Does anyone think mrs pac man is sexually attractive.

Also, does anyone think that she is sexually active? Cos she goes round, swallowing balls.

I do, i'd seriously like to fuck her! ooooo the bow *pleasures self*

Should this be moved to 'Jokes and Humour' forum

I'd sex that bow right off her head!

Hmmmm, what film is that from?

Blaming credit cards f young adults' money woes is popular these days; high-school and college students are putting way too many college expenses and other charges on their cards, the thinking goes.
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But as credit-card issuers and Congress race to crack down on over-browing, do we risk barring the do so tightly that teens miss out on opptunities to learn financial responsibility?
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In a recent article that bucks the popular wisdom about teen credit-card use, my colleague Karen Blumenthal cites a study that suggesting credit cards may be merely a scapegoat f a lack of family communication about money. Kids with credit cards aren't the reckless spendthrifts they've been ptrayed to be the study shows. College freshmen with credit cards carry only a $169 balance, on average, says this 2,000-student study at the University of Arizona. And me than 60% of the credit-card holders demonstrated exemplary credit management skills, paying the bill in full every month.
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To be sure, 70% of all the students surveyed (which included both teens with and without cards) showed bad financial judgment at times, failing to pay bills on time, maxing out credit cards taking payday loans. But the credit-card holders were no me less likely to commit these errs than students who lacked plastic. ,Instead, the significant fact was whether students had good communication about money with their parents; those who did, also had me control over their finances. Wow Power Leveling,

Thus the current Congressional crackdown on teen credit-card use may amount to barring the wrong do. A new federal law that takes effect next year tightens rules governing credit-card issuance f people under 21. Banks and colleges are on the same path, sharply reducing teen access to credit without adult co-signs.
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The rules will hamper young adults who are ready to take me personal responsibility f their financial decisions, Karen says. In a pre-emptive strike I'm planning to emulate with my 18-year-old son, Karen has persuaded her 19-year-old daughter to get a credit card befe the new federal legislation takes effect. Managing the card will not only enable her to earn a good credit recd, but give her room to make her own mistakes when the consequences and dollar amounts are low, Karen says.

We've posted befe on the challenges of encouraging your kids to learn money management in a recession and on teaching teens to spend responsibly. Readers, would you let your teen have a credit card? If you do, how would you teach them responsibility? Any pitfalls to avoid, in your view?
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Blaming credit cards

It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?
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Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.
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Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.

For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.
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One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend. The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.

And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life. Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.
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"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."

Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."
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With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"

"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.

"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"

I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."

For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"


I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:

"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."

Ivanoushka the Simpleton

In a kingdom far away from our country, there was a town over which ruled the Tsar Pea with his Tsaritza Carrot. He had many wise statesmen, wealthy princes, strong, powerful warriors, and also simple soldiers, a hundred thousand, less one man. In that town lived all kinds of people: honest, bearded merchants, keen and open-handed rascals, German tradesmen, lovely maidens, Russian drunkards; and in the suburbs all around, the peasants tilled the soil, sowed the wheat, ground the flour, traded in the markets, and spent the money in drink.

In one of the suburbs there was a poor hut where an old man lived with his three sons, Thomas, Pakhom, and Ivan. The old man was not only clever, he was wise. He had happened once to have a chat with the devil. They talked together while the old man treated him to a tumbler of wine and got out of the devil many great secrets. Soon after this the peasant began to perform such marvelous acts that the neighbors called him a sorcerer, a magician, and even supposed that the devil was his kin.
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Yes, it is true that the old man performed great marvels. Were you longing for love, go to him, bow to the old man, and he would give you some strange root, and the sweetheart would be yours. If there is a theft, again to him with the tale. The old man conjures over some water, takes an officer along straight to the thief, and your lost is found; only take care that the officer steals it not.

Indeed the old man was very wise; but his children were not his equals. Two of them were almost as clever. They were married and had children, but Ivan, the youngest, was single. No one cared much for him because he was rather a fool, could not count one, two, three, and only drank, or ate, or slept, or lay around. Why care for such a person? Every one knows life for some is brighter than for others. But Ivan was good-hearted and quiet. Ask of him a belt, he will give a kaftan also; take his mittens, he certainly would want to have you take his cap with them. And that is why all liked Ivan, and usually called him Ivanoushka the Simpleton; though the name means fool, at the same time it carries the idea of a kind heart.

Our old man lived on with his sons until finally his hour came to die. He called his three sons and said to them:world of warcraft gold,

"Dear children of mine, my dying hour is at hand and ye must fulfill my will. Every one of you come to my grave and spend one night with me; thou, Tom, the first night; thou, Pakhom, the second night; and thou, Ivanoushka the Simpleton, the third."

Two of the brothers, as clever people, promised their father to do according to his bidding, but the Simpleton did not even promise; he only scratched his head.

The old man died and was buried. During the celebration the family and guests had plenty of pancakes to eat and plenty of whisky to wash them down. Break went on to say that.

Now you remember that on the first night Thomas was to go to the grave; but he was too lazy, or possibly afraid, so he said to the Simpleton:
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"I must be up very early to-morrow morning; I have to thresh; go thou for me to our father's grave."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka the Simpleton. He took a slice of black rye bread, went to the grave, stretched himself out, and soon began to snore.

The church clock struck midnight; the wind roared, the owl cried in the trees, the grave opened and the old man came out and asked:

"Who is there?"

"I,"wedding dress, answered Ivanoushka.

"Well, my dear son, I will reward thee for thine obedience," said the father.

Lo! the cocks crowed and the old man dropped into the grave. The Simpleton arrived home and went to the warm stove.

"What happened?" asked the brothers.

"Nothing," he answered. "I slept the whole night and am hungry now."

The second night it was Pakhom's turn to go to his father's grave. He thought it over and said to the Simpleton:

"To-morrow is a busy day with me. Go in my place to our father's grave."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka. He took along with him a piece of fish pie, went to the grave and slept. Midnight approached, the wind roared, crows came flying, the grave opened and the old man came out.replica watches,

"Who is there?" he asked.

"I," answered his son the Simpleton.

"Well, my beloved son, I will not forget thine obedience," said the old man.

The cocks crowed and the old man dropped into his grave. Ivanoushka the Simpleton came home, went to sleep on the warm stove, and in the morning his brothers asked:

"What happened?"

"Nothing," answered Ivanoushka.

On the third night the brothers said to Ivan the Simpleton:

"It is thy turn to go to the grave of our father. The father's will should be done."

"All right," answered Ivanoushka. He took some cookies, put on his sheepskin, and arrived at the grave.
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At midnight his father came out.


Ivanoushka the Simpleton

One day I found out that my 125 students, of whom 118 were wearing jeans. While the other seven people had jeans, but that day happened to be naked Bale. I can not help but wonder, if there is anything other cultural products, such as movies, television programs, tape recorders, lipstick, etc.

chanel sunglasscould be so popular? (T-shirts though the same for a lot of people have, but the people who wear much less), students groups may not be representative of all the population, but the jeans in the same age group of non-students, is also widely popular, but also in older age groups, only slightly less popular Bale. So, start a book about popular culture, from the jeans start thinking, is a good way.
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Let us set aside consideration of the functionality of jeans, because functionality is almost nothing to do with the culture, but culture is concerned that meaning, pleasure, identity, rather than efficacy. Of course, the jeans is a very practical clothing, it is comfortable, durable.

pandora jewelryand sometimes very cheap, and only need to "low maintenance" (low maintenence), but the labor services have these features. Jeans functionality is the premise of his widely popular, but it can not explain why the popular pair of jeans. And it did not explain the particular pair of jeans nearly every cross-section of the social categories we can think of the unique capabilities.

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We can not under any kind of important social category systems, such as gender, class, race, age, ethnicity, religion, education, etc., to define a jeans person. We probably can say that the jeans there are two major social centers, one of the young, and the other is blue-collar or working class, but the two centers should be considered as semiotic sense, rather than sociological sense. In other words, they are the center of meaning, rather than the center of social categories. Then a middle-aged people to the business executives on Sundays.

armani jeans dressed in jeans for himself on the outskirts of the lawn mower, he was himself with the youthful vigor (sub-ran it obviously different from the desk belonging to the middle-aged), and the magic of labor dignity of the link - that the physical labor in a sense more respectable than the powerful, deep-rooted belief in the United States this nation. Of their pioneer ancestors were only a few generations away from now, and this belief in the powerful is equally important, but also unusually circulating.

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Many designers are complaining about: earlier than roosters, Bibi Zhu sleep late, have done more than cattle tired, day after day, year after year, 5 years, 10 years later is still not afford to buy a house .. .... Why is it so? for two reasons: First, the lack of lateral thinking; the second is the lack of experience in brand promotion.
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In the present fashion design industry, designers have always loved vertical thinking, to the great masters of line with those at home and abroad, design thinking is to mimic the works of those masters known for, bent forward, work hard, one day can end National Cheng Kung device, but over 10 years, eight years later of view, so many years of effort in vain, made little progress. to fame married a few. The reason lies in its way of thinking ----- vertical way of thinking on Know who masters, for now our designers, like Gaoshanyangzhi, elusive, if still using the traditional vertical way of thinking, follow the footsteps of those great masters of the former line, another few decade, is still a nothing into a!
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Dot go with those great masters ratio, not to look only to stare at the clothes, but rather as clothing on the market and now contemporary pop elements [such as 3G, the financial crisis, etc.], such as the rich and famous people are some of the features or stories combine to generate new ideas and design new works, so as to have a differentiation in the market is to remain competitive!
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For the branding issues and domestic Today's media system is not conducive to brand promotion, and many people said, branding is the money drop advertising, but often spent a lot of money wasted, the results were unsatisfactory. It was also the spokesman said, Internet promotion, but do not forget that you are using the Internet, people are using the Internet ah, using the Internet as a tool and not many different places, different places lies in creativity, but now if the recipe on the Internet to promote tricks. innovative ways is the : Topics marketing, viral marketing, collaborative selling ...... to do a clothing brand must bend Rao has been recognized for many masters.
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Fashion designer to the creative style of 80's

The last century, 80 years, the emergence of professional women make a thick padded shoulders began to appear exaggerated shoulders so hard woman "strong" together.ugg Bags Women need to come in costumes to compete with men, Thatcher (Margaret Thatcher), Ronald Reagan's wife (Nancy Reagan) to the emergence of "strong woman" is almost certain. 08 autumn and winter from a legacy of the 80 fashion, in this quarter, still plays an important role, big shoulder pads in trendy packaging, has become the representative of avant-garde fashion.
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80's all the rage in the last century, the big shoulder pads to re-coat the popular stage. The depressed economic environment, we still need some bright spots on things, remember to enjoy life doctrine and the flashy, Balmain's spring and summer release gives the best answer.
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80s style, designers to give their own ideas. Feminine lines will absorb men down A-lines, the location of increased waist and sleeves can be able to add nine points a strong sense of female independence. It is noteworthy that option gorgeous sense of excellent fabric drape, making sense of movement and strong lines, waist location of the upgrade has kept the visual centers concentrated in the shoulders, the waist was a short coat is often able to raise the proportion of adjusted body to the best. And the strong stone washed denim trousers with a pencil will be luxury mash up with the old. Large and slender, in contrast to still adhere to reflect women's gentle and fortitude.
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