Rate my joke from 1-10. Here it is: Justin Bieber Walks into a bar, and asks to use a restroom. The bartender replies ‘over there young lady" in a serious tone. Being the "Genius" justin is, he walks cockily to the bar, and says "Exuse me?" in a tough guy voice. The bartender then says "i said the ladies restroom is over there." in a serious tone again. Justin then gets on one of the bar stools and stands to become level with the bartender. Justin asks "you trying to pitch a fight tough guy?" The bartender tells him to get off the chair and asks him where his mother is. justin then proceeds to kick a bottle of beer over, and runs out of the bar, leaving a trail of urine behind him. a minute after justin runs out, a man runs in asking if he just saw an olson twin in the bar.

Alright so I’m getting the Quickie GT. It’s on order so I’m just waiting for it to come, it’ll take a couple weeks. For the time being I’m using just a standard Invacare chair. I was wondering if anyone had any tips for me, other than the obvious. I’m wanting to learn to get up and down curbs by just popping a wheelie (which I can’t do yet). Is that something that I should have a friend help me with to practice? I CAN NOT fall back in the chair on my back and I don’t have the smaller back bar/wheels to keep you from falling. I’m 18 so I know I can learn I just wasn’t sure how easy it is to fall back. I know it depends on the center of gravity and all though as well. Anyways, yes, any tips you might have are greatly appreciated. Thank you!

I found it in my documents while cleaning out my computer. I always wanted to become a writer and i did but i want to know how my start was. Heres the second chapter.

CHAP 2-Home: Adam approached Walnut Street with happiness. He was feeling particularly happy on this day, and couldn’t figure out why. He saw one of his neighbors walking her lab, and he ran to pet it. The lab was named Maximillion, and everyone loved it. It had the biggest brown eyes. It always smelt like fresh flowers, and its fur was never in knots or curls. He smiled at the woman, whose name was Rosaline. She was a middle aged woman who was actually friendly to the kids in the neighborhood. She even brings out fresh baked cookies and milk and leaves them on a table outside her house. “Well Adam, you’ve certainly grown taller over the summer” she said in her old dry voice. “Well you’ve grown older over the summer” Adam joked. In this community it was okay to say jokes and make playful fun about someone. Rosaline threw back her head and hollered out a laugh. She then grabbed his cheeks “Well you’ve become a smart alec”. He laughed and said goodbye. He walked over to his house. His father had a meeting today and his mother didn’t get home until 6pm. He cursed himself when he got to the front mahogany door. He had forgotten his key in his room. But it was fine because his father always left a spare key under a flower pot on his porch. He struggled to lift the flowerpot. When he finally got it up and moved it, a worm squiggled under the pot. He didn’t wish to harm it like most boys. He picked it up and gently put it down in the top of the pot. It buried itself down in to the fertile soil. He grabbed the key and brushed the dirt off of it. He moved the pot back to its original spot. He sunk the key into the door. It opened perfectly because his father had just recently installed the door. He stepped into the quiet house. He kicked off his muddy sneakers. He took the candy bar out of his pocket. He began unwrapping it and called his mother. He talked about how his day was and how her day was still going. He said I love you and hung up. He took a bite of the creamy milk chocolate. He filled his mouth with joy. He decided to do his homework and get it out of the way. He stomped up the stairs carrying his 15pound book bag. The only things he had for homework was to do a 200word essay about how Abraham Lincoln tried to get the Union back together and a…….. he turned into his room, and saw a man sitting in his computer chair looking at him. The man was a young man who had a on a black turtleneck and black sweatpants. Adam dropped his book bag. It landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. The man stood up and was surprisingly tall. He moved towards Adam with a look in his eyes that wasn’t really evil but more of a comforting look. The man had a long slender face. He had on black leather gloves that showed the boniness of his fingers. He stopped 5ft. in front of Adam. Adams bones were frozen but did not want to run away. He could not speak. The man spoke in a soft voice. “I saw you admiring my work”. Adam grew even stiffer, and he knew the man was the man who killed the man this morning. The mans eyes shifted from Adam to his chocolate bar. “Is that chocolate?” Adam still couldn’t speak, but he nodded his head. “May I?”Adam didn’t know what the man wanted but he handed him the chocolate bar. The mans lips touched the bar and his eyes widened. “I haven’t hade chocolate in 10years.” Adams voiced opened and he spoke. “I…I..a….wh..who are you?” The man looked at him puzzled and then he threw the chocolate bar at the wall and grabbed Adam by the arm. The man had a fearsome and strong grip and Adam tried to struggled out. The man turned him around and bent him over on the bed. Adam was afraid that the man might rape him and he shut his eyes tight. Who am I? the man asked. “I am an angel”. Adam knew the man as going to kill him. He said prayers in his head. The man pulled softly at adams hair. “Do you want to be saved”

the time, but she was looking for work. Thing were going good for awhile, The we started to have problems. To make along story short, we had a big blow out fight. She slapped me then I threw her at a recliner chair. She hit the arm of the chair forehead first. That was the last we were together. I started going to theripy for my anger. Then we ran into each other one night at a bar. I was withsomeone else, but she wasnt any thing serious. My ex and I started to argue, I said some thing I didnt mean that were realy awefull, she slapped me and naturally, me haveing a few in me, I slapped her back. The police were called and I went to jail. I still love her vary much, and, we were really good together. We did have problem that were basicly caused by my feelling of being overwhelmed because of money. I all ways tried to give her the best I possibly could. I know that what I did was realy horrible. I miss her badly, but after what I did I cant face her. Im still in theripy because of it.
My question is, What do I do now, Ive really done some thing I never thought I could do to a women. I love her more then any thing. She completed me, she was my bestfriend. I can forgive myself, so should I just move on or try to find a way to talk to her in time. Yes I know what I did was something no man should do to a women, trust me I feel like the fires in HELL have already consumed me. So I dont need any one telling me how EIVL I am. Ineed some really good genuine advice as to how to deal with my emptyness, that I feel, and to know if mybe she will ever talk to me again, or even feel the way she once did about me.

Had a weird dream that at the time(of course) seemed absolutely real. The prevailing feeling was fear. I was in a grungy bar, never go to bars in real life, but that was the setting. Strangely enough,I was looking for a familiar face, don’t know why. I spotted a dark figure on the other side of the room, who all of a sudden went from vague blob to a full blown person. This person was a very creepy man; thin, dark, wearing a dark long-rider coat. As a matter of fact, the bar was like a western bar but without the trappings, just had that feeling about it. Also, the bar was in the center of the room and evaded one end of the room from the other.

Now, getting back to the man, every time I moved he moved; as though he was inspecting me. If I tried to sneak a peek at him he would catch that movement and looked directly at me, every single time straight on, even shifted his weight to look at me. It seemed he wanted to make contact of some sort. I was filled with total fear. I then found myself on his side of the room (as people often do in dreams. the next thing I knew I felt as though this person had gotten up from his chair and was moving towards me. I felt, well what can he really do, nothing. Oh no, it seemed as though he ws trying to put his arms around me with this big overcoat and not inn a good way. I did not like it and again was so filled with fear, I woke up with a start, shaking. I felt this man ws a demon of some kind, sort of a taller, mustached version of Johnny Depp, but looked like himself. Is there any record of a an entity who operates like this or looks like this? I am not talking about the shadow people or am I and if so what would this person’s intent be as far as trying to capture me? I did not stay around long enough to find out.

Not really interested in a psychiatrist’s interpretation, more of a dream analysis or supernatural interpretation.
This is to Kevin. I really do not want to sign up for a website that will charge me to interpret this dream. If you are as good as you say, then just tell me the significance of the mysterious/omnious man in my dream. Need to keep this direct or more plainly, simple & stupid. With all due respect, I don’t want to get involved in scams

Dead next to three photos.

Part 1.
Mrs. Fatima sat at her chair that stood against the yellow painted wall of the living room. The fan whirred above her, squeaking as it turned from side to side. The door of the room facing her remained closed for two months. To her right side, the kitchen smelt of rot bananas with a cup of coffee lying at the bottom of the sink since her son’s last visit, two weeks ago.

The grey light from the round lamp at the ceiling, gave a mysterious aura to Mrs. Fatima’s brown, wrinkled skin. She clicked the golden ring at the forefinger against her knee, and then raised her head to the ceiling. In her white night dress she looked a like a pride waiting for her lover to return, but a dying pride would be of no use.

She dreaded mirrors. She escaped them, afraid to see how time had misshaped her, leaving nothing of her once charming features. Beauty abandoned her. Her cheekbones stuck out under her green eyes and her nose got longer with the skin flattening at around it. Her teeth went yellow and weaker; her jaw dropped to her neck and stiffened at the edges that she could barely move it up and down to eat.

The reality of change had destroyed her life. Her husband died and her three daughters and son got married and left her to the silence of her apartment. Her body stiffened all over and her back arched forward; the front of her feet swelled. She’d feel like walking on hard wood that broke apart and stuck out, piercing through her skin.

The crying went on for four years, since the death of her husband. But by the beginning of the fifth year, she realized that there was no use. Her tears dried up and she knew that no one would ever care to watch them as they twinkled in the light of the room, falling to the ground. The tears were gone.

No one would hug her when she felt cold; no one would sleep beside her and show her how it felt to be a woman. She wondered, what was the use of pain if no one could see it?

She raised her head to the ceiling and her jaw shook as she tried to talk. “God, can you hear me?” She pressed the wooden handle of the chair. “ I cannot be alone any longer. I wish to die.”

She imagined that by tomorrow morning, Mrs. Dalia her neighbor would keep on knocking but she wouldn’t open for she‘d be dead. The neighbors would break the door and Mrs. Dalia would scream and run to her bed and hug her. She’d talk of how she visited her everyday and how she took care of her, of how she told her of her secrets and how she loved her like a mother.

Some minutes later, someone knocked at the door. Mrs. Fatima pressed her hand against the wooden handle of the chair and got to her feet. Bowing forward, she walked to the door. Her whole body shook and stiffened as she tried to steady herself. “Who’s there?” A raspy voice replied back, “Hussein, Mom.” She pushed back the lock with one finger and the door flung open. The door had newly painted white bars behind which thick, non-transparent glass stood. She could see the shadow of the one knocking, like a ghost, arriving to summon her soul.

The bathroom was so small that you couldn’t have a shower unless you were standing. The shower handle hung right above the toilet with the soap bar resting under it at the tiled floor. After having a quick shower, Hussein peed, wore back his shirt and trousers then went to his mother’s room.

Mrs. Fatima Sat at her bed, her feet crossed in the darkness and her thumbs rolling around each other in illusionary circles. Hussein sat next to her and pressed her hand gently against the bed sheet. “How are you, Mom?” She closed her eyes then tugged her hand and pressed it against her chest.

“Mom, I know how it feels to be alone. I’m doing my best. I have a job to do, kids to feed. I can’t be around here beside you all day long. Please, forgive me.” Mrs. Fatima turned her face to the wall as Hussein lowered his face to ground. “I know you feel so bad about me. You’re wondering why is life so cruel to you. I don’t have an answer. I’m sorry.” He patted her on the shoulder and went to the bed next to her.

“It’d be better if you talked to me.” He said examining the ceiling. “What the heck? Good night.” He placed the pillow over his head and after some minutes, he was snoring.

Mrs. Fatima closed her eyes and remained ever conscious to the soft hum of air outside her window.

Part 2
She realized it was morning, not from the light seeping from the window next to her bed, but from the smell of fried beans that twirled up her window every morning for the last forty-five years. The smell wafted up from the small restaurant, belonging to a short man called El. Hag Ahmed. Mrs. Fatima woke to the sound of Hag Ahmed’s shrill voice every morning. He shouted, laughed and spitted. She never got fed up. It reminded her of her younger days when she used to sprint down the stairs and buy her parents and sister some beans from his shop.

I don’t want to spend more than 15 minutes a day working out. I want two or 3 exercises that each exercise targets a bunch of muscles. Hopefully core workouts.

I’m not looking to get extra buff really quick I just need a little something to keep my body active.

I don’t care how hard the exercise is, I’m pretty fit, I ride my bike a lot.

I have dumbbells, a sit up bench, a weight vest, a roman chair, and a pull up bar. If the exercise isn’t one of the ones done without weights, please try to include the equipment I already have.

Feel free to just leave the name of the exercise as I do know how to use google.

Thanks a bunch!

Like in the movies, throwing chairs, breaking glasses. Thumping people… It certainly sells more movie tickets.

I am first chair in my band, and I just got my braces on. while practicing my trumpet I can’t hit anything above a middle d. How can I play normally because I have chair auditons this Thursday! I need to play up to a high c ( above the bar lines). Thank you, my chair depends on you!

Dead next to three photos.

Part 1.
Mrs. Fatima sat at her chair that stood against the yellow painted wall of the living room. The fan whirred above her, squeaking as it turned from side to side. The door of the room facing her remained closed for two months. To her right side, the kitchen smelt of rot bananas with a cup of coffee lying at the bottom of the sink since her son’s last visit, two weeks ago.

The grey light from the round lamp at the ceiling, gave a mysterious aura to Mrs. Fatima’s brown, wrinkled skin. She clicked the golden ring at the forefinger against her knee, and then raised her head to the ceiling. In her white night dress she looked a like a pride waiting for her lover to return, but a dying pride would be of no use.

She dreaded mirrors. She escaped them, afraid to see how time had misshaped her, leaving nothing of her once charming features. Beauty abandoned her. Her cheekbones stuck out under her green eyes and her nose got longer with the skin flattening at around it. Her teeth went yellow and weaker; her jaw dropped to her neck and stiffened at the edges that she could barely move it up and down to eat.

The reality of change had destroyed her life. Her husband died and her three daughters and son got married and left her to the silence of her apartment. Her body stiffened all over and her back arched forward; the front of her feet swelled. She’d feel like walking on hard wood that broke apart and stuck out, piercing through her skin.

The crying went on for four years, since the death of her husband. But by the beginning of the fifth year, she realized that there was no use. Her tears dried up and she knew that no one would ever care to watch them as they twinkled in the light of the room, falling to the ground. The tears were gone.

No one would hug her when she felt cold; no one would sleep beside her and show her how it felt to be a woman. She wondered, what was the use of pain if no one could see it?

She raised her head to the ceiling and her jaw shook as she tried to talk. “God, can you hear me?” She pressed the wooden handle of the chair. “ I cannot be alone any longer. I wish to die.”

She imagined that by tomorrow morning, Mrs. Dalia her neighbor would keep on knocking but she wouldn’t open for she‘d be dead. The neighbors would break the door and Mrs. Dalia would scream and run to her bed and hug her. She’d talk of how she visited her everyday and how she took care of her, of how she told her of her secrets and how she loved her like a mother.

Some minutes later, someone knocked at the door. Mrs. Fatima pressed her hand against the wooden handle of the chair and got to her feet. Bowing forward, she walked to the door. Her whole body shook and stiffened as she tried to steady herself. “Who’s there?” A raspy voice replied back, “Hussein, Mom.” She pushed back the lock with one finger and the door flung open. The door had newly painted white bars behind which thick, non-transparent glass stood. She could see the shadow of the one knocking, like a ghost, arriving to summon her soul.

The bathroom was so small that you couldn’t have a shower unless you were standing. The shower handle hung right above the toilet with the soap bar resting under it at the tiled floor. After having a quick shower, Hussein peed, wore back his shirt and trousers then went to his mother’s room.

Mrs. Fatima Sat at her bed, her feet crossed in the darkness and her thumbs rolling around each other in illusionary circles. Hussein sat next to her and pressed her hand gently against the bed sheet. “How are you, Mom?” She closed her eyes then tugged her hand and pressed it against her chest.

“Mom, I know how it feels to be alone. I’m doing my best. I have a job to do, kids to feed. I can’t be around here beside you all day long. Please, forgive me.” Mrs. Fatima turned her face to the wall as Hussein lowered his face to ground. “I know you feel so bad about me. You’re wondering why is life so cruel to you. I don’t have an answer. I’m sorry.” He patted her on the shoulder and went to the bed next to her.

“It’d be better if you talked to me.” He said examining the ceiling. “What the heck? Good night.” He placed the pillow over his head and after some minutes, he was snoring.

Mrs. Fatima closed her eyes and remained ever conscious to the soft hum of air outside her window.

i really need one who fights for the disabled i happen to be in a wheel chair if you are an attonery or know some one who is that would like to have a case that could be won easy let me know .you can find out more about my case by looking at my other question .
also that same police man came in to the bar which i was at and told me i was not aloud to roll down the road in my wheel chair and i wasnt in the road nor at that time had i had any thing to drink and he also said if i could walk then it would be ok for me to walk down the road he also told the other people in the bar that if no one would take me home he was going to take me to jail.please check out my other question for the rest of the story and what they did to me at the jail.i have witness at the jail and the bar who will tell you the same thing im telling you and i have never met none of these witness before in my life
if you are going to give unfit answers to this question and the other one dont bother answering
if you are going to give unfit answers to this question and the other one dont bother answering

Sorry if its long When I was in middle school i had this Physical Ed coach who I assumed like looking at all of us in the shower. I caught him a few times looking at me but I never said anything, once I was late to get in the shower and I was the last one to get out, he came over to the showers and he said “turn off all the showers” I put my hand over myself and he said “why are you covering yourself, youre not a girl” I was a stupid 13 year old kid and took my hand away, [I felt odd since I was pretty late at going through puberty but at that time I was going through the changes] he stared at me down there until I turned them all off. It might have been my imagination or it might have been true, but I could swear I saw him smile and lick his lips.

Probably a month after that we were playing soccer and he threw the ball at me, but interestingly enough he aimed it at my crotch. The ball hit me and I fell down. After class he insisted on seeing me in his office, while everyone was gone, and he said “I need to check your testicles to make sure I didn’t hurt you, is there any swelling.” I told him “no im fine” but he insisted and pulled me close to the chair he was sitting in. he instructed me “take off your shorts and underwear so I can check” I hesitated and he didn’t even ask and pulled them down. He grabbed me and I flinched, he looked up and smiled and kept touching me. I don’t even know how but he sat me on the chair, spread my legs and fondled my penis. I was 13 and naturally I got an erection, when I did he stopped and said there was no damage. Since then I would feel extremely uncomfortable and would waste time so that the bell would ring and I would not have to shower [don’t worry it was my last period class so I wasn’t stinky the whole day]. About two weeks ago I ran into him at a bar and confronted him about it, the people he was with made a scene and threatened to call security to escort me out. I didn’t yell at him, I didn’t lie, I just told him how uncomfortable he made me feel and how I thought it really wasn’t right for him to do that to young boys. I feel a little stupid for some reason, the people at the bar made me feel like I was crazy. He got confrontational and denied it, and actually he was the one that started to yell. I obviously cant prove it to anybody, its too late now, but I felt ridiculous. It made me feel worse because the people litteraly must have thought I was crazy, the looks I got from the people at the bar and his friends was really bad.
EDIT: i dont mean to be rude but some of you are making me feel like it was my fault he did that to me, i didnt "entice" him, i didnt tell anybody because i was young and didnt know, it was a mistake but i am sure that its easy for people to just say "yeah you should have reported it", we were all young and innocent once. i was raised to treat adults with respect, i thought people wouldnt belive me.

I am trying to plan a bachelorette party and would like to find a beach that has a true beach bar on it (as in we can walk up in the sand in our bathing suits and walk with our juicy margaritas back down to our beach chairs). Most of the girls are coming from the DC area so we are looking for something drivable (Charleston, SC area). Thanks.

i’ve been going to my local bar for years and never had a problem. so i was there last night and had enjoyed 4 or 5 beers with my husband while sitting at the bar in a high bar stool. my back started to hurt since i am 7 months pregnant and i have sit uncomfortable on those bar stools, so i asked the bar tender if i could bring a normal, short chair with a back over from one of the tables. he said no and told me that only tall stools were allowed at the bar itself. is that discrimination against me because i am pregnant? if i was disabled and in a wheelchair then i don’t think they could tell me that i can’t be by the bar, and there’s not much difference between that and a person in a normal chair

Part 1.
Mrs. Fatima sat at her chair that stood against the yellow painted wall of the living room. The fan whirred above her, squeaking as it turned from side to side. The door of the room facing her remained closed for two months. To her right side, the kitchen smelt of rot bananas with a cup of coffee lying at the bottom of the sink since her son’s last visit, two weeks ago.

The grey light from the round lamp at the ceiling, gave a mysterious aura to Mrs. Fatima’s brown, wrinkled skin. She clicked the golden ring at the forefinger against her knee, and then raised her head to the ceiling. In her white night dress she looked a like a pride waiting for her lover to return, but a dying pride would be of no use.

She dreaded mirrors. She escaped them, afraid to see how time had misshaped her, leaving nothing of her once charming features. Beauty abandoned her. Her cheekbones stuck out under her green eyes and her nose got longer with the skin flattening at around it. Her teeth went yellow and weaker; her jaw dropped to her neck and stiffened at the edges that she could barely move it up and down to eat.

The reality of change had destroyed her life. Her husband died and her three daughters and son got married and left her to the silence of her apartment. Her body stiffened all over and her back arched forward; the front of her feet swelled. She’d feel like walking on hard wood that broke apart and stuck out, piercing through her skin.

The crying went on for four years, since the death of her husband. But by the beginning of the fifth year, she realized that there was no use. Her tears dried up and she knew that no one would ever care to watch them as they twinkled in the light of the room, falling to the ground. The tears were gone.

No one would hug her when she felt cold; no one would sleep beside her and show her how it felt to be a woman. She wondered, what was the use of pain if no one could see it?

She raised her head to the ceiling and her jaw shook as she tried to talk. “God, can you hear me?” She pressed the wooden handle of the chair. “ I cannot be alone any longer. I wish to die.”

She imagined that by tomorrow morning, Mrs. Dalia her neighbor would keep on knocking but she wouldn’t open for she‘d be dead. The neighbors would break the door and Mrs. Dalia would scream and run to her bed and hug her. She’d talk of how she visited her everyday and how she took care of her, of how she told her of her secrets and how she loved her like a mother.

Some minutes later, someone knocked at the door. Mrs. Fatima pressed her hand against the wooden handle of the chair and got to her feet. Bowing forward, she walked to the door. Her whole body shook and stiffened as she tried to steady herself. “Who’s there?” A raspy voice replied back, “Hussein, Mom.” She pushed back the lock with one finger and the door flung open. The door had newly painted white bars behind which thick, non-transparent glass stood. She could see the shadow of the one knocking, like a ghost, arriving to summon her soul.

The bathroom was so small that you couldn’t have a shower unless you were standing. The shower handle hung right above the toilet with the soap bar resting under it at the tiled floor. After having a quick shower, Hussein peed, wore back his shirt and trousers then went to his mother’s room.

Mrs. Fatima Sat at her bed, her feet crossed in the darkness and her thumbs rolling around each other in illusionary circles. Hussein sat next to her and pressed her hand gently against the bed sheet. “How are you, Mom?” She closed her eyes then tugged her hand and pressed it against her chest.

“Mom, I know how it feels to be alone. I’m doing my best. I have a job to do, kids to feed. I can’t be around here beside you all day long. Please, forgive me.” Mrs. Fatima turned her face to the wall as Hussein lowered his face to ground. “I know you feel so bad about me. You’re wondering why is life so cruel to you. I don’t have an answer. I’m sorry.” He patted her on the shoulder and went to the bed next to her.

“It’d be better if you talked to me.” He said examining the ceiling. “What the heck? Good night.” He placed the pillow over his head and after some minutes, he was snoring.

Mrs. Fatima closed her eyes and remained ever conscious to the soft hum of air outside her window.