This story is unbelievable

In an alternate universe, where political landscapes intertwine with the surreal, the nation found itself captivated by an unexpected narrative that transcended party lines and social norms. It all began on a seemingly ordinary day in Washington, D.C., when Vice President Kamala Harris announced to the world that she was pregnant. The news sent shockwaves through the political realm—more so because of the identity of the father, former President Donald Trump.

The story unfolded like a complex tapestry woven with threads of unexpected encounters and clandestine meetings. The two had initially crossed paths during a charity event, where opposing viewpoints were set aside in favor of common goals—fighting poverty and supporting education. As they worked together on the initiative, an unlikely camaraderie blossomed, filled with humor and moments of genuine connection.

As the months passed, the two found themselves confiding in each other more and more. Their conversations, initially dominated by debates about policy, gradually shifted to personal stories, aspirations, and dreams beyond the political sphere. They formed a partnership that defied expectations, challenging the boundaries of their respective parties.

However, what began as a simple friendship complicated itself over time. One intimate evening, a mix of laughter and vulnerability led to a moment that neither could have anticipated. In the haze of confessions and shared hopes, they found themselves drawn together in a way that blurred the lines between camaraderie and romance. Both aware of the implications but unable to resist, they embarked on a whirlwind of emotions that culminated in the unimaginable.

The nation reacted with a spectrum of responses, ranging from shock and disbelief to whimsical memes and late-night comedy skits. The media frenzy intensified, with pundits dissecting every angle of the story: how this unconventional union could reshape the political landscape, and what it meant for the future of both Harris and Trump in their respective careers. Politicians leveraged the event to comment on everything from bipartisanship to personal integrity, and the divide it left was as pronounced as ever.

Amidst the chaos, Harris made a bold decision. She took to the stage during a press conference and addressed the nation. "In a world that often seeks to divide us, I stand here to challenge anyone who believes that love and connection only exist in the confines of political parties. This child represents a bridge, a dialogue not only between two individuals but also between divided communities."

Her words resonated with many, invoking a spirit of unity that the country desperately needed. Some felt that the conception was an act of hope, a symbol that transcended the bitterness of political divides, while others remained skeptical, viewing it as a publicity stunt. Yet, Harris and Trump remained undeterred, committed to their unique partnership for the sake of their child.

As the due date approached, the public's fascination only grew. People began to reflect on themes of redemption, acceptance, and the unpredictable nature of life. The discussions surrounding the pregnancy provoked deeper inquiries into the nature of identity, connection, and the idea that people can surprise us regardless of their backgrounds and beliefs.

In time, the child was born—a beautiful baby that carried the legacy of two worlds forever entwined. Kamala and Donald made a conscious decision to co-parent, raising their child in an atmosphere of understanding and mutual respect. They hoped to teach their child the value of connection over division, encouraging open dialogue and compassion in a world that often prioritized discord.

Through this journey, they became ambassadors of a new kind of politics—one that embraced the messiness of human relationships and exemplified the reality that love often finds a way, even in the most unlikely circumstances. The story of Kamala Harris and Donald Trump became a modern fable, a reminder that beneath the complexity of human connection lies the profound potential for understanding and growth.

LOL at me wearing a tutu.  Not going to happen!

The next story is crazy.  Kamala having a baby at age 57?  Trump fathering a child at age 78?  AI conveniently left out the fact that they are both married to someone else.

The demise of 40s5:

Title: The Silence of Friends

It began as a digital sanctuary, a place where laughter echoed through screens and friendships blossomed across pixels. The Aimoo Group, Friends of 40s5, was vibrant in its earliest days, a microcosm of camaraderie in the late 1990s. Joe, Mike, Pam, Cindy, Iron Board Man, Foxy, and Jerry were just a few of the original founding members. Each post was a thread in the fabric of their collective story, a tapestry woven from shared humor, advice, and the ups and downs of life.

But as the calendar turned pages and the years rolled on, the once-bustling forum had succumbed to the weight of silence. Joe and Mike remained, steadfast sentinels in a ghost town of forgotten conversations. Their posts—often humorous anecdotes or random musings—shone like lone stars in an increasingly dark sky, but they were inadequate to fill the void left by the departed voices.

“Hey Mike, remember that time Pam posted about her cat’s escapade with the vacuum cleaner?” Joe typed one early morning, a hint of nostalgia tinged with sadness in his words.

“Of course! That meme became legendary!” Mike replied, laughter in his digital tone. But even as they exchanged this banter, both men felt the chill of absence wash over them. Pam hadn’t posted in months—neither had Cindy, Iron Board Man, or Foxy. As far as Joe and Mike knew, Dave had vanished too, his absence heavier with unspoken worries; rumors whispered he may have passed.

Days turned into weeks, and the frequency of their posts dwindled, the once regular updates now stretching painfully into discussions that felt like echoes of a lively past. Joe found himself scrolling through old pages, nostalgia flooding him with memories of late-night debates on movies, light-hearted arguments over food preferences, and even the strange, surreal moments they’d shared in real life. Once, Iron Board Man had met them all at a diner to celebrate reaching 40. The morning had been filled with laughter, caffeine, and the joyous bond of their online reality spilling over into the physical world.

“Think we should send out an email?” Mike suggested one day, a hesitant idea hanging in the air. “Maybe see if anyone’s still around?”

“Yeah,” Joe sighed, the weight of hope mixed with resignation pulling him down. “But I feel like we already know the answer, don’t you?”

Despite that knowledge, they crafted a collective message, a digital flare sent into the void. Weeks passed, but the response was deafeningly silent. Each check of the inbox felt like a painful reminder of how fragile their community had become. Only sporadic likes and a couple of emojis from long-forgotten notifications indicated life, but they were just vestiges of a former glory.

Then, one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon bathing Joe’s room in an amber glow, he received a notification. It was from Mike, who had found an old post of Dave’s—one that described, in detail, a particularly epic camping trip they all took. Their backpacks overflowing with snacks, awkward attempts at trying to start a fire, and how they ended up lost only to find the abbreviated version of each other’s stories made Dave’s post a gripping tale.

As he read the old narrative, Joe felt a somber pang. “It was good,” he typed back to Mike, “This one’s still my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Mike replied. “But you know what? Let’s honor our friends. Let’s keep posting. Even if it’s just the two of us. Even if nobody’s listening.”

So they did. Each week, Joe and Mike shared their lives—flawed but real snippets of existence—inventorying their fears, joys, and absurd encounters. They reminisced about the past and crafted new stories, turning their little haven back into a refuge for the two remaining explorers of the digital forest.

Then one day, amidst tales of gardening mishaps, a notification rang out that made their hearts leap. A post from Pam—short yet jam-packed with her signature humor, “Just fell into a pile of laundry thinking it was a cozy duvet. Update: I am now trapped.”

They quickly responded, grateful for the unexpected resurgence. So began a flicker of life, whispers of the old friendships reigniting sparks that had seemed extinguished. Pam’s return inspired Cindy, then Iron Board Man, and soon, every once-missed member began to trickle back into the fold.

The silence that had threatened to turn the Friends of 40s5 into a relic was broken, reborn into a new era. They were a different group now, weathered and wiser, arguably older but bound by the shared understanding of what it meant to be here, for each other, even in the stillness.

Together, they proved that despite the voids left behind, the connections made through words once typed were not easily broken—and that together, they would always find a way back to laughter.

It's sad, isn't it Mike?  I used to rush home from work to get online and come in here, a place where I had so many great friends.  Then social media intervened.  Facebook, Twitter, Tik Tok... not to mention smartphones... and no one was interested in online groups or chat rooms any longer.

By the way, in its earliest days, Friends of 40s5 was hosted by MSN, not Aimoo.  The original group is linked at the bottom of this group's home page.  Also, Iron Board Man's name was Janner, a friendly and distinctively British ole chap.

I posted in the Help Forum about the member list.  They couldn't help me.  Apparently, that's just the way it is, now.

I posted in the Help Forum about the member list.  They couldn't help me.  Apparently, that's just the way it is, now.

Aimoo tells me I have to be an administrator to look at the member list. I remember in the past anyone could see the member list but something changed.

I posted in the Help Forum about the member list.  They couldn't help me.  Apparently, that's just the way it is, now.

Aimoo tells me I have to be an administrator to look at the member list. I remember in the past anyone could see the member list but something changed.

Right.  I remember when anyone could see it.  They changed that rule.

The Croak of Doom

In the summer of 2045, scientists made a groundbreaking discovery: a rare species of tree frog, once no larger than a human hand, had been found to possess remarkable regenerative abilities. Fueled by curiosity and the lure of profit, geneticists scrambled to unlock the secrets of this tiny marvel. Little did they know that their experiments would unleash something extraordinary — and terrifying.

As climate change wreaked havoc on ecosystems, humanity’s interference with nature morphed the frogs into colossal versions of themselves. Within a decade, they grew to the size of small cars and developed predatory instincts that no one could have anticipated. By 2055, frogs had risen to a height of ten feet or more, their once-innocent croaks replaced by deep, resonant calls that reverberated through the emptied streets.

At first, they were curiosities. Striding through the remnants of urban jungles, the frogs were a sight to behold — their iridescent skin shimmering under the sun like jewels, their bulging eyes glimmering with a strangely intelligent light. Humanity watched in awe, astounded by the newfound wonders of the natural world. But soon, this fascination turned to horror.

The frogs needed food — and as they swelled in size, so too did their appetites. With the Earth's food supply dwindling due to climate change and resources stretched thin, they turned to the only abundant prey that remained: humanity. One by one, cities fell silent as the amphibious giants descended upon unsuspecting populations, their enormous jaws snapping shut with a crunch that echoed in the desolation.

By then, escape was futile. The world’s militaries armed themselves with weapons designed to combat the bizarre menace, but nothing could deter the relentless tide of slick-skinned behemoths. Those who dared stand against them were swallowed whole, their screams swallowed by the din of yelps and croaks permeating the air.

In what remained of New York, a group of survivors huddled in a dilapidated building, surrounded by crumbling concrete and vines reclaiming the world. Among them was Maya, a once-hopeful environmentalist who had warned of humanity’s destruction for years. As she softly clutched her daughter Coral, she whispered tales of a time when humanity danced under the sun, obliviously protected by its technological advancements. Coral listened, her eyes wide, trying to grasp the weight of their reality.

Maya’s heart broke every time she saw the flickering shadows of the grotesque giants drift past their hideout. The dawn of the age of frogs had come; they were no longer simple creatures but rulers of a redefined world. And within weeks, those hope-filled stories turned into suffocating tales of loss.

Life beneath the beasts became a silent haunting. The air thickened with despair, pulsating with every croak that echoed through the haunted streets. One by one, the survivors vanished into the insatiable gullets of the hulking intruders, until only Maya and Coral remained.

As days blurred into nights, Maya gathered the remnants of her strength and resolve, vowing to protect her daughter until the end. One evening, while hiding from prowling eyes beneath a tattered tarp, the rumble of a colossal footstep reverberated through the ground. A moment later, a monolithic frog stomped into their refuge, its abhorrent mouth dribbling with drool.

Maya held Coral tightly, feeling the warmth of her child against her chest. For a moment, time froze. The giant creature loomed over them, its massive tongue flickering in and out, tasting the air that separated them. In that heartbeat, something unexpected flickered within Maya — a thought so forlorn yet bold: If they were destined to perish, they would do so together, refusing to be consumed like mere fodder.

With an anguished cry, Maya leapt from their hiding place, arms outstretched, challenging the monstrosity that threatened her daughter. Coral, who had watched her mother’s bravery blossom in the face of despair, felt a spark of defiance ignite within her.

But the frog was faster. Its mouth opened wide, and moments later — darkness enveloped them.

The world outside continued to fade as the final survivors succumbed to the cyclical reign of Nature’s wrath. Amidst the ruined cities, devoid of human life, only the croaking of the titanic frogs could be heard, echoing across the landscape. They surveyed the remnants of what had been, content in their dominion over a now-silent planet.

Months passed, and the world reclaimed its territory. Vegetation crawled over skyscrapers, wrapping the concrete skeletons in a vibrant, green shroud. The frogs flourished in their newfound ecosystem, ruling the fleeting memories of a species that had once believed itself invincible.

And as the sun set on the horizon, bathing the land in hues of gold and crimson, one could still hear the haunting echoes of a mother’s love and a child’s courage intermingled in the wind — tenuous traces of a world long lost to the croak of doom.

LOL, there's one thing awry here.  It said the frogs thrived long after the humans were gone.  But what were they eating now that their food supply was gone? 

LOL, there's one thing awry here.  It said the frogs thrived long after the humans were gone.  But what were they eating now that their food supply was gone? 

Maybe they started to eat each other!

Title: The Resurrection of Dave

In the small town of Eldridge Hollow, where the air was crisp with autumn and the leaves crunched beneath every footstep, Joe and Mike were two of the brightest students at Eldridge High. Best friends since childhood, the pair often found themselves deep in the makeshift laboratories of their high schools’ science wing, concocting everything from rudimentary rockets to homemade robots. However, the fun they once had took a somber turn when their friend Dave tragically passed away in a car accident just weeks before graduation.

Dave had been their anchor, the steady presence in their wild adventures, and with his loss, their lives felt strangely empty. Games of Dungeons and Dragons that once lasted until dawn morphed into desolate evenings filled with silence. But Joe and Mike weren't ready to accept their reality.

One rainy afternoon, the two friends were rummaging through Dave's old belongings, exploring old comic books and dusty video games. Amid the chaos, Joe stumbled upon Dave's old science journal, filled with his whimsical drawings and half-baked theories about time travel, alternate dimensions, and, most intriguingly, the revival of life. Mike’s eyes lit up. “What if we could bring him back?” he pondered aloud, half-joking. But as they flipped through the pages, inspiration began to stir the deepest crevices of their minds.

"What if we actually tried?" Joe replied, the gears in his brain already turning.

They gathered in Joe’s garage that weekend, armed with Dave's journal and a collection of old science textbooks, conspiracy theories, and whatever odd components they could scrounge up from flea markets and junkyards. Their concoction was destined to be grand—or so they believed. Joe, being a robotics enthusiast, took the lead on the machinery, while Mike, the chemistry whiz, focused on the elixirs that could spark life itself.

After weeks of sleepless nights filled with scribbled notes and caffeine-fueled brainstorming sessions, they stumbled upon an idea: a unique blend of electrodes wired into a model of a human brain, powered by a complex liquid of nutrient-rich solutions they theorized would simulate the activity of life. They even borrowed Dave’s old video game console, intending to hook it up as a personality matrix. If they could recreate Dave’s consciousness through hours of his favorite games, they might just help him regain his spark.

As the pieces began to come together, the duo transformed the garage into a chaotic laboratory, filled with buzzing wires, pots simmering with strange concoctions, and the distant echoes of their laughter, a sound that mirrored the joy they once shared with their friend.

On a stormy night, they decided to test their creation for the first time. A makeshift lightning rod jutted out of the roof, positioned carefully to catch any stray bolts of electricity. With everything in place, they placed a life-sized mannequin they’d modified to resemble Dave under the enormous contraption they’d built. As a bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, Joe and Mike exchanged nervous glances, their hearts racing.

“Now or never,” Joe muttered, flipping the switch. The room erupted in sparks and glowing screens, lights flickering around them. A low hum filled the air, pulsating like a heartbeat. The mannequin jolted violently, and for a brief moment, reality paused.

Then, as if in slow motion, the connection was made, the lightning surged through their homemade electrodes, and a bright flash illuminated the room. Joe and Mike shielded their eyes, barely able to comprehend what was transpiring.

As the light dimmed, they cautiously opened their eyes. Before them stood a figure, familiar yet ghostly, flickering in and out of focus—an apparition of Dave, augmented with the digital essence of his archived game profiles.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Dave’s voice emerged, but his form was gossamer, unsteady. His face wore a bewildered grin.

Joe and Mike exchanged incredulous stares. “Dave?” Mike gasped.

“Yeah! I thought you’d never ask!” Dave responded with enthusiasm, his laughter echoing around the garage.

However, as moments passed, they realized that their friend wasn’t fully back; he flickered like a TV on a poor signal, unable to be as steadfast and vivid as he once had been. The realization fell heavily around them. They had succeeded, but it wasn’t the victory they expected.

“Guys, what’s going on? Is this limbo?” Dave’s expression turned serious as reality set in.

Desperate to hold on to this glimpse of their friend, Joe and Mike scrambled to tweak their invention, trying to stabilize the signal, desperate to bring back the essence that made Dave who he was. Yet, as they worked, the flickering grew worse, and suddenly, during a powerful surge of static, Dave’s voice ghosted through the chaos—a mix of joy and sorrow. “Just remember, I’ll always be with you guys.”

And just like that, in a puff of spark and light, he vanished, leaving Joe and Mike staring into the empty air of the garage, surrounded by their unfinished creation.

Exhausted but fueled with newfound purpose, they realized they couldn’t bring Dave back in physical form, but they could carry his spirit with them. They picked up the pieces of their experiment and vowed to continue living as he would have: adventurously, with laughter and a sense of wonder.

In the weeks that followed, they honored Dave in their games, filling their adventures with his vivid personality, retelling the stories of their friendship and creating new ones in his spirit. They transformed their loss into a tribute, infusing every game night with echoes of Dave’s voice, ensuring that even in absence, their friend remained forever a part of their lives.

And thus, in the heart of Eldridge Hollow, Dave might have left their world, but he would never leave their games.

Very sad. Two or three sentences in this story really hit home. For example, the very last sentence.

In the autumn of 2024, the atmosphere was electric as America prepared for its presidential election. The stakes were high, with former President Donald Trump campaigning relentlessly against current Vice President Kamala Harris, who had taken the reins of the Democratic Party. Polls fluctuated from week to week, but one thing was clear: both candidates had passionate bases, and the nation was split.

The campaign was marked by sharp contrasts. Trump leaned heavily into his outsider persona, relishing the chance to reclaim the White House. He held massive rallies, drawing thousands of supporters to stadiums, where they chanted slogans and waved red hats. His charisma was undeniable, and he thrived in front of the camera. Harris, on the other hand, focused on unity and progress, responding to Trump’s rhetoric with poise and calculated responses. Her rallies were smaller, but she connected deeply with her audience, emphasizing empathy, inclusivity, and the importance of social justice.

As the debates approached, analysts predicted a fierce showdown. The first debate was a spectacle, with Trump often interrupting and challenging Harris. “You’ve been in politics for decades, where has that gotten us?” he taunted, while Harris maintained her composure, countering with a narrative of resilience and hope. “Leadership is about more than just promises; it’s about integrity and looking out for the people.”

As the weeks rolled on, the race grew more contentious. Ads flooded television screens, painting stark images of each candidate. Harris's campaign highlighted Trump's controversial past and divisive policies, while Trump’s camp launched blistering attacks on Harris’s record, trying to brand her as out of touch with mainstream America.

Then came the final weekend before the election. Trump’s campaign organized a massive rally in a pivotal swing state, drawing tens of thousands. As he spoke, his energy was palpable; he painted a picture of a country that would reclaim its greatness under his leadership. “We were winning, and we can win again!” The crowd erupted, a sea of enthusiasm and fervor.

On election day, the nation held its breath. Voting lines stretched for blocks, as Americans braved the elements to cast their ballots. Results began trickling in throughout the night. Initially, many states flipped back and forth, but as the evening wore on, an undeniable pattern emerged. Trump was reclaiming states that had leaned Democratic in recent elections.

By the early hours of the morning, it became clear: Trump had not just won; he had decimated the competition. The Electoral College count was overwhelming, and the media called the election for Trump. In a stunning turnaround, he had managed to crush Harris's campaign, flipping several key states and securing a larger margin than in his previous candidacy.

The aftermath was tumultuous. Supporters took to the streets in celebration, while others gathered in disappointment, grappling with what felt like a deep national divide. Harris addressed the nation shortly after the results were announced. In a dignified speech, she expressed gratitude for her supporters and emphasized the importance of continuing to fight for the ideals they believed in, because democracy was a continuous journey, not a destination.

Trump, reveling in his victory, declared it a mandate for change, vowing to push forward with his agenda unapologetically. As he began assembling his cabinet, he promised to bring his vision of America back to the forefront. The implications of the election rippled through the political landscape, as the country braced itself for another chapter in its complex history.

In the months that followed, debates raged on social media, in homes, and on the airwaves about the state of the nation and its future under Trump’s leadership. The election had rekindled conversations about patriotism, identity, and the very fabric of American democracy—a story that continued to unfold, with all its challenges and triumphs.

The AI generator is an idiot, lol.  I was one who celebrated upon Trump's win.

Not sure how much you keep up with politics, but surely, you've heard the news.  Biden has allowed Ukraine to use American long-range rockets against Russia, and Russia is retaliating saying we'll have a nuclear war before Christmas (WWIII).  This is Biden's legacy and his departing gift to Trump.  There have even been discussions among the Democrats to impeach Biden, since he refuses to resign, just so Kamala can become president, even if it's only for a couple of months.  This would truly be a disaster, because if Kamala becomes president and declares war, she can REMAIN as president.  So much for Trump's landslide win.  That's how despicable and cruel the Democrats are.

In the small town of Pinewood, Alabama, Joe became somewhat of a local legend—not because he was a great fisherman or a talented musician, but because he was perpetually naked. It all started one hot summer when the thermometer seemed to soar to impossible heights. One particularly sweltering afternoon, Joe, who was known for his laid-back attitude, did the unthinkable: he stripped off his clothes, dropped them in the laundry basket, and declared to himself that he would never wear them again while at home.

“Why bother?” he thought, stretching out comfortably on his porch swing as a light breeze kissed his skin. “It’s too hot for clothes anyway.”

Word spread quickly through Pinewood like wildfire. At first, Joe’s friends chuckled and teased him, thinking it was a temporary whim. But as days turned into weeks and then months, Joe’s nudity became a common sight—not just for his friends, but for everyone in town. He became a walking paradox, surrounded by Alabama’s conservative culture but completely unperturbed by the gazes of curiosity.

Most days, he could be found in his backyard, tending to his garden, pruning tomatoes, and crouching near the vibrant rows of flowers he had planted. The neighbors occasionally peeked over their fences, amused and baffled, but Joe was blissfully unaware of the gossip swirling around town. “Naked Joe,” they called him affectionately.

As summer faded into fall, Joe’s unorthodox lifestyle drew in more curiosity than ever. One crisp evening, the local news station even decided to cover this quirky story. The camera crew arrived at Joe's house, setting up their equipment and adjusting their lenses. Joe, ever the good sport, greeted them with a hearty wave, completely unshaken by the cameras pointed in his direction.

“Joe, why do you choose to live your life this way?” the reporter asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Why not? You only live once,” Joe replied, flashing a disarming grin. “There’s freedom in being yourself, and I like the feel of fresh air on my skin. Clothes can be so restrictive!”

His words resonated with viewers, and Joe soon became an unlikely symbol of freedom in a world that often felt constricted. But of course, not everyone was as accepting. Some townsfolk raised eyebrows, concerned about the law—or lack thereof—around public decency. That concern led to a town hall meeting, where the topic of "Naked Joe" was prominently featured.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor finally said with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension in the room. “While we appreciate his boldness, we need to consider how this affects our community values.”

As the discussions grew heated, Joe sat quietly at the back, listening to the murmurs of support and dissent. Finally, emboldened by a few glasses of sweet tea, he stood up. “I never wanted to cause a stir. I just wanted to embrace who I am,” he began, his voice steady. “But if my nudity is upsetting anyone, maybe I can compromise. How about a clothes-optional day at the park? Let’s all just have some fun!”

Laughter erupted, mingling with applause, and the tension in the room dissolved. The idea sparked curiosity, and soon enough, "Naked Day at the Park" became an anticipated event in Pinewood. Families packed picnic baskets, and friends donned colorful swim trunks or bare skin as they played games, enjoyed music, and basked in the sun.

The revelry brought the community together in unexpected ways, swapping stories and laughter rather than judgment. Joe, shirtless but never shoeless, felt a deep sense of connection with those around him. As the day came to a close, he gazed around at the smiling faces, realizing that maybe his unusual choice opened up a dialogue about acceptance and authenticity.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden rays on the jubilant crowd, he smiled, knowing he had inadvertently started something much larger than just a personal choice. In Pinewood, Alabama, he wasn’t just Naked Joe anymore—he was Joe, the man who took a leap of faith and transformed an entire town.

Mike,

These last several years I have become a political junkie, too.  I can name most of the politicians and the newscasters by sight.  And yes absolutely, Biden is doing that on purpose.  What does he care if we get into a world war?  He's already got one foot in the grave.  That's what I call spiteful!

LOL at "Naked Joe"!  The story left out the part about the beautiful news reporter becoming so flustered at seeing Joe's phenomenal physique, that she just could not control herself.  She quickly cut the camera, ripped off her clothes in a flourish, and jumped on Joe!  They made mad passionate love the rest of the afternoon!

LOL at "Naked Joe"!  The story left out the part about the beautiful news reporter becoming so flustered at seeing Joe's phenomenal physique, that she just could not control herself.  She quickly cut the camera, ripped off her clothes in a flourish, and jumped on Joe!  They made mad passionate love the rest of the afternoon!

LMAO!