Making fun of born-again Christians is like hunting dairy cows with a high powered rifle and scope.
quote by P.J. O'Rourke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
AE01 Bushmen
man atop a wind-bowed tree
searching for any sign of deer
here we have tree-stand to see
perch like bird; powerful scope
on high powered hunting rifle
deer no match, down on spot
can you imagine yourself crawling
upwind with bow and arrow in search
for lunch, dinner, breakfast; yards away
slight miscalculation or moves; crucial
life of pre-dawn man in remoteness
where salads and burgers unknown
poem by Manonton Dalan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This was a dairy cow, and dairy cows have IDs on them. The ID was traced back to the farm in Washington. It's a dairy farm. And that farm now has been quarantined, and the owners have been very cooperative in doing that.
quote by Ann Veneman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Powered Love
(tony joe white)
Ive been running low on inspiration
Tired of the physical intrigue
Theres nothing left to imagination
Living in a world that treats love so carelessly
Dont want no smooth talkin lover
I cant play the role
It just leaves me cold
I need a high powered love
I wanna feel that lightning streak
High powered love
Got to be down in the heart with me
Sometimes its hard to keep believing
Too many pretty faces all skin deep
Now is there anyone left with teeth just a little uneven
And wont spend more time a mirror than he does with me
If youre looking for a good time
A notch on your gun
I aint the one
I want a high powered love
Got to have intensity
High powered love
Dont start the fire if you cant take the heat
I cant turn back Im on a mission
I know theres someone out there for me
I need a high powered love
One thatll defy gravity
High powered love
Got to be strong and keep on lifting me
Yeah I need a high powered love
I wanna feel the lightning streak
High powered love
Got to be down in the heart with me
Got to be down in the heart with me
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunting High And Low
Typed by [email protected]
Hunting High and Low:
Here I am
And within the reach of my hand
She's sound asleep
And she's sweeter now
Than the wildest dream
Could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
But I know I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go to
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
She's the sweetest love
I could find
So I guess I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
High and low
Ah, do you know what it means
To love you
I'm hunting high and low
And now she's telling me
She's got to go away
I'll always be hunting high and low
Only for you (And now she's telling me)
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
For you I'll be hunting high and low
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunting High & Low
Here I am
And within the reach of my hands
Shes sound asleep and shes sweeter now
Than thewildest dream could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
Though I know Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
Shes the sweetest love I could find
So I guess Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
High and low
High
Do you know what it means to love you
Im hunting high and low
And now shes telling me shes got to go away
Ill always be hunting high and low
Hungry for you
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
Oh! for you Ill be hunting high and low
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Or it is “Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf”?
Anyway, Palin and lip-stick coated pit bull persona is being attacked again,
From Ashley Judd, for Palin’s defense of aerial hunting of wolves.
Palin has encouraged hunting for wolves that she made a $150 bounty,
For each severed left paw,
What gall!
The hunters fly in airplanes or helicopters to bag their prey,
How daring!
With high powered rifles with scopes they shoot to kill,
I would have them much more on the ground, on foot, if dare I say.
Then I would consider that a hunt.
Not shooting fish in a fish barrel, a barrel with a bunch dead pickled herring.
(2-5-09)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Spent Some Time Hunting
I spent some time hunting
And found myself, near a deer
That little wonder, staring back at me
And with its tepid gaze
I held up my rifle
Took aim
About to pull the trigger
I felt that little creature's heartbeat
And became one with it
I felt the otherness of its soul
And putting my rifle down
A tear in my eye
I let that tender little creature
Make its way to freedom
Leaving it to another
To let it lie.
poem by Denis Kucharski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've been told that I have a lot of energy. The secret is that I use renewable resources. Some days I'm solar powered. Some days I'm wind powered. And some people in this room might think I'm hybrid gas-powered. You'll just have to guess which it is today.
quote by Bill Richardson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SHORT; Humor: 2 Poems about: A 'Cultured' Sort of Cow
#1
What sort of cow gives cultured WHOLE milk?
I think Princess and cows of her ilk.
She has nary a crawling tick,
she does NOT her calves lick, (babies that is) ,
and, at our state fair she wins ribbons of silk.
#2
What sort of cow gives cultured fat free milk?
I think Princess and other cows of her ilk.
She buys, for her stall, pieces of art,
listens each evening to her Mozart,
and for the annual Dairy Ball……she dresses in SILK!
(Feb.2006)
poem by Bri Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Forest Greeting
GOOD hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunting Girl
One day I walked the road and crossed a field
To go by where the hounds ran hard.
And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased
To where the path was barred.
One fine young ladys horse refused the fence to clear.
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.
Crop handle carved in bone;
Sat high upon a throne of finest english leather.
The queen of all the pack,
This joker raised his hat and talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high born hunting girl.
She took this simple mans downfall in hand;
I raised the flag that she unfurled.
Boot leather flashing and spurnecks the size of my thumb.
This highborn hunter had tastes as strange as they come.
Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over --- me on my knees underneath.
My lady, be discrete.
I must get to my feet and go back to the farm.
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate,
I might come to some harm.
Im not inclined to acts refined, if thats how it goes.
Oh, high born hunting girl,
Im just a normal low born so and so.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let the scoundrels return
Like a lightning bolt
coming out of a blue sky
there are bombs falling
in a field where maze
stand green and ripe in neat rows
and craters are left and the field is on fire.
A few more bombs fall exploding
between cattle grazing in the field
and some are blasted to pieces
and the cows in terror forget about their milk.
The farmer is woken from his afternoon nap
and grabs his hunting rifle.
“We hit the wrong target”
the flight leader confirms
and the farmer waits with a gun in hand
on the planes to return and says:
“let the scoundress return.”
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I feel that Christian music is a subculture directed towards the Christians. It's not really being exposed to non-Christians and it's not really created for non-Christians, so non-Christians almost never hear any of this music.
quote by Larry Norman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homeless Man In The South
homeless shelter full;
no spot under the bridge,
too much traffic, and the law.
stole some plastic;
set up a tent down deep
in the woods by the creek....
up above the place where
the cows cross... hauled my
belongings, a few clothes,
books, an old rifle, a coffee pot,
and a few utensils...a little food.
built a small fire... thinking.
what to do? steal a car,
make a run for God knows where?
or just sit here watching my
food and coffee dwindle....
crows cawing in a heavy grey sky....
them cows are starting to look....
like survival!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born In The U. S. A.
Born down in a dead mans town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog thats been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up
Born in the u.s.a., I was born in the u.s.a.
I was born in the u.s.a., born in the u.s.a.
Got in a little hometown jam
So they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land
To go and kill the yellow man
Born in the u.s..a....
Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man said son if it was up to me
Went down to see my v.a. man
He said son, dont you understand
I had a brother at khe sahn
Fighting off the viet cong
Theyre still there, hes all gone
He had a woman he loved in saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms now
Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
Im ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run aint got nowhere to go
Born in the u.s.a., I was born in the u.s.a.
Born in the u.s.a., Im a long gone daddy in the u.s.a.
Born in the u.s.a., born in the u.s.a.
Born in the u.s.a., Im a cool rocking daddy in the u.s.a.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
He made the cows to want the rain to fall he made the grass that they use to eat to fill the want inside a cow he makes grass as bread for cows they just continue there to graze in some places in the desert spaces there is grass for cows to eat this is called heaven sweet to cows they drink water when they have it in a drink flavored pouch oh no see eh ewe caught me making lies no listen while eye smile and tell ewe this poem is so nice there is grass for all the cows there is grass on every hill and every cow can eat in heaven they still have grass for every cow there is food in heaven there is food there in a drink flavored pouch.
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Small legendery joke
Maori fella walks into a dairy and asks for a tin of cat food. Indian dairy owner says 'Oh no - I am hearing about you Maori fellows and how you put cat food into pastry and call it meat pie. Please bring cat into shop for me to see and you can have cat food'. Maori fella says 'oh man, I don't even know where the cat is right now - probably chasing birds.' Indian dairy owner says 'No cat, no cat food'.
Maori fella sulks away from shop. Same guy comes in a week later and asks for a tin of dog food for his dog. Indian dairy owner gives him the same run down, 'No dog - no doggy food'. Maori fella is really upset and storms off. He comes back a couple of days later with a big plastic bag and slams it on the counter. The dairy owner says 'Oh what is this being please' and opens the bag and is overcome by the foul stench which from the now open bag. Maori fellah says, 'It's a bag of sh*t man, I want some toilet rolls! '
poem by Racina Rodriguez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dairy Ode
Our muse it doth refuse to sing
Of cheese made early in the spring,
When cows give milk from spring fodder
You cannot make a good cheddar.
The quality is often vile
Of cheese that is made in April,
Therefore we think for that reason
You should make later in the season.
Cheese making you should delay
Until about the first of May.
Then cows do feed on grassy field
And rich milk they abundant yield.
Ontario cannot compete
With the Northwest in raising wheat,
For cheaper there they it can grow
So price in future may be low.
Though this a hardship it may seem,
Rejoice that you have got the cream,
In this land of milk and honey,
Where dairy farmers do make money.
Utensils must be clean and sweet,
So cheese with first class can compete,
And daily polish up milk pans,
Take pains with vats and with milk cans.
And it is important matter
To allow no stagnant water,
But water from pure well or stream
The cow must drink to give pure cream.
Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair
With breeds from the shire of Ayr,
They thrive on our Canadian feed
And are for milking splendid breed.
Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter,
Yet spring milk also makes bad butter,
Then there doth arise the query
How to utilize it in the dairy.
The milk it floats in great spring flood
Though it is not so rich and good,
Let us be thankful for this stream
Of milk and also curds and cream.
All dairymen their highest aims
Should be to make the vale of Thames,
Where milk doth so abundant flow,
Dairyland of Ontario.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Christmas Carol
TUNE--'God rest ye, merry gentleman.'
GOD rest ye, merry gentlemen; let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
The dawn rose red o'er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the gray,
When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,
When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas-day.
God rest ye, all good Christians; upon this blessed morn
The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born:
Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away;
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas-day.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Of The Steam-powered Trains
Like the last of the good ol puffer trains,
Im the last of the blood and sweat brigade,
And I dont know where Im going, or why I came.
Im the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains.
Im the last of the good old renegades.
All my friends are all middle class and grey,
But I live in a museum, so Im okay.
Im the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains.
Like the last of the good ol choo-choo trains,
Huff and puff till I blow this world away,
And Im gonna keep on rollin till my dying day.
Im the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains.
Like the last of the good ol puffer trains,
Im the last of the soot and scum[? ] brigade,
And all this peaceful living is drivin me insane.
Im the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains.
Im the last of the good old fashioned steam-powered trains.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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