Archive for August, 2009
…From Baz in Dronfield (UK)
A husband and wife are on the 9th green when suddenly she collapses from a heart attack.
“Help me dear,” she groans to her husband.
The husband calls 999 on his mobile phone, talks for a few minutes, picks up his putter, and lines up his putt.
His wife raises her head off the green and stares at him. “I’m dying here and you’re putting?”
“Don’t worry dear,” says the husband calmly, ” they found a doctor on the second hole and he’s coming to help you.”
“Well, how long will it take for him to get here,” she asks feebly?
“No time at all,” says her husband. “Everybody’s already agreed to let him play through.”
A gushy reporter told Phil Michelson, “You are spectacular, your name is synonymous with the game of golf. You really know your way around the course. What’s your secret?”
Michelson replied, “The holes are numbered”
A young man and a priest are playing together. At a short par 3 the priest asks, “What are you going to use on this hole my son? ”
The young man says, “An 8 iron, Father. How about you?”
The priest says, “I’m going to hit a soft seven and pray. ”
The young man hits his 8-iron and puts the ball on the green.
The priest tops his 7-iron and dribbles the ball out a few yards.
The young man says, “I don’t know about you, Father, but in my church, when we pray, we keep our head down.”
Police are called to an apartment and find a woman holding a bloody 5 iron standing over a lifeless man.
The detective asks, “Ma’am, is that your husband?”
“Yes ” says the woman.
“Did you hit him with that golf club ?”
“Yes, yes, I did…” The woman begins to sob, drops the club, and puts her hands on her face.
“How many times did you hit him?”
“I don’t know, five, six, maybe seven times…..just put me down for a five.”
A golfer teed up his ball on the first tee, took a mighty swing and hit his ball into a clump of trees. He found his ball and saw an opening between two trees he thought he could hit through. Taking out his 3 wood, he took a mighty swing. The ball hit a tree, bounced back, hit him in the forehead and killed him.
As he approached the gates of Heaven, St. Peter asked, “Are you a good golfer?”
The man replied: “Got here in two, didn’t I?”
The bride was escorted down the aisle and when she reached the altar, the groom was standing there with his golf bag and clubs at his side.
She said: “What are your golf clubs doing here?”
He looked her right in the eye and said, “This isn’t going to take all day, is it?”
…From David in Thorpe Willoughby (UK)
‘I have absolutely no idea what he sees in her….!’
…From Peter in Ruby Bay (NZ)
GRANDMA’S MISSING!
The computer swallowed grandma.
Yes, honestly its true!
She pressed ‘control’ and ‘enter’
And disappeared from view.
It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.
I’ve searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I’ve even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.
In desperation, I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found ‘online.’
So, if inside your ‘Inbox,’
My Grandma you should see,
Please ‘Copy,”Scan’ and ‘Paste’ her
And send her back to me.
This is a tribute to all the Grandmas who have been fearless and learned to use the Computer……..
They are the greatest!!!
We do not stop playing because we grow old;
We grow old because we stop playing.
NEVER Be The First To Get Old!
…From Mary in Valencia, California (US)
(This is verrrrrry loooong, but well worth the read….and it’s a topic I can relate to!! Andy)
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy.
A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a colour diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis.
Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner.
I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn’t really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, ‘HE’S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!’
I left Andy’s office with some written instructions and a prescription for a product called ‘MoviPrep,’ which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven.
I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America’s enemies.
I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation.
In accordance with my instructions, I didn’t eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavour.
Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep.
You mix two packets of powder together in a one-litre plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a litre is about 32 gallons). Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes – and here I am being kind – like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humour, state that after you drink it, ‘a loose, watery bowel movement may result’.
This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don’t want to be too graphic, here, but have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another litre of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.
After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.
The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ‘What if I spurt on Andy?’ How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts; the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep.
At first I was ticked off that I hadn’t thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point.
Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand.
There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was ‘Dancing Queen’ by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, ‘Dancing Queen’ had to be the least appropriate.
‘You want me to turn it up?’ said Andy, from somewhere behind me.
‘Ha ha,’ I said. And then it was time; the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.
I have no idea! Really! I slept through it! One moment, ABBA was yelling, ‘Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,’ and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.
Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that It was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colours. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
ABOUT THE WRITER
Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humour columnist for the Miami Herald.
On the subject of Colonoscopies…
Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite humorous….. A physician claimed that the following are actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their colonoscopies:
1. ‘Take it easy, Doc. You’re boldly going where no man has gone before!’
2. ‘Find Amelia Earhart yet?’
3. ‘Can you hear me NOW?’
4. ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’
5. ‘You know, in Arkansas, we’re now legally married.’
6. ‘Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?’
7. ‘You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out…’
8. ‘Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!’
9. ‘If your hand doesn’t fit, you must quit!’
10. ‘Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.’
11. ‘You used to be an executive at Enron, didn’t you?’
12. ‘God, now I know why I am not gay.’
13. ‘Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not up there?’
HEMA is a Dutch department store. The first store opened on November 4, 1926, in Amsterdam.
Now there are 150 stores all over the Netherlands.
Take a look at HEMA’s product page. You can’t order anything and it’s in Dutch – but just
wait a couple of seconds and watch what happens.
Don’t click on any of the items in the picture, just wait and see what happens.
This company has a sense of humour and a great computer programmer,
who has too much time on his hands.
Click link below and enjoy – you need sound to enjoy it best!!
link
…From Baz in Dronfield (UK)
To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine.. and those who don’t.
As Ben Franklin said: “In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is freedom, in water there is bacteria.
In a number of carefully controlled trials, scientists have demonstrated that if we drink1 litre of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli. (E. coli – bacteria found in feces.)
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poop.
However, we do NOT run that risk when drinking wine & beer (or tequila, rum, scotch, vodka, whisky or other liquor), because alcohol has to go through a purification process of distilling, filtering and/or fermenting.
Remember:
Water = Poop; Wine = Health.
Therefore, it’s better to drink wine and talk stupid, than to drink water and be full of shit.
There is no need to thank me for this valuable information:
I’m doing it as a public service.
(The above image bears an uncanny resemblance to Baz in Dronfield – Andy)
…From David in Thorpe Willoughby (UK)
She spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.
On the second day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candle-light, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of prawns, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of spring-water.
When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten prawn shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods.
She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.
On the third day, the removal firm came and collected her things.
When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.
Then slowly, the house began to smell.
They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out.
Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam cleaned.
Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting.
Nothing worked!!!
People stopped coming over to visit.
Repairmen refused to call.
The Maid quit.
Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.
A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house.
Word got out and eventually even the local estate agents refused to return their calls.
Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.
The ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going.
He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.
Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.
She agreed and within the hour his solicitor delivered the paperwork.
A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the removal company pack everything to take to their new home……..
And to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods!!!!!!
I LOVE A HAPPY ENDING, DON’T YOU?
…From Peter in Ruby Bay (NZ)
A duck walks into a pub and orders a pint of beer and a ham sandwich.
The barman looks at him and says, ‘Hang on! You’re a duck.’
‘I see your eyes are working,’ replies the duck.
‘And you can talk!’ exclaims the barman.
‘I see your ears are working, too,’ says the duck. ‘Now if you don’t mind, can I have my beer and my sandwich please?’
‘Certainly, sorry about that,’ says the barman as he pulls the duck’s pint. ‘It’s just we don’t get many ducks in this pub. What are you doing round this way?’
‘I’m working on the building site across the road,’ explains the duck. ‘I’m a plasterer.’
The flabbergasted barman cannot believe the duck and wants to learn more, but takes the hint when the duck pulls out a newspaper from his bag and proceeds to read it.
So, the duck reads his paper, drinks his beer, eats his sandwich, bids the barman good day and leaves.
The same thing happens for two weeks.
Then one day the circus comes to town.
The ringmaster comes into the pub for a pint and the barman says to him ‘You’re with the circus, aren’t you? Well, I know this duck that could be just brilliant in your circus. He talks, drinks beer, eats sandwiches, reads the newspaper and everything!’
‘Sounds marvelous,’ says the ringmaster, handing over his business card. ‘Get him to give me a call.’
So the next day when the duck comes into the pub the barman says, ‘Hey Mr. Duck, I reckon I can line you up with a top job, paying really good money.’
‘I’m always looking for the next job,’ says the duck. ‘Where is it?’
‘At the circus,’ says the barman.
‘The circus?’ repeats the duck.
‘That’s right,’ replies the barman.
‘The circus?’ the duck asks again. ‘That place with the big tent?’
‘Yeah,’ the barman replies.
‘With all the animals who live in cages, and performers who live in caravans?’ says the duck.
‘Of course,’ the barman replies.
‘And the tent has canvas sides and a big canvas roof with a hole in the middle?’ persists the duck.
‘That’s right!’ says the barman.
The duck shakes his head in amazement, and says .. . .
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
‘What the dickens would they want with a plasterer??!’
