They always ask at the doctor's office why you are there, and you have to answer in front of others what's wrong and sometimes it is embarrassing.
There's nothing worse than a Doctor's Receptionist who insists you tell her what is wrong with you in a room full of other patients.
I know most of us have experienced this. See how this old guy handled it.
A 65-year-old man walked into a crowded waiting room and approached the desk.
The Receptionist said, 'Yes sir, what are you seeing the Doctor for today?'
'There's something wrong with my dick', he replied.
The receptionist became irritated and said, 'You shouldn't come into a crowded waiting room and say things like that. '
'Why not, you asked me what was wrong and I told you,' he said.
The Receptionist replied; 'Now you've caused some embarrassment in this room full of people. You should have said there is something wrong with your ear or something and discussed the problem further with the Doctor in private.'
The man replied, 'You shouldn't ask people questions in a roomful of strangers, if the answer could embarrass anyone. The man walked out, waited several minutes, and then re-entered.
The Receptionist smiled smugly and asked, 'Yes??'
'There's something wrong with my ear,' he stated.
The Receptionist nodded approvingly and smiled, knowing he had taken her advice.. 'And what is wrong with your ear, Sir?'
'I can't piss out of it,' he replied!
Showing posts with label Red Tape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Red Tape. Show all posts
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Saturday, 20 February 2010
No Sex since 1955
A crusty old Army Sergeant Major found himself at a gala event hosted by a local liberal arts college.
There was no shortage of extremely young idealistic ladies in attendance, one of whom approached the Sergeant Major for conversation.
'Excuse me, Sergeant Major, but you seem to be a very serious man. Is something bothering you?'
'Negative, ma'am. Just serious by nature..'
The young lady looked at his awards and decorations and said, 'It looks like you have seen a lot of action.'
'Yes, ma'am, a lot of action.'
The young lady, tiring of trying to start up a conversation, said, 'You know, you should lighten up a little. Relax and enjoy yourself.'
The Sergeant Major just stared at her in his serious manner.
Finally the young lady said, 'You know, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but when is the last time you had sex?
"1955, ma'am."
"Well, there you are. No wonder you're so serious. You really need to chill out! I mean, no sex since 1955!"
She took his hand and led him to a private room where she proceeded to 'relax' him several times. Afterwards, panting
for breath, she leaned against his bare chest and said, 'Wow, you sure didn't forget much since 1955.'
The Sergeant Major said in his serious voice, after glancing at his watch, 'I hope not; It's only 2130 now.’
There was no shortage of extremely young idealistic ladies in attendance, one of whom approached the Sergeant Major for conversation.
'Excuse me, Sergeant Major, but you seem to be a very serious man. Is something bothering you?'
'Negative, ma'am. Just serious by nature..'
The young lady looked at his awards and decorations and said, 'It looks like you have seen a lot of action.'
'Yes, ma'am, a lot of action.'
The young lady, tiring of trying to start up a conversation, said, 'You know, you should lighten up a little. Relax and enjoy yourself.'
The Sergeant Major just stared at her in his serious manner.
Finally the young lady said, 'You know, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but when is the last time you had sex?
"1955, ma'am."
"Well, there you are. No wonder you're so serious. You really need to chill out! I mean, no sex since 1955!"
She took his hand and led him to a private room where she proceeded to 'relax' him several times. Afterwards, panting
for breath, she leaned against his bare chest and said, 'Wow, you sure didn't forget much since 1955.'
The Sergeant Major said in his serious voice, after glancing at his watch, 'I hope not; It's only 2130 now.’
Monday, 11 January 2010
Mandelson
The following article by Jeremy Clarkson was to be in a recent Sunday Times but was 'pulled' - probably by the subject of the article, Mandelson. So much for free speech. But poor old Manglebum fails to appreciate how the blogsphere works and in no time the article finds itself going viral round the world.
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt on.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America .
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.
I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.
He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt on.
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America .
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”
It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.
You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.
Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.
Saturday, 19 December 2009
The Italian
Five Germans in an Audi Quattro arrive at the Italian border.
An Italian police officer stops them and says, "Itsa illegala to putta
five-a people in a Quattro !"
"Vot do you mean, it's illegal ?" the German drivers asks.
"Quattro means four!" the policeman answers.
"Quattro iz just ze name of ze fokken automobile" the German shouts ..
"Look at ze dam paperz: Ze car is dezigned to carry 5 people !"
"You canta pulla thata one on me!" says the Italian policeman."Quattro
meansa four. You havea five-a people ina your carre and you are
therefore breakinge the lawe!"
The German driver gets mad and shouts "You ideeiot!
Call ze zupervizor over! Schnell! I vant to spik to zum vun viz more
intelligence!!!"
"Sorry" the Italian says, "He cantta comea. He'sa buzy with a two guys
in a Fiat Uno.
An Italian police officer stops them and says, "Itsa illegala to putta
five-a people in a Quattro !"
"Vot do you mean, it's illegal ?" the German drivers asks.
"Quattro means four!" the policeman answers.
"Quattro iz just ze name of ze fokken automobile" the German shouts ..
"Look at ze dam paperz: Ze car is dezigned to carry 5 people !"
"You canta pulla thata one on me!" says the Italian policeman."Quattro
meansa four. You havea five-a people ina your carre and you are
therefore breakinge the lawe!"
The German driver gets mad and shouts "You ideeiot!
Call ze zupervizor over! Schnell! I vant to spik to zum vun viz more
intelligence!!!"
"Sorry" the Italian says, "He cantta comea. He'sa buzy with a two guys
in a Fiat Uno.
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Christmas - Health & Safety guidance
The following guidance has been issued by the Executive in relation to the singing of festive music:
The Rocking Song
Little Jesus, sweetly sleep, do not stir;
We will lend a coat of fur,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you:
Fur is no longer appropriate wear for small infants, both due to risk of allergy to animal fur, and for ethical reasons. Therefore faux fur, a nice cellular blanket or perhaps micro-fleece material should be considered a suitable alternative.
Please note, only persons who have been subject to a Criminal Records Bureau check and have enhanced clearance will be permitted to rock baby Jesus. Persons must carry their CRB disclosure with them at all times and be prepared to provide three forms of identification before rocking commences.
Jingle Bells
Dashing through the snow
In a one horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Laughing all the way
A risk assessment must be submitted before an open sleigh is considered safe for members of the public to travel on. The risk assessment must also consider whether it is appropriate to use only one horse for such a venture, particularly if passengers are of larger proportions. Please note, permission must be gained from landowners before entering their fields. To avoid offending those not participating in celebrations, we would request that laughter is moderate only and not loud enough to be considered a noise nuisance.
While Shepherds Watched
While shepherds watched their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around
The Union of Shepherds has complained that it breaches health and safety regulations to insist that shepherds watch their flocks without appropriate seating arrangements being provided, therefore benches, stools and orthopaedic chairs are now available. Shepherds have also requested that due to the inclement weather conditions at this time of year that they should watch their flocks via cctv cameras from centrally heated shepherd observation huts. Please note, the angel of the lord is reminded that before shining his / her glory all around she / he must ascertain that all shepherds have been issued with glasses capable of filtering out the harmful effects of UVA, UVB and Glory.
Little Donkey
Little donkey, little donkey on the dusty road
Got to keep on plodding onwards with your precious load
The RSPCA have issued strict guidelines with regard to how heavy a load that a donkey of small stature is permitted to carry, also included in the guidelines is guidance regarding how often to feed the donkey and how many rest breaks are required over a four hour plodding period. Please note that due to the increased risk of pollution from the dusty road, Mary and Joseph are required to wear face masks to prevent inhalation of any airborne particles. The donkey has expressed his discomfort at being labelled 'little' and would prefer just to be simply referred to as Mr. Donkey. To comment upon his height or lack thereof may be considered an infringement of his equine rights.
We Three Kings
We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star
Whilst the gift of gold is still considered acceptable - as it may be redeemed at a later date through such organisations as 'cash for gold' etc, gifts of frankincense and myrrh are not appropriate due to the potential risk of oils and fragrances causing allergic reactions. A suggested gift alternative would be to make a donation to a worthy cause in the recipients name or perhaps give a gift voucher. We would not advise that the traversing kings rely on navigation by stars in order to reach their destinations and suggest the use of RAC routefinder or satellite navigation, which will provide the quickest route and advice regarding fuel consumption. Please note as per the guidelines from the RSPCA for Mr Donkey, the camels carrying the three kings of Orient will require regular food and rest breaks. Facemasks for the three kings are also advisable due to the likelihood of dust from the camels hooves.
Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it glows.
You are advised that under the Equal Opportunities For All policy, it is inappropriate for persons to make comment with regard to the redness of any part of Mr. R. Reindeer. Further to this, exclusion of Mr R Reindeer from the Reindeer Games will be considered discriminatory and disciplinary action will be taken against those found guilty of this offence. A full investigation will be implemented and sanctions - including suspension on full pay - will be considered whilst this investigation takes place.
The Rocking Song
Little Jesus, sweetly sleep, do not stir;
We will lend a coat of fur,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you,
We will rock you, rock you, rock you:
Fur is no longer appropriate wear for small infants, both due to risk of allergy to animal fur, and for ethical reasons. Therefore faux fur, a nice cellular blanket or perhaps micro-fleece material should be considered a suitable alternative.
Please note, only persons who have been subject to a Criminal Records Bureau check and have enhanced clearance will be permitted to rock baby Jesus. Persons must carry their CRB disclosure with them at all times and be prepared to provide three forms of identification before rocking commences.
Jingle Bells
Dashing through the snow
In a one horse open sleigh
O'er the fields we go
Laughing all the way
A risk assessment must be submitted before an open sleigh is considered safe for members of the public to travel on. The risk assessment must also consider whether it is appropriate to use only one horse for such a venture, particularly if passengers are of larger proportions. Please note, permission must be gained from landowners before entering their fields. To avoid offending those not participating in celebrations, we would request that laughter is moderate only and not loud enough to be considered a noise nuisance.
While Shepherds Watched
While shepherds watched their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around
The Union of Shepherds has complained that it breaches health and safety regulations to insist that shepherds watch their flocks without appropriate seating arrangements being provided, therefore benches, stools and orthopaedic chairs are now available. Shepherds have also requested that due to the inclement weather conditions at this time of year that they should watch their flocks via cctv cameras from centrally heated shepherd observation huts. Please note, the angel of the lord is reminded that before shining his / her glory all around she / he must ascertain that all shepherds have been issued with glasses capable of filtering out the harmful effects of UVA, UVB and Glory.
Little Donkey
Little donkey, little donkey on the dusty road
Got to keep on plodding onwards with your precious load
The RSPCA have issued strict guidelines with regard to how heavy a load that a donkey of small stature is permitted to carry, also included in the guidelines is guidance regarding how often to feed the donkey and how many rest breaks are required over a four hour plodding period. Please note that due to the increased risk of pollution from the dusty road, Mary and Joseph are required to wear face masks to prevent inhalation of any airborne particles. The donkey has expressed his discomfort at being labelled 'little' and would prefer just to be simply referred to as Mr. Donkey. To comment upon his height or lack thereof may be considered an infringement of his equine rights.
We Three Kings
We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star
Whilst the gift of gold is still considered acceptable - as it may be redeemed at a later date through such organisations as 'cash for gold' etc, gifts of frankincense and myrrh are not appropriate due to the potential risk of oils and fragrances causing allergic reactions. A suggested gift alternative would be to make a donation to a worthy cause in the recipients name or perhaps give a gift voucher. We would not advise that the traversing kings rely on navigation by stars in order to reach their destinations and suggest the use of RAC routefinder or satellite navigation, which will provide the quickest route and advice regarding fuel consumption. Please note as per the guidelines from the RSPCA for Mr Donkey, the camels carrying the three kings of Orient will require regular food and rest breaks. Facemasks for the three kings are also advisable due to the likelihood of dust from the camels hooves.
Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it glows.
You are advised that under the Equal Opportunities For All policy, it is inappropriate for persons to make comment with regard to the redness of any part of Mr. R. Reindeer. Further to this, exclusion of Mr R Reindeer from the Reindeer Games will be considered discriminatory and disciplinary action will be taken against those found guilty of this offence. A full investigation will be implemented and sanctions - including suspension on full pay - will be considered whilst this investigation takes place.
Friday, 11 December 2009
That's HR for you!
One day while walking down the street a highly successful Human Resources Manager was tragically hit by a bus and she died. Her soul arrived up in heaven where she was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself.
"Welcome to Heaven," said St Peter. "Before you get settled in though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a Human Resources Manager make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven", said the woman.
"Sorry, we have rules..."
And with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and they were well dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed an excellent steak and
lobster dinner. She met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kind of cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as she got on the elevator.
The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for her.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing.
She had a great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St Peter came and got her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you
must choose your eternity,"
The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell."
So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-downback to Hell. When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled.
"Yesterday we were recruiting you, today you're staff...
"Welcome to Heaven," said St Peter. "Before you get settled in though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a Human Resources Manager make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven", said the woman.
"Sorry, we have rules..."
And with that St. Peter put the executive in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and she found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and they were well dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where she enjoyed an excellent steak and
lobster dinner. She met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kind of cute) and she had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved goodbye as she got on the elevator.
The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for her.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing.
She had a great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St Peter came and got her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you
must choose your eternity,"
The woman paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell."
So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and again she went down-down-downback to Hell. When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered the woman, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled.
"Yesterday we were recruiting you, today you're staff...
Monday, 30 November 2009
LETTER OF RECOMMENDATION
Trevor Adams, my assistant programmer, can always be found
hard at work in his cubicle. Trevor works independently, without
wasting company time talking to colleagues. Trevor never
thinks twice about assisting fellow employees, and he always
finishes given assignments on time. Often he takes extended
measures to complete his work, sometimes skipping coffee
breaks. Trevor is a dedicated individual who has absolutely no
vanity in spite of his high accomplishments and profound
knowledge in his field.. I firmly believe that Trevor can be
classed as a high-calibre employee, the type that cannot be
dispensed with. Consequently, I truly recommend that Trevor be
promoted to executive management, and a proposal will be
executed as soon as possible.
Addendum...
The idiot was standing over my shoulder while I wrote this report.
Kindly re-read only the odd numbered lines.
hard at work in his cubicle. Trevor works independently, without
wasting company time talking to colleagues. Trevor never
thinks twice about assisting fellow employees, and he always
finishes given assignments on time. Often he takes extended
measures to complete his work, sometimes skipping coffee
breaks. Trevor is a dedicated individual who has absolutely no
vanity in spite of his high accomplishments and profound
knowledge in his field.. I firmly believe that Trevor can be
classed as a high-calibre employee, the type that cannot be
dispensed with. Consequently, I truly recommend that Trevor be
promoted to executive management, and a proposal will be
executed as soon as possible.
Addendum...
The idiot was standing over my shoulder while I wrote this report.
Kindly re-read only the odd numbered lines.
Friday, 13 November 2009
Rt Hon David Miliband MP
Secretary of State.
Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA),
Nobel House
17 Smith Square
London
SW1P 3JR
Dear Secretary of State,
My friend, who is in farming at the moment, recently received a cheque for £3,000 from the Rural Payments Agency for not rearing pigs.. I would now like to join the "not rearing pigs" business.
In your opinion, what is the best kind of farm not to rear pigs on, and which is the best breed of pigs not to rear? I want to be sure I approach this endeavour in keeping with all government policies, as dictated by the EU under the Common Agricultural Policy.
I would prefer not to rear bacon pigs, but if this is not the type you want not rearing, I will just as gladly not rear porkers. Are there any advantages in not rearing rare breeds such as Saddlebacks or Gloucester Old Spots, or are there too many people already not rearing these?
As I see it, the hardest part of this programme will be keeping an accurate record of how many pigs I haven't reared. Are there any Government or Local Authority courses on this?
My friend is very satisfied with this business. He has been rearing pigs for forty years or so, and the best he ever made on them was £1,422 in 1968. That is - until this year, when he received a cheque for not rearing any.
If I get £3,000 for not rearing 50 pigs, will I get £6,000 for not rearing 100? I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4,000 pigs not raised, which will mean about £240,000 for the first year. As I become more expert in not rearing pigs, I plan to be more ambitious, perhaps increasing to, say, 40,000 pigs not reared in my second year, for which I should expect about £2.4 million from your department. Incidentally, I wonder if I would be eligible to receive tradable carbon credits for all these pigs not producing harmful and polluting methane gases?
Another point: These pigs that I plan not to rear will not eat 2,000 tonnes of cereals. I understand that you also pay farmers for not growing crops. Will I qualify for payments for not growing cereals to not feed the pigs I don't rear?
I am also considering the "not milking cows" business, so please send any information you have on that too. Please could you also include the current Defra advice on set aside fields? Can this be done on an e-commerce basis with virtual fields (of which I seem to have several thousand hectares)?
In view of the above you will realise that I will be totally unemployed, and will therefore qualify for unemployment benefits. I shall of course be voting for your party at the next general election.
Yours faithfully,
Nigel Johnson-Hill
Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA),
Nobel House
17 Smith Square
London
SW1P 3JR
Dear Secretary of State,
My friend, who is in farming at the moment, recently received a cheque for £3,000 from the Rural Payments Agency for not rearing pigs.. I would now like to join the "not rearing pigs" business.
In your opinion, what is the best kind of farm not to rear pigs on, and which is the best breed of pigs not to rear? I want to be sure I approach this endeavour in keeping with all government policies, as dictated by the EU under the Common Agricultural Policy.
I would prefer not to rear bacon pigs, but if this is not the type you want not rearing, I will just as gladly not rear porkers. Are there any advantages in not rearing rare breeds such as Saddlebacks or Gloucester Old Spots, or are there too many people already not rearing these?
As I see it, the hardest part of this programme will be keeping an accurate record of how many pigs I haven't reared. Are there any Government or Local Authority courses on this?
My friend is very satisfied with this business. He has been rearing pigs for forty years or so, and the best he ever made on them was £1,422 in 1968. That is - until this year, when he received a cheque for not rearing any.
If I get £3,000 for not rearing 50 pigs, will I get £6,000 for not rearing 100? I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4,000 pigs not raised, which will mean about £240,000 for the first year. As I become more expert in not rearing pigs, I plan to be more ambitious, perhaps increasing to, say, 40,000 pigs not reared in my second year, for which I should expect about £2.4 million from your department. Incidentally, I wonder if I would be eligible to receive tradable carbon credits for all these pigs not producing harmful and polluting methane gases?
Another point: These pigs that I plan not to rear will not eat 2,000 tonnes of cereals. I understand that you also pay farmers for not growing crops. Will I qualify for payments for not growing cereals to not feed the pigs I don't rear?
I am also considering the "not milking cows" business, so please send any information you have on that too. Please could you also include the current Defra advice on set aside fields? Can this be done on an e-commerce basis with virtual fields (of which I seem to have several thousand hectares)?
In view of the above you will realise that I will be totally unemployed, and will therefore qualify for unemployment benefits. I shall of course be voting for your party at the next general election.
Yours faithfully,
Nigel Johnson-Hill
Saturday, 10 October 2009
Getting a hairdryer through Customs...
A young woman on a flight from Ireland asked the priest beside her,
'Father, may I ask a favour?'
'Of course child. What can I do for you?'
'Well, I bought an expensive woman's electric hair dryer for my Mother's birthday that is unopened and well over the Customs limits, and I'm afraid they'll confiscate it. Is there any way you could carry it through Customs for me? Under your robes perhaps?'
'I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn you: I will not lie.'
'With your honest face, Father, no one will question you.'
When they got to Customs, she let the priest go ahead of her.
The official asked, 'Father, do you have anything to declare?'
'From the top of my head down to my waist, I have nothing to declare.'
The official thought this answer strange, so he asked, 'And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?'
'I have a marvellous instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused.'
Roaring with laughter, the official said, 'Go ahead, Father'.
'Father, may I ask a favour?'
'Of course child. What can I do for you?'
'Well, I bought an expensive woman's electric hair dryer for my Mother's birthday that is unopened and well over the Customs limits, and I'm afraid they'll confiscate it. Is there any way you could carry it through Customs for me? Under your robes perhaps?'
'I would love to help you, dear, but I must warn you: I will not lie.'
'With your honest face, Father, no one will question you.'
When they got to Customs, she let the priest go ahead of her.
The official asked, 'Father, do you have anything to declare?'
'From the top of my head down to my waist, I have nothing to declare.'
The official thought this answer strange, so he asked, 'And what do you have to declare from your waist to the floor?'
'I have a marvellous instrument designed to be used on a woman, but which is, to date, unused.'
Roaring with laughter, the official said, 'Go ahead, Father'.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
The Monetary System
A Simple Explanation of The Basic Monetary System.
It is the month of August, on the shores of the Black Sea. It is raining, and the little town looks totally deserted. These are tough times, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit.
Suddenly, a rich tourist comes to town.
He enters the only hotel, lays a 100 Euro note on the reception counter, and goes to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one.
The hotel proprietor takes the 100 Euro note and runs to pay his debt to the butcher.
The butcher takes the 100 Euro note, and runs to pay his debt to the pig breeder.
The pig breeder takes the 100 Euro note, and runs to pay his debt to the supplier of his feed and fuel.
The supplier of feed and fuel takes the 100 Euro note and runs to pay his debt to the town's prostitute that in these hard times, gave her 'services' on credit.
The hooker runs to the hotel, and pays off her debt with the 100 Euro note to the hotel proprietor to pay for the rooms that she rented when she brought her clients there.
The hotel proprietor then lays the 100 Euro note back on the counter so that the rich tourist will not suspect anything.
At that moment, the rich tourist comes down after inspecting the rooms, and takes his 100 Euro note, after saying that he did not like any of the rooms, and leaves town.
No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now without debt, and looks to the future with great optimism!
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the your Government is doing business today...
It is the month of August, on the shores of the Black Sea. It is raining, and the little town looks totally deserted. These are tough times, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit.
Suddenly, a rich tourist comes to town.
He enters the only hotel, lays a 100 Euro note on the reception counter, and goes to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one.
The hotel proprietor takes the 100 Euro note and runs to pay his debt to the butcher.
The butcher takes the 100 Euro note, and runs to pay his debt to the pig breeder.
The pig breeder takes the 100 Euro note, and runs to pay his debt to the supplier of his feed and fuel.
The supplier of feed and fuel takes the 100 Euro note and runs to pay his debt to the town's prostitute that in these hard times, gave her 'services' on credit.
The hooker runs to the hotel, and pays off her debt with the 100 Euro note to the hotel proprietor to pay for the rooms that she rented when she brought her clients there.
The hotel proprietor then lays the 100 Euro note back on the counter so that the rich tourist will not suspect anything.
At that moment, the rich tourist comes down after inspecting the rooms, and takes his 100 Euro note, after saying that he did not like any of the rooms, and leaves town.
No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now without debt, and looks to the future with great optimism!
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the your Government is doing business today...
Monday, 15 June 2009
We have all spoken to him . . .
Mujibar was trying to get a job in India .
The Personnel Manager said, 'Mujibar, you have passed all the tests, except one. Unless you pass it, you cannot qualify for this job.'
Mujibar said, 'I am ready.'
The manager said, 'Make a sentence using the words Yellow, Pink and Green.'
Mujibar thought for a few minutes and said, 'Mister manager, I am ready'
The manager said, 'Go ahead.'
Mujibar said, 'The telephone goes green, green, and I pink it up, and say, 'Yellow', this is Mujibar.'
Mujibar now works at a call centre.
No doubt you have spoken to him. I know I have.
Sunday, 14 June 2009
The Queen and Dolly Parton
Queen Elizabeth and Dolly Parton die on the same day and they both go before an Angel to find out if they'll be admitted to Heaven.
Unfortunately, there's only one space left that day, so the Angel must decide which of them gets in.
The Angel asks Dolly if there's some particular reason why she should go to Heaven.
Dolly takes off her top and says, 'Look at these, they're the most perfect breasts God ever created, and I'm sure it will please God to be able to see them every day, for eternity.'
The Angel thanks Dolly, and asks Her Majesty the same question.
The Queen takes a bottle of Perrier out of her purse, drinks it down.
Then, wees into a toilet and pulls the lever.
The Angel says, 'OK, your Majesty, you may go in.'
Dolly is outraged and asks, 'What was that all about?
I show you two of God's own perfect creations and you turn me down.
She wees into a toilet and she gets in!
Would you explain that to me?'
'Sorry, Dolly,' says the Angel, 'but even in Heaven, a Royal Flush beats a Pair of Aces - no matter how big they are.
Unfortunately, there's only one space left that day, so the Angel must decide which of them gets in.
The Angel asks Dolly if there's some particular reason why she should go to Heaven.
Dolly takes off her top and says, 'Look at these, they're the most perfect breasts God ever created, and I'm sure it will please God to be able to see them every day, for eternity.'
The Angel thanks Dolly, and asks Her Majesty the same question.
The Queen takes a bottle of Perrier out of her purse, drinks it down.
Then, wees into a toilet and pulls the lever.
The Angel says, 'OK, your Majesty, you may go in.'
Dolly is outraged and asks, 'What was that all about?
I show you two of God's own perfect creations and you turn me down.
She wees into a toilet and she gets in!
Would you explain that to me?'
'Sorry, Dolly,' says the Angel, 'but even in Heaven, a Royal Flush beats a Pair of Aces - no matter how big they are.
Friday, 29 May 2009
3-minute management course
Lesson 1
A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her
shower, when the doorbell rings. The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel
and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the
next-door neighbour. Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you £800
to drop that towel.." After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel
and stands naked in front of Bob. After a few seconds, Bob hands her £800
and leaves. The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs.
When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, "Who was that?" "It was Bob
the next door neighbour," she replies.
"Great!" the husband says, "did he say anything about the £800 he owes me?"
Moral of the story:
If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your
shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable
exposure.
Lesson 2
A priest offered a Nun a lift. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her
gown to reveal a leg.. The priest nearly had an accident. After controlling
the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg. The nun said, "Father,
remember Psalm 129?" The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he
let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, "Father,
remember Psalm 129?" The priest apologised "Sorry sister but the flesh is
weak." Arriving at the convent, the nun went on her way. On his arrival at
the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, "Go forth and
seek, further up, you will find glory." Moral of the story: If you are not
well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.
Lesson 3
A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch
when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out. The
Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish." Me first! Me first!" says
the admin clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without
a care in the world." Puff! She's gone. Me next! Me next!" says the sales
rep. "I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal
masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life." Puff!
He's gone. "OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager.
The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."
Moral of the story:
Always let your boss have the first say.
Lesson 4
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw
the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing?" The eagle
answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle
and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate
it.
Moral of the story:
To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.
Lesson 5
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the
top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy." "Well,
why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. They're
packed with nutrients." The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it
actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.
The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch.
Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of
the tree. He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.
Moral of the story:
BullSh!t might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson 6
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze
and fell to the ground into a large field. While he was lying there, a cow
came by and dropped some dung on him. As the frozen bird lay there in the
pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was. The dung was actually
thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for
joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following
the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and
promptly dug him out and ate him.
Morals of the story:
(1) Not everyone who sh!ts on you is your enemy
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of sh!t is your friend
(3) And when you're in deep sh!t, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
This ends the 3-minute management course.
A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her
shower, when the doorbell rings. The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel
and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the
next-door neighbour. Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you £800
to drop that towel.." After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel
and stands naked in front of Bob. After a few seconds, Bob hands her £800
and leaves. The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs.
When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, "Who was that?" "It was Bob
the next door neighbour," she replies.
"Great!" the husband says, "did he say anything about the £800 he owes me?"
Moral of the story:
If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your
shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable
exposure.
Lesson 2
A priest offered a Nun a lift. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her
gown to reveal a leg.. The priest nearly had an accident. After controlling
the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg. The nun said, "Father,
remember Psalm 129?" The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears, he
let his hand slide up her leg again. The nun once again said, "Father,
remember Psalm 129?" The priest apologised "Sorry sister but the flesh is
weak." Arriving at the convent, the nun went on her way. On his arrival at
the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129. It said, "Go forth and
seek, further up, you will find glory." Moral of the story: If you are not
well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.
Lesson 3
A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager are walking to lunch
when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out. The
Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish." Me first! Me first!" says
the admin clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without
a care in the world." Puff! She's gone. Me next! Me next!" says the sales
rep. "I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal
masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life." Puff!
He's gone. "OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager.
The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."
Moral of the story:
Always let your boss have the first say.
Lesson 4
An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing. A small rabbit saw
the eagle and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing?" The eagle
answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle
and rested. All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate
it.
Moral of the story:
To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.
Lesson 5
A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the
top of that tree," sighed the turkey, "but I haven't got the energy." "Well,
why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. They're
packed with nutrients." The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it
actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.
The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch.
Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of
the tree. He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.
Moral of the story:
BullSh!t might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.
Lesson 6
A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze
and fell to the ground into a large field. While he was lying there, a cow
came by and dropped some dung on him. As the frozen bird lay there in the
pile of cow dung, he began to realize how warm he was. The dung was actually
thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for
joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following
the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and
promptly dug him out and ate him.
Morals of the story:
(1) Not everyone who sh!ts on you is your enemy
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of sh!t is your friend
(3) And when you're in deep sh!t, it's best to keep your mouth shut!
This ends the 3-minute management course.
Friday, 17 April 2009
Horsing Around
The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches, an exceedingly odd number. Why was that gauge used?
Because that's the way they built them in England where they are called railways and English migrants built the US railroads. Why did the English build
them like that?
Because the first rail lines were built by the people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that is the gauge they used. Why did they use that gauge
then?
Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used the same wheel spacing. Why did the
wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing?
Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the
wheel ruts. So who built those original roads that became rutted?
Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe and in England for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. And the ruts in the roads?
Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for
Imperial Rome, they all had the same wheel spacing.
The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the specification for an Imperial Roman war chariot. Specifications and
bureaucracies live forever. The Imperial Roman war chariots were understandably made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two horses.
Cut to the present... The Space Shuttle, sitting on its launch pad, has two booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid
rocket boosters (SRBs). Thiokol makes the SRBs at its factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs wanted to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs
had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The
SRBs had to fit through this tunnel-which is slightly wider than the railroad track, and remember the railroad track is about as wide as two horses' behinds.
So, a major design feature of the space shuttle, arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined two thousand years ago by a
horse's ass. This is pretty much how most government decisions are made!
Because that's the way they built them in England where they are called railways and English migrants built the US railroads. Why did the English build
them like that?
Because the first rail lines were built by the people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that is the gauge they used. Why did they use that gauge
then?
Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used the same wheel spacing. Why did the
wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing?
Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on the old, long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the
wheel ruts. So who built those original roads that became rutted?
Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe and in England for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. And the ruts in the roads?
Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts, which everyone else had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for
Imperial Rome, they all had the same wheel spacing.
The United States standard railroad gauge of 4 feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the specification for an Imperial Roman war chariot. Specifications and
bureaucracies live forever. The Imperial Roman war chariots were understandably made just wide enough to accommodate the back ends of two horses.
Cut to the present... The Space Shuttle, sitting on its launch pad, has two booster rockets attached to the sides of the main fuel tank. These are solid
rocket boosters (SRBs). Thiokol makes the SRBs at its factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs wanted to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs
had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory happens to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The
SRBs had to fit through this tunnel-which is slightly wider than the railroad track, and remember the railroad track is about as wide as two horses' behinds.
So, a major design feature of the space shuttle, arguably the world's most advanced transportation system was determined two thousand years ago by a
horse's ass. This is pretty much how most government decisions are made!
Saturday, 14 March 2009
Quattro
Five Germans in an Audi Quattro arrive at the Italian border.
The Italian customs officer stops them and tells them: "Itsa illegalla to putta 5 people in a Quattro!"
"Vot do you mean, it's illegal?" asks the German driver.
"Quattro means four!" replies the Italian official..
"Quattro iz just ze name of ze automobile" the Germans retort unbelievingly. "Look at ze paperz: Ze car is dezigned to carry 5 people!"
"You canta pulla thata one on me!" replies the Italian customs officer. "Quattro meansa four. You havea five-a people ina your car and you are therefore breaking the law!"
The German replies angrily "You ideeiot! Call ze zupervizor over! Schnell! I vant to spik to zumvun viz more intelligence!!!"
"Sorry" responds! the Italian, "He canta comea ... He'sa buzy witha two guys in a Fiat Uno."
The Italian customs officer stops them and tells them: "Itsa illegalla to putta 5 people in a Quattro!"
"Vot do you mean, it's illegal?" asks the German driver.
"Quattro means four!" replies the Italian official..
"Quattro iz just ze name of ze automobile" the Germans retort unbelievingly. "Look at ze paperz: Ze car is dezigned to carry 5 people!"
"You canta pulla thata one on me!" replies the Italian customs officer. "Quattro meansa four. You havea five-a people ina your car and you are therefore breaking the law!"
The German replies angrily "You ideeiot! Call ze zupervizor over! Schnell! I vant to spik to zumvun viz more intelligence!!!"
"Sorry" responds! the Italian, "He canta comea ... He'sa buzy witha two guys in a Fiat Uno."
Thursday, 5 March 2009
The Credit Crunch Explained
Heidi is the proprietor of a bar in Berlin. In order to increase sales, she decides to allow her loyal customers, most of whom are unemployed alcoholics, to drink now but pay later. She keeps track of the drinks consumed on a ledger (thereby granting the customers loans).
Word gets around and as a result increasing numbers of unemployed alcoholics flood into Heidi's bar.
Taking advantage of her customers' freedom from immediate payment constraints, Heidi increases her prices for wine and beer, the most popular drinks. Her sales volume increases massively.
A young and dynamic customer service consultant at the local bank recognizes these customer debts as valuable future assets and increases Heidi's borrowing limit. He sees no reason for undue concern since he has the debts of the alcoholics as collateral.
At the bank's corporate headquarters, expert bankers transform these customer assets into DRINKBONDS, ALKBONDS and PUKEBONDS. These securities are then traded on markets worldwide. No one really understands what these abbreviations mean and how the securities are guaranteed. Nevertheless, as their prices continuously climb, the securities become top-selling items because (insert here the name of your financial advisor) recommended them as a good investment.
One day, although the prices are still climbing, a risk manager of the bank, (subsequently of course fired due to his negativity), decides that the time has come to demand payment of the debts incurred by the drinkers at Heidi's bar. But of course they cannot pay back the debts.
Heidi cannot fulfill her loan obligations and claims bankruptcy.
DRINKBOND and ALKBOND drop in price by 95 %. PUKEBOND performs better, stabilizing in price after dropping by 80 %.
The suppliers of Heidi's bar, having granted her generous payment due dates, and having invested in the securities, are faced with a new situation. Her wine supplier claims bankruptcy, her beer supplier is taken over by a competitor.
The bank is saved by the Government following dramatic round-the-clock consultations by leaders from the governing political parties.
The funds required for this purpose are obtained by a tax levied on the non-drinkers.
Word gets around and as a result increasing numbers of unemployed alcoholics flood into Heidi's bar.
Taking advantage of her customers' freedom from immediate payment constraints, Heidi increases her prices for wine and beer, the most popular drinks. Her sales volume increases massively.
A young and dynamic customer service consultant at the local bank recognizes these customer debts as valuable future assets and increases Heidi's borrowing limit. He sees no reason for undue concern since he has the debts of the alcoholics as collateral.
At the bank's corporate headquarters, expert bankers transform these customer assets into DRINKBONDS, ALKBONDS and PUKEBONDS. These securities are then traded on markets worldwide. No one really understands what these abbreviations mean and how the securities are guaranteed. Nevertheless, as their prices continuously climb, the securities become top-selling items because (insert here the name of your financial advisor) recommended them as a good investment.
One day, although the prices are still climbing, a risk manager of the bank, (subsequently of course fired due to his negativity), decides that the time has come to demand payment of the debts incurred by the drinkers at Heidi's bar. But of course they cannot pay back the debts.
Heidi cannot fulfill her loan obligations and claims bankruptcy.
DRINKBOND and ALKBOND drop in price by 95 %. PUKEBOND performs better, stabilizing in price after dropping by 80 %.
The suppliers of Heidi's bar, having granted her generous payment due dates, and having invested in the securities, are faced with a new situation. Her wine supplier claims bankruptcy, her beer supplier is taken over by a competitor.
The bank is saved by the Government following dramatic round-the-clock consultations by leaders from the governing political parties.
The funds required for this purpose are obtained by a tax levied on the non-drinkers.
Thursday, 29 January 2009
What do retired people do all day?
Working people frequently ask retired people what they do to make their days interesting.
Well, for example, the other day my wife and I went into town and went into a shop.
We were only in there for about 5 minutes. When we came out, there was a cop writing out a parking ticket.
We went up to him and said, 'Come on man, how about giving a senior citizen a break?'
He ignored us and continued writing the ticket. I called him a Nazi B*std .
He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tyres.
So my wife called him a sh*t-head. He finished the second ticket and put it on the windshield with the first.
Then he started writing a third ticket.
This went on for about 20 minutes. The more we abused him, the more tickets he wrote.
Personally, we didn't care. We came into town with our free bus passes.
Well, for example, the other day my wife and I went into town and went into a shop.
We were only in there for about 5 minutes. When we came out, there was a cop writing out a parking ticket.
We went up to him and said, 'Come on man, how about giving a senior citizen a break?'
He ignored us and continued writing the ticket. I called him a Nazi B*std .
He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tyres.
So my wife called him a sh*t-head. He finished the second ticket and put it on the windshield with the first.
Then he started writing a third ticket.
This went on for about 20 minutes. The more we abused him, the more tickets he wrote.
Personally, we didn't care. We came into town with our free bus passes.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
The Tax Man
At the end of the tax year the Tax Office sent an inspector to audit the books of a Synagogue.
While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"
Good question, noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."
"Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: "What about all these bread-wafer purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"
Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to the manufactures, and every now and then they send us a free box of bread-wafers."
"I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the "know-it-all" Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"
"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save all the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they send us a complete dick!"
While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"
Good question, noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."
"Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: "What about all these bread-wafer purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"
Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to the manufactures, and every now and then they send us a free box of bread-wafers."
"I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the "know-it-all" Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"
"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save all the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they send us a complete dick!"
The Tax Man
At the end of the tax year the Tax Office sent an inspector to audit the
books of a Synagogue.
While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice
you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"
Good question, noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the
candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."
"Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question
had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: "What about
all these bread-wafer purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"
Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap
him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to
the manufactures, and every now and then they send us a free box of
bread-wafers."
"I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the
"know-it-all" Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the
leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"
"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save all
the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they
send us a complete dick!"
books of a Synagogue.
While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice
you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"
Good question, noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the
candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."
"Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question
had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way: "What about
all these bread-wafer purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"
Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap
him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to
the manufactures, and every now and then they send us a free box of
bread-wafers."
"I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the
"know-it-all" Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the
leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"
"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save all
the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they
send us a complete dick!"
Sunday, 6 July 2008
New Chemical Element Discovered
New 'inert' element
Special to the Financial Post
Published: Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The online science magazine Tomorrow's Discoveries, which specializes in breaking major science news before it actually happens, reports the discovery of the heaviest element yet known to science.
The new element, Governmentium( Gv), has one neutron, 29 assistant neutrons, some 100 deputy neutrons, and 222 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 352.
These 352 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons. Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact.
A minute amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second to take from four days to four years to complete.
Governmentium has a normal half-life of four or five years; It does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the various "flavours" of neutrons exchange places amongst themselves. In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.
This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.
When catalysed with money, Governmentium becomes Superscale Civilservicium, an elusive element that radiates just as much negative energy as Governmentium, having fewer peons but twice as many morons.
Occurrence is throughout the allegedly civilized world, Uses are none and
it's half life is forever.
Special to the Financial Post
Published: Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The online science magazine Tomorrow's Discoveries, which specializes in breaking major science news before it actually happens, reports the discovery of the heaviest element yet known to science.
The new element, Governmentium( Gv), has one neutron, 29 assistant neutrons, some 100 deputy neutrons, and 222 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 352.
These 352 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons. Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact.
A minute amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second to take from four days to four years to complete.
Governmentium has a normal half-life of four or five years; It does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the various "flavours" of neutrons exchange places amongst themselves. In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.
This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.
When catalysed with money, Governmentium becomes Superscale Civilservicium, an elusive element that radiates just as much negative energy as Governmentium, having fewer peons but twice as many morons.
Occurrence is throughout the allegedly civilized world, Uses are none and
it's half life is forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)