it is a comedist film .i like it very much althoght it haven't any subject and good reason and it have bad section in last the film

it's about man with 21 ages but he is as short as a baby with 3 ages.this man is a rober and work with his friend .they plan to snatch the most expensive jewerly from a musem .that little man is going to a bag and his friend bring that bag to the musem .he start to speak with the armorer of that jewerly and put the bag down and then the little man in the bag move the bag under the jewerly table and with annular take tath jewerly and they go out of there but  a cat move to that bag and they start to fight to each other untile the armorer know the jewerly had snatch .this time they escape and police follow them.little man put the jewerly in a woman bag to police can't take that so he has to take it pass the jewerly from that woman and they go and follow her to find her house .they make a plan to go yo that house and that is the little man is a baby in the bascket and hold it in front of that house

The agent in charge of the investigation called a nearby pizza parlor with delivery service to order a quick dinner for his colleagues. The following telephone conversation took place and was recorded by the FBI because they were taping all conversations at the hospital.

Agent: Hello. I'd like to order 19 large pizzas and 3 cases of soda.

Pizza Man: And where would you like them delivered?

Agent: We're over at the psychiatric hospital.

Pizza Man: The psychiatric hospital?

Agent: That's right. I'm an FBI agent.

Pizza Man: You're an FBI agent?

Agent: That's correct. Just about everybody here is.

Pizza Man: And you're at the psychiatric hospital?

Agent: That's correct. And make sure you don't go through the front doors. We have them locked. You'll have to go around to the back service entrance to deliver the pizzas.

Pizza Man: And you say you're all FBI agents there?

Agent: That's right. How soon can you have them here?

Pizza Man: Everyone at the psychiatric hospital is an FBI agent?

Agent: That's right. We've been here all day and we're starving.

Pizza Man: How are you going to pay for all of this?

Agent: We've collected a pool of cash.

Pizza Man: And you're all FBI agents?

Agent: Yes.

Pizza Man: With guns?

Agent: That's right. Now, can you remember to bring the pizzas and sodas to the service entrance in the rear? We have the front doors locked.

Pizza Man: You must be crazy

 !

An traveler was stumbling through the desert, desperate for water, then he saw something, far off in the distance.

Hoping to find water, he walked towards the image, only to find a little old peddler sitting at a card table with a bunch of neckties laid out.

The parched wanderer asked, "Please, I'm dying of thirst, can I have some water?"

The man replied "I don't have any water, but why don't you buy a tie? Here's one that goes nicely with your clothes."

The desperate man shouted, "I don't want a tie, you idiot, I need water!"

"OK, don't buy a tie. But to show you what a nice guy I am, I'll tell you that over that hill there, about 5 miles, is a nice restaurant. Walk that way, they'll give you all the water you want."

The man thanked the peddler and walked away towards the hill and eventually disappeared out of sight.

Three hours later he returned.

The man at the card table asked, "I told you, about 5 miles over that hill. Couldn't you find it?"

"I found it all right. They wouldn't let me in without a tie."

Aldington, christened Edward Godfree, was born at Portsmouth, Hampshire, England, on July 8, 1892. At an early age, he moved with his mother, Jesse May, and father, middle-class lawer Albert Edward Aldington, to Dover. There he grew up with his sister Margery and attended preparatory schools, after which he studied for four years at Dover College.

Childhood by Richard Aldington

The bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood
Put me out of love with God.
I can't believe in God's goodness;
I can believe
In many avenging gods.
Most of all I believe
In gods of bitter dullness,
Cruel local gods
Who scared my childhood.

II

I've seen people put
A chrysalis in a match-box,
"To see," they told me, "what sort of moth would come."
But when it broke its shell
It slipped and stumbled and fell about its prison
And tried to climb to the light
For space to dry its wings.

That's how I was.
Somebody found my chrysalis
And shut it in a match-box.
My shrivelled wings were beaten,
Shed their colours in dusty scales
Before the box was opened
For the moth to fly.

III

I hate that town;
I hate the town I lived in when I was little;
I hate to think of it.
There wre always clouds, smoke, rain
In that dingly little valley.
It rained; it always rained.
I think I never saw the sun until I was nine --
And then it was too late;
Everything's too late after the first seven years.

The long street we lived in
Was duller than a drain
And nearly as dingy.
There were the big College
And the pseudo-Gothic town-hall.
There were the sordid provincial shops --
The grocer's, and the shops for women,
The shop where I bought transfers,
And the piano and gramaphone shop
Where I used to stand
Staring at the huge shiny pianos and at the pictures
Of a white dog looking into a gramaphone.

How dull and greasy and grey and sordid it was!
On wet days -- it was always wet --
I used to kneel on a chair
And look at it from the window.

The dirty yellow trams
Dragged noisily along
With a clatter of wheels and bells
And a humming of wires overhead.
They threw up the filthy rain-water from the hollow lines
And then the water ran back
Full of brownish foam bubbles.

There was nothing else to see --
It was all so dull --
Except a few grey legs under shiny black umbrellas
Running along the grey shiny pavements;
Sometimes there was a waggon
Whose horses made a strange loud hollow sound
With their hoofs
Through the silent rain.

And there was a grey museum
Full of dead birds and dead insects and dead animals
And a few relics of the Romans -- dead also.
There was a sea-front,
A long asphalt walk with a bleak road beside it,
Three piers, a row of houses,
And a salt dirty smell from the little harbour.

I was like a moth --
Like one of those grey Emperor moths
Which flutter through the vines at Capri.
And that damned little town was my match-box,
Against whose sides I beat and beat
Until my wings were torn and faded, and dingy
As that damned little town.

IV

At school it was just as dull as that dull High Street.
The front was dull;
The High Street and the other street were dull --
And there was a public park, I remember,
And that was damned dull, too,
With its beds of geraniums no one was allowed to pick,
And its clipped lawns you weren't allowed to walk on,
And the gold-fish pond you mustn't paddle in,
And the gate made out of a whale's jaw-bones,
And the swings, which were for "Board-School children,"
And its gravel paths.

And on Sundays they rang the bells,
From Baptist and Evangelical and Catholic churches.
They had a Salvation Army.
I was taken to a High Church;
The parson's name was Mowbray,
"Which is a good name but he thinks too much of it --"
That's what I heard people say.

I took a little black book
To that cold, grey, damp, smelling church,
And I had to sit on a hard bench,
Wriggle off it to kneel down when they sang psalms
And wriggle off it to kneel down when they prayed,
And then there was nothing to do
Except to play trains with the hymn-books.

There was nothing to see,
Nothing to do,
Nothing to play with,
Except that in an empty room upstairs
There was a large tin box
Containing reproductions of the Magna Charta,
Of the Declaration of Independence
And of a letter from Raleigh after the Armada.
There were also several packets of stamps,
Yellow and blue Guatemala parrots,
Blue stags and red baboons and birds from Sarawak,
Indians and Men-of-war
From the United States,
And the green and red portraits
Of King Francobello
Of Italy.

V

I don't believe in God.
I do believe in avenging gods
Who plague us for sins we never sinned
But who avenge us.

That's why I'll never have a child,
Never shut up a chrysalis in a match-box
For the moth to spoil and crush its brght colours,
Beating its wings against the dingy prison-wall.

Sophie Hannah was born in 1971 in Manchester. She was educated at the University of Manchester, where she studied English Literature and Spanish. Fellow Commoner in the Creative Arts at Trinity College, Cambridge, and a Fellow of Wolfson College, Oxford, she currently teaches at Manchester Metropolitan University's Writing School. She was awarded an Eric Gregory Award in 1995 and was a Patron for the Swansea Year of Literature in the same year

Leaving and Leaving You by Sophie Hannah

life is too short has two meaning when we immited one{o} examp

life is to short :this mean life is in the short 

but

life is too short:this mean life is low

A fellow finds a bottle and when he opens it a genie pops out and grants him three wishes.but whatever you7 wish for you wife gets double.i would like a million,he says.poof, he has a million fdollers but his ex gets two! i would like a big house,he says.poof he gets a big house and his wife gets two.thirdv wish the geni says?pick up that stick beside you and beat me half to dead