Free Hunt for One Hunter & One Observer from Lianga Safaris for 2016

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It’s New Year’s Eve, and the restaurant is hopping—revelers, band, overworked waiters. Wending his way through the crowd is a drunk, staggering back to his seat. Spotting an attractive woman sitting alone, he says, “Pardon me, miss, did I step on your feet a few minutes ago?”

“Yes,” she says testily, “you did.”

“Good! I knew my table was around here somewhere.”
 
If someone from the 1950s suddenly appeared, what would be the most difficult thing to explain about life today? One answer: “I possess a device in my pocket that is capable of accessing the entirety of information known to man. I use it to look 
at pictures of cats and get into arguments with strangers.”
 
When our client’s dog lapped up anti-freeze, the veterinarian I work for ordered a unique treatment: an IV drip mixing fluids with vodka. “Go buy the cheapest bottle you can find,” he told me.

At the liquor store, I was uneasy buying cheap booze so early in the day, and I felt compelled to explain things to the clerk.

“Believe it or not,” I said, “this is for a sick dog.”

As I was leaving, the next customer plunked down two bottles of muscatel and announced, “These are for my cats.”
 
Living in a household with eight indoor cats requires buying large amounts of kitty litter, which I usually get in 25-pound bags—100 pounds at a time. When I was going to be out of town for a week, I decided to go to the supermarket to stock up. As my husband and I both pushed shopping carts, each loaded with five large bags of litter, a man looked at our purchases and queried, “Bengal or Siberian?”
 
One night while I was cat-sitting my daughter’s indoor feline, it escaped outside. When it failed to return the following morning, I found the beast clinging to a branch about 30 feet up in a spindly tree. Unable to lure it down, I called the fire department.

“We don’t do that anymore,” the woman dispatcher said. When I persisted, she was polite but firm. “The cat will come down when it gets hungry enough.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Have you ever seen a cat skeleton in a tree?” she said.

Two hours later the cat was back, looking for breakfast.
 
I worked at a boarding kennel where people leave their dogs and cats while on vacation. One morning I had taken a cat out of his cage, and after playing with him and replenishing his food and water, I put him back in.

A few minutes later, I was surprised to see the feline at my feet, since the cage doors lock automatically when they’re shut. I couldn’t figure out how the cat escaped, until I bent down to pick him up and spied his nametag: “Houdini.”
 
When my daughter and I caught only one perch on our fishing trip—not enough for even a modest lunch—we decided to feed it to her two cats. She put our catch in their dish and watched as the two pampered pets sniffed at the fish but refused to eat it.

Thinking quickly, my daughter then picked up the dish, walked over to the electric can opener, ran it for a few seconds, then put the fish back down. The cats dug right in.
 
My father’s secretary was visibly distraught one morning when she arrived at the office and explained that her children’s parrot had escaped from his cage and flown out an open window. Of all the dangers the tame bird would face outdoors alone, she seemed most concerned about what would happen if the bird started talking.

Confused, my father asked what the parrot could say.

“Well,” she explained, “he mostly says, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’ ”
 
I don’t know that there are real ghosts and goblins, but there are always more trick-or-treaters than neighborhood kids.

In my grumpy old man opinion, it seems like about 99% of all children are wretched little goblins these days.
 
Honk.jpeg
 
Really??

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Just when you think angry racists holding cushy government jobs can't possibly hate you any more than they already do.
 
:A Secret:Hey BRICKBURN... isn't that our President you're talking about?
DAMN... and I thought it was ONLY us locals that knew he couldn't count!!!!!!!!!!:ROFLMAO:
 
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