<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcDRH06eCp7ImA9WhRRFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:37:55.310-08:00</updated><title>Alan Smith's Thought For The Day</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>56</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/AlanSmithsTFTD" /><feedburner:info xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" uri="alansmithstftd" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">AlanSmithsTFTD</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0">http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQGRn46fyp7ImA9WhRSEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-2768585382605023359</id><published>2011-11-11T12:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-11T12:28:47.017-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-11T12:28:47.017-08:00</app:edited><title>What Is That Supposed To Be?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2768585382605023359/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2011/11/what-is-that-supposed-to-be.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2768585382605023359?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2768585382605023359?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2011/11/what-is-that-supposed-to-be.html" title="What Is That Supposed To Be?" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U_WXWKoW5W8/Tr2FaWR-OWI/AAAAAAAAAOU/xQ1GRLY74vE/s72-c/Picasso.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">A tiny but dignified old lady was among a group looking at an art exhibition in a newly opened gallery.  Suddenly one contemporary painting caught her eye.    "What on earth," she inquired of the artist standing nearby, "is that?"    He smiled condescendingly. "That, my dear lady, is supposed to be a mother and her child."    "Well, then," snapped the little old lady, "why isn't it?"    I've seen
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S9X6qcoAvnF1aSRYodsPy5CYJec/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S9X6qcoAvnF1aSRYodsPy5CYJec/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S9X6qcoAvnF1aSRYodsPy5CYJec/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/S9X6qcoAvnF1aSRYodsPy5CYJec/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYAR3s-eSp7ImA9WxFQF0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-1669747799507192176</id><published>2010-04-22T06:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T06:42:26.551-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-05-13T06:42:26.551-07:00</app:edited><title>Before I Was a Mom</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1669747799507192176/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/before-i-was-mom.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1669747799507192176?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1669747799507192176?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/before-i-was-mom.html" title="Before I Was a Mom" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S9BWL9LI9WI/AAAAAAAAALM/SFpCd-xSwnY/s72-c/Mom.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">BEFORE I WAS A MOM. . .(author unknown)Before I was a Mom,  I made and ate hot meals.  I had unstained clothing.  I had quiet conversations on the phone.Before I was a Mom,  I slept as late as I wanted.  I never worried about how late I got into bed.  I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.Before I was a Mom,  I cleaned my house each day.  I never tripped over toys.  I never forgot words to 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KMC0tqpQ0eQhJy2OsyEcUs2ZmrM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KMC0tqpQ0eQhJy2OsyEcUs2ZmrM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KMC0tqpQ0eQhJy2OsyEcUs2ZmrM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KMC0tqpQ0eQhJy2OsyEcUs2ZmrM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkEFRXs-eCp7ImA9WxFRFUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-2765281656702159213</id><published>2010-04-22T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-29T06:43:34.550-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-29T06:43:34.550-07:00</app:edited><title>Both Born and Adopted</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2765281656702159213/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/both-born-and-adopted.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2765281656702159213?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2765281656702159213?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/both-born-and-adopted.html" title="Both Born and Adopted" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S9BVF57uj2I/AAAAAAAAALE/3t8cFkG73Rk/s72-c/genealogy.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The following was reported by WESTERN MORNING NEWS in 1994:    Ian Lewis, 43, of Standish, Lancashire, England, was interested in finding out about his family.  He spent 30 years tracing his family tree back to the seventeenth century.  He traveled all over Britain, talked to 2,000 relatives and planned to write a book about how his great-grandfather left to seek his fortune in Russia and how his
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yt9TAOgIx2m2qZI_GFH_-oUbdPA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yt9TAOgIx2m2qZI_GFH_-oUbdPA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yt9TAOgIx2m2qZI_GFH_-oUbdPA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yt9TAOgIx2m2qZI_GFH_-oUbdPA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYDQn0ycSp7ImA9WxFSGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-1571459789614507870</id><published>2010-04-22T06:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T06:32:53.399-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-22T06:32:53.399-07:00</app:edited><title>Blessing or Bad Luck?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1571459789614507870/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/blessing-or-bad-luck.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1571459789614507870?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1571459789614507870?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/blessing-or-bad-luck.html" title="Blessing or Bad Luck?" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S9BP9trKooI/AAAAAAAAAK8/VVq1iIB3h38/s72-c/Hospital+bed.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">The story is told of a man who was walking across the road when he was hit by a car.  The impact knocked him on his head which caused him to be in a coma for two days before he finally regained consciousness.  When he opened his eyes, his loving wife was there beside his bed.  He held her hand and said to her:    "You know, Judy, you've always been right by my side.  When I was a struggling 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g2srYM_Qpohj_IHZOE99sgzo0pg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g2srYM_Qpohj_IHZOE99sgzo0pg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g2srYM_Qpohj_IHZOE99sgzo0pg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/g2srYM_Qpohj_IHZOE99sgzo0pg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUAHQX87cCp7ImA9WxFSE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-6203299085047776959</id><published>2010-04-15T09:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T09:08:50.108-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-15T09:08:50.108-07:00</app:edited><title>Because I'm a Christian</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6203299085047776959/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/because-im-christian.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6203299085047776959?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6203299085047776959?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/because-im-christian.html" title="Because I'm a Christian" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S8c5_9_9VGI/AAAAAAAAAK0/E7Z7zucU0d4/s72-c/manly+man.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><content type="html">Because I'm a guy, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV.  If the thing has been misplaced, I'll miss a whole show looking for it, though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator.    Because I'm a guy, when I lock my keys in the car I will fiddle with a wire clothes hanger and ignore your suggestions that we call a road service until long after 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ppdiCQvmqdsakNCYqKPgpiwk41w/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ppdiCQvmqdsakNCYqKPgpiwk41w/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ppdiCQvmqdsakNCYqKPgpiwk41w/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ppdiCQvmqdsakNCYqKPgpiwk41w/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D04FQn89eip7ImA9WxFTF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-7548409296649669363</id><published>2010-04-08T07:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T07:11:53.162-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-08T07:11:53.162-07:00</app:edited><title>Is Your House a Mess?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7548409296649669363/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/is-your-house-mess.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/7548409296649669363?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/7548409296649669363?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/04/is-your-house-mess.html" title="Is Your House a Mess?" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S73kHRkOybI/AAAAAAAAAKs/qKx39K3Rp34/s72-c/messy+house+(1).jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">I recently heard the following story:“My daughter Michelle is the commander of a Coast Guard Cutter. When she gave my husband Bob a tour of her ship, he was impressed by the neatness of all decks.“However, when Bob went to Michelle's house with her, he couldn't believe the disorganization. ‘Why is everything in its place on your ship,’ he asked, ‘but your house is such a mess?’“‘My house,’ 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ixSi0JrRVxqMuRpGvlfibrwsm4s/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ixSi0JrRVxqMuRpGvlfibrwsm4s/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ixSi0JrRVxqMuRpGvlfibrwsm4s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ixSi0JrRVxqMuRpGvlfibrwsm4s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ICSXg8eip7ImA9WxBaFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-6195710962237032517</id><published>2010-03-26T06:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T06:52:48.672-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-26T06:52:48.672-07:00</app:edited><title>Calming Anger Down</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6195710962237032517/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/calming-anger-down.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6195710962237032517?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6195710962237032517?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/calming-anger-down.html" title="Calming Anger Down" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S6y8IobZkiI/AAAAAAAAAKk/rwyl9foorYk/s72-c/explosion.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">In a west Texas town a few years ago, employees in a medium-sized warehouse noticed the smell of gas.  Sensibly, management evacuated the building, extinguishing all potential sources of ignition -- lights, power, etc.     After the building had been evacuated, two technicians from the gas company were dispatched.  Upon entering the building, they found they had difficulty navigating in the dark.
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Wv7-6TxWUjs_6FhUdUtOhqzjvn0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Wv7-6TxWUjs_6FhUdUtOhqzjvn0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Wv7-6TxWUjs_6FhUdUtOhqzjvn0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Wv7-6TxWUjs_6FhUdUtOhqzjvn0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEMRXg7fSp7ImA9WxBbGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-9216307627613571707</id><published>2010-03-18T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T06:58:04.605-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-18T06:58:04.605-07:00</app:edited><title>Can You Give a Push?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/9216307627613571707/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/can-you-give-push.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/9216307627613571707?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/9216307627613571707?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/can-you-give-push.html" title="Can You Give a Push?" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S6IxUMbuRxI/AAAAAAAAAKc/9CKnt2SZQh8/s72-c/Push+car.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">     A man is in bed with his wife when there is knocking on the door.  He rolls over and looks at his clock.  It's half past three in the morning.     "I'm not getting out of bed at this time," he thinks, and rolls over.     Then, a louder knock follows.  "Aren't you going to answer that?" says his wife.     So he drags himself out of bed, and goes downstairs. He opens the door and there is a 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fAez3RDjqh9Lw2GvkjLHH1CXmBE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fAez3RDjqh9Lw2GvkjLHH1CXmBE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fAez3RDjqh9Lw2GvkjLHH1CXmBE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/fAez3RDjqh9Lw2GvkjLHH1CXmBE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MHQH07fyp7ImA9WxBbE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-3856060533998077304</id><published>2010-03-11T12:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-11T12:30:31.307-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-11T12:30:31.307-08:00</app:edited><title>Not Nearly as Big</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3856060533998077304/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-nearly-as-big.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/3856060533998077304?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/3856060533998077304?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/not-nearly-as-big.html" title="Not Nearly as Big" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S5lS0DEd_mI/AAAAAAAAAKU/mlcLS5LpeUs/s72-c/Tailor_made.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">I heard a story recently about the University of Tennessee football coach.  He bought a bolt of cloth thinking he would have a suit made out of it.  He took the material to his tailor in Knoxville where the tailor measured him, examined the bolt of cloth, did some computations on a piece of paper, and said, "I'm sorry, coach, there just isn't enough material in this bolt to make a suit for you."
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FPAeBG4eJ_Drg4nL22cPNVtg7R4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FPAeBG4eJ_Drg4nL22cPNVtg7R4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FPAeBG4eJ_Drg4nL22cPNVtg7R4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FPAeBG4eJ_Drg4nL22cPNVtg7R4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UDQn09eyp7ImA9WxBUF04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-7588606912613509575</id><published>2010-03-04T12:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T12:41:13.363-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-04T12:41:13.363-08:00</app:edited><title>Of Primary Importance</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/7588606912613509575/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/of-primary-importance.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/7588606912613509575?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/7588606912613509575?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/03/of-primary-importance.html" title="Of Primary Importance" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S5Aa3XLh3zI/AAAAAAAAAKM/qMGUSBjLboo/s72-c/dilbert.png" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">     It is reported that a magazine ran a "Dilbert Quotes" contest several years ago.  The writers were looking for people to submit quotes from their real-life Dilbert-type managers.  Here are some of the submissions:1. As of tomorrow, employees will only be able to access the building using individual security cards. Pictures will be taken next Wednesday and employees will receive their cards 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tvJweCb6iMcd7TMX76y47Fzpfgo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tvJweCb6iMcd7TMX76y47Fzpfgo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tvJweCb6iMcd7TMX76y47Fzpfgo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/tvJweCb6iMcd7TMX76y47Fzpfgo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUcMQXY8eip7ImA9WxBUEU4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-4465051176362082543</id><published>2010-02-25T13:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T13:24:40.872-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-25T13:24:40.872-08:00</app:edited><title>Watch Out For Lucille</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4465051176362082543/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/watch-out-for-lucille.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/4465051176362082543?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/4465051176362082543?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/watch-out-for-lucille.html" title="Watch Out For Lucille" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S4bqi3w5zcI/AAAAAAAAAKE/NQOKprf7vvY/s72-c/Pager.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">I heard about someone who works in the customer service call center of a national pager company.  He deals with the usual complaints regarding poor pager operation, as well as the occasional crank caller demanding to be paged less often, more often, or by more interesting people.     His favorite call came from a man who repeatedly complained that he keeps being paged by "Lucille."  He was 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r0ol09Ri3HhBG7Vm1TJ3ObaN2oQ/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r0ol09Ri3HhBG7Vm1TJ3ObaN2oQ/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r0ol09Ri3HhBG7Vm1TJ3ObaN2oQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/r0ol09Ri3HhBG7Vm1TJ3ObaN2oQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUAQ3w9eCp7ImA9WxBVFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-4058717877690325930</id><published>2010-02-17T09:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-17T09:37:22.260-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-17T09:37:22.260-08:00</app:edited><title>What I Dun</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/4058717877690325930/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/what-i-dun.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/4058717877690325930?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/4058717877690325930?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/what-i-dun.html" title="What I Dun" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S3wpMosCrvI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/awgsFAKx81g/s72-c/cowboy.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">     This week, we have been engaged in our congregation in a massive effort to collect and send clothing to the earthquake victims in Haiti.  Our efforts reminded me of this illustration that I've used before:     A cowboy rode into town and stopped at the saloon for a drink (root beer, of course!).  Unfortunately, the locals always had a habit of picking on those of a British background, which 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9xt31EWqod48FC951fy5y8NWhk/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9xt31EWqod48FC951fy5y8NWhk/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9xt31EWqod48FC951fy5y8NWhk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/B9xt31EWqod48FC951fy5y8NWhk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcMRHY-fyp7ImA9WxBWGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-8397772464859131041</id><published>2010-02-11T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T13:01:25.857-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-11T13:01:25.857-08:00</app:edited><title>Give Thanks For Your Friends</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8397772464859131041/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-heard-about-farmer-who-was-detained.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8397772464859131041?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8397772464859131041?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-heard-about-farmer-who-was-detained.html" title="Give Thanks For Your Friends" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S3Rv9voZSyI/AAAAAAAAAJs/udGQWRt39kI/s72-c/friends-886.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">     I heard about a farmer who was detained for questioning about an election scandal.   The attorney asked him, "Did you sell your vote?"     The farmer said, "No sir, not me.  I voted for that there fella 'cause I liked him."     The attorney said, "Come, now, I have evidence that he gave you fifty dollars for a vote."     The farmer said, "Well, now, it's plain common sense that when a fella 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HBO_CI_s1AWaFIyRl5HaxkTznNY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HBO_CI_s1AWaFIyRl5HaxkTznNY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HBO_CI_s1AWaFIyRl5HaxkTznNY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/HBO_CI_s1AWaFIyRl5HaxkTznNY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEENSHs_eip7ImA9WxBWEkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-8165279987625436429</id><published>2010-02-04T07:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T07:18:19.542-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-04T07:18:19.542-08:00</app:edited><title>First the Bad News....</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8165279987625436429/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/first-bad-news.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8165279987625436429?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8165279987625436429?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/02/first-bad-news.html" title="First the Bad News...." /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S2rlLboecAI/AAAAAAAAAJk/bBkyatO8Bso/s72-c/goodnewsbadnews.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Doctor:    I have some good news and I have some bad news.Patient:   What's the good news?Doctor:    The good news is that the tests you took showed that you have 24 hours to live.Patient:   What's the bad news?Doctor:    The bad news is that I forgot to call you yesterday!Doctor:    I have some good news and some bad news.Patient:   What's the good news?Doctor:    The good news is they are 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zyd5_B6K36YZM9_QSfNNAkdwgd0/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zyd5_B6K36YZM9_QSfNNAkdwgd0/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zyd5_B6K36YZM9_QSfNNAkdwgd0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zyd5_B6K36YZM9_QSfNNAkdwgd0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4NQng_fyp7ImA9WxBXF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-8940766201055585259</id><published>2010-01-28T13:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T13:43:13.647-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-28T13:43:13.647-08:00</app:edited><title>Appreciating Valuable Things</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8940766201055585259/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/appreciating-valuable-things.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8940766201055585259?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8940766201055585259?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/appreciating-valuable-things.html" title="Appreciating Valuable Things" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S2IE3NvC_QI/AAAAAAAAAJc/eKIgku6ndDk/s72-c/Lipstick_pig.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html"> The story is told of a man who was sued by a woman for defamation of character.  She charged that he had called her a pig.  The man was found guilty and fined.    After the trial he asked the judge, "Does this mean that I cannot call Mrs. Johnson a pig?"  The judge said that was true.    "Does this mean I cannot call a pig Mrs. Johnson?" the man asked.  The judge replied that he could indeed 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nGb8dFnhJ9VgHfbMptghT-gr8Fo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nGb8dFnhJ9VgHfbMptghT-gr8Fo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nGb8dFnhJ9VgHfbMptghT-gr8Fo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nGb8dFnhJ9VgHfbMptghT-gr8Fo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUESXk4eSp7ImA9WxBXEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-8640622082882276733</id><published>2010-01-20T13:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T05:56:48.731-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-21T05:56:48.731-08:00</app:edited><title>Don't Forget the "Punch Line"</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8640622082882276733/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/dont-forget-punch-line.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8640622082882276733?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8640622082882276733?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/dont-forget-punch-line.html" title="Don't Forget the &quot;Punch Line&quot;" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S1dzaNdWpuI/AAAAAAAAAJU/Bo10zsTw5Y8/s72-c/empty-tomb.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">     The story is told of a preacher who attended a seminar with many well known motivational speakers. One of these speakers boldly approached the pulpit and, gathering the entire crowd's attention, said, "The best years of my life were spent in the arms of a woman that wasn't my wife!"  The crowd was shocked!     He followed up by saying, "And that woman was my mother!"  The crowd burst into 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FyI4J_U1Qua7MNzB2BeEwrHMwDs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FyI4J_U1Qua7MNzB2BeEwrHMwDs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FyI4J_U1Qua7MNzB2BeEwrHMwDs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FyI4J_U1Qua7MNzB2BeEwrHMwDs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkECQnw-cSp7ImA9WxBQFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-6401326774062363119</id><published>2010-01-14T11:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-14T11:51:03.259-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-14T11:51:03.259-08:00</app:edited><title>Sing With the Understanding</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/6401326774062363119/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/sing-with-understanding.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6401326774062363119?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/6401326774062363119?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/sing-with-understanding.html" title="Sing With the Understanding" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S091lqawN3I/AAAAAAAAAJM/pkwd6ZPUgqc/s72-c/man_church_1396793c.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">     I heard once about a woman who spent some months serving as a missionary in South Africa.  On her final visit to a remote township she attended a medical clinic.  As the Zulu women there began to sing together, she found herself deeply moved by their hauntingly beautiful harmonies. She wanted to always remember this moment and try to share it with friends when she arrived home.  With tears 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/edjL7QD0Jx8OzrutVeTEgcVXz1M/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/edjL7QD0Jx8OzrutVeTEgcVXz1M/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/edjL7QD0Jx8OzrutVeTEgcVXz1M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/edjL7QD0Jx8OzrutVeTEgcVXz1M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEQCSH89fip7ImA9WxBRGEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-8037639744880971226</id><published>2010-01-06T13:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-07T12:32:49.166-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-01-07T12:32:49.166-08:00</app:edited><title>The Pains of Childbirth</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/8037639744880971226/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/pains-of-childbirth.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8037639744880971226?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/8037639744880971226?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2010/01/pains-of-childbirth.html" title="The Pains of Childbirth" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/S0T8FjWhu8I/AAAAAAAAAI8/Bcs4YD4mFXI/s72-c/0072a_contradictions_722.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">     Here are the answers to some questions that you may have had about pregnancy:Q. Should I have a baby after 35?A.  No, 35 children is enough.Q.  I'm two months pregnant now.  When will my baby move?A.  With any luck, right after he finishes college.Q.  How will I know if my vomiting is morning sickness or the flu?A.  If it's the flu, you'll get better.Q.  What is the most common pregnancy 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DYPJzAY8vTQqvGkxlLouPciGO3o/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DYPJzAY8vTQqvGkxlLouPciGO3o/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DYPJzAY8vTQqvGkxlLouPciGO3o/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/DYPJzAY8vTQqvGkxlLouPciGO3o/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04DQ3s6cCp7ImA9WxBREkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-693998519994028928</id><published>2009-12-31T12:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-31T12:39:32.518-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-31T12:39:32.518-08:00</app:edited><title>Enduring Hardship</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/693998519994028928/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/enduring-hardship.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/693998519994028928?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/693998519994028928?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/enduring-hardship.html" title="Enduring Hardship" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/Sz0L-Ct-YQI/AAAAAAAAAI0/Bynzt56kGro/s72-c/skier.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html"> It's the end of December which means that, in some parts of the country, ski season is in full swing.  For those of you who plan to do some skiing this winter, someone has composed the following list of exercises to get you prepared:~ Visit your local butcher and pay $30 to sit in the walk-in freezer for half an hour. Afterwards, burn two $50 dollar bills to warm up.~ Soak your gloves and store 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/U2H-VD_bkndFhrpYbL0S4FmWNko/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/U2H-VD_bkndFhrpYbL0S4FmWNko/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/U2H-VD_bkndFhrpYbL0S4FmWNko/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/U2H-VD_bkndFhrpYbL0S4FmWNko/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4DSX4_eip7ImA9WxBREUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-664994680363342966</id><published>2009-12-24T12:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-30T06:56:18.042-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-30T06:56:18.042-08:00</app:edited><title>The Joy of Giving</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/664994680363342966/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/joy-of-giving.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/664994680363342966?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/664994680363342966?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/joy-of-giving.html" title="The Joy of Giving" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SzPWTTeBozI/AAAAAAAAAIs/PVlBrTat0vU/s72-c/santas.lap.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">     The Santa Claus at the mall was very surprised when a young lady about twenty years old walked up and sat on his lap.      Santa doesn't usually take requests from adults, but she smiled very nicely at him, so he said, "OK, you can ask for something but it has to be for someone other than yourself. What do you want for Christmas?"      "Something for my mother," said the young lady.      "
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gK9XIA-pqg9W6mLJql5LbY01DaY/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gK9XIA-pqg9W6mLJql5LbY01DaY/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gK9XIA-pqg9W6mLJql5LbY01DaY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/gK9XIA-pqg9W6mLJql5LbY01DaY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8NRn0yeCp7ImA9WxBTGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-2939484544927057662</id><published>2009-12-16T12:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T12:54:57.390-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-16T12:54:57.390-08:00</app:edited><title>Theme Songs For Bible Characters</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2939484544927057662/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/theme-songs-for-bible-characters.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2939484544927057662?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2939484544927057662?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/theme-songs-for-bible-characters.html" title="Theme Songs For Bible Characters" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SylJGDds-3I/AAAAAAAAAIg/przy5-chRJ0/s72-c/Singing-Bible.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">Someone has suggested the following theme songs for Bible characters (Warning: some of these are real oldies!):Noah:  "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head"Adam and Eve:  "Strangers in Paradise"Lazarus:  "The Second Time Around"Esther:  "I Feel Pretty"Job:  "I've Got a Right to Sing the Blues"Moses:  "The Wanderer"Jezebel:  "The Lady is a Tramp"Samson:  "Hair"Salome:  "I Could Have Danced All 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wnpTyj3e2ddLD7eGIZ8-am185nU/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wnpTyj3e2ddLD7eGIZ8-am185nU/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wnpTyj3e2ddLD7eGIZ8-am185nU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wnpTyj3e2ddLD7eGIZ8-am185nU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UGQnc7eip7ImA9WxBTFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-2755855140291745134</id><published>2009-12-10T08:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T08:07:03.902-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-10T08:07:03.902-08:00</app:edited><title>Remember the Duck?</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/2755855140291745134/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/remember-duck.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2755855140291745134?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/2755855140291745134?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/remember-duck.html" title="Remember the Duck?" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SyEcjPntwFI/AAAAAAAAAIY/01veNW-rIBc/s72-c/Duck.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><content type="html">In his book, "Will Daylight Come?"  Robert Heffler pens this moving illustration:     There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm.  He was given a slingshot to play with, out in the woods.  He practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target.  Getting discouraged, he headed back to dinner.     As he was walking back, he saw Grandma's pet duck. Just out of impulse, he 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9jyqK8fy7rcLG7C4gOexjLc3KQo/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9jyqK8fy7rcLG7C4gOexjLc3KQo/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9jyqK8fy7rcLG7C4gOexjLc3KQo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9jyqK8fy7rcLG7C4gOexjLc3KQo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYBSHs-fip7ImA9WxNaGEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-1756439446768807359</id><published>2009-12-03T07:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T07:29:19.556-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-03T07:29:19.556-08:00</app:edited><title>Charged, But Justified</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/1756439446768807359/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/charged-but-justified.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1756439446768807359?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/1756439446768807359?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/12/charged-but-justified.html" title="Charged, But Justified" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SxfZQbHfE7I/AAAAAAAAAIQ/giaoFW0A2KM/s72-c/Policeman.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">A local policeman had just finished his shift one cold November evening and was at home with his wife. "You just won't believe what happened this evening.  In all my years on the force I've never seen anything like it!"    "What happened?"    "I came across two guys down by the canal, one of them was drinking battery acid and the other was eating fireworks."    "Drinking battery acid and eating 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p05R98hY0ZDbIKs_NZeJ_CbRdns/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p05R98hY0ZDbIKs_NZeJ_CbRdns/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p05R98hY0ZDbIKs_NZeJ_CbRdns/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p05R98hY0ZDbIKs_NZeJ_CbRdns/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEEAQXs8cSp7ImA9WxNaEUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-5314538903437548716</id><published>2009-11-25T12:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-25T12:57:20.579-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-25T12:57:20.579-08:00</app:edited><title>Falling Asleep</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/5314538903437548716/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/falling-asleep.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/5314538903437548716?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/5314538903437548716?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/falling-asleep.html" title="Falling Asleep" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/Sw2aJqhVlII/AAAAAAAAAII/es5hUu92PnQ/s72-c/Falling+asleep.gif" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><content type="html">     I heard recently about a college professor who had the mysterious habit of walking into the lecture hall each morning, removing a tennis ball from his jacket pocket. He would set it on the corner of the podium. After giving the lecture for the day, he would once again pick up the tennis ball, place it into his jacket pocket, and leave the room. No one ever understood why he did this, until 
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/en_e1GmUqVTEAce9ldrrxVAXf-8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/en_e1GmUqVTEAce9ldrrxVAXf-8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/en_e1GmUqVTEAce9ldrrxVAXf-8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/en_e1GmUqVTEAce9ldrrxVAXf-8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YNRHo7cSp7ImA9WxNbFkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169592882459708734.post-3985802930429930919</id><published>2009-11-19T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T07:39:55.409-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-19T07:39:55.409-08:00</app:edited><title>That's Amore!</title><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/feeds/3985802930429930919/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/thats-amore.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/3985802930429930919?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/169592882459708734/posts/default/3985802930429930919?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://tftd-alansmith.blogspot.com/2009/11/thats-amore.html" title="That's Amore!" /><author><name>Alan Smith</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13352228758204726374</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="29" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SdzUcCC1w6I/AAAAAAAAABw/R5bINTBqT8c/S220/Alan+Smith.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_IhgsMqjY8H4/SwVmxLILBpI/AAAAAAAAAIA/HvtkvM8WeiQ/s72-c/That%27s+amore.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><content type="html">Ready for some groaners? (author unknown)When the moon hits your eye,Like a big pizza pie,That's amore.  (song made popular by Dean Martin in 1953)When an eel bites your hand,And that's not what you planned,That's a moray.When your horse munches straw,And the bales total four,That's some more hay.When Othello's poor wife,Becomes stabbed with a knife,That's a Moor, eh?When you ace your last tests,
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4wUodq01lsrTk0s9ZphrGFxqtI/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4wUodq01lsrTk0s9ZphrGFxqtI/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4wUodq01lsrTk0s9ZphrGFxqtI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Q4wUodq01lsrTk0s9ZphrGFxqtI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content></entry></feed>

