When Sarah was 16 she fell in love with the most handsome sailor she had ever seen. It took her 3 years to finally talk to him. Every time she got close he had to leave!

This sailor only came to town once every 3 months for about 2 days. The first year she tried to asked his sailor friends questions about him. But, every time the conversation would be cut short.

"We have to leave, we will tell you all about him next time." said the sailor.

After a year of that Sarah decided to ask the captain of his ship about him. His response wasn't much different.

"I have to leave to visit my wife and children. Maybe next time I can set aside some time to meet with you."

By the third year of this nonsense with the sailors she decided to change tactics. This time she was going to be brave and go straight to the handsome sailor. The second she saw the sailor's ship pull into port she ran straight out to greet him. But once the sailor approached her she went completely numb and lost her voice. He patiently waited for her to speak but no sound came out of her lips. His reply was understandable.

"Umm, I'm going to leave now."

She was so embarrassed! Next time, she thought, next time I will talk to him! She was right, next time she did talk to him...sort of. She managed to get out one word..."Hi" and his response was about the same as the last time.

"OK...I have to leave."

This went on for months. Each time she would see him she got out one more word and by the end of that year she had formed the sentence.

"Hi, my name is Sarah."

With that one complete sentence the sailor kissed Sarah passionately and said, "I think it's time for me to quit being a sailor, I don't ever want to leave you again!"

Sweaty Sam was known all through the town to be the luckiest guy around! Sam's lucky secret was all his luck came from his own sweat! He discovered if he wore clothes that were sweaty he would always pass his tests, win the football games and get the girls to go out with him. Although most girls didn't understand why they would ever go out with Sam. He always stunk and never seemed to wear clean clothes!

Sweaty smelly Sam would take the girls to the fair where his sweaty luck won a prize at each booth he went to. On days Sam wanted to miss school, mother nature would throw a freak snow day his way. Anytime he wanted to see a concert, he would call up a radio station for a giveaway and inevitably win after the very first ring of the phone.

For one whole year before Sam's 21st birthday he avoided washing 7 of his shirts to make sure they would be extra sweaty for his trip to Las Vegas. During his trip his luck just kept right on going. He was so lucky he was kicked out of every casino on the strip, for fear they would go broke. Sweaty Sam even made the front page of the papers as being the luckiest man in Vegas history!

Long ago there was a town called Honesty, in the kingdom of Toes, where telling the truth was a matter of life or death. Every Queen was given a special gift by the eldest magician in the kingdom. With this gift the Queen would know if someone was telling her something that was true or false. The gift came in the form of an additional toe. In order for the gift to work, her subjects had to see her toe.

At all times she had three servants with her: one whose job it was to constantly keep her toes clean, another that was there to command anyone who approached the queen to see her toe, and a third for pulling up the Queens skirt to reveal the true toe. As soon as the command to "see her toe" was uttered the person would immediately kneel and look directly at her toe.

On the tip of her right foot next to her big toe there was a second big toe. This toe was made up of a glowing golden light, resembling a light bulb. Every time someone would say something that was true the light would turn blue. If a person tried to lie it would immediately turn red and that person was sentenced to death. Everyone in the kingdom knew that when the light went blue that was true and when the light went red that was dead!

In an old rural town there lived a very old man. This man is known throughout the countryside as old ear. He received this nickname as a baby because he was born with a big, old, wrinkly and hairy ear. Because of this old ear he has never been able to hear much of anything.

Old ear was a funny man who loved to sing songs with his own made up lyrics! It was quite a mystery as to how he could sing, since he never seemed to hear songs others would sing. His favorite song by far was to the tune of "row, row, row your boat". He would skip up and down main street singing at the top of his lungs "to hear, to hear, to hear the words you people say to me, old ear, old ear, old ear, old ear, to hear the things I see"!

Whenever I need to think I grab my crayons. I know it sounds silly, but crayons are my favorite way to express what I think and believe. I think it has something to do with the vast array of colors that dance under my fingertips whenever I open the box.

No matter what I think or believe, there’s a crayon to match it. For example, when I’m worried about money I grab a green crayon. I write out my budgets and draw pictures of what I’d like to buy someday, and before long I feel much better. When I daydream about the date I had last night my red crayon lazily traces swirls and hearts across the page.

Sometimes my color choices make less sense. When I’m thinking about what I want for dinner this week I grab a purple crayon. When I’m trying to work out what I believe about what my future will be I reach for a very specific shade of blue. No matter what, though, there’s always a perfect crayon there to match whatever I’m thinking about.

If you’re struggling to work through some thoughts or beliefs, grab a crayon! Draw a picture, write a few words, or just make some scribbles. As those waxy trails of color begin to cover your paper you might just find yourself feeling better. There’s no reason our thoughts and beliefs can’t be like crayons – colorful, plentiful, and a whole lot of fun!

If you were to look very, very closely at Gary’s sinuses right now, you’d see something you might not expect – a group of germs holding a war conference.

One germ stands at the forefront. A general of some sort, he seems to be barking out orders to the rest of the bacteria in front of him. “Alright, germs!” he barks, pointing at a map of Gary’s body with a long pointer. “Operation ‘in sinuses then in tonsils’ is very simple. We start in sinuses, and then move in tonsils.”

A murmur of confusion moves through the rest of the germs. The general seems to expect this and repeats: “in sinuses first, then in tonsils.”

A microbial underling speaks up: “in sinuses and in tonsils.”

With a patient sigh the General rephrases: “in sinuses first, then in tonsils afterwards. We start in sinuses, then in tonsils.”

“Sinuses… in tonsils…?” The troops still aren’t getting it. The general starts to get a little hot under the collar (or at least he would have if viruses wore collars). He knew these microbes were new recruits, but this was getting ridiculous. He’s led countless excursions into the human body, but this troop was the greenest he’s ever seen.

“In sinuses, then in tonsils!” he roars, emphasizing each word with a thump on the map. “then in tonsils, understand? Tonsils afterwards!”

This lecture would continue to go on for hours. At least it would have if a stray speck of pollen hadn’t found its way into Gary’s nose. The war meeting was abruptly adjourned by a mighty sneeze, scattering the army of germs quite effectively.

“I’ve really got to think up better mission names,” the general decided later as he contemplated the failure of ‘Operation: In Sinuses Then In Tonsils’. It seems even six words is too much information for a single celled organism to take.

The weekend guests of a wealthy couple were gathered in the mansion library. A night earlier the host had been found stabbed on the expensive Persian rug. Tonight a stoic detective surveys the six guests as he leans against the mantelpiece.

“I’ve gone over the evidence, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the murderer is…” he pauses for dramatic effect, then points to a man in the corner: “the butler!”

The guests all gasp in horror. “Crap!” the butler exclaims. There is a heavy pause, then suddenly the hostess bursts into laughter.

“Crap? You’re accused of murder and all you can say is ‘crap’? What kind of a reaction is that?” The butler sniffs indignantly. “I feel ‘crap’ is a legitimate response to a murder,” he counters.

The hostess continues to laugh. “There’s a murder and he says ‘crap’! I don’t… I can’t even….” Her response is cut short as the detective reaches down in front of her. As he straightens the murder weapon, a silver letter opener, lies in his hand.

“You are correct, ma’am. ‘Crap’ is a ridiculous thing to say after being accused of murder. However, it was enough to get a response from the guilty conscience in the room. As you were laughing this fell out of your pocket. It’s all that’s needed to make an arrest.” He turns to the butler. “Thank you for your help, Jeeves.”

The butler nods deeply as the hostess gapes around the room. She finds no sympathy in her guests eyes, and as she is led away to be tried for murder a single syllable is all she gives: “crap!”

When a new boy joined her middle school class, Sasha noticed something interesting. She would always see him pray. It wasn’t just before lunch or just before a test. It seemed no matter what was happening she could always look over and see him pray. At first she tried not to notice, but after a while she couldn’t stop thinking about it. A little chat with God was good, sure, but why was it that she would always see him praying?

When she told her sister about him she was met with disbelief. “What do you mean you always see him pray? You can’t always see him pray!”

“I do!” Sasha protested. “I always see him pray! Whenever I look over his hands are close together in his lap and he’s looking down! He does it in math class, in home room, and even during free time. I swear, no matter what I always see him pray!”

Her sister just laughed, but Sasha was determined to find out why she always saw him praying. The next day at lunch she walked over to his desk. As always, she could see him praying. He didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon, so she finally tapped him on the shoulder.

“Why are you always praying?”

The little boy laughed. “I’m not always praying! Look!” He showed her a cell phone in his hands. She had been wrong! It wasn’t that she would alwayssee him pray. Instead, whenever she looked over she would always see him texting!

Mike the Moocher was a notorious moocher. You have to mooch a lot to earn the nick name Mike the Moocher. And I mean, a LOT.

He would take turns mooching from each of his various friends. He’d show up at a friend’s house and mooched a lot of cigarettes and food and beer. Then when the friend started to get annoyed, he’d move on to another friend. He never paid rent or helped with dishes. He just mooched and mooched.

Mike the Moocher showed up at Jamal’s house and mooched a lot of the leftovers from a garage sale. He showed up at John’s house and mooched his lawn mower. Then he moved on to Tiffany’s where he mooched a lot of gardening supplies. He showed up at Steve’s house and mooched a lot of his DVDs.

Each of them became frustrated with Mike’s mooching because he never returned any of things he mooched. So they stopped returning his calls and he stopped calling.

Time went on and they all forgot their frustration with Mike the Moocher. But one day, there was a picture in the newspaper that featured a pile of junk as tall as a silo filling an old abandoned parking lot. At the top of the heap was a lawn mower. Also in the pile were DVDs, gardening supplies, an El Camino, a gas can, and many other odds and ends.

It wasn’t long before folks in town figured out that Mike the Moocher had discarded all those many items he never returned and that was where the huge pile came from. Mike the Moocher mooched A LOT!

Micah arrived at Ms. Cleo’s a little early and nervous. It was her first time at a psychic. Ms. Cleo turned out to be stereotypical with her flowing scarves and her crystal ball and her endless silver jewelry filled with semi-precious stones.

They sat down at a table and Ms. Cleo reached for Micah’s palm.

“You are Aries, yes?” She said in a vaguely, Transylvania-sounding accent.

“Um, yeah.”

“Hmmmm… yesssss. I see.” She let go of Micah’s hand and sat back, mystically.

“You are likely to get angry. Too easily, I mean.” She inhaled deeply, sat back and said, “Aries have a problems in relationships because of zees.” “You are passionate though. Zeez is why you become quick angry.”

“Well, that is true.” Micah said leaning forward, interested yet admittedly annoyed at the criticism. “And I am having problems with my boyfriend right now.”

“You are loyal. Aries are always loyal when they like someone. And you like zees boy, no?”

“I really do.”

“And he is Cancer or maybe Taurus.”

“He’s a Cancer.”

“Zees is what I am thinking.” Ms. Cleo thought for a moment. “You are no good match with Cancer.”

That was where Micah drew the line. “You think you know it all with your flowy clothes, huh?”

“An Aries gets angry when she believes she is right. She can be headstrong at times.” Ms. Cleo grew quiet, stroked her crystal ball for a moment. “You will have long life and many childrens, but you are no match with this man.”

Micah steamed. “Whatever, lady.” Dropping fifty dollars on the table, she left muttering, “Psycho,” under her breath.

“You are Aries,” was Ms. Cleo’s only reply.