Friday humour - November 18, 2011

From: Allnutts
ALL MEN SHOULD WATCH !!!!....
 Click here

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1945 "Air Show"
Would love to have been there . . .  this is a keeper . . .

Attached is a 1945 airshow at Freeman Army Airfield in Indiana, featuring
captured German WWII aircraft... You'll see briefly a couple of "terror
weapons," the V-1 and V-2 rockets that terrorized Londoners... Also
briefly,
a look at the German rocket plane ME-263, Dornier bombers, the ME-109 and
more... Of course, lots of familiar American WWII aircraft, plus a CG-4A
glider snatch by a C-47... Background music by big bands of the Forties,
notably the opening Glen Miller number, "In the Mood" (from back when music
was music)...Freeman Army Airfield was closed down in 1946 and is now
Freeman Airport serving Seymour, Indiana...

A neat airshow video from 1945. Click below:

 Click here

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From: Burnout
Cummins V Cyclists
 Click here

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From: Burnout
Smokin Joe
'Smokin' Joe Frazier died last week, some of us are old enough to remember.

One of the most elegant sports articles ever written covering the 'Thrilla
in Manilla', and a fitting tribute to the late Great Joe Frazier.
"Lawdy, Lawdy, He's Great"

Joe Frazier said that of Muhammad Ali, but so fierce and unsparing was
their confrontation that the phrase could have applied to them both.
By Mark Kram

It was only a moment, sliding past the eyes like the sudden shifting of
light and shadow, but long years from now it will remain a pure and moving
glimpse of hard reality, and if Muhammad Ali could have turned his eyes
upon himself, what first and final truth could he have seen? He had been
led up the winding, red- carpeted staircase by Imelda Marcos, the first
lady of the Philippines, as the guest of honor at the MalacaŻang
Palace. Soft music drifted in from the terrace as the beautiful Imelda
guided the massive and still heavyweight champion of the world to the long
buffet ornamented by huge candelabra. The two whispered, and then she
stopped and filled his plate, and as he waited the candles threw an eerie
light across the face of a man who only a few hours before had survived the
ultimate inquisition of himself and his art.
The maddest of existentialists, one of the great surrealists of our time,
the king of all he sees, Ali had never before appeared so vulnerable and
fragile, so pitiably unmajestic, so far from the universe he claims as his
along. He could barely hold his fork, and he lifted the food slowly up to
his bottom lip, which had been scr*ped pink. The skin on his face was dull
and blotched, his eyes drained of that familiar childlike wonder. His right
eye was a deep purple, beginning to close, a dark blind being drawn against
a harsh light. He chewed his food painfully, and then he suddenly moved
away from the candles as if he had become aware of the mask he was wearing,
as if an inner voice were laughing at him. He shrugged, and the moment was
gone.
A couple of miles away in the bedroom of a villa, the man who has always
demanded answers of Ali, has trailed the champion like a timber wolf, lay
in semidarkness. Only his heavy breathing disturbed the quiet as an old
friend walked to within two feet of him. "Who is it?" asked Joe Frazier,
lifting himself to look around. "I can't see! I can't see! Turn the lights
on!" Another light was turned on, but Frazier still could not see. The
scene cannot be forgotten; this good and gallant man lying there, embodying
the remains of a will never before seen in a ring, a will that had carried
him so far -- and now surely too far. His eyes were only slits, his face
looked as if it had been painted by Goya. "Man, I hit him with punches
that'd bring down the walls of a city," said Frazier. "Lawdy, Lawdy, he's a
great champion." Then he put his head back down on the pillow, and soon
there was only the heavy breathing of a deep sleep slapping like big waves
against the silence.
Time may well erode that long morning drama in Manila, but for anyone who
was there those faces will return again and again to evoke what it was like
when two of the greatest heavyweights of any era met for a third time, and
left millions limp around the world. Muhammad Ali caught the way it was:
"It was like death. Closest thing to dyin' that I know of."
Ali's version of death began about 10:45 a.m. on Oct. 1 in Manila. Up to
then his attitude had been almost frivolous. He would simply not accept Joe
Frazier as a man or as a fighter, despite the bitter lesson Frazier had
given him in their first savage meeting. Esthetics govern all of Ali's
actions and conclusions; the way a man looks, the way he moves is what
interests Ali. By Ali's standards, Frazier was not pretty as a man and
without semblance of style as a fighter. Frazier was an affront to beauty,
to Ali's own beauty as well as to his precious concept of how a good
fighter should move. Ali did not hate Frazier, but he viewed him with the
contempt of a man who cannot bear anything short of physical and
professional perfection.
Right up until the bell rang for Round One, Ali was dead certain that
Frazier was through, was convinced that he was no more than a shell, that
too many punches to the head had left Frazier only one more solid shot
removed from a tin cup and some pencils. "What kind of man can take all
those punches to the head?" he asked himself over and over. He could never
come up with an answer. Eventually, he dismissed Frazier as the embodiment
of animal stupidity. Before the bell Ali was subdued in his corner, often
looking down to his manager, Herbert Muhammad, and conversing aimlessly.
Once, seeing a bottle of mineral water in front of Herbert, he said,
"Watcha got there, Herbert? Gin! You don't need any of that. Just another
day's work. I'm gonna put a whuppin' on this nigger's head."
Across the ring Joe Frazier was wearing trunks that seemed to have been cut
from a farmer's overalls. He was darkly tense, bobbing up and down as if
trying to start a cold motor inside himself. Hatred had never been a part
of him, but words like "gorilla," "ugly," "ignorant" -- all the cruelty of
Ali's endless vilifications -- had finally bitten deeply into his soul. He
was there not seeking victory alone; he wanted to take Ali's heart out and
then crush it slowly in his hands. One thought of the moment days before,
when Ali and Frazier with their handlers between them were walking out of
the MalacaŻang Palace, and Frazier said to Ali, leaning over and measuring
each word, "I'm gonna whup your half-breed ass."
By packed and malodorous Jeepneys, by small and tinny taxis, by limousine
and by worn-out bikes, 28,000 had made their way into the Philippine
Coliseum. The morning sun beat down, and the South China Sea brought not a
whisper of wind. The streets of the city emptied as the bout came on public
television. At ringside, even though the arena was air-conditioned, the
heat wrapped around the body like a heavy wet rope. By now, President
Ferdinand Marcos, a small brown derringer of a man, and Imelda, beautiful
and cool as if she were relaxed on a palace balcony taking tea, had been
seated.
Ali unleashed a verbal assault on Joe Frazier, then the two fighters raged
war on each other in the ring. True to his plan,
arrogant and contemptuous of an opponent's worth as never before, Ali
opened the fight flat-footed in the center of the ring, his hands whipping
out and back like the pistons of an enormous and magnificent engine. Much
broader than he has ever been, the look of swift destruction defined by his
every move, Ali seemed indestructible. Once, so long ago, he had been a
splendidly plumed bird who wrote on the wind a singular kind of poetry of
the body, but now he was down to earth, brought down by the changing shape
of his body, by a sense of his own vulnerability, and by the years of
excess. Dancing was for a ballroom; the ugly hunt was on. Head up and
unprotected, Frazier stayed in the mouth of the cannon, and the big gun
roared again and again. Frazier's legs buckled two or three times in that
first round, and in the second he took more lashing as Ali loaded on him
all the meanness that he could find in himself. "He won't call you Clay no
more," Bundini Brown, the spirit man, cried hoar*ely from the corner. To
Bundini, the fight would be a question of where fear first registered, but
there was no fear in Frazier. In the third round Frazier was shaken twice,
and looked as if he might go at any second as his head jerked up toward the
hot lights and the sweat flew off his face. Ali hit Frazier at will, and
when he chose to do otherwise he stuck his long left arm in Frazier's face.
Ali would not be holding in this bout as he had in the second. The referee,
a brisk workman, was not going to tolerate clinching. If he needed to buy
time, Ali would have to use his long left to disturb Frazier's balance. A
hint of shift came in the fourth. Frazier seemed to be picking up the beat,
his threshing-blade punches started to come into range as he snorted and
rolled closer. "Stay mean with him, champ!" Ali's corner screamed. Ali
still had his man in his sights, and whipped at his head furiously. But at
the end of the round, sensing a change and annoyed, he glared at Frazier
and said, "You dumb chump, you!" Ali fought the whole fifth round in his
own corner. Frazier worked his body, the whack of his gloves on Ali's
kidneys sounding like heavy thunder. "Get out of the goddamn corner,"
shouted Angelo Dundee, Ali's trainer. "Stop playing," squawked Herbert
Muhammad, wringing his hands and wiping the mineral water nervously from
his mouth. Did they know what was ahead?
Came the sixth, and here it was, that one special moment that you always
look for when Joe Frazier is in a fight. Most of his fights have shown
this: You can go so far into that desolate and dark place where the heart
of Frazier pounds, you can waste his perimeters, you can see his head
hanging in the public square, may even believe that you have him, but then
suddenly you learn that you have not. Once more the pattern emerged as
Frazier loosed all of the fury, all that has made him a brilliant
heavyweight. He was in close now, fighting off Ali's chest, the place where
he has to be. His old calling card-that sudden evil, his left hook-was
working the head of Ali. Two hooks ripped with slaughterhouse finality at
Ali's jaw, causing Imelda Marcos to look down at her feet, and the
President to wince as if a knife had been stuck in his back. Ali's legs
seemed to search for the floor. He was in serious trouble, and he knew that
he was in no-man's land.
Whatever else might one day be said about Muhammad Ali, it should never be
said that he is without courage, that he cannot take a punch. He took those
shots by Frazier, and then came out for the seventh, saying to him, "Old
Joe Frazier, why I thought you were washed up." Joe replied, "Somebody told
you all wrong, pretty boy."
Frazier's assault continued. By the end of the 10th round it was an even
fight. Ali sat on his stool like a man ready to be staked out in the sun.
His head was bowed, and when he raised it his eyes rolled from the agony of
exhaustion. "Force yourself, champ!" his corner cried. "Go down to the well
once more!" begged Bundini, tears streaming down his face. "The world needs
ya, champ!" In the 11th, Ali got trapped in Frazier's corner,
and blow after blow bit at his melting face, and flecks of spittle flew
from his mouth. "Lawd have mercy!" Bundini shrieked.
The world held its breath. But then Ali dug deep down into whatever it is
that he is about, and even his severest critics would have to admit that
the man-boy had become finally a man. He began to catch Frazier with long
right hands, and blood trickled from Frazier's mouth. Now, Frazier's face
began to lose definition; like lost islands reemerging from the sea,
massive bumps rose suddenly around each eye, especially the left. His
punches seemed to be losing their strength. "My God," wailed Angelo
Dundee. "Look at 'im. He ain't got no power, champ!" Ali threw the last
ounces of resolve left in his body in the 13th and 14th. He sent Frazier's
bloody mouthpiece flying into the press row in the 13th, and nearly floored
him with a right in the center of the ring. Frazier was now no longer
coiled. He was up high, his hands down, and as the bell for the 14th round
sounded, Dundee pushed Ali out saying, "He's all yours!" And he was, as Ali
raked him with nine straight right hands. Frazier was not picking up the
punches, and as he returned to his corner at the round's end the Filipino
referee guided his great hulk part of the way.
"Joe," said his manager, Eddie Futch, "I'm going to stop it."
"No, no, Eddie, ya can't do that to me," Frazier pleaded, his thick tongue
barely getting the words out. He started to rise.
"You couldn't see in the last two rounds," said Futch. "What makes ya think
ya gonna see in the 15th?"
"I want him, boss," said Frazier.
"Sit down, son," said Futch, pressing his hand on Frazier's shoulder. "It's
all over. No one will ever forget what you did here today."
And so it will be, for once more had Frazier taken the child of the gods to
hell and back. After the fight Futch said: "Ali fought a smart fight. He
conserved his energy, turning it off when he had to. He can afford to do it
because of his style. It was mainly a question of anatomy, that is all that
separated these two men. Ali is now too big, and when you add those long
arms, well ... Joe has to use constant pressure, and that takes its toll on
a man's body and soul." Dundee said: "My guy sucked it up and called on
everything he had. We'll never see another one like him." Ali took a long
time before coming down to be interviewed by the press, and then he could
only say, "I'm tired of bein' the whole game. Let other guys do the
fightin'. You might never see Ali in the ring again." In his suite the next
morning he talked quietly. "I heard somethin' once," he said. "When
somebody asked a marathon runner what goes through his mind in the last
mile or two, he said that you ask yourself why am I doin' this. You get so
tired. It takes so much out of you mentally. It changes you. It makes you
go a little insane. I was thinkin' that at the end. Why am I doin' this?
What am I doin' here in against this beast of a man? It's so painful. I
must be crazy. I always bring out the best in the men I fight, but Joe
Frazier, I'll tell the world right now, brings out the best in me. I'm
gonna tell ya, that's one helluva man, and God bless him."

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 From: Burnout
European Economics explained......

Some years ago a small rural town in Spain twinned with a similar town in
Greece. The Mayor of the Greek town visited the Spanish town.
When he saw the palatial mansion belonging to the Spanish mayor he wondered
how he could afford such a house.
The Spaniard said; "You see that bridge over there?
The EU gave us a grant to build a two-lane bridge, but by building a single
lane bridge with traffic lights at either end this house could be built".

The following year the Spaniard visited the Greek town. He was simply
amazed at the Greek Mayor's house, gold taps, marble floors, it was
marvellous.
When he asked how this could be afforded the Greek said; "You see that
bridge over there?"
The Spaniard replied; "No."

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From: Diks
what is the smallest caliber gun you trust to protect yourself.
 The question came up: what is the smallest caliber you trust to protect
yourself.
My personal favorite bear defense gun has always been a Beretta
Jetfire in 22 short!  Over all the years I've been hiking in bear country,
I never leave without it in my pocket.

Of course we all know the first rule when hiking in the wilderness is to
use the "Buddy System".   For those of you who may be unfamiliar with this
it means you NEVER hike alone, you bring a friend or companion, even an
in-law, that way if something happens there is someone to go get help.  I
remember one time hiking with my brother-in-law in northern Ontario .

Out of nowhere came this huge brown bear and man was she MAD!   We must
have been near one of her cubs.  Anyway, if I had not had my little Jetfire
I'd sure not be here today.That's right, one shot to my brother-in-law's
knee cap and I was able to escape by just walking at a brisk pace.  That's
one of the best pistols in my safe!

"As an American I am not so shocked that Obama was given the Nobel Peace
Prize without any accomplishments to his name, because America gave him the
White House based on the same credentials."
     ~Newt Gingrich~
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From: Diks
I'm Just Say'n.....Another way to look at the Debt Ceiling

*Let's say you come home from work and find there has been a sewer backup
in your home, and you have sewage up to your ceiling.  What do you think
you should do? raise the ceiling, or pump out the cr*p?

Your choice in 2012.

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Every magician likes to involve a pretty girl in his magic tricks but it's
not often that the pretty girl is also a magician herself. This magic duo
performs a stunning illusion during the World Magic Awards in 2009, that
will leave you wondering exactly how they pulled this trick off.

 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
"PUMPED UP KICKS|DUBSTEP"
OK folks, here's one to practise for the next show.. move over, Michael
Jackson.

 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
NASA Satellite hits car
True. This is great
 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
A new 'F' word
Surprised it's taken so long.

 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
BOB
This is a hoot. Make sure you watch it until "AFTER" the credits...!!! Open
to a full screen
 Click here

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HOW GOOD IS THIS!
A long build up but really worth it!
Tootle Pip

With all the Doom and Gloom in the world, this should cheer you up !!!!!!!

 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
A harmonica in Carnegie Hall. Been around a while but for those who like a
simple ditty on the old mouth organ and it does include that favourite
under-used word in its  description

I think You ARE going to like this one.  This guy is outstanding, so get
ready for a not too long musical treat.  Be sure to scroll down to the link
below.  Enjoy!
Hey Guys & Gals, (beats Hey U 2)
Have you heard a harmonica played like this?
This gentleman is awesome! A standing ovation at Carnegie Hall playing a
harmonica!  It took the William Tell Overture to bring them to their feet.

 Click here

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From: Sack
6 Girls + 1 Bicycle= Awesome Fw: 6 girls + 1 Bicycle

 Click here
Watch until the end.  You won't believe the last part!
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From: Anonymous
Norman 'Rockwell
 Click here

For Norman Rockwell fans, like me, this is a great slide show.  He sure
knew how to capture the real Americana..  Probably the biggest reason to
buy the Saturday Evening Post.

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From: Anonymous3
The truth of mugshots
 Click here

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From: Anonymous3
THEY CAN'T BE AT WALMART ALL THE TIME!!!
 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

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From: Biggus
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
 Click here

I saw a fat chick down the pub. Her T-shirt said, 'Watch out, I'm a
maneater!'
I went up to her and said "Excuse me love, about your T-shirt slogan."
She stopped me and angrily said "Oh let me guess, you want to know how many
men I've eaten?! Well I can't help my size you know!"
I said "Actually no, I wasn't going to say that at all."
She looked happier and smiled as she said, "Oh yes, what did you want to
say then?"
"That's not how you spell Manatee."


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From: Cartographer Chris
me and my copper mate
 Click here

Motor Cyclist and the Police Officer
You may have to watch this 2 or 3 times... watch the front cop react...
...then to watch the guy on the motorcycle...
...then to watch the cop's partner reaction in the background.

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From: Cartographer Chris
G-String Fish Salesman
 Click here

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From: Duke of Barsinov
how you move big things!
 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
Python Crossing the 8th fairway at Wakehurst Golf Course
 Click here Click here

Geez, he could've lain down a little closer

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From: Johnny Green
A Comparison....US  vs. Euro
 Click here Click here Click here

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From: Johnny Green
Motivational pics
 Click here

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From: Johnny Green
Qantas Negotiations explained very simply
 Click here

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Kaos_reflex
"Only in India!"

 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

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From: Nottingham Smithie
meet the Mc Spreader Hedgehog Family from the Western Highlands
 Click here

here you have young Angus on the left, his father Hamish in the middle, and
of course Moira the mother - here singing their little hearts out to
deliver a Christmas Carol to you - they are made from teasels, acorns, and
hazelnuts all found in Sherwood Forest. I painted this as a protest at
politically correct numbskulls who think they might offend somebody if they
send a
Christmas Card. So go for it! Wish everybody you see a Happy Christmas, and
if they happen to be Muslim - if Jesus is a prophet in their faith also,
and we all believe in the same God, then will someone tell me where the
problem is! Or is it primitive tribalism in all cultures? Charles Darwin
wrote about the theory of evolution - were the human race not around when
this evolution was taking place? We sure as hell haven't learned much from
the past.


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From: Sack
 Click here

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 From: Sack
"Money For Petrol ??"
 Click here

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From: Sack
BUS ART

 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

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From: Sack
The Best Analysis of CHOGM Ever Published

 Click here

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From: Sack
Retiring
 Click here

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From: The Great Gussius
Remembrance Day
 Click here
A little late for this year but please have a good listen its well worth
it.

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From: The Great Gussius
 Click here


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From: The Great Gussius
Have A Laugh!

 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


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From: Whizzbang
Great Poster
 Click here

Poster of the Century !!!!

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From: Whizzbang
oops
 Click here

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From: Whizzbang

 Click here

Another victim of this ECONOMY...
It always seems to be the young who suffer the most!
The 'poor little thing' has no shoes!

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From: Whizzbang
cool
 Click here

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From: Whizzbang
More Motivation
 Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here Click here
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 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 Click here Click here Click here
 Click here Click here

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[ End friday humour ]

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