Oh Craigslist, You Amuse Me So!

[armdchicken]

Free Laughs (Fairbanks)

Date: 2012-09-19, 12:16AM AKDT
[email protected] [Errors when replying to ads?]

http://www.ebayhumor.com/

 

[just me]

http://raleigh.craigslist.org/grd/3266424175.html

 

[kuntrygirl]

http://raleigh.craigslist.org/grd/3266424175.html

 

[galanie]

Image of the above link in case they take it down:

 

[ramirezframing]

Have I got one for ya'll!



Last Friday evening, my neighbors hauled the last vestiges of their meth-infused junk down the road, and out of my life--or so I thought. The only thing more inbred than my former neighbors, was their collection of cats. Wormy, ugly, three-eared, mouse murders.

The cats are pretty nasty too.

Apparently, I mistakenly thought that the four blue 50 gallon garbage pails duct taped atop their '85 Cavalier contained all their cats. Not quite so.

It seems the foulest of the foul eluded the dragnet, and has staked claim to the entire neighborhood. In the past, my dog, Snorp, would have gleefully dealt with the issue. Not this time.

Snorp has issues with cats. Serious issues.

The feline in question is the grisly remains of a 'fixing' gone wrong. Something unspeakable and foul went amiss during the procedure. Although I never learned the full story, I know for a fact that the cat left Kentucky before the investigation was completed and blame affixed. The vet closed his practice and is now known for his excessive alcohol intake. The story goes that the cat wandered aimlessly, leaving a trail of scorched earth and shredded bulldogs every step of the way. He somehow ended up with the neighbors, and they brought him here.

Where he still is.

That's the problem.

He's still here.

They called him 'Cat.' He is without a doubt the singularly most disgusting example of chain-smoking, anti-freeze swilling, hairball yakking Felis catus, ever seen.

He is big, surly, tri-lingual, mange/mite/lice/worm ridden and has the most profanity-laced vocabulary ever heard. He emits noxious odors from both ends and hisses in his sleep. He is badly disfigured by countless 'to-the-death' skirmishes, and marks his territory with the unrepentant zeal of the born-again. Clumps of dead, dying and matted hair cover the precious few unscarred patches of his emaciated body. His 'normal' foot has 7 toes. Both eyeballs constantly fight an unwinnable war to congregate in the same socket. Undiagnosed gastrointestinal issues cause a deep bowel-quivering rumble just prior to his uncontrolled high-pressure ejection of an eye-watering, grass-killing, tree-wilting, molten, steaming stream of 'kitty-poo.'

Like I said, in the past, Ol' Snorp would have savored the prospect of dealing with the problem, but things have changed for my dog recently.

After last week's short sortie against his feline adversary, Snorp bolted back into the house without stopping to open the door. True to form, Snorp paced relentlessly back and forth, chain-smoking and muttering, all the while casting a wary eye in the direction of the cat/destroyed front door. Constant trips to the toilet for slurps of cool, refreshing water left a trail of drool, cigarette butts and the occasional tear between the bathroom and Snorp's lookout.

Normally, I refuse to believe one word that comes out of Snorp. He is unrepentant liar and always has been. My view of him is changing. It was only after I saw him blessing himself and as he says, 'getting into the word,' that I detected a turning leaf.

Most mornings now, Snorp peers apprehensively through the pulled drapes, looking for his rival. He's smoking more, sleeping less and has taken twitching to a new level. Unexpected loud noises, such as the beating of a ladybug's wings down the street, reduces my once fearless warrior canine into a puddle-producing, tail-tucking, quivering mass of canine anxiety.

Someone needs to do something with this cat.

Property values have plummeted and the school district has re-routed its buses. Mail is no longer delivered. The police are unavailable. The neighborhood IQ has slipped and the internet has quit working. Milk sours in the refrigerator. A chilling, evil wind blows from the North.

The cat reclines quietly in the parking lot, eyeballing his domain. Drivers, unwilling to incur the cat's wrath, watch dust, leaves and bird poop accumulate on their unused, unapproachable vehicles.

Screw the 're-homing' fee. We have cash, and a lot of it.

It's bad here. We need help.

Squirt me an email. We'll talk contracts and plausible deniability.

 

[kuntrygirl]

[COLOR=0000CD]Have I got one for ya'll![/COLOR]



Last Friday evening, my neighbors hauled the last vestiges of their meth-infused junk down the road, and out of my life--or so I thought. The only thing more inbred than my former neighbors, was their collection of cats. Wormy, ugly, three-eared, mouse murders.


The cats are pretty nasty too.


Apparently, I mistakenly thought that the four blue 50 gallon garbage pails duct taped atop their '85 Cavalier contained all their cats. Not quite so.


It seems the foulest of the foul eluded the dragnet, and has staked claim to the entire neighborhood. In the past, my dog, Snorp, would have gleefully dealt with the issue. Not this time.


Snorp has issues with cats. Serious issues.


The feline in question is the grisly remains of a 'fixing' gone wrong. Something unspeakable and foul went amiss during the procedure. Although I never learned the full story, I know for a fact that the cat left Kentucky before the investigation was completed and blame affixed. The vet closed his practice and is now known for his excessive alcohol intake. The story goes that the cat wandered aimlessly, leaving a trail of scorched earth and shredded bulldogs every step of the way. He somehow ended up with the neighbors, and they brought him here.


Where he still is.


That's the problem.


He's still here.


They called him 'Cat.' He is without a doubt the singularly most disgusting example of chain-smoking, anti-freeze swilling, hairball yakking Felis catus, ever seen.


He is big, surly, tri-lingual, mange/mite/lice/worm ridden and has the most profanity-laced vocabulary ever heard. He emits noxious odors from both ends and hisses in his sleep. He is badly disfigured by countless 'to-the-death' skirmishes, and marks his territory with the unrepentant zeal of the born-again. Clumps of dead, dying and matted hair cover the precious few unscarred patches of his emaciated body. His 'normal' foot has 7 toes. Both eyeballs constantly fight an unwinnable war to congregate in the same socket. Undiagnosed gastrointestinal issues cause a deep bowel-quivering rumble just prior to his uncontrolled high-pressure ejection of an eye-watering, grass-killing, tree-wilting, molten, steaming stream of 'kitty-poo.'


Like I said, in the past, Ol' Snorp would have savored the prospect of dealing with the problem, but things have changed for my dog recently.


After last week's short sortie against his feline adversary, Snorp bolted back into the house without stopping to open the door. True to form, Snorp paced relentlessly back and forth, chain-smoking and muttering, all the while casting a wary eye in the direction of the cat/destroyed front door. Constant trips to the toilet for slurps of cool, refreshing water left a trail of drool, cigarette butts and the occasional tear between the bathroom and Snorp's lookout.


Normally, I refuse to believe one word that comes out of Snorp. He is unrepentant liar and always has been. My view of him is changing. It was only after I saw him blessing himself and as he says, 'getting into the word,' that I detected a turning leaf.


Most mornings now, Snorp peers apprehensively through the pulled drapes, looking for his rival. He's smoking more, sleeping less and has taken twitching to a new level. Unexpected loud noises, such as the beating of a ladybug's wings down the street, reduces my once fearless warrior canine into a puddle-producing, tail-tucking, quivering mass of canine anxiety.


Someone needs to do something with this cat.


Property values have plummeted and the school district has re-routed its buses. Mail is no longer delivered. The police are unavailable. The neighborhood IQ has slipped and the internet has quit working. Milk sours in the refrigerator. A chilling, evil wind blows from the North.


The cat reclines quietly in the parking lot, eyeballing his domain. Drivers, unwilling to incur the cat's wrath, watch dust, leaves and bird poop accumulate on their unused, unapproachable vehicles.


Screw the 're-homing' fee. We have cash, and a lot of it.


It's bad here. We need help.


Squirt me an email. We'll talk contracts and plausible deniability.



 

DING DING DING!!!!!!

WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!

LOL LOL LOL LOL

This.is too funny. OMG!!!!! I LOVE IT. This should be voted The Best of Craigslist. Thanks for posting.

 

[Nelson-90]

Have I got one for ya'll!



Last Friday evening, my neighbors hauled the last vestiges of their meth-infused junk down the road, and out of my life--or so I thought. The only thing more inbred than my former neighbors, was their collection of cats. Wormy, ugly, three-eared, mouse murders.

The cats are pretty nasty too.

Apparently, I mistakenly thought that the four blue 50 gallon garbage pails duct taped atop their '85 Cavalier contained all their cats. Not quite so.

It seems the foulest of the foul eluded the dragnet, and has staked claim to the entire neighborhood. In the past, my dog, Snorp, would have gleefully dealt with the issue. Not this time.

Snorp has issues with cats. Serious issues.

The feline in question is the grisly remains of a 'fixing' gone wrong. Something unspeakable and foul went amiss during the procedure. Although I never learned the full story, I know for a fact that the cat left Kentucky before the investigation was completed and blame affixed. The vet closed his practice and is now known for his excessive alcohol intake. The story goes that the cat wandered aimlessly, leaving a trail of scorched earth and shredded bulldogs every step of the way. He somehow ended up with the neighbors, and they brought him here.

Where he still is.

That's the problem.

He's still here.

They called him 'Cat.' He is without a doubt the singularly most disgusting example of chain-smoking, anti-freeze swilling, hairball yakking Felis catus, ever seen.

He is big, surly, tri-lingual, mange/mite/lice/worm ridden and has the most profanity-laced vocabulary ever heard. He emits noxious odors from both ends and hisses in his sleep. He is badly disfigured by countless 'to-the-death' skirmishes, and marks his territory with the unrepentant zeal of the born-again. Clumps of dead, dying and matted hair cover the precious few unscarred patches of his emaciated body. His 'normal' foot has 7 toes. Both eyeballs constantly fight an unwinnable war to congregate in the same socket. Undiagnosed gastrointestinal issues cause a deep bowel-quivering rumble just prior to his uncontrolled high-pressure ejection of an eye-watering, grass-killing, tree-wilting, molten, steaming stream of 'kitty-poo.'

Like I said, in the past, Ol' Snorp would have savored the prospect of dealing with the problem, but things have changed for my dog recently.

After last week's short sortie against his feline adversary, Snorp bolted back into the house without stopping to open the door. True to form, Snorp paced relentlessly back and forth, chain-smoking and muttering, all the while casting a wary eye in the direction of the cat/destroyed front door. Constant trips to the toilet for slurps of cool, refreshing water left a trail of drool, cigarette butts and the occasional tear between the bathroom and Snorp's lookout.

Normally, I refuse to believe one word that comes out of Snorp. He is unrepentant liar and always has been. My view of him is changing. It was only after I saw him blessing himself and as he says, 'getting into the word,' that I detected a turning leaf.

Most mornings now, Snorp peers apprehensively through the pulled drapes, looking for his rival. He's smoking more, sleeping less and has taken twitching to a new level. Unexpected loud noises, such as the beating of a ladybug's wings down the street, reduces my once fearless warrior canine into a puddle-producing, tail-tucking, quivering mass of canine anxiety.

Someone needs to do something with this cat.

Property values have plummeted and the school district has re-routed its buses. Mail is no longer delivered. The police are unavailable. The neighborhood IQ has slipped and the internet has quit working. Milk sours in the refrigerator. A chilling, evil wind blows from the North.

The cat reclines quietly in the parking lot, eyeballing his domain. Drivers, unwilling to incur the cat's wrath, watch dust, leaves and bird poop accumulate on their unused, unapproachable vehicles.

Screw the 're-homing' fee. We have cash, and a lot of it.

It's bad here. We need help.

Squirt me an email. We'll talk contracts and plausible deniability.

im reading this to my girlfriend and we cannot stop laughing about it omg its funny

 

[oldrooster]

Have I got one for ya'll!



Last Friday evening, my neighbors hauled the last vestiges of their meth-infused junk down the road, and out of my life--or so I thought. The only thing more inbred than my former neighbors, was their collection of cats. Wormy, ugly, three-eared, mouse murders.

The cats are pretty nasty too.

Apparently, I mistakenly thought that the four blue 50 gallon garbage pails duct taped atop their '85 Cavalier contained all their cats. Not quite so.

It seems the foulest of the foul eluded the dragnet, and has staked claim to the entire neighborhood. In the past, my dog, Snorp, would have gleefully dealt with the issue. Not this time.

Snorp has issues with cats. Serious issues.

The feline in question is the grisly remains of a 'fixing' gone wrong. Something unspeakable and foul went amiss during the procedure. Although I never learned the full story, I know for a fact that the cat left Kentucky before the investigation was completed and blame affixed. The vet closed his practice and is now known for his excessive alcohol intake. The story goes that the cat wandered aimlessly, leaving a trail of scorched earth and shredded bulldogs every step of the way. He somehow ended up with the neighbors, and they brought him here.

Where he still is.

That's the problem.

He's still here.

They called him 'Cat.' He is without a doubt the singularly most disgusting example of chain-smoking, anti-freeze swilling, hairball yakking Felis catus, ever seen.

He is big, surly, tri-lingual, mange/mite/lice/worm ridden and has the most profanity-laced vocabulary ever heard. He emits noxious odors from both ends and hisses in his sleep. He is badly disfigured by countless 'to-the-death' skirmishes, and marks his territory with the unrepentant zeal of the born-again. Clumps of dead, dying and matted hair cover the precious few unscarred patches of his emaciated body. His 'normal' foot has 7 toes. Both eyeballs constantly fight an unwinnable war to congregate in the same socket. Undiagnosed gastrointestinal issues cause a deep bowel-quivering rumble just prior to his uncontrolled high-pressure ejection of an eye-watering, grass-killing, tree-wilting, molten, steaming stream of 'kitty-poo.'

Like I said, in the past, Ol' Snorp would have savored the prospect of dealing with the problem, but things have changed for my dog recently.

After last week's short sortie against his feline adversary, Snorp bolted back into the house without stopping to open the door. True to form, Snorp paced relentlessly back and forth, chain-smoking and muttering, all the while casting a wary eye in the direction of the cat/destroyed front door. Constant trips to the toilet for slurps of cool, refreshing water left a trail of drool, cigarette butts and the occasional tear between the bathroom and Snorp's lookout.

Normally, I refuse to believe one word that comes out of Snorp. He is unrepentant liar and always has been. My view of him is changing. It was only after I saw him blessing himself and as he says, 'getting into the word,' that I detected a turning leaf.

Most mornings now, Snorp peers apprehensively through the pulled drapes, looking for his rival. He's smoking more, sleeping less and has taken twitching to a new level. Unexpected loud noises, such as the beating of a ladybug's wings down the street, reduces my once fearless warrior canine into a puddle-producing, tail-tucking, quivering mass of canine anxiety.

Someone needs to do something with this cat.

Property values have plummeted and the school district has re-routed its buses. Mail is no longer delivered. The police are unavailable. The neighborhood IQ has slipped and the internet has quit working. Milk sours in the refrigerator. A chilling, evil wind blows from the North.

The cat reclines quietly in the parking lot, eyeballing his domain. Drivers, unwilling to incur the cat's wrath, watch dust, leaves and bird poop accumulate on their unused, unapproachable vehicles.

Screw the 're-homing' fee. We have cash, and a lot of it.

It's bad here. We need help.

Squirt me an email. We'll talk contracts and plausible deniability.

sorry this has been posted here before somewhere in the 4000 threads, because I remember reading it..... or someone else typed almost the same thing, but as I said old news.....

 

[zazouse]

That is funny i missed it before

 

[Nathan Sampson]

To funny. I really like this one.