One for my multi-lingual readers

A Mexican man who spoke no English went into a department store to buy socks. He found his way to the menswear department where a young lady offered to help him.

“Quiero calcetines,” said the man.

“I don’t speak Spanish, but we have some very nice suits over here,” said the salesgirl.

“No, no quiero trajes. Quiero calcetines,” said the man.

“Well, these shirts are on sale this week,” declared the salesgirl.

“No, no quiero camisas. Quiero calcetines,” repeated the man.

“I still don’t know what you’re trying to say. We have some fine pants on this rack,” offered the salesgirl.

“No, no quiero pantalones. Quiero calcetines,” insisted the man.

“These sweaters are top quality,” the salesgirl probed.

“No, no quiero sueter. Quiero calcetines,” said the man.

“Our undershirts are over here,” fumbled the salesgirl, beginning to lose patience.

“No, no quiero camisetas. Quiero calcetines,” the man repeated.

As they passed the underwear counter, the man spotted a display of socks and happily grabbed a pair. Holding them up he proclaimed, “Eso sí que es!”

“Why didn’t you just spell it in the first place?!” yelled the salesgirl.

via

friday firesmith – A tale of Greg

Greg and I were friends in high school. Several things about Greg were strange, but after all, he was a drummer in a band. I dated a woman who had known him most of his life, and was good friends with his family, and she thought Greg was a little odd, but so where most of her friends.

I was the best man at his wedding. His new bride was eighteen, he was twenty-four, and they seemed to be a happy couple. Two years later she left him.

Greg started dating a woman older than he was, and she had a twelve year old daughter. They went on vacation and Greg’s beach photos were mostly of the little girl in her swimsuit. I began to feel uneasy about Greg and the girl, but shortly after the beach trip, her mother broke up with him and left.

When I left the Army I moved to Valdosta Georgia and Greg had disappeared. A few years later he called me looking for a character witness in a trial. It seems that a computer virus had infected his computer and downloaded a lot of child porn. I told Greg I was the last person he wanted in that courtroom. If summoned I would have told the truth.

He had called a mutual friend and that friend called me, and we began to compare notes. Greg never had a girlfriend in high school, never dated, and his wife, Kim, looked a lot younger than eighteen. The photos of his girlfriend’s daughter made us stop and wonder. There was only one conclusion to come to about Greg. He was a pedophile. All the clues had always been there, but we, and everyone else, never put them together.

Last I heard, Greg had served five years in a prison in West Virginia on the child porn charge. Where he is now, I have no idea.

Greg and I were good friends. We drank together, we talked a lot about music and life. I was a roadie once for a gig he played at a Country Club where a woman got on stage and stripped. We went to concerts, the beach, and hung out a lot. I wore my dress green uniform at the wedding and somewhere there’s photos of us together. Greg and I were close.

Child Porn is a red line for me with Greg or anyone else. Sexualizing children is abhorrent. I was more than willing to disregard the good times years of friendship in order to preserve my own values. I would do the same with anyone I have ever known.

I will, without hesitation or regret, cut ties with anyone who has anything to do with sexualizing children. There is no acceptable degree.

Take Care,

Mike