Friday humour - May 28, 1999

     From Tony at Bluehaze:

    Yo,
And time for a bit more nonsense to go with the end of the week.  We've
had a few new names popping onto the list over the past few months
(another 5 today), so welcome to all of you.  By the way - don't hesitate
to drop me a quick E-Mail if you do have a friend you'd like to include
on the list - it only takes me a couple of minutes to add or remove names.

Anyway - the first contribution this week is from Kate D H over at Kodak -
this is definitely in the running for the best super-short joke yet:
                       >-------------------------<


A man walks into a psychiatrist's office wearing only underwear made of
cling film.

The psychiatrist says, "Well, I can clearly see you're nuts."
   +--------------------------------------------------------------------+


   This next one's similarly a recent arrival - and not that much longer
   than Kate D's.  Forwarded on by Brian in the UK (aquaintence of DAJR):
                       >-------------------------<

The Rev. Ian Paisley was seated next to President Clinton on a recent
flight to Ireland.  Once the plane was airborne, the flight attendant came
around for drink orders.  The President asked for a whisky & soda, which
was brought and placed before him.  The attendant then asked the minister
if he would also like a drink.

The Rev. Paisley replied in disgust, "Ma'am, I'd rather be savagely raped
by a brazen whore than let liquor touch these lips."

The President promptly handed his drink back to the attendant and said,
"I'm sorry - I didn't know there was a choice ..."
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


      Now let's indulge in a couple from the infamous "list out west".
      These actually arrived about a year ago (May 5th, to be exact),
      when the name of that list was still "Deviants":
                       >-------------------------<

One day, as Mother was playing bridge with her lady friends, her young
son came rushing in, "I wanna piss!  I wanna piss!" he screamed.  Mother
hurried the young lad to the bathroom, and instructed him to refrain from
using the word "piss" and instead whisper.

The next day, when Mother was having tea with her lady friends, in came
the young lad, this time screaming, "I need to whisper!  I need to
whisper!"  Despite not getting it completely right, Mother rewarded him
for his obedience.

So, that night when Mother was out, the young lad awoke, finding nature
calling.  He ran out in great urgency to where his father sat reading the
paper.  "What's wrong son?"

"I need to whisper!  I need to whisper!" he screamed.

"Alright" said father, "come and whisper in my ear."
                          # -- # -- # -- # -- #

    ... and, on drunkeness ...


                         THE 5 STAGES OF DRUNKENESS

Stage 1 - SMART

This is when you suddenly become an expert on every subject in the known
Universe.  You know you know everything and want to pass on your knowledge
to anyone who will listen.  At this stage you are always RIGHT.  And of
course the person you are talking to is very WRONG.  This makes for an
interesting argument when both parties are SMART.

Stage 2 - GOOD LOOKING

This is when you realise that you are the BEST LOOKING person in the
entire bar and that people fancy you.  You can go up to a perfect stranger
knowing they fancy you and really want to talk to you.Bear in mind that
you are still SMART, so you can talk to this person about any subject
under the sun.

Stage 3 - RICH

This is when you suddenly become the richest person in the world.  You
can buy drinks for the entire bar, because you have an armoured truck
full of money parked behind the bar.  You can also make bets at this
stage, because of course, you are still SMART, so naturally you will win
all your bets.  It doesn't matter how much you bet 'cos you are RICH.  You
will also buy drinks for everyone that you fancy, because now you are the
BEST LOOKING person in the world.

Stage 4 - BULLET PROOF

You are now ready to pick fights with anyone and everyone, especially
those with whom you have been betting or arguing.  This is because nothing
can hurt you.  At this point you can also go up to the partners of the
people who you fancy and challenge to a battle of wits or money.  You have
no fear of losing this battle because you are SMART, you are RICH and
hell, you're BETTER LOOKING than they are anyway!

Stage 5 - INVISIBLE

This is the Final Stage of Drunkenness.  At this point you can do anything
because NO ONE CAN SEE YOU.  You dance on a table to impress the people
who you fancy because the rest of the people in the room cannot see you.
You are also invisible to the person who wants to fight you.  You can walk
through the street singing at the top of your lungs, because no one can
see or hear you, and because you're still SMART you know all the words.
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


     Now back to another recent one - from David over at Telstra:
                       >-------------------------<


      NEXT TIME YOU THINK YOU'RE HAVING A BAD DAY, JUST REMEMBER ...

1.  The average cost of rehabilitating a seal after the Exxon Valdez oil
spill in Alaska was $80,000.  At a special ceremony, two of the most
expensively saved animals were released back into the wild amid cheers
and applause from onlookers.  A minute later they were both eaten by a
killer whale.

2.  In 1992, Frank Perkins of Los Angeles made an attempt on the world
flagpole-sitting record.  Suffering from the 'flu, he came down eight
hours short of the 400 day record.  He found that his sponsor had gone
bust, his girlfriend had left him, and his telephone and electricity had
both been cut off.

3.  A woman came home to find her husband in the kitchen, shaking
frantically with what looked like a wire running from his waist towards
the electric kettle.  Intending to jolt him away from the deadly current,
she whacked him with a handy 4x2 by the back door, breaking his arm in two
places.  Unfortunately, until that moment, he had been happily listening
to his Walkman.

4.  Two animal-rights protesters were protesting at the cruelty of sending
pigs to a slaughterhouse in Bonn.  Suddenly the pigs - all two thousand of
them - escaped through a broken fence and stampeded, trampling the two
hapless protesters to death.

  And the capper.......

5.  Iraqi terrorist, Khay Rahnajet, didn't pay enough postage on a letter
bomb.  It came back with "Return To Sender" stamped on it.  Not realising
what it was, he opened it - and was blown to bits.
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


    Now for a quickie from John Stevens (this is slightly naughty):
                       >-------------------------<

Joe went to the doctor with a red rash covering his face.  The doctor
examined his patient and explained that he really understood his problem
because he, too, had once had exactly the same condition.

"What did you do to get rid of it?", asked Joe.

The doctor replied, "Well, I rubbed my face in my wife's twat every day
for two weeks and, miraculously, it just cleared up.  I'd suggest you do
the same, and come back to see me in a couple of weeks."

Two weeks later, Joe returned to the doctor.  The doctor examined his face
and said, "Joe - you look great!  There's not even a blemish on your face."

Joe replied, "Thanks, doc - that treatment really worked!  And by the
way, what a lovely house you have."
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


      Now for one from Martha Hills - good "groan" material for that
      next Dinner party:
                       >-------------------------<

A guy is eating in a fancy restaurant, and there's this gorgeous blonde
hunk eating at the next table.  He's been checking her out all night, but
lacks the nerve to go and talk to her.   Suddenly, she sneezes, and her
glass eye comes flying out of her socket towards the man.  He reflexively
grabs and snatches it out of the air.

"Oh my god, I am so-o-o sorry, " said the woman, as she popped her eye
back in place.  "Let me buy you dinner to make it up to you."

The guy leapt at the offer.  They enjoyed a wonderful dinner together,
and afterwards, the woman invited him back to her lovely home for a
drink.  Then they went back to her house, and after they'd talked a
while, she led him into the bedroom and began undressing him.  Then they
made wild, passionate, and very tender love - over and over - all night
long.

The next morning as he awakened, he discovered she'd already risen, and
had brought him the most delicious breakfast - in bed.  The guy was
amazed.  "You know - you are just the most wonderful and perfect woman!
Are you this nice to every guy you meet?"

"No," she replied ...


   .....


( Now, wait for it ... )




( Scroll Down ... )




( It's coming ... )



    |  |  |
    V  V  V



( The suspense is killing you ... )





"You just happened to catch my eye."
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


      Following last weeks "DEAR BOB" column (as forwarded on by David
      (Fifi) McC), it may be appropriate for some "women's wisdom".  This
      comes in the form of a few more "one liners":
                       >-------------------------<


                          WOMEN'S WORDS OF WISDOM

Go for younger men.  You might as well, they never mature anyway.

Men are all the same - they just have different faces so you can tell
them apart.

Never do housework.  No man ever made love to a woman because the house
was spotless.

If they can put a man on the moon - they should be able to put them all
there.

Sadly, all men are created equal.

Woman *don't* make fools of men - most of them are the do-it-yourself types.

The best way to get a man to do something is to suggest they are too old
for it.

If you want a committed man, look in a mental hospital.

Woman sleep with men who, if they were women, they wouldn*t even have
bothered to have lunch with.

If he asks you if *you're* faking it, tell him no, you*re just practising.

Boring men are like snot - they get up your nose.

Remember you are known by the idiot you accompany.

*Don't* imagine you can change a man - unless he's in nappies!

So many men - so many reasons not to sleep with any of them.

Tell him you're not his type.  You have a pulse.

Never let your man's mind wander - it's too little to be let out alone.

The only reason men are on this planet is because vibrators can't dance or
buy drinks (men can dance???).

Never sleep with a man who's named his willy.

There are two significant factors in a man's life - and they are both his
mother.

There are a lot of words that you can use to describe men - strong,
caring, loving.  They're wrong - but you could still use them.

If he asks what sort of books you're interested in, tell him "cheque
books".

When he asks you if he's your first, tell him, "You may be.  You look
familiar".

The main point of having a boyfriend is so that he can one day graduate to
the exalted status of a "former boyfriend".
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


      And now for something longer.  Forwarded on by no less than Nicki
      Agron-Olshina, Paul Jeffery, Steve Tassios *and* John Sharples.
      Most of you have *probably* seen this, but just in case you haven't:
                       >-------------------------<

For the politically aware, skip the first (serious) bit, and go straight
to Tim Ferguson's "real preamble".

                      PREAMBLE TO THE CONSTITUTION

The Federal Coalition Joint Party Room has today overwhelmingly endorsed
a draft preamble to the Federal Constitution to be put to the Australian
people in conjunction with the referendum on whether Australia should
become a republic later this year.

In issuing the text of that draft the Federal Government is inviting
public comment on it and that comment will be considered before the final
preamble document is put to the Australian electorate.

The preamble itself will be a schedule to an Act authorising the matter
to be submitted to a referendum.  That legislation will be circulated by
the Federal Attorney-General, the Hon Daryl Williams MP.

The legislation will contain a clause declaring that the preamble has no
legal force or effect and cannot be invoked in the interpretation of the
Commonwealth Constitution.  The text of the draft preamble approved by the
Joint Party Room is attached.


     23 March 1999

     DRAFT PREAMBLE

With hope in God, the Commonwealth of Australia is constituted by the
equal sovereignty of all its citizens.

The Australian nation is woven together of people from many ancestries
and arrivals.

Our vast island continent has helped to shape the destiny of our
Commonwealth and the spirit of its people.

Since time immemorial our land has been inhabited by Aborigines and
Torres Strait Islanders, who are honoured for their ancient and
continuing cultures.

In every generation immigrants have brought great enrichment to our
nation's life.

Australians are free to be proud of their country and heritage, free to
realise themselves as individuals, and free to pursue their hopes and
ideals.  We value excellence as well as fairness, independence as dearly
as mateship.

Australia's democratic and federal system of government exists under law
to preserve and protect all Australians in an equal dignity which may
never be infringed by prejudice or fashion or ideology nor invoked
against achievement.

In this spirit we, the Australian people, commit ourselves to this
Constitution.
                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Click here

Wednesday, March 24, 1999

TIM FERGUSON

And you call that a preamble?

The Prime Minister and the poet have had their go.  Now here's what they
should have said.

We, the People of the broad, brown land of Oz, wish to be recognised as a
free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional trannie.  We come from
many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand) and,
although we live in the best little country in the world, we reserve the
right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like.

We are One Nation but we're divided into many States.  First, there's
Victoria, named after a queen who didn't believe in lesbians.  Victoria is
the realm of Mossimo turtlenecks, cafe latte and grand final day.  Its
capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that it's "livable".

Next, there's New South Wales.  It is the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato
with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing gay-boys.
Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks
to keep the left and right sides of their brains separate.

Down south, we have Tasmania - a State based on the notion that the
family that bonks together stays together.  In Tassie, everyone gets an
extra chromosome at conception.  Maps of the State bring smiles to the
sternest faces.

South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of
foreigners and bizarre axe murders.  They had the Grand Prix, but lost it
when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the
wheel.

Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevant in this document.

The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land.  Outback plains,
sheep stations, kangaroos, jackaroos, emus, Ulurus and dusty kids with
big smiles.  Although the Territory is the centrepiece of our national
culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on our
way to Bali.

And then - there's Queensland.  While any mention of God seems silly in a
document defining a nation of half-arsed agnostics, it is worth noting
that God probably made Queensland.  Why he filled it with dickheads
remains a mystery.

We, the Lullaby League of Oz, are united, primarily by the Pacific
Highway, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year
than die by murder.

We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for
praise we leap in joy when a ragtag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells
us Sydney is better than Beijing.  We are united by a democracy so flawed
that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a
million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament.
Desirable, sure.  But fair?  Not when you consider Brian Harradine can get
24,000 votes and run the bloody country.  Not that we're whingeing.

We've chucked out the concept of "fair go" in the downsized '90s.
Instead, we want to make "no worries" our national phrase.  We love sport
so much our newsreaders can read the death toll from a sailing race and
still tell us who's winning, in the same breath.

We treasure our politicians, who talk about listening with such
persistence it's hard to get a word in.  We tolerate our Prime Minister,
who is not only short but a Methodist, hanging offences in decent
countries.  And we like watching Parliament on TV because Natasha Stott
Despoja is a *total* spunkrat.

We, the wicked witches of the land of Oz, want to make it clear this
continent is ours and always has been.  Mind you, Liberal Party polling
shows that there were some people here before Captain Cook so we should
address the issue once and for all.  While possession is nine-tenths of
the law, our ancestors were fortunate enough to discover that genocide,
cultural extinguishment, baby theft and flour poisoning make up the other
tenth.

So Oz *is* now ours - and that's that.  Our midget Methodist master says
we have no reason to feel sorry for killing more Aborigines per capita
than the Nazis did Jews, and Liberal Party polling says we're OK with
that.  Why don't we say sorry?  In the words of our PM - because, because,
because, because, because.  Now, can we just drop the whole thing before
the Olympics start?

Phew, with that nasty bit out of the way, we the Brain, the Heart and the
Nerve of Oz, want the world to know we have the biggest rock, the
tastiest pies and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe.  We
don't know much about art, but we know we hate the people who make it.  We
shoot, we vote.  We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime.  And even
though we might seem a racist, closed-minded, sports-obsessed little
People, at least we're better than the Kiwis.

Now bugger off, we're sleeping.
                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  (Tim Ferguson is the author of Left, Right & Centre, (Penguin)
    - a political satire.)
  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+


     Now, I know this week's collection is already too long, but I just
     can't resist including the following.  It may be *just* the sort of
     thing you need for that next boring meeting (or to beef up that
     memo with a little colour).  From our westerly list:
                       >-------------------------<

This appeared, a few days ago, on the newsgroup curtin.compcentre.  The
discussion was originally about the appropriateness (sp?) of Curtin Uni's
Internet download quotas.  Then it degenerated...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
On Mon, 17 May 1999, nickolas nehemey wrote:
> Ryan; ur an azhole. There's no such thing as useless people, and u can
> f.o.

Nicholas,

You swine.  You vulgar little maggot.  You worthless bag of filth.  As we
say in Fremantle.  I'll bet you couldn't pour piss out of a boot with
instructions on the heel.  You are a canker.  A sore that won't go away.  I
would rather kiss a lawyer than be seen with you.

You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit.  You are a spineless little
worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt.  You are a jerk, a
cad, a weasel.  Your life is a monument to stupidity.  You are a stench, a
revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly
with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this
world.  An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by
the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed
themselves in recognition of what they had done.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species
as you.  You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity.  I barf at the very
thought of you.  You have all the appeal of a paper cut.  Lepers avoid
you.  You are vile, worthless, less than nothing.  You are a weed, a
fungus, the dregs of this earth.  And did I mention you smell?

Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting to
impress us with your insight.  The evidence that you are a nincompoop will
still be available to readers, but they will be able to access it more
rapidly.

You snail-skulled little rabbit.  Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its
beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly
briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of
your ignoble blood.  May you ckoke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of
your own trite, foolish beliefs.

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable.  You are grimy, squalid,
nasty and profane.  You are foul and disgusting.  You're a fool, an
ignoramus.  Monkeys look down on you.  Even sheep won't have sex with you.
You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land
that reality forgot.

And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important
statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us?  What
fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums
would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning
rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?

You are a waste of flesh.  You have no rhythm.  You are ridiculous and
obnoxious.  You are the moral equivalent of a leech.  You are a living
emptiness, a meaningless void.  You are sour and senile.  You are a
disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed drooling meatslapper.

On a good day you're a half-wit.  You remind me of drool.  You are
deficient in all that lends character.  You have the personality of
wallpaper.  You are dank and filthy.  You are asinine and benighted.  You
are the source of all unpleasantness.  You spread misery and sorrow
wherever you go.

You smarmy lagerlout git.  You bloody woofter sod.  Bugger off, pillock.
You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john.  You clouted
boggish foot-licking twit.  You dankish clack-dish plonker.  You gormless
crook-pated tosser.  You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce.  You
cockered bum-bailey poofter.  You craven dewberry pisshead cockup
pratting naff.  You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb.  You
dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have bad breath.  You are
degenerate, noxious and depraved.  I feel debased just for knowing you
exist.  I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away.

I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are.  I mean rock-hard
stupid.  Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid.  Stupid so stupid that it goes way
beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid.
You are trans-stupid stupid.  Meta-stupid.  Stupid collapsed on itself so
far that even the neutrons have collapsed.  Stupid gotten so dense that
no intellect can escape.  Singularity stupid.  Blazing hot mid-day sun on
Mercury stupid.  You emit more stupid in one second than our entire
galaxy emits in a year.  Quasar stupid.  Your writing has to be a troll.
Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid.  Perhaps this is some
primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid.  Some pure
essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond
the laws of physics that we know.  I'm sorry.  I can't go on.  This is an
epiphany of stupid for me.  After this, you may not hear from me again
for a while.  I don't have enough strength left to deride your ignorant
questions and half baked comments about unimportant trivia, or any of the
rest of this drivel.  Duh.

The only thing worse than your logic is your manners.  I have snipped
away most of your of whay you wrote, because, well... it didn't really
say anything.  Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was
pitiful.  I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a
load of babbling was hardly effective...  Maybe later in life, after you
have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more
success.  True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal"
people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering.  But
we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who
find these things more difficult.   If I had known, that this was your
case then I would have never read your post.  It just wouldn't have been
"right".  Sort of like parking in a handicap space.  I wish you the best
of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing
such a demand on you.

Ryan

 - PS Thanks to Peter for supplying the colourful insult above.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[ End Friday humour ]




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