Friday humour - May 30, 2008


Greetings fellow Humorists, one and all.

You know I was sitting back the other day thinking of the Budget and our
new
Federal Govt and I found myself coming to the conclusion that nothing has
changed.
Seventy percent of Solar orders have been cancelled according to the media
since the budget and the changes brought about concerning the rebate, how
green is that?
The new Govt is as wedded to indirect taxation (fuel excise for example) as
the last lot.
Personally I became disillusioned with the last mob sometime in 1996. This
lot have succeeded in the same timeframe. Interesting really, they both
promised to come up with something new.......I just wonder what that might
be?????

Oh well, thatís enough of that rot! Lets have some fun..........

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Allnutts sent this in:

 Duties of Wives..

Three men were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new
wives duties.

Terry had married a woman from  Greece, and bragged that he had told his
wife she needed to do all the dishes and housework. He said that it took a
couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the
dishes were all washed and put away.

Jimmie had married a woman from  Italy. He bragged that he had given his
wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning,
dishes, and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn't see any
results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was
clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married a Australian girl. He boasted that he told her
that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, laundry and
ironing twice a week, lawns mowed, windows cleaned and hot meals on the
table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the
second day he didn't see anything, but by the third day most of the
swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye, just
enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher, and call a
handyman.

God Bless Australian Women

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Your editor followed with these:

Forrest Gump dies and goes to Heaven
The day finally arrived. Forrest Gump dies and goes to Heaven. He is at the
Pearly Gates, met by St. Peter himself. However, the gates are closed,
and Forrest approaches the gatekeeper.
St. Peter said, 'Well, Forrest,
it is certainly good to see you. We have heard a lot about you I must tell
you, though, that the place is filling up fast, and we have been
administering an entrance examination for everyone. The test is short, but
you have to pass it before you can get into Heaven.'

Forrest responds, 'It sure is
good to be here, St. Peter, sir. 'But nobody ever told me about any
entrance exam. I sure hope that the test ain't too hard.
Life was a big enough test as it was.'
St. Peter continued, 'Yes, I know, Forrest, but the test is only three
questions.
First:
What two days of the week begin with the letter T?
Second:
How many seconds are there in a year?
Third:
What is God's first name?'

Forrest leaves to think the questions over. He returns the next day and
sees St. Peter, who waves him up, and says, 'Now that you have had a
chance to think the questions over,
tell me your answers'
Forrest replied, 'Well, the first one -- which two days in the week begins
with the letter 'T'?
Shucks, that one is easy. That would be Today and Tomorrow.'

The Saint's eyes opened wide and he exclaimed, 'Forrest, that is not what I
was thinking, but you do have a point, and I guess I did not specify, so I
will give you credit for that answer. How about the next one?' asked St.
Peter.

'How many seconds in a year?
Now that one is harder,' replied Forrest, but I thunk and thunk about that,
and I guess the only answer can be twelve.'
Astounded, St. Peter said, 'Twelve?

Twelve? Forrest, how in Heaven's name could you come up with twelve seconds
in a year?'
Forrest replied, 'Shucks, there's got to be twelve: January 2nd, February
2nd, March 2nd... '
'Hold it,' interrupts St.
Peter. 'I see where you are going with this, and I see your point,
though that was not quite what I had in mind.... but I will have to give
you credit for that one, too. Let us go on with the third and final
question.
Can you tell me God's first name'?

'Sure,' Forrest replied,
'it's Andy.'

'Andy?' exclaimed an exasperated and frustrated St Peter.

'Ok, I can understand how you came up with your answers to my first two
questions, but just how in the world did you come up with the name Andy as
the first 'name of God?'

'Shucks, that was the easiest one of all,' Forrest replied. 'I learnt it
from the song, 'ANDY WALKS WITH ME, ANDY TALKS WITH ME, ANDY TELLS ME I AM
HIS OWN.'

St. Peter opened the Pearly Gates,
and said: 'Run Forrest, run.'

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3 Burner BBQ

A bright, yet older and wiser, woman from the northern beaches was standing
before the bedroom mirror, admiring herself in a new outfit before going
out on the town for a girl's night out.

She posed this way and that before her husband who, looking on with
disinterest, remarked: "Your bum is the size of a 3-burner barbecue!"


Later that evening, tucked up and cosy in bed the silly sop lent over,
tapped her on the shoulder, and said, "How bout it ?"

She replied "No thanks, it's just not worth lighting the whole Barbecue for
half a sausage!"


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Sheep

Aussie:
"Mate, in Australia, we shear our sheep...

Kiwi:
"No way bro, I aint sharing my sheep with anyone...

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From Cartographer Chris

In the year 2008, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in
Australia, and said, 'Once again, the earth has become wicked and
over-populated, and I see the end of all flesh before me.

Build another Ark and save 2 of every living thing along with a few good
humans.'

He gave Noah the plans, saying, 'You have 6 months to build the Ark before
I will start the Unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights.'

Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard -
but no Ark.

'Noah!' He roared , 'I'm about to start the rain! Where is the Ark?'

'Forgive me, Lord,' begged Noah, 'but things have changed. I needed a
building permit. I've been arguing with the inspector about the need for a
sprinkler system. My neighbours claim that I've violated the neighbourhood
zoning laws by building the Ark in my yard and exceeding the height
limitations. We had to go to the Shire Council for a decision.

Then ERGON demanded a bond be posted for the future costs of moving power
lines and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark's
move to the sea. I told them that the sea would be coming to us, but they
would hear nothing of it.

Getting the wood was another problem. There's a ban on cutting local trees
because the Nature Conservation authorities say it will upset the balance
of the local ecological system.

I tried to convince them that I needed the wood to save us all from
extinction - but no go!

When I started gathering the animals, the RSPCA prosecuted me. They
insisted that I was confining wild animals against their will. They argued
the accommodation was too restrictive, and it was cruel and inhumane to put
so many animals in a confined space.

The traffic authorities said it would take six months after completion of
the ark to plan a route to the sea. I told them also that the sea would be
coming to my back yard. They threatened to have me committed.

Then the DPI ruled that I couldn't build the Ark until I had arranged and
conducted an environmental impact study on your proposed flood.

 I'm still trying to resolve a complaint with the Fair Trading group on how
many 'Stolen generation' persons I'm supposed to hire for my building crew.

The State Government has insisted that I provide them with a list of the
people who want to work so that they can check that they are not from the
non designated group.

UNIONS say I can't use my sons. They insist I have to hire only Union
workers with Ark-building experience.

To make matters worse, ATO seized all my assets, claiming I'm trying to
leave the country illegally with endangered species.

So, forgive me, Lord, but it would take at least 10 years for me to finish
this Ark.'

Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched
across the sky.

Noah looked up in wonder and asked, 'You mean you're not going to destroy
the world?'

'No,' said the Lord.

'The Rudd Government has beaten me to it.'

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Then the Duke of Barsinov chimed in with this:

35 rules of life....

1. Never, under any circ*mstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on
the same night.

2. Don't worry about what people think, they don't do it very often.

3. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian anymore than standing in a
garage makes you a car.

4. Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

5. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried
before.

6. My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.

7. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

8. A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter, is not a nice
person.

9. For every action, there is an equal and opposite government program .

10. If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.

11. Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of checks.

12. A conscience is what hurts when all of your other parts feel so good.

13. Eat well, stay fit, die anyway.

14. Men are from earth. Women are from earth. Deal with it.

15. No man has ever been shot while doing the dishes.

16. A balanced diet is a muffin in each hand.

17. Middle age is when broadness of the mind and narrowness of the waist
change places.

18. Opportunities always look bigger going than coming.

19. Junk is something you've kept for years and throw away three weeks
before you need it.

20. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.

21. Experience is a wonderful thing, it enables you to recognize a mistake
when you make it again.

22. By the time you can make ends meet, they move the ends.

23. Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.

24. Someone who thinks logically provides nice contrast to the real world.

25. It ain't the jeans that make your butt look fat.

26. If you had to identify in one word, the reason why the human race has
not achieved it's full potential, that word would be 'meetings.'

27. There is a very fine line between 'hobby' and 'mental illness.'

28. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never
want you to share yours with them.

29. You should not confuse your career with your life.

30. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.

31. Never lick a steak knife.

32. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.

33. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling
reason why we observe daylight savings time.

34. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests
that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging
from her at that moment

35. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender,
religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that deep down inside we
ALL believe we are good drivers.

(Yeah right! ED)

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EJ came up with this original:

THE PIG AND THE WHEELBARROW

FOURTH GENERATION FARMER SMITH FINDS IT DIFFICULT TO SURVIVE THE DROUGHT
AND
DECIDES TO SUBDIVIDE HIS LAND INTO SMALL HOBBY FARMS. NIGEL, A PROSPEROUS
YOUNG PUBLIC SERVANT, BUYS ONE OF THE BLOCKS. NIGEL HAS CHICKENS, DUCKS, 2
PONIES FOR THE KIDS AND A PIG.

LATELY THE PIG HAS BEEN ACTING VERY STRANGELY. NIGEL SEEKS ADVISE FROM
FARMER SMITH, WHO INFORMS HIM THAT THE PIG IS IN HEAT. I HAVE A MALE PIG
WHO
CAN SOLVE THE PROBLEM. NEXT DAY NIGEL LOADS HIS PIG INTO A WHEELBARROW AND
TRANSPORTS IT TO SMITH'S FARM. HOW WILL I KNOW IF IT WORKED? IF IT WORKED
THE PIG WILL BE LAZING IN THE MUD. IF IT DID NOT IT WILL BE OUT IN THE YARD
GRAZING. THIS GOES ON FOR SOME DAYS AND NIGEL IS SICK OF THE 2KM TRIP WITH
THE WHEELBARROW. SMITH PHONES AND ASKS WHAT THE PIG IS DOING. IS IT LAZING
IN THE MUD OR EATING GRASS? NEITHER, IS THE REPLY. THE PIG IS SITTING IN
THE
WHEELBARROW!!!

(Please don't YELL EJ, we can all hear you. ED)

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From Moose: (a big repeat, I like it. ED)

I'm not usually one for posting warnings about potential scams but I had a
close call yesterday.
I walked into B&Q hardware store at lunchtime and some old guy dressed in a
black shirt with an orange apron on asked me if I wanted decking.
Fortunately, I got the first punch in and sorted the bastard out. Those
less suspecting might not be so lucky.
Pass this warning on.

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Not to be outdone, Nottingham Smithie chimed in:

WORLD CLOCK.......This is amazing, someone put a lot of time and effort
into making this.

 Click here


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Nottingham Smithie also sent us these little gems:

Gentle Thoughts for Today

Birds of a feather flock together and crap on your car.

When I'm feeling down, I like to whistle. It makes the neighbour's dog run
to the end of his chain and gag himself.

A penny saved is a government oversight.

The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the
right time, but also to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting
moment.

The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your
body and your fat have gotten to be really good friends.

The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a
replacement.

He who hesitates is probably right.

Did you ever notice: The Roman Numerals for forty (40) are 'XL.'

If you think there is good in everybody, you haven't met everybody.

If you can smile when things go wrong, you have someone in mind to blame.

The sole purpose of a child's middle name is so he can tell when he's
really in trouble.

There's always a lot to be thankful for if you take time to look for it.
For example I am sitting here thinking how nice it is that wrinkles don't
hurt

Did you ever notice: When you put the 2 words 'The' and 'IRS' together it
spells 'Theirs.'

Aging: Eventually you will reach a point when you stop lying about your age
and start bragging about it.

The older we get, the fewer things seem worth waiting in line for.

Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know
'why' I look this way. I've travelled a long way and some of the roads
weren't paved.

When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of
Algebra.

You know you are getting old when everything either dries up or leaks.

One of the many things no one tells you about aging is that it is such a
nice change from being young.

Ah, being young is beautiful, but being old is comfortable.

First you forget names, then you forget faces. Then you forget to pull up
your zipper. It's worse when you forget to pull it down.

Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called
witchcraft - Today, it's called golf

Lord, Keep your arm around my shoulder and your hand over my mouth.....
AMEN

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Advances in modern medicine

An Israeli doctor said, "Medicine in my country is so advanced, we can take
a kidney out of one person, put it in another, and have him looking for
work in six weeks."

A German doctor said, "That's nothing! In Germany, we can take a lung out
of one person, put it in another, and have him looking for work in four
weeks."

A Russian doctor said, "In my country medicine is so advanced, we can take
half a heart from one person, put it in another, and have them both
looking for work in two weeks."

The English doctor, not to be outdone, said "Hah!. We can take an ar*ehole
out of Scotland, put him in 10 Downing Street and have half the country
looking for work within twenty-four hours!"

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Seasoldier bobbed up with this one:

Pirate

A pirate walked into a bar and the bartender said, 'Hey, I haven't seen you
in a while.  What happened? You look terrible.'
'What do you mean?' said the pirate, 'I feel fine.'

Bartender: 'What about the wooden leg? You didn't have that before.'
Pirate: 'Well, we were in a battle and I got hit with a cannon ball, but
I'm fine now.'

Bartender: 'Well, okay, but what about that hook? What happened to your
hand?'
Pirate: 'We were in another battle. I boarded a ship and got into a sword
Fight. My hand was cut off. I got fitted with a hook. I'm fine, really.'

Bartender: 'What about that eye patch?'
Pirate:  'Oh, one day we were at sea and a flock of birds flew over.
I looked up and one of them sh*t in my eye.'
You're kidding,' said the bartender, 'you can't lose an eye just from bird
sh*t
Pirate:  'Well, it was my first day with the hook.'
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Stumpy Steve came up with these:

The Future of Nursery Rhymes

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
The structure of the wall was incorrect
So he won a grand with Claims Direct.

It's Raining, It's Pouring.
Oh sh*t, it's Global Warming.

Mary had a little lamb
her father shot it dead.
Now it goes to school with her between two chunks of bread.

Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair.
Said Simple Simon to the pie man
'What have u got there?'
Said the pie man unto Simon
Pies you Duckhead.

Mary had a little lamb
it ran into a pylon.
10,000 volts went up its ar*e and turned its wool to nylon.

Georgie Porgie Pudding and Pie kissed the girls and made them cry.
When the boys came out to play he kissed them too cause he was gay.

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
And planned to do some kissing.
Jack made a pass and grabbed her ar*e
Now two of his teeth are missing.

Mary had a little lamb
Its fleece was white and wispy.
Then it caught Foot and Mouth Disease
And now it's black and crispy.

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A kindergarten class had a homework assignment to find out something
exciting and relate it to the class the next day.

When the time came to present what they'd found, the first little boy the
teacher called on walked up to the front of the class, and with a piece of
chalk, made a small white dot on the blackboard and sat back down.

Puzzled, the teacher asked him what it was. 'It's a period,' he replied. 'I
can see that,' said the teacher, 'but what is so exciting about a period?

'Darned if I know,' he said, 'but this morning my sister was missing one,
my mum fainted, my dad had a heart attack, and the boy next door joined
the
Navy.'

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A blonde walks into a pharmacy and asks the assistant for some rectum
deodorant. The pharmacist, a little bemused, explains to the woman they
don't sell rectum deodorant, and never have. Unfazed, the blonde assures
the pharmacist that she has been buying the stuff from this store on a
regular basis and would like some more.

"I'm sorry", says the pharmacist, "We don't have any!"

"But I always buy it here," says the blonde

"Do you have the container that it came in?" asks the pharmacist.

"YES", said the blonde, "I'll go home and get it."
She returns with the container and hands it to the pharmacist who looks at
it and says to her, "This is just a normal stick of underarm deodorant"

Annoyed, the blonde snatches the container back and reads out loud from the
container.........


 (Wait for it).

"TO APPLY, PUSH UP BOTTOM


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Anonymous turned up again this week with this amusing piece:

Newspaper funnies:

Shitterton: The village that dare not speak its name
For centuries, this pretty Dorset village has enjoyed a special place in
the
Gazetteer of Britain. But now, there's a stirring behind the hedgerows, and
some of its residents are (whisper it) rebranding their community. Things
may never be quite the same... in Shitterton. Rhodri Marsden reports

Wednesday, 21 May 2008
The Independent, London.


I think I'm in Shitterton. But I'm not sure. Satellite navigation
technology, while adept at guiding me round complex urban one-way systems,
is less than helpful in locating one of the rudest place names in the
country; it offered me a choice of going either to Shillington in
Bedfordshire, or Shutta in Cornwall. But no sign of Shitterton.

After going back to basics and consulting a map, I head into the Dorset
village of Bere Regis, emerge at the other side and arrive at a cul-de-sac
with a wooden signpost bereft of its nameplate. If this is indeed
Shitterton, someone either loved the name so much that they felt the need
to swipe a memento, or they were so concerned about its power to corrupt
innocent minds that they prised it off and slung it into a nearby hedge.

I wind down the window and call out to a passer-by: "Is this place called,
er...?" My enquiry feels impertinent, mainly because I was brought up never
to say "sh*t" to strangers. But they're clearly used to timid visitors,
here. "Yes, yes, this is Shitterton," comes the boisterous reply.


****

Goadsby's, an estate agent, currently has a wonderful four-bedroomed barn
conversion in Dorset on its books. It boasts a tranquil, rural setting,
hefty beams and gorgeous communal gardens. Even prospective buyers who
might be worried about the state of the property market would be keen on
viewing it.

But what the particulars don't mention is the exact location. Goadsby's
manager coyly admits that they don't reveal this initially, before hastily
adding that they "haven't found the name an issue". Oh, but it is an issue
-
and one, apparently, that's being batted backwards and forwards by its
residents. Is it Shitterton? Or Sitterton? Dorset's civic leaders would
prefer the latter, to be sure, and elements in the village are said to be
all for a spot of 21st-century rebranding. But for now, Shitterton it
shall remain.

This isn't the only place in Britain proudly to wear the Shit- prefix - an
unholy trinity is formed with Shittlehope and Shitlington Crags, both in
the
North-east of England - but Shitterton is the only one of the three
actually to be named after excrement. According to the mathematician Keith
Briggs,
who keeps an informative website on this burning topic, the name is
probably derived from a river called Shiter, "a brook used as a privy".

As I pass over Shitterton Bridge, I note that the stream that bisects the
village - and was once presumably a cascading torrent of sh*t - is in fact
a picturesque little waterway. The absence of any sh*t in the immediate
vicinity is reflected in the distinctly unsh*tty names of the surrounding
houses: Honeycomb Cottage, Rose Cottage, Sunnyside, Merrydown.

But there has been an attempt to rewrite history. There is a row of
ex-council houses on a road defiantly labelled Sitterton Close; Sitterton
House has eradicated any whiff of ordure by dropping that all-important
"h";
and even Wess*x Water's local sewage pump, situated slap bang in the middle
of the village, is labelled as being located in Sitterton. Is this really a
village that dare not speak its own name?

Not according to Diana Ventham, who, with her husband, owns Shitterton
Farmhouse and the internet domain name sh*tterton.com. Until they recently
wound down the business, they rented out the cottages adjoining their home
to eager hordes of tourists who came to visit Monkey World (a local ape
sanctuary), explore Thomas Hardy country and send postcards back to their
families wishing that they, too, could have come along on an away-break to
Shitterton. "The name attracted a lot of people, there's no doubt about
that," Ventham says, "and we love it. My mother, who lives with us, is in
her nineties; she used to tell people that she lived in Sitterton
Farmhouse,
but even she has come around. She's definitely a Shitterton person now."

Ventham's half of the village contrasts markedly with the prudish Sitterton
Close; numerous references to Shitterton are dotted around, and there's a
house that's mischievously called Pooh Corner. "There are people who call
it
Sitterton," she says, "but I really don't know why it bothers them. As far
as I'm concerned, the only annoying thing about it is that the Shitterton
sign keeps being stolen."

I point out that it wasn't there when I arrived a few minutes earlier.
"Really? That's three gone this year, already. We're trying to get planning
permission for one that's engraved into a huge lump of Purbeck stone. They
won't be able to get that into the boot of their car."

While there is no evidence that having an address that alludes to sewage,
genitals, prostitution, bottoms, murder or masturbation makes your house
any less pleasant to live in, Shitterton isn't the only place in the UK
where residents have turned against their addresses, in spite of having
decided to move there in the first place. Ed Hurst, who co-wrote three
books (including
Rude Britain) that look at the origins of rude place-names, recalls
visiting a street in Lincolnshire called Fanny Hands Lane and knocking on
a few doors to uncover some history. "I wasn't prepared for the sheer
hostility that I encountered," he says. "They were sick of having their
road sign pinched,
they were sick of pizza not being delivered because the restaurant thought
it was a hoax call. As it turned out, it was just named after a woman
called
Fanny Hands."

Campaigns by residents to effect name-changes that might give the area a
bit more class are, by and large, destined to fail, according to Hurst.
"There's a Slutshole Lane in Norfolk that is still called Slutshole Lane,
despite residents' best efforts," he recalls. "And there's a Butthole
Road, which they're trying to change to - wait for it - Buttonhole Road.

"Thing is, nearly all of these names have perfectly innocent origins.
Butthole Road is just named after a borehole, a water source." Not
someone's ar*e, then? "Well, exactly."

Shitterton probably started a slow metamorphosis towards Sitterton during
the Victorian era, at the same time as towns and villages on the river
Piddle were being renamed to Tolpuddle, Affpuddle and Puddletown -
presumably in order not to cause embarrassment to travellers asking for
directions.


****

John Hyde, who is 90 years old next month and has lived nearly all his life
in Shitterton, certainly remembers what he called the place as a child.
"Shitterton," he says, emphatically. "Definitely Shitterton."

There's something about the Dorset accent that makes the word "Shitterton"
sound particularly rich and unctuous, and Hyde certainly makes the most of
it. "As an infant, I went to Shitterton Girls School - that's Shitterton -
before going to the boys school down the road," he says. "But when they
built these houses in the 1930s for people who worked on the local
watercress fields, they named the road Sitterton Close. It's strange."

As our discussion continues, Hyde starts diplomatically to refer to the
village as "Shitterton-or-Sitterton" - a name that could be a compromise
to suit all parties. "But the strange thing is," he continues, "that those
1930s houses aren't even in Shitterton-or-Sitterton. When I was a boy, if I
was meeting someone round there, I'd say, 'See you up Podges.'" Podges?
"Yes. But I've no idea why," he laughs.

Despite the notion of a vicious rivalry between residents who rejoice in
living in Shitterton and those who'd rather die than admit living there,
I'm having trouble finding any staunch Sitterton supporters (which is a
great tongue-twister, if you're ever on the lookout for one). A couple who
identify themselves as "the Butterfields" are taking the shopping out of
their car; neither has the slightest problem with Shitterton. "It is what
it is. We don't really take any notice of it," they say. Down the road,
however, Marianne Turner displays an almost romantic fervour for the old
name. "It's just so precious, isn't it?" she says. "But I am always
queried about it when I give my address on the phone, and I still receive
mail sent to Sitterton.

"I even ordered some notepaper from a local printer, carefully spelled out
the name of the village as Shitterton - and it all came back with
Sitterton on it. I'm glad the Ordnance Survey have changed it back to
Shitterton on their maps, though." Maybe, after few letters to the major
satnav companies,
the whole cartography industry will finally be sitting on the Shitterton
side of the fence.

Just when I thought I would never get to hear the other side of the story,
and that this supposed crusade against Shitterton had been cooked up by
Dorset Council to get people to visit Monkey World, I approached a woman
walking her dog at the bottom of Sitterton Close. By this point, everyone
had been so proud of their village's name that my opening gambit, I must
confess, had become a little over-friendly, some might say downright rude.

"Hello - I just wanted to ask you, are you a Sitter, or a Shitter?" A cold,
steely glance. "I'm walking my dog, thank you very much," came the reply.
Hmm. I reckon she's a Sitter, no question.

It seemed wrong that Shitterton should be deprived of its identity by
puerile thieves, so I nipped into the nearest store in Bere Regis, bought
some paper, crayons and drawing pins, and sat down to create a temporary
sign. According to Diana Ventham, the council's replacements have been
getting flimsier and flimsier as more and more of them have disappeared
into the ether; and nothing could be flimsier than the scrawled SHITT I
now attached to the wooden signpost. But at least the village now proudly
announced itself to anyone leaving Bere Regis.

A review of Rude Britain on amazon.co.uk ponders how different Daphne du
Maurier's Rebecca might have been if it had begun: "Last night I dreamt I
went to Shitterton again..." Well, at least if anyone tries to pay
Shitterton a visit now, they'll have better luck finding it than I did.

What's in a name? Britain's rudest places

By Jonathan Christie

Cockington

Just a mile from Torbay's seafront lies the thatched village of Cockington,
whose pretty houses are steeped in history. Nelson dined at Cockington
Court, and Lutyens designed the local pub, where sniggering over the
village name is kept to a minimum. Quiet and quaint, Cockington is a
pricey place to live and its proximity to the "English Riviera" makes it a
honeypot for holidaymakers.

Lickey End

In spite of large-scale development in the 1990s, Lickey End is a local
beauty spot that makes up one part of the Lickeys, a collection of
villages near Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. It draws walkers looking to
explore the
Lickey Hills, and there's a good local school, making it popular with
families. Residents ignore the wisecracks about their village's name,
maintaining a dignified air in the face of ridicule.

Nob End

Nob End, near Bolton, Lancashire, is a 21-acre site that includes the
southern half of the village of Little Lever. It was formed by the dumping
of toxic alkali waste during the 19th century, which resulted in an unusual
landscape of chalk-loving vegetation. This rare site of special scientific
interest is offset by the distant industrial landscape of Greater
Manchester and the quaint cottages that line the nearby waterways and
weirs.

Thong

Thong is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it hamlet, south-east of Gravesend in
Kent.
It has absolutely no connection with skimpy undergarments. Travel links,
however, are good - it's just 500 yards or so from the A2 (almost too
close) and five miles from Ebbsfleet International station. The few shops
that are there wouldn't see many people through the week. Luckily, the
giant
Bluewater centre is close at hand.

Ugley

Ugley in Ess*x is anything but; it sits between Saffron Walden and Bishop's
Stortford, in prime commuterland. The name probably means "Woodland
clearing of a man named Ugga". The Ugley Women's Institute grew so tired
of the juvenile jibes that they changed its name to the Women's Institute
of Ugley,
a rebranding exercise not yet repeated by the Ugley Farmers' Market.

Pratts Bottom

Located just within the M25 motorway, to the south of Orpington in Kent,
Pratts Bottom was first recorded as Spratts Bottom in 1773, but it quickly
changed to its present form, meaning "valley of a family called Pratt".
Very expensive and very desirable, its moniker seems to make no difference
to people seeking rural bliss in close proximity to London. The village
website admits that it is "often the butt of jokes".

Lower Swell

Fans of the puerile will love Lower Swell in Gloucestershire. Not only does
its name raise eyebrows, but the river Dikler and the Golden Ball pub
rarely fail to raise a smile, too. That said, it has some of England's
finest countryside, a tranquil village green and plenty of mellow stone
cottages -
and the quintessential Cotswold town of Stow-on-the-Wold is just up the
road.

Wetwang

Wetwang is a Yorkshire Wolds village that sits on a busy main road along
the coast. Debate surrounds the origins of its name; it means either
"field for the trial of a legal action" or just "wet field". Whatever the
meaning, the name attracts so many sniggers that the late Richard Whiteley
was bizarrely made the honorary Mayor of Wetwang, a title now held by the
BBC Look North weatherman Paul Hudson.

Twatt

Fifteen minutes' drive north of Stromness in Orkney lies the hamlet of
Twatt. The name comes from ancient Norse, meaning "small parcel of land" -
and there's not a lot there apart from a clutch of unexciting buildings and
the A967. The beauty of Twatt, though, lies in its wild setting,
breathtaking views and a sense of total isolation. Houses here are
decidedly affordable.

Balls Green

Sounding more like a reason to visit the doctor than a dot on the map,
Balls
Green is a tiny hamlet between Tunbridge Wells and East Grinstead, close to
the borders of Surrey, Kent and Suss*x. It has pretty peg-tile cottages and
detached, oversized houses clustered along its one quiet lane. Too small
even for a pub, drinkers need to look a few miles up the road to the
Dorset
Arms in Withyham to slake their thirst.

Penistone

Penistone is a thriving market town west of Barnsley in South Yorkshire, in
the foothills of the Pennines. Its name derives from the Old English "tun",
meaning farm or village; Penstun and Penstone are early versions of the
name. The Domesday Book simply refers to it as "wasted". It has all the
amenities you'd expect in a rural town of 8,500 residents, including a
cinema, farmers' market and, er, morris dancers.

Bitchfield

Five miles south of Grantham, Lincolnshire, is the delightfully named
village of Bitchfield. But the name's definitely its main attraction;
there's nothing to see, just two groups of buildings connected by Dark
Lane,
and a small chapel. Beware: avoiding Bitchfield because of its name may
land you up in nearby Bulby, Aslackby, Sproxton or Burton Coggles. Not
much of an improvement.

Tosside

Tosside in Lancashire is considered by residents to be the smallest place
in the world. Its origins stretch back to the Vikings, with its name
derived from "tod", meaning fox, and "saetr", meaning high summer pasture.
Located between the villages of Slaidburn and Wigglesworth, within the
Forest of
Bowland, it's a designated area of outstanding natural beauty that can be
explored on foot or bike. It may be tiny, but Tosside does have a pub -
the
Dog and Partridge.

Prickwillow

Prickwillow is set on the banks of the river Lark, four miles east of Ely
in
Cambridgeshire. The "Prick" in Prickwillow is said to be a reference to the
"pr*ckets" of willow - long, thin skewers used to make thatch - that grew
in the nearby marshes. The village lies below sea level and a series of
pumping engines were installed to ensure that the land remained arable.
Some of them can be enjoyed at Prickwillow's Museum of Fenland Drainage.

Crapstone

Crapstone in Devon is to be found on the western edge of Dartmoor, one mile
away from Yelverton. The locals are fiercely defensive of their village,
even starting a campaign on Facebook complaining about a television advert
that claimed to be set in Crapstone but was actually filmed near "the
Pimple" in Tavistock. It has been noted that Crapstone's industrial hub is
the Crapstone Business Park, while its financial district is the counter
of the local post office.

Bell End

Five miles up the road from Lickey End is the minuscule hamlet of Bell End.
Set on the busy A491, between the M5 and Stourbridge, in the Bromsgrove
district of Worcestershire, it consists largely of the Bell Inn pub and a
couple of houses. So there are very few residents to suffer the shame of
living in Bell End.

Cockermouth

Cockermouth in Cumbria sits at the confluence of the rivers Cocker and
Derwent. It's an ancient town, with Roman, Viking and Norman influences,
which has grown over the centuries to a population of nearly 8,000 people.
It's the birthplace of William Wordsworth and Fletcher Christian. In spite
of its proximity to the Lake District, it suffers much less from summer
tourists than close neighbour Keswick (that means Cockermouth is not as
popular or pretty). It's also home to the Belfagan all-female morris
dancers.

Spital in the Street

Boasting just a few buildings and a public phone-box, Spital in the Street
joins a long list of Lincolnshire places with a hint of unsavouriness.
It's on the busy intersection of the A15 and A631, north of Lincoln, and
has the equally daft Owmby-by-Spital and Normanby-by-Spital as near
neighbours. Not as remote as it seems, Spital in the Street is half a mile
west of Hemswell
Cliff, which has a school, museum, pub and hotel.

Titlington

The cheekily named Titlington is six miles west of Alnwick in
Northumberland and 10 miles from the coast. The population has dwindled
over the years, and it now consists of a few houses and the spectacular
Titlington Mount, a country pile used for corporate functions and
weddings.

Upper Dicker

Originally the site of a medieval trade centre ("d*cker" means barter),
Upper Dicker sits within sight of the South Downs near Polegate. Not the
prettiest village (or name) in the area, the housing stock is a mixture of
Downland vernacular and modern boxes, slightly blighted by a fast
through-road. There's a smattering of shops along the main road and the
posh
St Bede's senior school is in the village. Lower Dicker is just down the
road.

Muff

Muff - from the Irish word "magh" - is a village in County Donegal, on the
border between the Republic and Northern Ireland. Over the last decade,
Muff has seen a huge growth in population, with people from Northern
Ireland moving across the border. The first week in August sees the Muff
Festival -
and there's a diving club in the village called, yes, the Muff Diving Club.


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Anonymous (you know who you are) turned up with a political comment and
writes:

Hi,
I've been a reader since I've had the internet, actually stumbled upon the
site via a forward sent to me.  Thankyou to all the team and contributors
-
I laugh so hard sometimes I cry and the kids can enjoy some of the pics
too!

Now for my first contribution, not really a joke but none the less in the
vein of FH - I hope!

It's time we all get behind Bruce Allen, and scrap this Political
Correctness crap.  His comments were anything but racist, but there are far
too many overly-sensitive "New Australians" that are trying to change
everything we hold dear.
This is not exclusively an Australian problem.

Regarding Our National Anthem

I am sorry, but after hearing they want to sing the National Anthem in
Hindi - enough is enough. No where or at no other time in our nation's
history,
did they sing it in Italian, Japanese, Polish, Irish (Celtic), German,
Portuguese, Greek, or any other language because of immigration. It was
written in English, and should be sung word for word the way it was
written.

The news broadcasts even gave the translation -- not even close.

I am not sorry if this offends anyone, this is MY COUNTRY - IF IT IS YOUR
COUNTRY SPEAK UP ---- please pass this along

I am not against immigration -- just come through like everyone else. Get a
sponsor; have a place to lay your head; have a job; pay your taxes, live by
the rules AND LEARN THE LANGUAGE as all other immigrants have in the past
--
and LONG LIVE Australia!

PART OF THE PROBLEM. Think about this: If you don't want to forward this
for fear of offending someone-----YOU'RE PART OF THE PROBLEM !!!!

Will we still be the Country of Choice and still be Australia if we
continue to make the changes forced on us by the people from other
countries who have come to live in Australia because it is the Country of
Choice??????

Think about it!

IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIAN'S, MUST ADAPT.

It is Time for Australia to Speak up. If you agree -- pass

       This along; if you don't agree -- delete it!

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Glad that's over - Well time for the Digi stuff now,
I know how you love it all. Just sit back and click that mouse....


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Your Editor found these:

Car Wash

 Click here

Snake in the Grass

 Click here

The Greatest Prank Call Ever

 Click here

Bud Light Presents- Real Men of Genius

 Click here

Car Accident

 Click here

Play of the Day
Personally I think golf ruins a good walk.

 Click here

Hunting?

 Click here

Does my bum look big in this?

 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here

One night stand

 Click here

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From: Moose

One Question..........
 Click here

Scotland 1 - Ireland 0
 Click here

Wow
 Click here

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From: Muse

Sorry Officer
 Click here

Can't always be smooth...
 Click here

The versatility of a pillow!
 Click here

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Nottingham Smithie rounded these up:

Aussie Shipping Accident
 Click here

Zimbabwe
 Click here
(This may be out of date already. ED)

I knew   it!!!
 Click here

Trees
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here

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Seasoldier followed with these:

Calendar(XXX)
 Click here


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The Great Gussius found this bloke:

Playing the piano with his balls
 Click here

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Now Whizzbang (whom your ED now appreciates):

QUEENSLANDER!
Go the mighty Maroons
Only true Queenslanders will pass this on!
 Click here

TAB Customer Service (XXX Language)
 Click here

BIKE RIDING IN SAN FRANCISCO(XX)
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here

Manual handling at its best
 Click here

The Day God Dropped the Paint Box
This is a real place outside Bakersfield , California .
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here

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Anonymous came up with:

More failures!
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here Click here

LITTLE THINGS THAT WILL RUIN YOUR PHOTO........
 Click here Click here Click here Click here


A group hug to brighten your day!(Ladies Only ED)
 Click here

Are you feeling lucky, Today?
 Click here

Send your name or company name to the moon with NASA. Print the PDF
certificate after.

Can attach their names which will be put onto a microchip and into the the
LRO!
 Click here

No trees were destroyed in the sending of this contaminant-free message.
However, we do concede that a significant number of electrons may have been
inconvenienced.

China is ready for the Olympic Tourists... the saga continues ...laugh your
head off!
Which is one step up from just lovely..
 Click here
But taste like cat
 Click here
Here, crippie, take my seat
 Click here
Great with flied lice
 Click here
A seperate entrance for Hos why didn't I think of that...
 Click here
Sounds better than canned water doesn't it?
 Click here
Go over there to die, please. Thank you.
 Click here
Good to know
 Click here
Not nice. Some of my best friends are liquor heads.
 Click here
Look up and down the isle twice before proceeding...
 Click here
Much tastier that the grown up variety..
 Click here
It would be once you start chewing on it
 Click here
Starbucks should be very afraid!
 Click here
I wouldn't tickle this one
 Click here
Weird, because horsebeans sound delicious.
 Click here
Better known in N.Z. as Millers...
 Click here
I knew it
 Click here
They should open shop here!
 Click here
If there's one thing we don't need help with...
 Click here
'See you after the flight,  Mum .'
 Click here
Should be in front of half the hotels in town.
 Click here
The dork is delicious, not too sure about the barboo...
 Click here

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Thought for the Day:

When you go into court, you are putting yourself into the hands of twelve
people who weren't smart enough to get out of jury duty.


Have a great Week,
Burnout.


___._-fh-_.____._-fh-_.____._-fh-_.____._-fh-_.____._-fh-_.___


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[ End friday humour ]

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