<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770</id><updated>2011-12-15T08:19:50.367+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Fast Forwards</title><subtitle type='html'>Some interesting text-only forwards! Send in a click by clicking the "Envelope" at the bottom of every post!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-115194692677011860</id><published>2006-07-03T22:45:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-07-03T22:45:26.803+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Myths retold!</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, there was a software engineer who used to develop programs on his Pentium machine, sitting under a tree on the banks of a river.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He used to earn his bread by selling those programs in the Sunday market.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; One day, while he was working, his machine tumbled off the table and fell in the river. Encouraged by the Panchatantra story of his childhood (the woodcutter and the axe), he started praying to the River Goddess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The River Goddess wanted to test him and so appeared only after one month of rigorous prayers. The engineer told her that he had lost his computer in the river.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; As usual, the Goddess wanted to test his honesty. She showed him a match box and asked, "Is this your computer ?" Disappointed by the Goddess' lack of computer awareness, the engineer replied, "No."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; She next showed him a pocket-sized calculator and asked if that was his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Annoyed, the engineer said "No, not at all!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Finally, she came up with his own Pentium machine and asked if it was his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The engineer, left with no option, sighed and said "Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The River Goddess was happy with his honesty. She was about to give him all three items, but before she could make the offer, the engineer asked her, "Don't you know that you're supposed to show me some better computers before bringing up my own ?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The River Goddess, angered at this, replied, "I know that, you stupid donkey! The first two things I showed you were the Trillennium and the Billennium, the latest computers from IBM!". So saying, she disappeared with the Pentium!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Moral: If you're not up-to-date with technology trends, it's better keep your mouth shut and let people think you're a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-115194692677011860?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/115194692677011860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=115194692677011860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115194692677011860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115194692677011860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/07/myths-retold.html' title='Myths retold!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-115194586592079570</id><published>2006-07-03T22:27:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-07-03T22:27:45.936+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Second Look!!</title><content type='html'>A family is driving in their car on holiday. A frog is crossing the road and the husband somehow manages to stop the car without hitting it. He gets out and carries the frog  to the side of the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The frog is very grateful and thanks the man, telling him that he will grant him a wish. So the man says, "Please make  my dog win his next race."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The frog looks at the dog, which jumped out of the car, and notices that the dog has only three legs. He tells the man that it is almost impossible to fulfill his wish and asks that the man make another wish. The man says, "Well, then please help my wife win the next beauty contest she enters."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!-- image1 --&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The frog asks the wife to get out of the car. The wife comes  out of the car and walks over to the frog. The frog turns to the man and says, "Could I have another look at that dog?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-115194586592079570?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/115194586592079570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=115194586592079570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115194586592079570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115194586592079570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/07/second-look.html' title='A Second Look!!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-115126619316813041</id><published>2006-06-26T01:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-26T01:39:53.183+05:30</updated><title type='text'>What did you just say??</title><content type='html'>A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital  with   an oxygen mask over his   mouth and nose and still heavily sedated from a  four   hour operation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young   nurse appears to sponge his hands and feet.  "Nurse",   he mumbles from behind   the mask, "Are my testicles black?" Embarrassed,  the   young nurse replies, "I   don't know, I'm only here to wash your hands and   feet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He struggles again   to ask, "Nurse, are my testicles black?" Finally,   she pulls back the covers,   raises his gown holds his willie in one hand and  his   testicles in her other   hand and takes a close look and says, "There's   nothing wrong with them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!-- image2 --&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The   man pulls off his oxygen mask and says very  slowly,   "That was very nice but   listen very, very    closely----Are.....my.......test......results.....back?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-115126619316813041?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/115126619316813041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=115126619316813041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115126619316813041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115126619316813041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/06/what-did-you-just-say.html' title='What did you just say??'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-115109850860236032</id><published>2006-06-24T03:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-24T03:05:08.613+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Teacher - Student</title><content type='html'>Teacher: Why are you late?&lt;br /&gt;Kannan: Because of the sign.&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: What sign?&lt;br /&gt;Kannan: The one that says, "School Ahead, Go Slow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Denny, why are you doing your maths sums on the floor?&lt;br /&gt;Denny: You told me to do it without using tables!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: What is the chemical formula for water?&lt;br /&gt;Sitha: "HIJKLMNO"!!&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: What are you talking about?&lt;br /&gt;Sitha: Yesterday you said it's H to O!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: George, go to the map and find North America&lt;br /&gt;George: Here it is!&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Correct. Now, class, who discovered America?&lt;br /&gt;George: George!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Willy, name one important thing we have today that we didn't have ten years ago.&lt;br /&gt;Willy: Me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Can anybody give an example of COINCIDENCE?&lt;br /&gt;Karthi: "Sir, my Mother and Father got married on the sameday sametime."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: "George Washington not only chopped down his father's Cherry tree, but also admitted doing it. Now do you know why his father didn't punish him?"&lt;br /&gt;Johnny: "Because George still had the axe in his hand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: What a pair of strange socks you are wearing, one is green and one is blue with red spots!&lt;br /&gt;Kirk: Yes it's really strange. I've got another pair of the same at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Somu, your composition on "My Dog" is exactly the same as your brother's. Did u copy his?&lt;br /&gt;Somu: No, Teacher, it's the same dog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: What do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are no longer interested?&lt;br /&gt;Ruby: A Teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: Correct the sentence, "A bull and a cow is grazing in the field"&lt;br /&gt;Student: A cow and a bull are grazing in the field Teacher&lt;br /&gt;Teacher: How ?&lt;br /&gt;Student: Ladies first!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-115109850860236032?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/115109850860236032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=115109850860236032' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115109850860236032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115109850860236032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/06/teacher-student.html' title='Teacher - Student'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-115074255413061063</id><published>2006-06-20T00:12:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-06-20T00:12:34.146+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Fast Ride!!!</title><content type='html'>A wealthy computer businessman sees an advertisement on the Internet for the world’s fastest and most expensive car: the Tri-Turbo Convertible Fantasy. It sells for $1 million. The executive decides he must have it. So he has eight of his most talented assistants assigned to tracking down the vehicle. After months of searching, the car is located, bought and delivered. Eager to play with his new toy the executive takes it out for a spin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the first stoplight an old man looking about 85 years old rides up to the Fantasy on an old Vespa. The old man sticks his head inside without waiting for an invitation and says, “Quite a ride you got here, sonny. How fast will she go?”&lt;br /&gt;“About 270”, the executive responds.&lt;br /&gt;“Come on”, says the old man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then the light turns green and the executive decides to show the old man what the car can do. He floors it and within seconds the car is doing 270. But suddenly he notices in his rearview mirror a dot that seems to be getting closer and closer, and so he comes to a stop. Then Whoooooooosh, “The thing” goes flying by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“What in the heck was that”, says the executive. “What can go faster than my Fantasy?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly “the thing” comes racing back towards him and Whoooooosh, passes right by. This time the executive got a better look and so help him, it looked like the old man on the Vespa. “That just couldn’t be“, he says to himself. Then, through his rearview mirror, he sees it again. All of the sudden, WHAM! It smashes into the back end of the car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The executive jumps out, and sure enough, it’s the old man on the Vespa that crashed into him.&lt;br /&gt;“Are you OK?” asked the executive. “Is there anything I can do for you?”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes,” replied the old man, “unhook my suspender from your side-view mirror, please”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-115074255413061063?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/115074255413061063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=115074255413061063' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115074255413061063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/115074255413061063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/06/fast-ride.html' title='Fast Ride!!!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114909796387271809</id><published>2006-05-31T23:22:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-31T23:22:43.893+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Old Lady and the Bank President</title><content type='html'>A little old lady went into the bank one day, carrying a bag of money. She asked to speak with the bank president to open an account because, "It’s a lot of money!" The reluctant staff finally ushered her into his office. The bank president then asked her how much she would like to deposit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She replied, "$165,000!" and dumped the cash on his desk. The president was, of course, curious as to how she came by all this cash, so he asked her, "Ma’am, where did you get this money?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old lady replied, "I make bets." The president then asked, "Bets? What kind of bets?" The old woman said, "Well, for example, I’ll bet you $25,000 that your balls are square."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ha!" laughed the president, "That’s a stupid bet. You can never win that kind of bet!" The old lady challenged, "So, would you like to take my bet?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure," said the president, "I’ll bet $25,000 that my balls are not square!" The old lady said, "Okay. But since there is a lot of money involved, may I bring my lawyer with me tomorrow at 10:00 am as a witness?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sure!" replied the confident president. That night, he was very nervous about the bet and often checked his balls in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, at precisely 10:00 am, the little old lady appeared with her lawyer at the president’s office. She introduced the lawyer to the president and repeated the bet: "$25,000 says the president’s balls are square!" The president agreed with the bet again and the old lady asked him to drop his pants so they could all see. The president complied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little old lady peered closely at his balls and then asked if she could feel them. "Well, Okay," said the president, "$25,000 is a lot of money, so I guess you should be absolutely sure." Just then, he noticed that the lawyer was quietly banging his head against the wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The president said, "What wrong with your lawyer?" She replied, "Nothing, except I bet him $100,000 that at 10:00 am today, I’d have the Bank president’s balls in my hand!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114909796387271809?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114909796387271809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114909796387271809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114909796387271809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114909796387271809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/05/old-lady-and-bank-president.html' title='Old Lady and the Bank President'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114884298100059163</id><published>2006-05-29T00:33:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-29T00:33:01.260+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Psycho IT</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;Psychoanalyst (P) sits bored in his office waiting for the clients. &lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the door opens and a guy gets in walking on his knees, with &lt;br /&gt;something in his mouth and dragging a rope behind him.&lt;br /&gt;P: “My, my… What do we have here? I think it’s a little snake. Come, &lt;br /&gt;come crawl in, crawl in little snake, doctor will help you.”&lt;br /&gt;The guy desperately shakes head.&lt;br /&gt;P: “Oops, sorry… Bah, it’s a little turtle came to visit us. Crawl in, &lt;br /&gt;crawl in little turtle, lie down on the couch, and tell good doctor &lt;br /&gt;DoLittle what’s the problem.”&lt;br /&gt;The guy shakes his head again.&lt;br /&gt;P: “Hmmm. Oh! I think it’s a little worm…”&lt;br /&gt;Finally the guy looses his patience and shouts::&lt;br /&gt;“DOCTOR JUST SHUT UP!!!! I’M JUST TRYING TO INSTALL THE NETWORK…”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114884298100059163?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114884298100059163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114884298100059163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114884298100059163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114884298100059163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/05/psycho-it.html' title='Psycho IT'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114781313682609932</id><published>2006-05-17T02:27:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-17T02:28:56.826+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Ten things men know about women</title><content type='html'>1.&lt;br /&gt;2.&lt;br /&gt;3.&lt;br /&gt;4.&lt;br /&gt;5.&lt;br /&gt;6.&lt;br /&gt;7.&lt;br /&gt;8.&lt;br /&gt;9.&lt;br /&gt;10.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114781313682609932?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114781313682609932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114781313682609932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114781313682609932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114781313682609932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/05/ten-things-men-know-about-women.html' title='Ten things men know about women'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114697965875039265</id><published>2006-05-07T10:57:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-07T10:57:38.763+05:30</updated><title type='text'>The Priest and the Sailor</title><content type='html'>The sailor and a priest were playing golf. The sailor was not very good at it, and uttered a loud "F***, missed!" each time he missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The priest tolerated him for a few minutes and couldn’t take it anymore. "Do not swear thus, my friend, or God will punish you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It didn’t make a difference; the sailor continued unabated. One stroke after another, the sailor played badly, and followed up with "F***, missed!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, the priest said, "Do not utter such profanities, or God will show you a sign." It didn’t help, and the next stroke missed was followed by a loud "F***, missed!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bolt of lightning dropped out of the clouds and struck the priest dead. A voice was heard in the clouds: "F***, missed!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114697965875039265?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114697965875039265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114697965875039265' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114697965875039265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114697965875039265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/05/priest-and-sailor.html' title='The Priest and the Sailor'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114676319823223963</id><published>2006-05-04T22:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-05-04T22:49:58.243+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Hunter</title><content type='html'>Two guys from the mafia went hunting. The hunt was going quite well, but suddenly one of them had a heart attack. The second one freaked out and called 911:&lt;br /&gt;“Operator! Operator! My friend had a heart attack! Eh… I think he’s dead.“&lt;br /&gt;„Calm down sir. Is he really dead? Sir, make sure if he’s really dead!”&lt;br /&gt;“Ok. Just a minute”, the operator hears the gunshot. “Yeh, he’s really dead! Now what?”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114676319823223963?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114676319823223963/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114676319823223963' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114676319823223963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114676319823223963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/05/hunter.html' title='Hunter'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114615560986470318</id><published>2006-04-27T21:43:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-27T22:03:30.110+05:30</updated><title type='text'>An argument with a wife</title><content type='html'>An argument between married couple. The husband says:&lt;br /&gt;“My darling, you are wrong.”&lt;br /&gt;“Am I…? You mean, that I’m not telling you the truth…? So, what are you saying? That I’m lying!?… You call me a liar!?&lt;br /&gt;“No, no, no…. Darling, I’m just…, just…”&lt;br /&gt;“Oh!!! You think, I don’t know what I’m saying!!? …You mean, I’m just bitching..!!!? MOTHER, HE CALLED ME A STUPID LYING BITCH…!!!!”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114615560986470318?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114615560986470318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114615560986470318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114615560986470318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114615560986470318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/argument-with-wife.html' title='An argument with a wife'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114590644425056809</id><published>2006-04-25T00:50:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-25T00:50:44.266+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Love in the fridge!</title><content type='html'>Middle aged guy dies and gets to heaven. There he meets his friend who also died recently.&lt;br /&gt;"You are here?! How Come? How did you die? "&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I froze to death. And you?"&lt;br /&gt;"I died from laughter"&lt;br /&gt;"That’s interesting. How?&lt;br /&gt;"Well I got back from a business trip a day early, didn’t want to go home so I went to my lover. We were having a great time when the doorbell rang – her husband came back early. I was really scared, but she handled it perfectly. She took a trash bag, opened the door and asked him to take out the trash. Before he got back, I quietly got out. With nothing more to do I decided to go home. And what do you think – my wife opens the door with a trash bag and says: "Honey, could you take out the trash…". "Sure", I think. "I’m not that stupid." I get into the house, check the bedroom, check all the closets, turn down the whole house – nothing. Suddenly the whole situation started to seem so absurd that I started laughing and chocked to death…"&lt;br /&gt;"You moron!", shouts the other guy. "Should have checked the fridge. We both could be alive now…"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114590644425056809?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114590644425056809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114590644425056809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114590644425056809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114590644425056809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/love-in-fridge.html' title='Love in the fridge!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114581202181774910</id><published>2006-04-23T22:31:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-23T22:37:01.833+05:30</updated><title type='text'>You've been programming too long when</title><content type='html'>When you are counting objects, you go "0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,A,B,C,D...".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When asked about a bus schedule, you wonder if it is 16 or 32 bits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your wife says "If you don't turn off that darn machine and come to bed,then I am going to divorce you!", and you chastise her for for omitting the else clause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are reading a book and look for the space bar to get to the next page.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you look for your car keys using: "grep keys /dev/pockets"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When after fooling around all day with routers etc, you pick up the phone and start dialing an IP number.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you get in the elevator and double-press the button for the floor you want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When not only do you check your email more often than your paper mail, but you remember your {network address} faster than your postal one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you go to balance your checkbook and discover that you're doing the math in octal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you dream in 256 pallettes of 256 colors.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114581202181774910?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114581202181774910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114581202181774910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114581202181774910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114581202181774910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/youve-been-programming-too-long-when.html' title='You&apos;ve been programming too long when'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114513291880350966</id><published>2006-04-19T01:58:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-21T22:57:21.656+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Priest's First Mass</title><content type='html'>A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak. After mass he asked the monsignor how he had done. The monsignor replied, "When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip."  &lt;p&gt; So next Sunday he took the monsignors advice. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink. He proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon his return to his office after mass, he found the following note on the door:&lt;br /&gt; 1. Sip the Vodka, don't gulp.&lt;br /&gt; 2. There are 10 commandments, not 12.&lt;br /&gt; 3. There are 12 disciples, not 10.&lt;br /&gt; 4. Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.&lt;br /&gt; 5. Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.&lt;br /&gt; 6. We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.&lt;br /&gt; 7. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the Spook.&lt;br /&gt; 8. David slew Goliath, he did not kick the shit out of him.&lt;br /&gt; 9. When David was hit by a rock and knocked off his donkey, don't say he was stoned off his ass.&lt;br /&gt; 10. We do not refer to the cross as the "Big T"&lt;br /&gt; 11. When Jesus broke the bread at the Last Supper he said, "Take this and eat it for it is my body." He did not say "Eat me."&lt;br /&gt; 12. The Virgin Mary is not called "Mary with the Cherry."&lt;br /&gt; 13. The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A- Dub-Dub thanks for the grub, yeah God.&lt;br /&gt; 14. Next Sunday there will be a taffy pulling contest at St. Peter's, not a peter pulling contest at St. Taffy's.    &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114513291880350966?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114513291880350966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114513291880350966' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513291880350966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513291880350966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/priests-first-mass.html' title='Priest&apos;s First Mass'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114513278009972013</id><published>2006-04-18T01:56:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-21T22:57:01.123+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Who runs the human body?</title><content type='html'>In the human body, which organ is in charge?  All the organs of the body were having a meeting, trying to decide who was in charge.  The brain said: "I should be in charge, because I run all the body's systems, so without me nothing would happen."  "I should be in charge," said the heart, "because I pump the blood and circulate oxygen all over the body, so without me you'd all waste away."  "I should be in charge," said the stomach, "because I process food and give all of you energy."  "I should be in charge," said the rectum, "because I'm responsible for waste removal." All the other body parts laughed at the rectum and insulted him, so in a huff, he shut down tight. Within a few days, the brain had a terrible headache, the stomach was bloated, and the blood was toxic. Eventually the other organs gave in. They all agreed that the rectum should be the boss.  The moral of the story?   You don't have to be smart or important to be in charge... just an asshole.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114513278009972013?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114513278009972013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114513278009972013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513278009972013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513278009972013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/who-runs-human-body.html' title='Who runs the human body?'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114513253016947579</id><published>2006-04-17T01:51:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-21T22:56:33.006+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Accountants and Engineers!</title><content type='html'>Three engineers and three accountants are traveling by train to a conference. At the station, the three accountants each buy tickets and watch as the three engineers buy only a single ticket.  "How are three people going to travel on only one ticket?" asks an accountant. "Watch and you'll see," answers an engineer. They all board the train. The accountants take their respective seats but all three engineers cram into a restroom and close the door behind them.  Shortly after the train has departed, the conductor comes around collecting tickets. He knocks on the restroom door and says, "Ticket, please." The door opens just a crack and a single arm emerges with a ticket in hand. The conductor takes it and moves on.  The accountants saw this and agreed it was quite a clever idea.  So after the conference, the accountants decide to copy the engineers on the return trip and save some money (being clever with money, and all).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they get to the station they buy a single ticket for the return trip.  To their astonishment, the engineers don't buy a ticket at all. "How are you going to travel without a ticket?" says one perplexed accountant. "Watch and you'll see," answers an engineer. When they board the train the three accountants cram into a restroom and the three engineers cram into another one nearby. The train departs.  Shortly afterward, one of the engineers leaves his restroom and walks over to the restroom where the accountants are hiding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knocks on the door and says, "Ticket, please."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114513253016947579?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114513253016947579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114513253016947579' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513253016947579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513253016947579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/accountants-and-engineers.html' title='Accountants and Engineers!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114513237959723178</id><published>2006-04-16T01:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-17T22:39:27.516+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Obviously nuts!</title><content type='html'>A guy walks into the psychiatrist wearing only shorts made from Gladwrap. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The psychiatrist says, ''Well, I can clearly see you're nuts.''&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114513237959723178?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114513237959723178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114513237959723178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513237959723178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114513237959723178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/obviously-nuts.html' title='Obviously nuts!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114504538434308600</id><published>2006-04-15T01:39:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-15T01:39:44.356+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Linguistic Lapses</title><content type='html'>In a Bangkok dry-cleaner's shop: Drop your trousers here for best results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside a Hong Kong dress shop: Ladies have fits upstairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a Copenhagen airline office: We take your bags &amp;amp; send them in all directions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a Rome laundry: Ladies, leave your clothes here and spend your afternoon having a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Advertisement for donkey rides in Thailand: Would you like to ride own your own ass?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114504538434308600?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114504538434308600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114504538434308600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114504538434308600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114504538434308600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/linguistic-lapses.html' title='Linguistic Lapses'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114495322320173491</id><published>2006-04-14T00:03:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-14T00:03:43.213+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Whatever happens, happens for a reason.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;Around the corner I have a friend,&lt;br /&gt;In this great city that has no end,&lt;br /&gt;Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,&lt;br /&gt;And before I know it, a year is gone.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;And I never see my old friends face,&lt;br /&gt;For life is a swift and terrible race,&lt;br /&gt;He knows I like him just as well,&lt;br /&gt;As in the days when I rang his bell.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;And he rang mine if, we were younger then,&lt;br /&gt;And now we are busy, tired men.&lt;br /&gt;Tired of playing a foolish game,&lt;br /&gt;Tired of trying to make a name.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;"Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim"&lt;br /&gt;"Just to show that I'm thinking of him."&lt;br /&gt;But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,&lt;br /&gt;And distance between us grows and grows.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;Around the corner! yet miles away,&lt;br /&gt;"Here's a telegram sir" "Jim died today."&lt;br /&gt;And that's what we get and deserve in the end.&lt;br /&gt;Around the corner, a vanished friend.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114495322320173491?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114495322320173491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114495322320173491' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114495322320173491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114495322320173491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/whatever-happens-happens-for-reason.html' title='Whatever happens, happens for a reason.'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114486638497135093</id><published>2006-04-12T23:55:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-12T23:56:24.986+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Italian Mom</title><content type='html'>Mrs. Bacciagalupe comes to visit her son Anthony for dinner. Anthony lives with a female roommate, Maria.  During the course of the meal, Mama can''t help but notice how pretty Anthony''s roommate was. She had long been suspicious of the relationship between the two, and this made her more curious. Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than meets the eye. Reading his Mom''s thoughts, Anthony volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Mama, Maria and I are just roommates." About a week later, Maria comes to Anthony saying, "Ever since your mother came to dinner, I''ve been unable to find the silver sugar bowl. You don''t suppose she took it, do you?"  Well, I doubt it, but I''ll e-mail her, just to be sure." So he sends his Mom an email: "Dear Momma, I''m not saying that you took the sugar bowl from my house, and I''m not saying that you didn''t take it. But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anthony"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Several days later, Anthony receives an email response from his Momma.  "Figlio mio, I''m not saying that you ''do'' sleep with Maria, and I''m not saying that you ''do not'' sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her own bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.  Love, Momma"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114486638497135093?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114486638497135093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114486638497135093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114486638497135093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114486638497135093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/italian-mom.html' title='Italian Mom'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-114477599898553195</id><published>2006-04-11T22:49:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-04-11T22:51:25.320+05:30</updated><title type='text'>A Dog's Life</title><content type='html'>A butcher watching over his shop is really surprised when he sees a dog&lt;br /&gt;coming inside the shop. He shoos him away. But later, the dog is back&lt;br /&gt;again. So, he goes over to the dog and notices it has a note in its&lt;br /&gt;mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He takes the note and it reads "Can I have 12 sausages and a leg of&lt;br /&gt;lamb, please? The dog has money in its mouth, as well."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The butcher looks inside and, lo and behold, there is a ten dollar note&lt;br /&gt;there. So he takes the money and puts the sausages and lamb in a bag,&lt;br /&gt;placing it in the dog's mouth. The butcher is so impressed, and since&lt;br /&gt;it's about closing time, he decides to shut the shop and follow the dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So off he goes. The dog is walking down the street, when it comes to a&lt;br /&gt;level crossing; the dog puts down the bag, jumps up and presses the&lt;br /&gt;button. Then it waits patiently, bag in mouth, for the lights to turn.&lt;br /&gt;They do, and it walks across the road, with the butcher following him&lt;br /&gt;all the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dog then comes to a bus stop, and starts looking at the timetable.&lt;br /&gt;The butcher is in awe as the dog stops a bus by pulling its left leg up&lt;br /&gt;and gets in it. The butcher follows the dog into the bus. The dog then&lt;br /&gt;shows a ticket which is tied to its belt to the bus conductor. The&lt;br /&gt;butcher is nearly fainting at this sight, so are the other passengers in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the bus. The dog then sits near the driver's seat looking outside. As&lt;br /&gt;soon as the stop is in sight, the dog stands and wags its tail to inform&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the conductor. Then, without waiting for the bus to stop completely, it&lt;br /&gt;jumps out of the bus and runs to a house very close to the stop.&lt;br /&gt;It opens the big Iron Gate and rushes inside towards the door. As it&lt;br /&gt;approaches the wooden door, the dog suddenly changes its mind and heads&lt;br /&gt;towards the garden. It goes to the window, and beats its head against it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;several times, walks back, jumps off, and waits at the door. The butcher&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;watches as a big guy opens the door, and starts abusing the dog, kicking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;him and punching him, and swearing at him. The butcher surprised with&lt;br /&gt;this, runs up, and stops the guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What in heaven's name are you doing? The dog is a genius. He could be&lt;br /&gt;on TV, for the life of me! "To which the guy responds: "You call this&lt;br /&gt;clever? This is the second time this week that this stupid dog's&lt;br /&gt;forgotten his key."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story.....&lt;br /&gt;You may continue to exceed on lookers expectations but shall always fall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;short of the boss' expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a dog's life after all.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-114477599898553195?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/114477599898553195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=114477599898553195' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114477599898553195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/114477599898553195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/04/dogs-life.html' title='A Dog&apos;s Life'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113915666519018671</id><published>2006-02-05T21:54:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-02-05T21:54:25.226+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Wife / Marriage!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;Every man should get married some time; after all, happiness is not the only&lt;br /&gt;thing in life!!&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Bachelors should be heavily taxed. It is not fair that some men should be&lt;br /&gt;happier than others.&lt;br /&gt;--Oscar Wilde&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Don't marry for money; you can borrow it cheaper.&lt;br /&gt;--Scottish Proverb&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;I don't worry about terrorism. I was married for two years.&lt;br /&gt;--Sam Kinison&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;A psychiatrist is a person who will give you expensive answers that your&lt;br /&gt;wife will give you for free.&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Bachelors know more about women than married men; if they didn't, they'd be&lt;br /&gt;married too.&lt;br /&gt;--H. L. Mencken&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Men have a better time than women; for one thing, they marry later; for&lt;br /&gt;another thing, they die earlier.&lt;br /&gt;--H. L. Mencken&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;"A man without a woman is like a fish without a bicycle."&lt;br /&gt;--U2&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Marriage is a three-ring circus:&lt;br /&gt;--engagement ring&lt;br /&gt;---wedding ring&lt;br /&gt;----suffering&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;When a newly married couple smiles, everyone knows why.&lt;br /&gt;When a ten-year married couple smiles, everyone wonders why.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Love is blind but marriage is an eye-opener.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;When a man opens the door of his car for his wife, you can be sure of one&lt;br /&gt;thing either the car is new or the wife.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;I take my wife everywhere, but she keeps finding her way back to home&lt;br /&gt;always.&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;I asked my wife, "Where do you want to go for our anniversary?" She said,&lt;br /&gt;"Somewhere I have never been!" I told her, "How about the kitchen?"&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;My wife was in beauty saloon for two hours. That was only for the estimate.&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;She got a mudpack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, "Am I too late for the garbage?"&lt;br /&gt;Following her down the street, I yelled, "No, jump in."&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;Badd Teddy recently explained to me why he refuses to get married.&lt;br /&gt;He says "the wedding rings look like miniature handcuffs....."&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;If your dog is barking at the back door and your wife yelling at the front&lt;br /&gt;door, who do you let in first? The dog of course...at least he'll shut up&lt;br /&gt;after u let him in!&lt;br /&gt;--Anonymous&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;A man placed some flowers on the grave of his dearly parted mother and&lt;br /&gt;started back toward his car when his attention was diverted to another man&lt;br /&gt;kneeling at a grave. The man seemed to be praying with profound intensity&lt;br /&gt;and kept repeating, 'Why did u have to die? Why did you have to die?" The&lt;br /&gt;first man approached him and said, "Sir, I don't wish to interfere with your&lt;br /&gt;private grief, but this demonstration of pain is more than I've ever seen&lt;br /&gt;before. For whom do you mourn so deeply? A child? A parent?" The mourner&lt;br /&gt;took a moment to collect himself, then replied "My wife's first husband."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-post"&gt;------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;A couple came upon a wishing well. The husband leaned over, made a wish and&lt;br /&gt;threw in a penny. The wife decided to make a wish, too. But she leaned over&lt;br /&gt;too much, fell into the well, and drowned. The husband was stunned  for a&lt;br /&gt;while but then smiled "It really works!".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113915666519018671?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113915666519018671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113915666519018671' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113915666519018671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113915666519018671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/02/wife-marriage.html' title='Wife / Marriage!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113768851522597705</id><published>2006-01-19T22:04:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-19T22:09:04.823+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Driving styles!!</title><content type='html'>One hand on steering wheel,one hand out of window.&lt;br /&gt;- Sydney&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One hand on steering wheel,one hand on horn&lt;br /&gt;- Japan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One hand on steering wheel,one hand on newspaper, foot solidly on accelerator...&lt;br /&gt;- Boston&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both hands on steering wheel, eyes shut, both feet on brake, quivering in terror&lt;br /&gt;- New York &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both hands in air, gesturing, both feet on accelerator, head turned to talk to someone in back seat&lt;br /&gt;- Italy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One hand on horn,&lt;br /&gt;one hand on holding gear,&lt;br /&gt;one ear listening to loud music,&lt;br /&gt;one ear on cell phone,&lt;br /&gt;one foot on accelerator,&lt;br /&gt;one foot on clutch,&lt;br /&gt;nothing on brake,&lt;br /&gt;eyes on females in the next car, &lt;br /&gt;- Welcome to INDIA!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113768851522597705?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113768851522597705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113768851522597705' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113768851522597705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113768851522597705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/01/driving-styles_19.html' title='Driving styles!!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113708964680353591</id><published>2006-01-12T23:43:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2006-01-12T23:44:06.816+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Imagine</title><content type='html'>"Imagine there's no countries,&lt;br /&gt;It isnt hard to do,&lt;br /&gt;Nothing to kill or die for,&lt;br /&gt;No races and religion too,&lt;br /&gt;Imagine all the people&lt;br /&gt;living life in peace...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may say Im a dreamer,&lt;br /&gt;but Im not the only one,&lt;br /&gt;I hope some day all'll join us,&lt;br /&gt;And the world will live as one".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~John Lennon&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113708964680353591?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113708964680353591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113708964680353591' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113708964680353591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113708964680353591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2006/01/imagine.html' title='Imagine'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113450327937686683</id><published>2005-12-14T01:17:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-14T01:18:50.216+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Language Blues!</title><content type='html'>This incident really happened it seems!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A true story from the Japanese Embassy in US:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few years ago, Prime Minister Mori was given some Basic English conversation training before he visits Washington and meets with President Bill Clinton.&lt;br /&gt;The instructor told Mori "Prime Minister, when you shake hand with President Clinton, please say 'how are you'.&lt;br /&gt;Then Mr Clinton should say, 'I am fine, and you?'&lt;br /&gt;Now you should say 'me too'. Afterwards we, translators, will do all the work for you."&lt;br /&gt;It looks quite simple, but the truth is.... When Mori met Clinton, he mistakenly said "Who Are You?&lt;br /&gt;Mr Clinton was a bit shocked but still managed to react with humour: "Well, I am Hilary's husband, ha ha..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Mori replied confidently "Me too, ha ha ha..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was a long silent moment in the meeting room.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113450327937686683?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113450327937686683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113450327937686683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113450327937686683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113450327937686683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2005/12/language-blues.html' title='Language Blues!'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113450307842360228</id><published>2005-12-14T01:12:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-12-14T01:14:38.436+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Something worthwhile</title><content type='html'>A well-known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a Rs. 500/- Note. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this 500 note?" Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this note to one of you but first let me do this.". He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up. He then asked, "Who still wants it?" Still the hands were up in the air. "Well," he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now all crumpled and dirty. "Now who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air. "My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth Rs. 500/-.Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;You are special - Don't ever forget it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Never let yesterday's disappointments overshadow tomorrow's dreams"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113450307842360228?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113450307842360228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113450307842360228' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113450307842360228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113450307842360228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2005/12/something-worthwhile.html' title='Something worthwhile'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113138617426761414</id><published>2005-11-07T23:23:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-11-07T23:27:13.566+05:30</updated><title type='text'>I asked GOD...</title><content type='html'>When I asked GOD for strength&lt;br /&gt;He gave me difficult situations to face&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I asked GOD for brain and brown&lt;br /&gt;He gave me puzzles in life to solve&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I asked GOD for happiness&lt;br /&gt;He showed me some unhappy people&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       When I asked GOD for wealth&lt;br /&gt;He showed me how to work hard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I asked GOD for favours&lt;br /&gt;He showed me opportunities to work hard&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I asked GOD for peace&lt;br /&gt;He showed me how to help others&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GOD gave me nothing I wanted&lt;br /&gt;He gave me everything I needed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--- Swami Vivekananda&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;From T.N. Vijayakkrishnan @ the carmel garden group&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113138617426761414?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113138617426761414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113138617426761414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113138617426761414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113138617426761414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2005/11/i-asked-god.html' title='I asked GOD...'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18732770.post-113138534474585359</id><published>2005-11-07T23:07:00.000+05:30</published><updated>2005-11-07T23:13:27.546+05:30</updated><title type='text'>Wrong Number</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It was the day of my son's XII results and I was so tensed. I sat beside him while he logged on the website with his registration no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Ma" , he screamed in excitement," I scored 1191, with centum in 4 subjects. I cant believe it. " I kinda became numb in my excitement. My eyes became wet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kissed him on his forehead and smiled . My husband had gone out of station on some business trip and my son immediately called him on his cell and told him of the news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon we realized that he stood first in the state. Oh, my joy knew no bounds when Reporters and media persons soon swamped my house for interviews and photos. I was so honored to join him in the snaps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to call my "wrong-number-friend to tell him the news......I was so excited.&lt;br /&gt;He was someone whom I have known for more than 20 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still do not remember when we became friends, but certainly cannot forget the first day he called me when I blasted him for giving me so many wrong calls.....after that he had called up a week later asking apology, for he had now got the right no of his friend whom he wanted to talk to .We spoke for an hour that day...even without knowing each other's names. Though he kept pestering me to reveal my name I never did and so he kept a name...Sweety. I used to get so shy whenever he called me 'Sweety'. I was doing first year of BSc. Maths then, and he was a Computer Engineering student.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From then he used to call me very often . We almost discussed everything .. By the final year of my college, we probably we were in love, but I had been cautious. I was in a dilemma whether to tell him. But what if he was of a different religion? Do I have the courage to talk to my parents about it?&lt;br /&gt;........all these questions ran through my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided I'll not talk to him thereafter. When he called next time I lied to him I that I was going to Delhi for my post graduation. He gave me his office number and asked me to ring him up once I reach there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never called .......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of months later my marriage got fixed with a guy of my parent's choice. I was not happy but I did not complain; rather accepted it as an obedient daughter. At times I felt I missed my wrong-number friend.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hubby was a moody person; I have hardly spent any good time with him- but he was genuine indeed and never bothered my personal space. After 2 years we had a boy... Yet,I was not very happy with my married life...One day I happened to browse through my diary and found I still had my old friend's office phone no that he had given me. I dialed it and spoke with him. He said he was married and got a kid too. I was happy for him though in the bottom of the heart I felt bad that I could not marry him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From then I used to occasionally call him on that number. I never gave him mine as I felt that would put me in trouble...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And till today I almost shared everything with him including my relationship with my hubby.....today I was so happy and I wanted to call him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then I got a call.&lt;br /&gt;"Your husband met with an accident and died on the spot"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I banged the phone down. I broke. I did not call my friend..... I somehow started feeling guilty. I have never tried to talk to him properly when he was alive or moved close with him....&lt;br /&gt;I felt I had been a bad wife........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of years passed and one day my son brought home a Bengali girl and said they wanted to get married. I got them married as I did not want my son to go through what I did. I decided to give my son his father's room and started clearing it. There&lt;br /&gt;was a phone book. I gently opened it to find,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Wrong No: Sweety -XXXX XXXX"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;God always puts the right numbers together. Its we who interpret it wrong!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18732770-113138534474585359?l=fforwards.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/feeds/113138534474585359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18732770&amp;postID=113138534474585359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113138534474585359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18732770/posts/default/113138534474585359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fforwards.blogspot.com/2005/11/wrong-number.html' title='Wrong Number'/><author><name>Thiya</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17906782302988380661</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://www.thiya.net/blog/thiya_blog_pic.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
