- Time for the weekend to begin! *
From Willem Adelaar:
From Dog Bless You:
From Talking Animals:
171,505,367 views and counting! :)
From Angela Bosinceanu:
My apologies to the apes!!!
From Terrell Suggs:
From Stefanie Meier:
From London’s Best Rock FM96:
* OUCH!!! *
From Classic FM:
From my sweet wife, Kimberly Maclean:
A octogenarian is walking down the street, when he sees a sign: “Job Vacancy!”. He wouldn’t mind filling his days gainfully and strolls in and tells the HR person that he is interested in the position. The Human Rubbish person tells him that this implies knowledge of high-tech and is really fast paced. The man says to test him and lo and behold he aces the first test. And the second and… heck, all of them!
The Human Rubbish person thinks this very strange and decides to throw him a curve ball. He tells the old man that he is required to test his sperm count and hands him a container. The man says: “What in the blazes do you need my sperm count for???” The dude tells him it’s on the list and that’s that! Our ace asks if he can bring the container back in the morning and is given permission to do so.
The next morning the elderly gentleman comes in and puts the ’empty’ container on the HR person’s desk. The guy says: “Hunhh!???” Well, says the ace, I tried with my left hand, I tried with my right hand. Then my Missus tried with her teeth in and then she tried with her teeth out… But we still couldn’t open the container!
From Cynthia Adams:
When Gandhi was studying law at the University College, London, a white professor, whose last name was Peters, disliked him intensely.
One day, Mr. Peters was having lunch at the dining room when Gandhi came along with his tray and sat next to the professor. The professor said, “Mr Gandhi, you do not understand. A pig and a bird do not sit together to eat.” Gandhi looked at him as a parent would a rude child and calmly replied, “You do not worry professor. I’ll fly away,” and he went and sat at another table. Mr. Peters, reddened with rage, decided to take revenge.
The next day in Class he posed the following question: “Mr Gandhi, if you were walking down the street and found a package, and within was a bag of wisdom and another bag with money, which one would you take?” Without hesitating, Gandhi responded, “The one with the money, of course.” Mr. Peters , smiling sarcastically said, “I, in your place, would have taken the wisdom.” Gandhi shrugged and responded, “Each one takes what he doesn’t have.” Mr. Peters, by this time was fit to be tied.
So great was his anger that he wrote on Gandhi’s exam sheet the word “idiot” and gave it to Gandhi. Gandhi took the exam sheet and sat down at his desk trying very hard to remain calm while he contemplated his next move. A few minutes later, Gandhi got up, went to the professor and told him in a dignified polite tone, “Mr. Peters, you signed the sheet, but you did not give me the grade.”
By Ralphie A Burcke:
Being an intrepid internaut, I took it upon myself to order the novel Skallagrigg by Whatshisface, from Amazon, so that my lovely wife could read it and hopefully enjoy it as much as I did. This was early January and, fool that I was, I intended to present my beloved with it a couple of weeks later, at the most. I mean, had I legged it from Nice to Calais, swum the channel and proceeded on foot to London and the same way back, it could not have taken me more than a month. What with our modern means of transportation, it should have been easy peasy, don’t you think!?
After only two days, I received an email stating that my order had been shipped by Royal Mail. As I am a distant relation of Her Britannic Majesty, via Adam and Eve, twice removed, I did not worry in the slightest, although what with travelling and the like, it did slip my mind. Imagine my discombobularity when at the end of February I received an email from Amazon enquiring about my satisfaction with the product and its delivery. When I regained consciousness, I sent a message to the sender informing them of the above-mentioned email and asked them if it would please be possible to take delivery of my order some time during 2015. They conveyed their condolences and were kind enough to send off a second copy of the book… albeit again by Royal Mail. I wrote my relative and asked her to keep a royal eye on the proceedings.
The second week of April (2015!) we went on a holiday to Belgium for a week and when we got back I found TWO ‘failed delivery’ slips from our postman, Pierre. The poor man must be overworked, because the slips were from two different post offices. Not, as you might be forgiven for presuming, from the nearest post office, which is but two streets away from our abode, but from postal infrastructures on the other end of town and as there were two slips, both offices were spaced apart, rather inconveniently for poor postman Pierre, I thought, by several miles.
I did notice however that both slips contained the same phone number for the customer harassment department of the French postal services. And true to form, when I called, Godzilla on the other end of the line told me I should have rung the same day as the failed delivery and further instructed me in the nicest possible way to bugger off. It took me half a day to circumnavigate postal strikers and such, but I did make it home with no less than two copies of Skallagrigg by Whatshisface. Today being April thirteenth, luckily of the same year of our Lord 2015.
At this point in time, I would like to state, for the record, that I consider it an incontrovertible certainty that, had the sender strapped the book to the back of an admittedly oversized snail, it would surely have made it here in half the time. Were the employees of the Royal Mail perhaps still waiting on the outcome of the battle of Waterloo, before daring to take it upon themselves to entrust my order to their snail-loving counterparts? Good Grief!