. "Heard he's the Devil himself" says one.
"Really? You think so?"
"Didn't you here that tale of the lone stranger? The one where he rides in, acts oddly, and sure enough, day later, the town disappears. Only 1 person in the world can do that, and that's the Devil himself."
Evelyn is surprised that no one's been talking about the train yet, but then again, sometimes the news travels slowly. She decides to tell the rest of the bar and gets Leroy to quiet the place down. "Men" she announces. "I have some bad news to tell you."
"What? You're getting married?" Leroy asks humorously.
"Shut up you. No, there has been a disappearance."
"Disappearance of what?"
"The crew and passengers of the Rocket Train that was supposed to come in this morning."
"What do you mean, disappear?"
"Gone. Vanished. Like they were never on the train. Sure, there are shell casings and luggage thrown about the floor, but everything else is normal. So, if you see somebody or something suspicious, don't hesitate to call."
"Hell, we'd call you regardless!" The music starts back up and the bar is lively again. More drinks are passed around. Evelyn uses the bar's phone to call her deputy. "See if you can get a file from Central about this Major Tom Reynolds and a Corporal Gibbs. They served together under General Sherman at some point. Also, get me a list of all the passengers who was on that train. And see what the connection is between Major Tom and Robert Harris."

The sunset of the night is like the sunrise, the colors of the sky are in every shade of red, orange, yellow and pink imaginable. Evelyn, riding on her horse, is going up the trail to the Harris mansion, where she plans to talk to Robert about Major Tom. The clouds have begun to blow in, creating darkness quicker. Leaving her horse out front, Evelyn looks up to the Victorian-styled mansion. Pipes run out from the top to a water tank the size of another building out to the sides. She knocks, and Harris's butler answers. "I'm here to see Mr. Harris. Is he in?"
"He might be. I'm sorry Sheriff, but I haven't seen him ever since Major Tom left this afternoon. However, Mr. Harris could just be locked in his study with a good book. It's not unusual for a man like him."
"May I come in?"
"Of course. I'll so you to the study."
Evelyn walks into the massive house. Paintings and portraits hang over the walls, while pipes lead into various contraptions that do odd jobs. "Follow me Sheriff" the butler says.
After going up a flight of stairs and into a hallway they reach the door to the study. The butler nods, and walks off. "Mr. Harris?" Evelyn says while knocking. "It's Sheriff Rose."
The door is unlocked, so Evelyn opens it. The sight is shocking. Blood is smeared all over the walls and bookcases. A pool of it lies in the center. Written in blood on the wall is YOU CAN BE A KING OR A CITY SWEEPER BUT EVERYONE DANCES WITH THE GRIM REAPER. Mr. Harris is nowhere to be seen. "My god" she says out loud. "What the hell happened here?"
BANG
A shot rings out. Evelyn ducks instinctively and pulls out her gun. She waits to hear another gunshot, but it doesn't happen. She runs down stairs to see the butler on the floor, hole through his head. The blood, once again, has been used to write a message, this time reading SOMETIMES A MURDER IS JUST A MURDER. Underneath it reads A TRAIN, A MAN, ALL PART OF THE MASTER PLAN. Added at the bottom is WHO'S NEXT?
Evelyn is scared out of her wits. She realizes she needs to go warn the town about this Major Tom. She doesn't know who he is or what he does, but he needs to be at least questioned. By now the clouds have covered the sky, making the desert almost pitch black. Evelyn finds a lantern in the house, lights it, and finds her horse outside. She rides quickly back to town.
A warm wind blows through the desert. It's not the normal type of wind, Evelyn notes. This isn't right. The wind puts out the flame in her lantern. It's now too dark to travel on horseback, so she dismounts and begins to walk with the horse. Evelyn's eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and she prepares herself for whatever comes next.
The horse somehow gets scared itself, and before Evelyn realizes it, runs off. A wave of darkness far away begins to move closer to her, blacking out the distance. Evelyn begins to run, but the darkness is quicker. Somehow, though, she manages to get back to her office where she turns on all her lights, even though her deputy is there. "What's going on here?" he asks.
"I think there's something out there" she replies.
"Speaking of which, I got those files you wanted. Put in a request over the telegram. Army sent a speedboat through Panama. Made it here less than 8 hours. Here you go. Or would you rather have me tell you the surprise?"
"Let me guess. Major Tom isn't what he is to be."
"Well, yes and no. Major Tom does exist, except he isn't the man you met. He was the one supposed to be on that train. But wait! It gets better. Before he was on the train he did serve under Sherman, and in Atlanta he found a gun. He decided to keep the gun, which his superiors did because it was a spoil of the battle. Turns out that the Harris's name was on the gun, or at least an ancestor. Robert was going to buy the gun off of Major Tom. They had already signed a deal. Reynolds was on his way here to sell it."
"Then who was the Major Tom I met?"
"No idea. Maybe a rival collector?"
"Then what about the train?"
"Lost me there. No idea. How'd it go at Harris's place?"
"Harris and his butler are dead. Well, at least the butler. But based off the amount of blood I saw, Harris has to be dead."
"WHOA! What happened?"
"Don't know. Butler let me in, went to the study, walls splattered with blood. It said creepy things. Shot rang out; butler took one to the forehead. Perfect shot. Blood was also used to write something."
"Creepy."
"I freaked and came back here for backup. The darkness in the distance seemed to follow me."
"Now you're creeping ME out. There's nothing out there though. See?" He opens the window.
"Wait, don't do that-" but it's too late. The deputy is whisked out the window by the oncoming darkness. Evelyn whips out her gun and empties her clip into the darkness. But, like the doomed men on the train, nothing happens. She runs and closes the window, but the darkness has already begun to take over the boiling system and the lights go out.

Evelyn sees that the lights in Leroy's Bar are on, and figuring that there's safety in numbers jolts to the bar. However, the darkness is like blanket of fog; Evelyn fights her way through the fog, heart pounding with every second, growing louder and louder. She cries for help but alas, no one comes. She knows better to fire at it, since there is nothing there.

She finally makes it to the bar. She opens the door and runs to the counter, blurting out words that make no sense. She realizes she is the only person in the bar. It is completely empty. Yet there are drinks on the table, where people should be. The piano is playing the sad ballad heard earlier. Major Tom sits in the corner, humming along. "You know," he says. "This is a great song. Too bad it's true."
"Who.....who are you? You're not Major Tom, that's for sure. Are you a rival of Harris? Or a magician of sort? Or one of those inventors?"
"I'm none of what you have said. My name is not Tom Reynolds, but I have no names. I have been called many names, but I think you know me better as Ryan. Ryan Lucifer."
"Ryan.....like the name of the lone stranger....Lucifer.....as in the name of the Devil?"
"Sure. What ever floats your boat."
"Then why come here?"
Ryan checks his watch. "See," he says. "You people don't know this yet, it might get discovered, it might not, but you live in alternative dimension. A lot of things here have happened differently on other Earths. Among my jobs is making sure things don't get too out of hand."
"What do you mean out of hand?"
"Well, let's put it this way. Robert Harris is actually a serial killer. He's insane and in his dimension his found a wrinkle, and came to yours. I'm here to make sure he doesn't screw around with your universe."
"Now you're just off your rocker! You're the one that's insane! What the hell happened to the rest of the people? What about the train?!"
"Don't you understand? Of course not. You can't understand the law of the universe. For some people, it's simply time to go, whether they like it or not. Now, it may be in a particularly cruel and harsh way, but then again, it was their choice to get on the train, wasn't it? It is the hand of humans, not me or God you should be afraid of."
"No.......NO! You're absolutely insane!" Evelyn draws her spare gun from her ankle holster and fires all 6 shots from it at Ryan. Somehow, though, they seem to miss.
"You shouldn't have done that." Ryan says. Darkness makes its way into the bar, and the bar disappears and the two people find themselves in the desert. "You shouldn't have made that choice. Now, you will die." The darkness surrounds Evelyn, blinding her.

"In the desert," says Ryan. "In the desert, no one can hear you scream."

to save a puppy?

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT PUNK

Who cut your hair, and why are they mad at you?

He clicks a new magazine into his gun. A quick racket and the handgun is chambered, ready to fire.

"Damn," he thinks. "I didn't think he'd be here! Fucking asshole! Hell, it blows the entire case over!"

Another man pops up behind a parked car. He fires an Uzi submachine gun towards the detective. He continues to fire as he looks for the corpse of the man he's hoping to kill.

The detective, still crouched behind a parked van, moves towards the hood to get a better shot. The windows above him shatter by the 9mm bullets. He braces himself for the falling glass, protecting his face with his hands. Doing so he notices the gap between the bottom of the car and the floor of the parking garage. He aims his SIG-Sauer P226 and pulls the trigger.

The .40 caliber bullet goes through the gun-wielder's left leg. He collapses; the .40 caliber bullet has enough take down power to stop a man, yet not too much to kill him. As he falls the machine pistol still fires, spreading bullets into the night's air. The gun finally stops firing when the magazine runs dry.

The detective rushes over, gun poised to make an if-need kill shot. The wounded man lays on the ground with a small pool of blood near his left leg. Cradling the the wound, he cries out for Jesus, the Virgin Mary or anyone who can hear him.

The detective kicks away the Uzi. Gun pointed at the criminal, he pulls out his cell phone and calls for both backup and paramedics. The operator tells him ETA is 5 minutes,

"You're lucky Kiwi." The detective says menacingly. "I was just pulling you over for a red light. But having Carlos's body in the back didn't help, did it? I would of let you go, but now I got you on murder, disturbing the peace and half a dozen other counts. You're going to go away for a long time. Thanks so much for making my life easier."

"Pretentious prick cop." Kiwi responds. "You got lucky."

"You know what Kiwi? I think you're right. I rather be lucky than good though." The detective looks over to see a patrol cars and an ambulance screaming in. Uniforms rush forward to apprehend Kiwi as the detective walks away.

A lieutenant walks over towards the detective. "You okay boy?" he asks.

"Fine. Few cuts, but it'll be gone within the week."

"Good, but you still should let the good doctor check them out. Want you in top shape."

"Yes sir." The detective peers over to Kiwi, who is being lifted into a stretcher by paramedics. "Hm." he thinks. "It's a good day."

FUCK-CAN'T GET SONG OUT OF HEAD

More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

The letters T and G are very close to each other on a keyboard. This recently became all too apparent to me and consequently I will never finish a work email with the phrase "Regards" again.

Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

Do you remember when you were a kid; playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in the world did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or faq's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

There is a great need for a sarcasm font.

Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what was going on when I first saw it.

How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.

Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say"

I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

Bad decisions make good stories.

Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem...

You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this.It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my itunes.

As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

Has anyone noticed that Alex Trebec has looked the same for the past 20 years?

The sock drawer eventually becomes a place for just mismatched socks.

Mathmeticians are people who spend 3 months trying to figure out how to do a 5 minute problem faster, just so they can save that extra minute.

Where do Chinese people go to get cheap order-out food?

I went to a fight the other day and a hockey game broke out.

When birds burp, it must taste like bugs.-Calvin

I'm fairly sure if they took porn off the internet there would only be one website called "Bring Back the Porn."-Perry Cox

When ever I'm trying to find a parking space, there's always one that opens up right behind me. Jerks.

Those who drive faster than me are idiots. Those who drive slower than me are morons.

Why is it the line you're always in is the slowest?

Everyone likes Manilow. No one just wants to admit it.

I understand the concept of twitter, but really, do we need to know that you just saw your ex make out with your friend?

I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

...so you won't see me on as often.

Things at work have shifted up a gear, so it's important I get my ass on the line and crack down. That means probably less of me on NG. However, I'll still be on AIM, so if something important happens, shoot for there.

And now, DangerMou5.

(Copypasta for justice)

More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

The letters T and G are very close to each other on a keyboard. This recently became all too apparent to me and consequently I will never finish a work email with the phrase "Regards" again.

Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

Do you remember when you were a kid; playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in the world did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or faq's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

There is a great need for a sarcasm font.

Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what was going on when I first saw it.

How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.

Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say"

I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

Bad decisions make good stories.

Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem...

You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this.It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my itunes.

As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

TAKE ME ON..........