Post your worst glurge

Anyone else here get innundated with glurge? Those are the sickingly sweet stories or terrible tragedy e-mails you get from well meaning people. Check this one out: I rated it an 8 on the barf-o-meter.

A storeowner 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?” he asked. The store owner replied “Anywhere from $30-$50.” The little boy reached into his pocket and pulled out some change. “I have $2.37, can I have a look at them?”

The storeowner 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 the little boy 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.

The little boy got really excited and said, “That’s the puppy I want to buy!” The storeowner replied, “No, you don’t want to buy that little dog. If you really want him, I’ll give him to you.” The little boy got quite upset. He looked straight into the store owner’s eyes, pointing his finger and said," I don’t want you to give him to me. That little dog is worth every bit as much as the other dogs and I’ll pay the full price. In fact, I’ll give you $2.37 now and 50 cents every month until I have him paid for." The storeowner 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!”

To this the little boy 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.”

I don’t have one to share, but I just wanted to say that Zettes example is a horrible one. Wow. 8 on the Barf-O-Meter? 9.5, with ease. Ugh.


In no specific order.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to cry and puke at the same time?

I forgot to mention…I like your “glurge” word.


“glurge” is a term used at Snopes.

Ah, poor little puppy…personally, you’d think he’d be THRILLED to accept a free puppy! “Gee, thanks Mister!”
As for terms of pukability…that’s tame. VERY tame. YOu should see Snopes for some really bad ones…
Anyone ever read the one about the kid who chucked a rock through some guy’s mercedes because he needed help after his brother fell out of a wheelchair?

Actually, the story could be improved quite easily with a minor change to the ending.

‘Only $2.37, young fellow?’ laughed the kindly old pet shop owner. ‘Well, for that, I guess you only get part of the puppy. Here’s the part you’re really interested in.’

And the kindly old shop keeper, with a twinkle in his eye, brought out a big knife and stretched out the puppy on the counter.

‘Here, Billy!’ laughed the old man, as he stretched out the puppy’s crippled leg. ‘Grab his head!’…

See? Isn’t that better?

At the risk of incurring a moderator smackdown (and with apologies to Wayne Watson), here goes:

*Well it was battered and scarred and the auctioneer felt,
It was hardly worth his while,
To waste much time with the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile,

"It sure ain’t much, but it’s all we’ve got left,
I guess we oughta sell it too,
Now what is my bid for this old violin?
Just one more and we’ll be through.

And then he cried: One, give me one dollar,
who’ll make it two,
Only two dollars. Who’ll make it three?
Three dollars twice now that’s a good price,
But who’s got a bid for me?
Raise up your hands and don’t wait any longer,
The auction’s about to end,
Who’s got four, just one dollar more,
To bid on this old violin?

Well the air was hot and the people stood around,
As the sun was settin’ low,
From the back of the room a grey-haired man came forward,
And picked up the bow,
He wiped the dust from the old violin,
And he tightened up the strings,
Then he played out a melody pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angels sing.

And then the music stopped,
And the auctioneer, with a voice that was tired and low,
Said what is my bid for this old violin,
Then he held it up with the bow…

And then he cried: One, give me one thousand,
who’ll make it two,
Only two thousand. Who’ll make it three?
Three thousand twice now that’s a good price,
But who’s got a bid for me?
The people called out ‘What made the change?
We don’t understand.’
And the auctioneer stopped,
And he said with a smile,
‘It was the touch of The Master’s hand.’*

I’d give it an 8.5

A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day,
Decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.

Just then the back door opened,and a man came down the aisle,
The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn’t shaved in a while.

His shirt was kinda shabby, and his coat was worn and frayed,
the man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.

In the days that followed, each noon time came this chap,
each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap.

Well, the minister’s suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear,
He decided to stop the man and ask him, “What are you doing here?”

The old man said he worked down the road, Lunch was half an hour.
Lunchtime was his prayer time, for finding strength and power.

"I stay only moments, see, because the factory is far away;
as I kneel here talking to the Lord, this is kinda what I say:


The minister feeling foolish, told Jim that it was fine.
He told the man he was welcome to just come and pray anytime.

Time to go, Jim smiled, said “Thanks.” He hurried to the door.
The minister knelt at the altar; he’d never done it before.

His cold heart melted, warmed with love, and met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed down, and in his heart, he repeated old Jim’s prayer:


Past noon one day, the minister saw that old Jim hadn’t come.
As more days passed without Jim, he began to worry some.

At the factory, he asked about him, learning that he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried, but he’d given them a thrill !

The week that Jim was with them, brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a contagious joy: Changed people, was his reward.

The head nurse couldn’t understand why Jim was so glad,
when no flowers, calls or cards came, not a single visitor he had.

The minister stayed by his bed, he voiced the nurse’s concern:
No friends came to show they cared. He had nowhere to turn.

Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile;
"the nurse is wrong, she couldn’t know, that in here all the while

Everyday at noon He’s here, a dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down and takes my hand, leans over and says to me:


If this blesses you, pass it on. Many people will walk in and out of
your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart

May God hold you in the palm of His hand and angels watch over you.
~Author Unknown~


“Why are you crying?” he asked his Mom.
“Because I’m a woman” she told him.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will.”…

Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does mother seem to cry for no
reason sometimes?”
“All women cry for no reason” was all his dad could say…

The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry…
Finally he put in a call to GOD. The man said, “GOD, why do women cry so

GOD said… When I made women she had to be special. I made her
shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world; yet, gentle enough
to give comfort…

I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that
many times comes from her children…

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives
up and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without

I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all
circumstances, even when her child has hurt them very badly… This same
sensitivity helps her to make a child’s boo-boo feel better and shares in
their teenagers anxieties and fears…

I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned
her from his rib to protect his heart.

I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but
sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him

I gave her a tear to shed; it’s hers exclusively to use whenever it is
needed. It’s her only weakness…
It’s a tear for mankind…

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited
island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he
scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he
eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him
from the elements, and to store his few possessions. But then one day,
after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames,
the smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened; everything was
lost. He was stunned with grief and anger. “God, how could you do this to
me!” he cried. Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of
a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. “How
did you know I was here?” asked the weary man. “We saw your smoke signal,”
they replied. It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but
we shouldn’t lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the
midst of pain and suffering. Remember, next time your little hut is burning
to the ground----it just may be a smoke signal that
summons the grace of God.

Pass this on, you never know who may be in need of this today.
My God-Mother sends these to me and they drive me insane! I just don’t have the heart to tell her I hate them and occasionally she sends real jokes so I just suffer in silence.

Until NOW! BWAhahahahahahahaha!

geez. thanks. really. I DID need to see what I had for lunch. Really.

what’s worse is I’ve got several folks who send me this drivel, One (person A) also sends stuff to person B, who always sends ME EVERYTHING, so, whenever I get the thing from person A, I can go “ten, nine, eight, seven…” and sure enough I’ll get it from person B. EXCEPT person B, when SHE forwards shit changes the title of it (otherwise I’d delete without opening), and no, not to something that I could recognize as being it, she just randomly types letters in… arghhggggggggggggggggggg!

I’ve warned my friends in the office “don’t send me this crap!”.

My sister sends me all those “Warning - needles under gas pump handles” dreck (I like that word: Dreck Just rolls sarcastically and insultingly off your tongue).

I always email her back and say “please tell me you don’t believe all this crap!?”

I know that people who read this stuff and believe it aren’t always the sappy, softheaded, morons I think they are but, darn it! it’s so hard to think otherwise!

What really pises me off is the fact that if I tried to transfer this to someone else’s forum, I’d be banned from the SDMB for life!

It’s like Grandma reading me all those stories out of Reader’s Digest! Make it stop! Pleeeeeeeeease! Make it stop!

On the other hand, the anti-glurge part of the website was fun. :slight_smile:

For something a little different…


I met Kyle the summer I was ten years old. His parents bought the old Victorian house next to ours that had stood empty for
several years. His father was an architect and wanted a “challenge” house to work on. I first saw Kyle when he came over to
our house with his mother to get acquainted with their new neighbors. While our mothers talked, Kyle and I became fast friends
in the way only ten year olds can. Within ten minutes we were inside Kyle’s house, helping his dad rip down plaster to make
way for sheet-rock.

Over the summer months, Kyle and I were best friends, and we did everything together. We fished, caught frogs, and swam in
the creek; we helped his dad with the deconstruction of the house but got bored as soon as the deconstruction stopped and the
reconstruction began. When school started in the fall, we were in the same class and studied together for all the tests.

Then one day Kyle didn’t get on the bus to go to school. I asked my Mom where he was when I got home that day, and she
said, “Joey, Kyle’s sick.”

“Oh,” I said and thought nothing more about it. Until Kyle didn’t show up for the rest of the week.

I went over to see him, but Kyle’s Mom met me at the door, and I could see that she had been crying. “Kyle’s still sick, Joey.
We’re taking him to the doctor on Monday.” I asked if I could see him, but she declined, saying she didn’t know if what Kyle
had was catching.

After school on Monday, my mother met me at the door. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red. She took me into the den,
and I was already crying by the time she told me the news, because I knew it was bad.

“Joey, Kyle has a disease called Leukemia,” she said softly, as we both cried.

“Is he going to die?” I asked.

“I don’t know, honey,” she said. I knew what that meant. It meant “yes.” I started to cry harder.

I went to see Kyle the next day. He was really skinny. I knew he had been getting skinnier for a while, but it was really bad
now. His face was all pale, too. We talked for quite a bit, and when I left, I cried even harder.

Kyle was taken to the hospital again a week later. I called them up and asked if there was anything I could do to help my
friend. They said there was a charity that I could collect money for, a foundation that was looking for a cure. So I set to work. I
enlisted my little brother to carry the lemons from the store, and I carried the two big bags of sugar. Together, we set up a stand
on the side of the road and sold lemonade. When we told people what we were doing, they would sometimes give more than
the ten cents a cup we were asking for. One guy gave $20! People would go home, tell their friends, and all of their friends
would come by and buy some lemonade. Even after we ran out of lemonade, they still kept coming. By the end of the day, we
had $178!!! It was amazing!

My mom said she was really proud of me. Even my little brother thought I was cool. My mom drove me to the hospital where
they collected the money for the charity. I had the money in my pocket when I walked in, but when I walked up to the big
collection barrel, I felt a little twinge. $178 was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. I was thinking of all the things that
money could buy me, not of my little buddy Kyle sitting in his hospital bed. When I walked up to the barrel, I put in the
thirty-six cents in change I had in my pocket from the bubble gum I had bought that morning and walked back to my Mom,
who was waiting in the car.

Kyle died a week later. I saw him one more time, and he thanked me for raising all that money for him with the lemonade stand.
I smiled and told him it was no problem. He looked so old, lying there in that bed.

I bought a whole bunch of baseball cards and candy with that money. And hey, they still haven’t found a cure for Leukemia,
right? I’m so sure my $178 would have put them over the top.

I get the opposite kind of e-mail.

A storeowner 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.

This is a ruse! Do not let your children near this store. ***THIS IS A KIDDIE PORN RING

Guinastasia - that story is from a book entitled Chicken Poop for the Soul - stories to harden the heart.

Freakin’ hilarious! My wife bought it for a friend of hers who was getting all gacked out on the chicken soup books.

I originally got this from this board, so I guess it’s only fair I pass it back here:

Dear Kind Stranger,

I am a very sick little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I can’t.

She is crying. Don’t cry, Mommy! Mommy is always sad, but she says it’s not my fault. I asked her if it was God’s fault, but she didn’t answer, and only started crying harder, so I don’t ask her that anymore.

The reason she is so sad is that I’m so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn’t hurt, except when I go to sleep. The doctors gave me an artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was the best they could do on account of us having no money or insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money.

Mommy doesn’t work because she said employers don’t hire crying people.

I said, “Don’t cry, Mommy,” and she hugged my burlap body. Mommy always gives me hugs, even though she’s allergic to burlap, and it chafes her real bad.

I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this e-mail. Dr. Johansen said if you forward this e-mail then Bill Gates will team up with AOL and do a survey with NASA. Then the astronauts will collect prayers from schoolchildren all over America and take them up to space so that the angels can hear them better.

Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Or maybe just use my lungs and heart, when the doctors make them. The doctors said that every time you forward this letter, the astronauts can take another prayer to the angels.

Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don’t want my leaves to rot before I turn 10. If you don’t forward this e-mail, that’s OK. Mommy says you’re a mean heartless jerk who doesn’t care about a poor little boy with only a head. She says that if you don’t stew in the raw pit of your own guilt-ridden stomach, she hopes you die a long, slow horrible death so you can burn forever in hell. What kind of person are you that you can’t take five minutes to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and then maybe help a poor, bodiless 9-year-old boy?

Please help me. This really sucks. I try to be happy but it’s hard.

I wish I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy.

Thank You.
Billy ‘Smiles’ Evans,
The boy with just a head.
And a burlap sack for a body.