Friday humour - March 04, 2005

     From Tony at Bluehaze:

     Heard another one of those interesting programs on Oz Radio National
     last week where a fact surfaced that surprised me: when you go on
     the dole now, you have to apply for 10 jobs a fortnight.  And did you
     also know that if you work for only one hour per week (and spend your
     remaining hours searching for a job), the ABS counts you as employed?
     So the true unemployement figure for Oz is not 5% at all - it's probably
     closer to 15%.  (What is it they say about lies and statistics ...?)

     And yes, it was a little Johnny comment that sparked these thoughts when
     he again crowed this week about their plans for the IR and Social Security
     changes that they'll finally be able to push through after July (when
     they take full control of the senate - wow, we can all hardly wait.)

     Even though it was written 18 months ago now, there was a classic
     article written in The Age newspaper here in Melbourne by a senior
     executive ("Jean") who'd lost her job, called simply "My Dole Diary" -
     Click here ... which pretty much says it all.

     Anyway, as we were saying back in December, if you're currently in this
     predicament and having to struggle with all this nonsense just to get
     enough money to put you below the poverty line, well ... try not to
     let it get you down completely.  Little Johnny (or, as Mike calls him -
     Bonsai - as in "little bush") regularly pushes out media statements about
     how the SS system now revolves around this concept of "mutual obligation".
     Well, fair enough, perhaps - and maybe it sounds great when you phrase it
     like that, but I'd still hate to be dealing with it all.

     And yeh, I know that's a depressing sort of introduction, but for those
     of us who do have jobs (even if they are a bit crappy at times), it's
     sobering to consider what our ultra-right-wing Oz Government is now
     doing to those who are currently without a job - often through no fault
     of their own.  And it could be any one of us, at just about any time.

     Anyway, that's what these jokes are really all about.  When life gets
     tough and almost unbearable, the best medicine often IS just to laugh
     about it and take the attitude of "f_ck the lot of 'em".  After all,
     nothing's more depressing than sending in those job apps in all good
     faith and having the pricks totally ignore you.  So join us, chill
     out, and enjoy another dose of general insanity.

     First up this week, it's back over to frothy old CUB and bottling line
     B1 for this little Klimek collection ...

                                   PUB PUPS

Two guys were walking their dogs.  One had a German Shepherd, and the other had
a Chihuahua.  The man with the Shepherd suggested going into a bar for a drink.

The other man says "They're not going to let dogs into the bar."

And the first guy says "No?  Watch this!"

So he puts on some dark glasses, acts like the German Shepherd is a seeing-eye
dog, walks into the bar and orders a drink. And no one says anything. So
the second guy takes out some dark glasses, slips them on, and walks his
Chihuahua into the bar.

The bartender says, "Sorry - we don't allow dogs in here."

And the man says, "It's okay - it's my seeing-eye dog."

The bartender laughs and says, "This Chihuahua is your seeing-eye dog?"

And the guy says, "They gave me a Chihuahua?"


Dirty Johnny is walking along and a priest is coming the other way.

Johnny says, "Hey, mister, why're you wearin' your collar backwards?"

The priest says, "Because I'm a father."

Johnny says, "Yeah? Well, my old man's got three kids and he don't wear his
collar backwards."

The priest says, "You don't understand, son. I have thousands of children."

Johnny says, "You should wear your f**kin' trousers backwards."



[ Sung to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies - and if you've forgotten the
  tune, here's the MID - Click here or the MP3 - Click here ]

Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named John,
A poor ex-marine with a little fraction gone,
It seems one night after gettin' with the wife,
She lopped off his dong with the swipe of a knife.
Penis, that is.
Clean Cut. Missed his nuts.

Well, the next thing you know there's a Ginsu by his side,
And Lorena's in the car taken' Willie for a ride.
She soon got tired of her purple-headed friend
And tossed him out of the window as she rounded a bend.
Curve, that is.
Tossed the nub. In the shrub.

She went to the cops and confessed to the attack,
And they called out the hounds just to get his weenie back.
They sniffed and they barked and they pointed Over there
To John Wayne's henry that was waving in the air.
Found, that is.
By a fence. Evidence.

Now peter and John couldn't stay apart too long
So a dick doc said, Hey, I can fix that dong
A needle and a thread is all we're gonna need
And the whole world waited till they heard that Johnny peed.
Whizzed, that is.
Even seam. Straight stream.

Well he healed and he hardened and he took his case to court
With a half-as_ed lawyer cause his assets came up short.
They cleared her of assault and acquitted him of rape,
And his pecker was the only thing they didn't show on tape.
Video, that is.
Unexposed. Case Closed.

Ya'll sleep on your stomachs now, ya hear?

       This next one from Maria is actually a repeat from June 1998, but
       it's just too good to pass up:

                                 HOT DATE

It's the Spring of 1957 and Bobby goes to pick up his date.  He's a
pretty hip guy with his own car.  When he goes to the front door, the
girl's father answers and invites him in. "Carrie's not ready yet, so
why don't you have a seat?" he says.

"That's cool," says Bobby.

Carrie's father asks Bobby what they're planning to do.  Bobby replies,
politely, that they will probably just go to the soda shop or a movie.

Carrie's father responds, "Hey why don't you two go out and screw - I hear all
the kids are doing it."

Naturally, this comes as quite a surprise to Bobby.  So, he asks Carrie's
father to repeat it.

"Yeah," says Carrie's father, "Carrie really likes to screw; she'd screw
all night if we let her!"

Well, this just made Bobby's eyes light up, and immediately he revised his
plans for the evening.  A few minutes later, Carrie comes downstairs in her
little poodle skirt, and announces that she's ready to go.

Almost breathless with anticipation, Bobby escorts her out the front door with
Dad saying, "Okay - have a good evening kids," with a small wink for Bobby.

About 20 minutes later, a thoroughly dishevelled Peggy Sue rushes back into
the house, slams the door behind her and screams at her father "DAMN IT,
daddy!  It's called the Twist ... THE TWIST!"

        Here's the other BOFH joke I found last week - highly appropriate
        for CSIRO as we move from IT support into IT helpdesk mode:

                    THE BASTARD IT MANAGER FROM HELL #3

                          Yes - The Bastard is back

It's a stinking hot day in my non-air conditioned office and I'm annoyed. The
sort of annoyed that's described, mistakenly, as red hot. The correct colour
choice, is, of course white.

I login to my account and there's three helpdesk mail requests, all ticking
away to expiration, then escalation, then further escalation, then followup
mail message, then even further escalation, then 2nd followup mail message and
casual phone call, then still further escalation, then non-casual phone call,
then threats, then, ultimately, and sadly, violence. But not so sadly that I
won't resort to it. And they know I will too...

Because I used to be...

  T H E B A S T A R D O P E R A T O R F R O M H E L L ! ! !

... and sometimes, late at night I get these twitches. Like dead people get.
(Or, as I prefer to call them, perfect computer users)

In the mornings I get them too. Like when the phone rings. And when I get
email. And when people talk to me. AND when people are hogging the expresso
machine to make fluffy milk. But apart from that I'm cured. A new man.

I smile at the thought and look, in reminiscence, at some reminders of my
past. A couple of backup 8mm tapes with cartoons on them. The thank-you cards
for my attendance at 23 seperate funerals of computer center staff. The mains
plug with the thinwire ethernet plug at the end. I didn't ever get round to
trying that one either, so I don't even know what it would've done.

I'm bored.

That's it alright. I am *absolutely*, *stinking*, *UNCONTROLLABLY* bored. I
get up and slip a fingerprint free magnet on top of the reed switch that the
Boss had installed in my display cabinet while I was on holiday, then pry the
glass door open with a screwdriver. As far as I can figure, the switch is
supposed to ring an alarm if the door is opened.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times - "Inexpensive means

I open the door to the clamour of... silence. Well, silence and John Lee
Hooker's "Mr Lucky" from my CD. I grab my aforementioned etherkiller and
wander down the hallway to the switchboard, applying another magnet and
opening that to silence as well.

That's what's missing in society today - trust.

I pull the 15 amp breaker for the meeting room, then wander on round and plug
the etherkiller into a cheap 24 hour timer set to 5 minutes from now.  On the
way back to the the switchboard I hear the first few murmurs about excessive
collisions.  I plug in my unpatented nail "fuse" (estimated fault current
200-300 amps) with a set of heavily insulated pliers and wander off to the
tea-room to start my expresso brew. Halfway through the make, the machine
stops. Now *THAT'S* what I call a collision.

I look around in a bewildered manner as panic erupts on all sides, half-made
expresso in my hand.  I step out into the hallway, and behold - pandemonium.
Two programmers are fighting over a CO2 fire extinguisher in an effort to
put their terminals out.  I wander down to my room just as my X terminal,
the unreliable peice of excretia it is, flames it's last and lapses into a
dull smoulder.

"My cabinet!" I cry in 'horror' and hear the extinguisher struggle end
abruptly.  In a flash, the two programmers concerned are behind me, staring
into my room. Shortly thereafter the boss runs up as well.

"What's this magnet for?" I ask, picking it up and hearing a bell start
chiming in the distance.

"You bastard!" one of the programmers utters.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, turning.

"YOU did it didn't you?"

"What?  Break into my own cabinet?  But I've got a key.."

That's the terrible burden of proof really - in this day and age, you need
some to make an accusation.

The late-breaking news comes in that one of the consultants had a set of
headphones plugged into a CDROM drive hanging off their networked PC.  But
not anymore.  Now there's an unexpected vacany in the department.  I blame
the Ethernet Isolation specs.   3000 volts my backside!

Quicker than you can say "Help us with our enquiries", I'm "helping the police
with their enquiries".

"What is this, can you tell me?" a burly officer asks, right up in my face. He
holds up a magnet.

"It's a magnet. There was one on my cabinet," I cry.

"Yes. And where did you get them?" he asks, seizing control ... and losing it.

"On my cabinet! I just said!"

"No, not this one.  The others.  Where did you get them?"

"Others?  What others?  You mean there were more on my cabinet!  Why?!?"

(I can play the "stupid game" forever, having had years of education at the
hands of computer lusers.)  He tries a different tack.

"What would you say this was off?" he asks

"My cabinet!  It was on my cabinet, I told you!  I pulled it off ... and I
think I heard a bell ringing ..."

 .... .. .

A couple of hours later, I'm back at my desk with Mr Lucky, no charges pressed.
I close my cabinet, satisfaction mine for the first time in a long while.

Then the phone rings ... aaahhhhh ...

        And just before we hit the multimedia stuff for this week, another
        contribution from CUB John's humour list:

                         PHONE WON'T STOP RINGING?
                            Here's What to Do

Leola Starling of Ribrock, Tennessee, had a serious telephone problem.
But unlike most people she did something about it.

The brand-new $10 million Ribrock Plaza Motel opened nearby and had acquired
almost the same telephone number as Leola.

From the moment the motel opened, Leola was besieged by calls not for her.
Since she had the same phone number for years, she felt that she had a case
to persuade the motel management to change its number.

Naturally, the management refused claiming that it could not change its

The phone company was not helpful, either.  A number was a number, and just
because a customer was getting someone else's calls 24 hours a day didn't
make it responsible.  After her pleas fell on deaf ears, Leola decided to
take matters into her own hands.

At 9 o'clock the phone rang.  Someone from Memphis was calling the motel
and asked for a room for the following Tuesday. Leoloa said, "No problem.How
many nights?"

A few hours later Dallas checked in.  A secretary wanted a suite with two
bedrooms for a week. Emboldened, Leola said the Presidential Suite on the
10th floor was available for $600 a night. The secretary said that she would
take it and asked if the hotel wanted a deposit."No, that won't be necessary,"
Leola said. "We trust you."

The next day was a busy one for Leola.  In the morning, she booked an electric
appliance manufacturers' convention for Memorial Day weekend, a college prom
and a reunion of the 82nd Airborne veterans from World War II.

She turned on her answering machine during lunchtime so that she could watch
the O.J. Simpson trial, but her biggest challenge came in the afternoon when
a mother called to book the ballroom for her daughter's wedding in June.

Leola assured the woman that it would be no problem and asked if she would
be providing the flowers or did she want the hotel to take care of it. The
mother said that she would prefer the hotel to handle the floral arrangements.

Then the question of valet parking came up.  Once again Leola was helpful.
"There's no charge for valet parking, but we always recomend that the client
tips the drivers."

Within a few months, the Ribrock Plaza Motel was a disaster area.  People kept
showing up for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and Sweet Sixteen parties and were
all told there were no such events.

Leola had her final revenge when she read in the local paper that the motel
might go bankrupt. Her phone rang, and an executive from Marriott said,
"We're prepared to offer you $200,000 for the motel."

Leola replied. "We'll take it, but only if you change the telephone number."


Q. What is the last thing that goes through a bug's mind when he hits the

A. His arsehole.

        Some pics and sounds now - first up, this one as passed on by Martin
        Leahy back in early February.  It was also just passed on by Vinae
        from over in Oregon (which was what reminded me of it):

Song of the fat Dutchman (catchy :-) Click here

        And from Bob Curtis, this timely warning:

                      BEWARE, LOCK YOUR CAR DOORS!

Yesterday, I was robbed at the traffic lights in Collingwood. One young woman
offers to wash your car windows while you wait at the red light while another
one takes advantage of the distraction to open the back door and steal
everything she can grab.  Be warned, they are very well organised! Don't leave
your doors or windows open if you drive up to a red light!  If your windows
get washed, don't look at them - they're just trying to divert your attention.

Please inform your friends of this new scam. They have got me 10 times already
today.  They also got me 4 times yesterday, four times the day before that and
six times Sunday.  (Saturday I couldn't find the corner they were working)

I did finally manage to get some pics yesterday: Click here

[ Hmmm ... shades of that Volvo Car Wash movie clip ... Click here ]


  From Len - we finally present this year's Krispy Kreme Lingerie Calendar:
     Click here

      Ian Watson heard about this incident with an empty HP LaserJet printer.
      And when the lid was opened to replace the toner ...

Problem: Click here

      And from an unlikely combination - Eric and Lisa up their trees -
      this newly minted British wedding coin: Click here

      The old Westerly list has come back to life a bit recently, and this
      one's worth a listen ... hilarious!  Apparently it was on the radio
      just a cupla days ago:

Live on-road accident report: Click here

      May have had one of these pics before, but here's the collection -
      from Olivine, it's the place to be when you're smashed:

When smashed: Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here

      And from John Sanderson:

Towels: Click here

      This one's cute, a nice bit of animation work.  May be slow to load,
      but worth the wait:

Love that sky: Click here

      And also, this preview of Microsoft's newest marketing campaign:

Microsoft: Click here

      Matt Richards sent over this nice little collection ...

The minis: Click here Click here Click here Click here

Why not to drink: Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here

Woman drivers: Click here Click here Click here Click here

      And James the intrepid and impatient world traveller sent this:

Hot drink: Click here

      Eric dropped out of his tree to offer this "You might want to check
      out this eye test from Men's Health Online"

Eye test: Click here

      Finally, here's a copy of Radio National's Background Briefing from
      Feb 12.  It's called "Out of sight, out of mind" - it exposes some of
      the reality behind the battles people are having to fight in trying to
      get a job these days.  (I've taken their RealAudio version and converted
      it to a nice, open-standard MP3 that won't wreck your computer.) Should
      make great Saturday or Sunday lunchtime listening ...

Out of sight, out of mind: Click here

         Now for another sonnet - this time from Digi Maria:

                         SMOKIN' MOUNTAIN MARRIAGE

   Susie Lee done fell in love;
   she planned to marry Joe.
   She was so happy 'bout it all
   She told her pappy so.

   Pappy told her, "Susie gal,
   You'll have to find another.
   I'd just as soon yo' ma don't know,
   But Joe is yo' half brother."

   So Susie put aside her Joe
   And planned to marry Will,
   But after telling pappy this,
   He said, "There's trouble still

   You can't marry Will, my gal,
   And please don't tell yo' mother,
   But Will and Joe, and several mo'
   I know is yo' half brother."

   But Mama knew and said, "My child,
   Just do what makes yo' happy.
   Marry Will or marry Joe.
   You ain't no kin to pappy."

        Over to Hollywood Boulevard now and this from Len:

                               INDIAN WISDOM

Sally was driving home from one of her business trips in Northern Arizona
when she saw an elderly Navajo woman walking on the side of the road. As
the trip was a long and quiet one, she stopped the car and asked the
Navajo woman if she would like a ride.

With a word or two of thanks, she got in the car. After resuming the journey
and a bit of small talk, the Navajo woman noticed a brown bag on the seat
next to Sally.

"What's in the bag?" asked the old Navajo woman.

Sally looked down at the brown bag and said "It's a bottle of wine.  Got
it for my husband."

The Navajo woman was silent for a moment and then, speaking with the quiet
wisdom of an elder, said, "Good trade."

        This there was this one from the UK and Maddus Mickus, who writes
        "Hurry up and finish with that summery weather ... it is getting
         very cold over here and we want it back!"

Patrick, who was holidaying from Ireland on Bondi beach couldn't seem to
make it with any of the girls. So he asked the local lifeguard for some

"Mate, it's obvious," says the lifeguard, "you're wearing them old baggy
swimming trunks that make ya look like an old geezer. They're years outta
style. Your best bet is to grab yourself a pair of Speedos - about two
sizes too small - and drop a fist-sized potato down inside 'em. I'm tellin'
ya, man ... you'll have all the babes ya want!"

The following weekend, Patrick hits the beach with his spanking new tight
Speedos, and his fist-sized potato. Everybody on the beach was disgusted as
he walked by, covering their faces, turning away, laughing, looking sick!

So Patrick went back to the lifeguard again and asked him, "What's wrong now?"

"JAHEESUS!" said the lifeguard, "Mate. The potato goes in front!"

         Then there was this one-liner from our BHP correspondent:

Camilla Parker Bowles says she is very happy to be getting wed but says she
has turned down the Queen's offer of a free weekend in Paris with car and
driver ...

         And from the Glass Unicorn (Jon F):

A few humorous poems come to mind, the first by the American poet Ogden Nash.

                         I think that I shall never see

                          A billboard lovely as a tree

                         And unless the billboards fall

                         I may never see a tree at all.

The second is arguably the shortest poem in the world. Written by that great
poet Anon and entitled Fleas.


                                  Adam had'em.

And lastly, another by Anon

                                   The Sphinx

                           The Sphinx's sexual organ

                       Lies deep in the sands of the Nile

                    Which accounts for the hump on the camel

                      And the Sphinx's inscrutable smile.

          Back to the UK once again and a couple from Beth Frear:

A certain man made a strange request of his doctor.  He wanted a female
brain to be transplanted into his head.

So the doctor performed the surgery.  Upon arrival, the female brain noticed
that it was in a new and unusual location, in a somewhat empty cranium.
Being lonely and wanting companionship, the female brain reasoned that there
must already be another brain somewhere in the cranium, but it was too dark
to tell.  So, the female brain began to cry out, "Hello, is there anyone
out there?"  When there was no response, she began to cry louder and
louder until finally, she heard a small and distant voice say,

"I'm down here."


                         HEAVEN FAILS ISO 9000 AUDIT

Vatican City - Quality Assurance auditors from Alpha & Omega Consultants
announced today that Heaven has failed in its quest to become an ISO 9000
compliant engineering organization. Citing Creation's complete dependence
on the unpredictable whims of an omnipotent deity, auditors determined that
Heaven is sorely lacking in several key quality management process areas.

According to senior auditor Tom Aquinas, Heaven's most egregious offense was
its lack of customer focus. "Customers feel that their needs and expectations
should be addressed, at least superficially," said Aquinas. "Ask any mortal
schmuck on the street and they'll tell you that all they want is just an
inkling of absolute truth -- some modest beacon to guide them as they stumble
timidly through the dark back alleys of existence. But Heaven prefers a blind
faith approach to salvation instead -- a choice that didn't even register
with marketing surveys."

Other quality key process areas were found to be lacking as well.
"Involvement of people was erratic and inconsistent," said Aquinas.  "First,
omnipotent deities are usually micromanagers who are reluctant to delegate
tasks to middle management. Second, there's still that whole free will versus
determinism controversy, so the impact that a single individual can make on
Heaven's lumbering bureaucracy is the subject of intense theological debate."

"Heaven has failed to embrace a process-based approach," lamented
consultant Marty Luther. "Instead, the quality of their products is
dependent on the heroic efforts of a single individual...or divinity in this
case. Unfortunately, this results in inconsistent output stemming from a
ship-it-then-fix it attitude. How else would you account for the design flaws
inherent in the platypus, the San Andreas Fault, or British cuisine? Those
severely flawed items just never should have made it into production."

If Heaven had conducted business according to a defined and repeatable process
with proper checks and balances from the quality assurance department,
then they never would have had to issue that devastating global recall in
the time of Noah's flood," added Aquinas.

(By Don Mowbray)

        Finally (and most appropriately, from John at CUB), we have:

                         THE FIVE STAGES OF SOBERING UP

Stage 1 - STUPID

As you regain consciousness and begin to enjoy the headache, the churning
stomach and the cold sweats, you realise that you have lost not only
several hours of your life but also the ability to concentrate on anything
whatsoever. You are now STUPID and will remain so for a minimum of 12 hours.

Stage 2 - UGLY

Never entirely happy with the effects of the bathroom mirror first thing
you are horrified to discover that you have now become even UGLIER than
you previously thought possible. Not only have you got bloodshot eyes and a
glorious collection of spots but you are shaking so much that your grandfather
probably looks healthier. Unfortunately you are still too STUPID to know
better than to try and shave whilst shaking.

Stage 3 - POOR

Having crawled out of bed and got dressed you are about to shamble out
the door when you discover that the money that was to last you the week is
now missing from your wallet. Being STUPID, you have no idea what happened
to it but the traces of Pizza on your clothes allow the possibility that
you might have treated everyone to a takeaway at some point. Alternatively
your pocket could have been picked or you might have given the taxi driver
a hundred dollar note by mistake. Rationalising that you couldn't possibly
have been that STUPID and that you would remember being robbed, you come to
believe that you were the only one who bought any food or drinks all night
and start to loathe all your friends.

Stage 4 - FRAGILE

As you are now STUPID, UGLY and POOR, your consequently FRAGILE self-esteem
plummets. Your already FRAGILE physical condition ensures that you feel
liable to shatter if anyone even speaks to you.


This is the final stage of sobering up. Unfortunately, everyone can spot
this CONSPICUOUS condition and its cause from a great distance. Even worse,
they know that they can complete your misery by making fun of you, and that
you are too STUPID to retaliate, too FRAGILE to hit them, too POOR to bribe
them and too UGLY to hide.

                            HANGOVER RATING SYSTEM

1 Star Hangover *

No pain.  No real feeling of illness.  You slept in your own bed and when you
woke up there were no traffic cones in there with you.  You are still able to
function relatively well on the energy stored up from all those vodka redbulls.
However, you can drink 10 bottles of water and still feel as parched as
the Sahara.  Even vegetarians are craving a Cheeseburger and side of fries.

2 Star Hangover * *

No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have
the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The coffee you hug
to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is
craving a full English breakfast. Although you have a nice demeanour about
the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all you
really can handle is some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing the
net and writing junk e-mails.

3 Star Hangover * * *

Slight headache. Stomach feels crap. You are definitely a space cadet and not
so productive. Anytime a girl or lad walks by you gag because her perfume /
aftershave reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic
friends after the bouncer kicked you out at 3:45 a.m. Life would be better
right now if you were in your bed with a dozen doughnuts and a litre of
coke watching daytime TV. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water,
2 Sausage Rolls and a litre of diet coke yet you haven't peed once.

4 Star Hangover * * * *

You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing and you can't speak
too quickly or else you might spew. Your boss has already lambasted you for
being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice
clothes, but you smell of socks, and you can't hide the fact that you either
missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving or it looks like you put your make-up
on while riding the dodgems depending on your gender).

Your teeth have their own individual sweaters. Your eyes look like one big vein
and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from the second-grade class
picture circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one of the following:

Home time, a doughnut and somewhere to be alone, or a time machine so you
could go back and NOT have gone out the night before.  You scare small
children in the street just by walking past them.

5 Star Hangover * * * * *

You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the
employee who sits next to you. Vodka vapour is seeping out of every pore and
making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth
from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva,
so your tongue is suffocating you.

You'd cry but that would take the last of the moisture left in your body. Death
seems pretty good right now. Your boss doesn't even get mad at you and your
co-workers think that your dog just died because you look so pathetic.

You should have called in sick because, let's face it, all you can manage
to do is breathe ... very gently.

6 Star Hangover * * * * * *

You arrive home and climb into bed. Sleep comes instantly, as you were fighting
it all the way home in the taxi. You get about 2 hours sleep until the noises
inside your head wake you up. You notice that you bed has been cleared for take
off and is flying relentlessly around the room.

No matter what you do you now, you're going to chuck. You stumble out
of bed and now find that your room is in a yacht under full sail. After
walking along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all
the pictures, you find the toilet. If you are lucky you will remember to
lift the lid before you spontaneously explode and wake the whole house
up with your impersonation of walrus mating calls.

You sit there on the floor in your undies, cuddling the only friend in the
world you have left (the toilet), randomly continuing to make the walrus
noises, spitting, and farting. Help usually comes at this stage, even if it
is short lived.  Tears stream down your face and your abdomen hurts.

Help now turns into abuse and he/she usually goes back to bed leaving you there
in the dark.  With your stomach totally empty, your spontaneous eruptions
have died back to 15-minute intervals, but your body won't relent. You are
convinced that you are starting to turn yourself inside out and swear that you
saw your tonsils projectile out your mouth on the last occasion.

It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted partner getting up for the day as
you try to climb into bed. She/He abuses you again for trying to get into
bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit in your hair. You reluctantly accept their
advice and have a shower in exchange for them driving you to the hospital.

Work is not an option. The whole day is spent trying to avoid anything that
might make you sick again, like moving. You vow never to touch a drop again
and, who knows, for the next two or three hours at least you might even succeed.

         And that's it for another week.  Although if you have read this far,
         Mad Mick would like to show you:

The last page - Click here
[ End Friday humour ]

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