Thank you kindly. Now I feel bad that I scrapped my warped version of “The Broken Puppy” that ended with the boy loosing his good leg when the special puppy tripped him in traffic, and owing the shopkeeper payment plus interest. You would have enjoyed it.
Fireman Billy
The 26-year-old mother stared down at her son who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that.
But she still wanted her son’s dreams to come true. She took her son’s hand and asked, “Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?”
“Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up.” Mom smiled back and said, “Let’s see if we can make your wish come true.”
Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son’s final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six year old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you’ll have your son ready at seven o’clock Wednesday morning, we’ll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! “And if you’ll give us his sizes, we’ll get a real fire uniform for him, with a real fire hat – not a toy one – with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They’re all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast.”
Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic’s van, and even the fire chief’s car. He was also videotaped for the local news program.Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible.
One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition. The chief replied, "We can do better than that. We’ll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favor? When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It’s just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?
About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital, extended its ladder up to Billy’s third floor open window and 16 firefighters climbed up the ladder into Billy’s room. With his mother’s permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the fire chief and said, “Chief, am I really a fireman now?”
“Look, kid,” the chief said, “We’ve all been thinking about how annoying it would be if you had recovered - you know, you’d be hanging around the House and getting in the way and shit - and we’re kind of glad it’s almost over for you. We’ve been playing along with this bullshit about you being a fireman, but I don’t want you to die with a lie in your heart. You’re not a fucking fireman. You never were a fucking fireman. We don’t even like you all that much.”
As Billy closed his eyes for the last time, a single tear ran down his little cheek.
It takes a special kind of evil to think up stuff like that. You have been given that evil. 
That would be a real treat.
God damn. That has to be the single coldest thing I’ve read in months. I’m impressed!
Poor Billy.
Steve
You know that special evil I spoke of that has been bestowed on Waverly? You, Sir, are doubly blessed with it. I bow to your evilness. Or I will soon as I can quit laughin’. Day-umn that’s funny!
A Cletus, a pet shop owner, was tacking a sign above his door that read ‘Puppies for Sale.’ These signs had a weird way of attracting children. And sure enough, a little boy appeared at the sign. “How much are you going to sell those puppies for?” asked a cherubic young boy, who was known by his friends as Timmy. Cletus replied “Anywhere from $30-$50.” The Jimmy reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. “I have $2.37, can I have a look at them?”
Cletus smiled and whistled and out of the kennel came Lady, who ran down the aisle of his store followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging considerably behind. Immediately Timmy singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said “What’s wrong with that little dog?” The storeowner explained that when the puppy was born, the vet had said that the puppy had no hip socket and would limp for the rest of its life.
Timmy got really excited and said, “That’s the puppy I want to buy!” Cletus replied, “No, you don’t want to buy that little dog. He’s not worth your money.” Jimmy got quite upset. He looked straight into the store owner’s eyes, pointing his finger and said, “That little dog is worth every bit as much as the other dogs and I’ll pay the full price for him. In fact, I’ll give you $2.37 now and 50 cents every month until I have him paid for."
Cletus countered, “You really don’t want to buy this puppy. He is never going to be able to run, jump and play like other puppies!” Little Timmy immediately reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the storeowner and said softly, “Well, I don’t run so well myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands.”
“Look, you are hearing, but not listening,” said Cletus. “This isn’t a good idea, but…” after a pause, Cletus, ever the businessman continued, “if you insist, and pay me 5% interest for the trouble, you can have him.”
Timmy gladly accepted, and was soon scampering out the door with the lame puppy in tow. He could not have gotten more then ten steps down the sidewalk when the puppy lunged for a pigeon, fell, and got his leash tangled on a fire hydrant. Timmy’s arm jerked suddenly, and unable to keep his balance, he toppled into the path of an oncoming station wagon.
Every Saturday, Cletus now sees Timmy wheel down the street in his wheelchair, a very lame, and unloved, puppy on his lap.
damn, I should have written it as once a month, and that Timmy flings two quarters at the pet shop’s front window.
Let’s pretend I wrote it that way.
Damn, I thought I was cold! It actually hurts me to read this thread.
More, more! 
Letter from Jesus
It was a bright sunny Saturday morning and Ruth went to check her mail box. There was only one letter. She picked it up and looked at the envelope. There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She opened it and read the letter:
Dear Ruth:
I’m going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I would like to visit.
Love Always,
Jesus
Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. “Why would the Lord want to visit me? I’m nobody special. I don’t have anything to offer,” she said to herself.
With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets.
“Oh my goodness, I really don’t have anything to offer. I’ll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner.” She reached for her purse and counted out it’s contents.
Three hundred five dollars and forty cents. Her landlord would be stopping in tomorrow for the rent, but that would still leave her five dollars and change. “Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least.”
She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. At the grocery store she carefully selected the few items she was able to afford. A loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk…leaving Ruth with grand total of twelve cents to last her until Monday.
Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.
“Hey lady, can you please help us?”
Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn’t even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.
“Look lady, I ain’t got a job. My wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it’s getting cold and we’re getting kinda hungry. If you could help us, lady, we’d really appreciate it.”
Ruth looked at them both. They were dirty, they smelled bad and frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.
“Sir, I’d like to help you, but I’m a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I’m having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that to Him.”
The man grabbed Ruth roughly by the arm. “Yeah, well, tough shit, lady, I would have settled for your groceries, but now I think we’ll see what’s in that purse of yours, too.”
He pulled her into the alley and held her in a choke hold while the woman rummaged messily through Ruth’s purse and found the rent money.
“Three hundred bucks! You’re a poor woman, all right,” the man said, and punched Ruth hard from behind in the kidney. She crumpled face down onto the filthy ground. The man kicked her savagely in the face and she tasted blood.
The man yanked Ruth’s coat from her back as she lay, helpless and in pain, barely able to tell what was going on. “I’ll be taking this, too. It’s just the right size for my wife.” Then he put his arm around the woman’s shoulders, turned and they headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave, Ruth heard them laughing and talking about how they were going to party that night with their newfound wealth. Dizzy, bleeding, her face black and blue and swelling from the kick, she struggled to her feet and staggered home.
Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front door, and worried too. Her rent money was gone. She needed medical help. And to top it off, the Lord was coming to visit and she didn’t have anything to offer Him.
She fumbled through her purse for the door key, hoping desperately that it hadn’t been lost in the alley. But as she did, she noticed something in her mailbox.
“That’s odd. The mailman doesn’t usually come twice in one day unless he has a package to deliver.”
She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.
Dear Ruth:
I know it’s short notice, but the Apostles wanted to tag along - I knew you wouldn’t mind. We’re really jonesing for some roast beef and mashed potatoes. Don’t forget the gravy!
Love Always,
Jesus
Ruth eyed the neighbor’s cat and wondered if her roasting pan would be big enough…
BWAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!
Stop it Waverly and Uvula Donor! Y’all are killin’ me!
BWAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!
There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn’t play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant.
It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big F at the top of his papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last.
However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners…he is a joy to be around.”
His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well-liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”
His third grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”
Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class.”
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper,except for Teddy’s.
His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume.
But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard mustered up the courage to stay after school that day and say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.”
“What happened to your mom, Teddy?”
Teddy leaned in a little closer. “She died,” he whispered. His arms wrapped around her in a hug.
“Oh, you poor dear! Did she suffer?”
Teddy made a sobbing noise. “… yes,” he said. “She–”
“Teddy! Is that your hand on my ass?”
“I’m hurting, Mrs. Thompson–can’t you see that? I need understanding and love. Plenty of love.”
“But, Teddy… this is so wrong.” She looked toward the hallway. What if someone came by? “Let me close the door first.”
As she pulled away to shut the door, she heard Teddy softly sing, “Bom chicka bom-bom chicka chicka…”
The story doesn’t end there. You see, many years later, when Mrs. Thompson was long past retirement age and resigned to spending her days alone in a wheelchair–staring for hours outside the window–she heard a knock at her front door.
“Who is it?” she called out in her frail voice.
“Land shark!”
“Um, what?”
“Mailman!”
“Please come in,” she replied.
Stepping through the doorway, the mailman walked over to Mrs. Thompson. “Special delivery,” he said. “A package from someone named ‘Teddy’.”
“My dear boy!” she exclaimed. As she opened the package, a letter fell out and onto her lap. She unfolded it and read it as tears trickled down her cheeks.
*Dear Mrs. Thompson,
I used too want too be a doktor. But our time togther showed me a diferent way. I am now a purn star and make lots of sex moovies with hot women. As a docter, I wanted to heal those who where hurt and maybe cure kancer. Now I just get nasty all day long. Here is one of my videoos. Wen you watch it, please think of me.
Love,
Teddy*
“My dear boy,” she whispered.
Never give up your dreams! Always reach for the stars!! Teachers are hot!!!
Box Of Kisses
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”
The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, “Don’t you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside?” The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, “Oh, Daddy, it’s not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They’re all for you, Daddy.”
The father crushed the box into a tightly wadded ball. “You stupid little shit,” he said as he threw the ball at her, “What the hell am I supposed to do with fucking make-believe crap like that?” The ball hit the little girl in the eye and she winced with pain. “That didn’t hurt, goddamn it. Quit whimpering and go to bed,” he growled.
Only a short time later, the little girl’s injured eye became infected. Her face swelled and turned a streaky red, and thick pus oozed from under the closed eyelid. Within a few weeks she was dead. It is also told that her father kept that crumpled ball of gold paper and cardboard by his bed for many years. On holidays and other gift-giving occasions, he would show it to his other children, tossing it lightly in his hand, to remind them that they’d better fucking well get him a good gift, or they’d get one in the eye just like their sister.
Skip and Uvula Donor I saw the evilness oozing from this thread before I even opened it.
I’m sure Satan is pleased that y’ll are such good stewards of his evil.
This is a TRUE STORY. When you finish reading it PASS IT ON TO A LOVED ONE.
Mary and Maria were best friends from the first day they met in kindergarten. It is true what they say about opposites attracting because these two girls were poles apart in looks and atittude. Mary had golden tresses, blue-eyes and her milky white skin would tinge with red if a boy so much as glanced her way. Maria was a raven-haired with eyes a mischevious green and it was she who brought the blushes to the boy’s cheeks.
They remained friends even after high school where Mary married her sweetheart in the same church she attended every week to celebrate in the Lord’s love while Maria went on to the big city and never passed up a chance to party and raise hell. Even though they were miles apart in both distance and temperment they kept in touch calling and writing often.
So no one thought it too odd when they were both striken by that foul disease, breast cancer. And no one was surprised when they chose different paths to relief. Mary put her faith in the Lord God and prayed on her knees every day before she visited her doctor. Maria drank Wild Turkey straight out the bottle before going to the clinic. The whole congregation laid hands on Mary and she drew strength and courage from the flock. Maria screwed around a lot because she figured she’d better get as much as she could before they cut her tittie off.
It was a sad, sad day when Mary passed. If only she had found the lump on her breast sooner, like Maria did while she masturbating.
REMEMBER, TOUCH YOURSELF! IT FEELS GOOD AND IT MAY SAVE YOUR LIFE!!!
Brilliant, Biggirl!
I recall the following selection from Stranger in a Strange Land. Not quite atheist glurge, but at least truth behind the manufacturing process:
That’s pretty hot.
You people are reinventing the wheel. One S. L. Clemens already beat you to it:
The Story of the Good Little Boy
The Story of the Bad Little Boy
by Mark Twain, who warmed up his pen in hell
Yeah, so what’s he written lately?
What Was In Jeremy’s Egg?
Jeremy was born with a twisted body and slow mind. At the age of 12 he was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises.
At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher. One day, she called his parents to come to St. Theresa’s for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, “Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn’t fair to him to be with younger children who don’ t have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!”
Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke. “Miss Miller,” he said, “there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here.”
Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn’t fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why waste any more time trying?
As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. “Oh God,” she said aloud, “here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy!”
From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy’s noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him. “I love you, Miss Miller,” he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris’ face turned red. She stammered, “Wh-why that’s very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your seat.”
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. “Now,” she said to them, “I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Miller!” the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently; his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises.
Had he understood what she had said about Jesus’ death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them. That evening, Doris’ kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy’s parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller’s desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs.
In the first egg, Doris found a flower. “Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life,” she said. “When plants peek through the ground we know that Spring is here.” A small girl in the first row waved her arm. “That’s my egg Miss Miller,” she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. “We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too.” Little Judy smiled proudly and said, “Miss Miller, that one is mine!”
Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom, “My Daddy helped me!” he beamed.
Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy’s, she thought, and of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents! Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. A giggle rippled through the class as everyone knew the egg must belong to big dumb Jeremy. Jeremy didn’t care. He’d already eaten on the bus the jelly beans his mother (who thought it was for the class Easter party) had put in the egg, so he was done with it.
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. She was so very tired of dealing with Jeremy. On the playground, the kids’ new nickname for Jeremy was “Empty Head.”
Three months later, Jeremy died. Doris was sad for his parents, but she couldn’t help but feel relieved. This really was a blessing. Now she could focus on the normal kids and his parents could get on with their lives. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty. Some wondered what kept them from rolling off the casket, while the rest wondered who ate the jelly beans. Of course, they didn’t know the kids still called Jeremy “Empty Head,” because kids are jerks that way.