Funny Old World

Can you believe it?

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It hardly seems possible in this world-wise era, but some are still raised in a climate of seclusion and relative ignorance.
 
‘They’re a perfectly intelligent couple,’ the doctor at Luebeck in-vitro fertilisation clinic said, ‘so when they came to our clinic and said they wanted to have a baby, we put them through all the usual procedures.  They both proved to be perfectly fertile and it was only when we asked them how often they had sex and they expressed puzzlement and doubt that we began to suspect something was wrong. 
 
They were both brought up in a strict religious environment and knew nothing at all about the sexual process.  It became clear they had never had sexual intercourse or even knew that such a physical bonding was possible.  They thought that simply by lying side by side each night in their bedclothes, that something could happen. Of course it never did.
 
We returned their 15000 euro deposit and sent them to a sexual therapy course.’
 
 
It is not unknown in Ireland either, where we still have many country folk brought up in a strict religious environment.  That however was not the case with friends Harry Nolan and Paddy Quinn, and their respective brides.
 
Harry and Paddy were of an age, lifelong friends and old school mates.  Indeed they worked together in the same Civil Service office, shared hobbies and were even married around the same time.  There was one radical difference.  In the six years since their respective ceremonies, Paddy’s wife had got four times pregnant and rumour was that she was once again in the family way, while Harry and Imelda, though desperate to start a family had, as yet, no luck in that department.  A little shyly but in desperation – for indeed Harry thought the situation reflected poorly on his manhood – he approached his lifelong friend for advice and tips, if necessary.
 
‘No bother, me oul’ Segotia,’ says Paddy.  ‘I’d be glad to help!  Tell me, he says, does Imelda take a drink?’
 
‘She does indeed,’ says Harry.
 
‘A woman likes to feel special,’ says the worldly-wise one.  ‘Do you often take her home a special present?  A bunch of flowers?’
 
‘Well, no, other than birthdays and anniversaries.’
 
‘No good at all!  Now, here’s where ye start.  You book the most expensive restaurant in the town.  Then you book a limousine to take you both there and back.’
 
‘Sounds expensive,’ says Harry.
 
‘Now you’re getting the idea.  And don’t forget to get a dozen red roses delivered before you leave home.  You might start off the evening with a cocktail or two before you leave.’
Paddy was frowning - and sweating a little.

"After your sumptuous meal, you treat her to a few more cocktails.

"When eventually you return home in the limousine, you carry her across the threshold, lay her kindly and carefully on a couch: turn on her favourite soft music, playing low: offer her another drink.  Suggest she 'slip into something more comfortable' and retire to the bedroom."

"Saying it all happens like that, what do I do then?" says Paddy.

"At that point," says yer man, " You retire from the house altogether -- and send for me!"
 

Beer Taster Wanted

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‘You’ve seen those small ads in the papers that always end with the words ‘No time-wasters, please’.  
 
Many’s the time I’d have applied but I always had to admit to myself that, indeed, I was nothing but a time-waster.  In truth, it’s my preferred way of using time – just whiling it away – wasting it, according to some!
 

I debated with myself again as I answered the advertisement to fill Piztasha Newt’s recently vacated position with Brahma Breweries.  
 
True, the job was seven thousand miles away in Brazil:  I was not a citizen, naturalised or otherwise:  I had no visa or passport:  I had no contacts in the country:  I had never before been employed as a beer-taster.  
 
But in every other way, I was eminently suited to the position.  Nor would I ever in the future contemplate – as Pistasha had done – taking my employers to court for failure to warn me of the addictive dangers of the job.
 
Brahma Breweries expected to win the court case, presumably the main reason they delayed re-advertising the position until after the verdict.  Unfortunately they lost and when the terms of the settlement became clear, there were 354,472 applicants for Newt’s old job.
 
Newt testified to the court at Rio de Janeiro,
 
‘Every day I was expected to drink eight litres of beer to monitor its quality.  I left work blind drunk every evening.
 
Twenty years on and I am an incorrigible alcoholic.  I am unable to hold down alternative employment.  
 
I am seeking compensation and a pension for life.’
 
The verdict came as a body blow to the Brewery. 
 
‘Every employer has a duty to prevent his workers from ingesting harmful substances.  
 
He has given twenty years as a Master Brewer and Chief Taster.  He tells us that beer tasters – unlike wine tasters – have to swallow their drinks. The Tribunal therefore rules that he is entitled to $2m in compensation from the Brewery, a monthly pension for life of $2,600 and an unlimited supply of Brahma beer free.’
 

Now, that’s just silly!  I’d settle for a lot less than that!  
 
Would ye put in a word for me, if ye know anybody on the Brewery’s Board of Directors?

Strip Search, Miss?

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‘I tried to look her straight in the eye’, the restaurant manager explained, ‘but given her advanced state of undress, that wasn’t easy for me!
 
I thought at first that her tears signified extreme embarrassment.  I looked again.  They were tears of disappointment.  She felt rejected.
 
What could I do?’ he pleaded.  I wondered how to answer him.  I hoped he would elaborate without further prompting.  He did not. 
 
What did he do? I wondered idly.
 
When the police arrived, the manager of the Taco Bell Restaurant, Fountains Hill, Arizona told the whole story (well, without that interesting ending, anyway!).
 
‘The caller on the phone said he was a police officer’, he explained.  ‘He asked me if there was a young female customer with a red jacket and long blond hair sitting alone.  He described her to a T.  He told me she was suspected of theft.  He wanted me to give her a body search.  He said it was my legal obligation so I ordered her into a back room.
 
Then he told me to order her to disrobe and to give her a thorough all-over body search.  So I did.  It was only when he told me to make her stand on one leg  and then do jumping jacks that I became suspicious.  I asked him how I could be sure he was a police officer.  To prove that he was he started to pledge allegiance to the flag.  But he forgot the words and then hung up.  I realised all was not what it seemed.  I tried to explain to the young lady.  That’s when her tears began to flow.’
 
The report was the latest in a series of hoax strip-searches that have been plaguing fast-food restaurants throughout America.  ‘It’s mind-boggling how he gets away with it,’ said Sheriff Joseph Arpaio of Maricopa County.  ‘Why would any responsible person do something like this just because some guy calls them on the telephone and tells them he’s a cop?’
 
I could think of a reason but I didn’t like to interrupt.
 
‘Yet we’ve documented more than seventy of these hoax calls and in almost every case the manager has agreed to perform the strip-search.  Even more incredibly, the female customers have almost always gone along with the scam.’
 
What was the outcome at Taco Bell? I wanted to know, but he was unusually coy on that account!
 
‘This guy is clearly a sexual pervert looking for a cheap thrill.  But as he has gone on, it’s become more about power and his orders have become ever more bizarre.  
 
We think he walks past a restaurant, sees a girl he likes the look of, then phones from across the street while looking through the window.  He never gets to see what goes on in the back room, however… unless..
 
Wait a minute.  I’ve got a phone call to make!!’
 
 
 

Posthumous Award

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The first letter from the grieving widow was listened to with compassion at the Management Meeting of Mullaglass Clay Pigeon Shoot.  After all at the time of his demise, Philip McGunn was the reigning champion and it was not an unreasonable request that after his cremation, his ashes should be scattered at the scene of his greatest triumph.  He had won the Inter-County Championship several times.  The request was quickly acceded to.
 
The second, explanatory letter arrived when all the Championship arrangements had been finalised.  It explained that his friend Willie Winner would be representing the late champion this year.  The cartridges he would be using were stuffed not just with the usual lead shot but also with Phil’s ashes. 
 
Some members were determined to disqualify him, aware that fierce controversy might ensue.  They were fearful of bad publicity in the event of Willie’s triumph. 
 
A heated debate ensued but eventually the entry was reluctantly accepted.
 
The Judging Committee had no hesitation in declaring Willie the winner for he had clearly ‘hit’ more clay pigeons on the day than any other competitor. 
 
An immediate appeal was lodged.  The Panel of Judges was amazed to learn that the appellant was none other than Willie.  His appeal was on the grounds that his friend, the late Phil had smashed all those clay pigeons with his ashes.  It was his contention that Phil should posthumously be declared the winner.
 
The Management Committee was outraged that it had been so foiled and it was unanimous that the original decision should stand. 
 
Legal counsel was sought.  It advised that the Committee (and not the late Phil) did not have a leg to stand on.  Phil McGunn was declared the winner.
 
The press, local, national and international had a field day.  Phil McGunn’s name became a household word. 
 
Willie and the widow were called before the Committee to explain themselves but mainly to get a good drubbing down.  The Chairman concluded,
 
‘And we want your categorical assurance that such a ruse will never be repeated!’
 
‘Sorry.  Can’t do that, Sir,’ explained the widow.  ‘We promised Phil he’d go on winning for years to come.
 
We still have fifty cartridges filled with his ashes, for next year’s Championship and for all the following years!’
Our photo shows ‘Quinns for Value’ lorry delivering to Milestone O’Hagan St/Hill Street shop, now Dunnes.  Beattie’s Shoe Shop is in the background, now Rocks’s.  Number plate is a clue to the year.  Can anyone help?

Crucifixion

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‘This must be the stupidest man ever born,’ said Sheriff Barry DeLong of Somerset County, Maine.  ‘Except that he did call the emergency services when his self-crucifixion attempt went awry. 

 

My men had to break down the door to gain entry.  He seemed confused at first.  He was rambling on about walking on water.  He told us the face of God had appeared on his computer’s screen-saver and told him he was God’s son and should crucify himself right away. 

 

He got two large pieces of wood, nailed them together on his bedroom floor, lay down on it and proceeded to nail his left hand to the makeshift cross using a six-inch nail and a hammer in his right hand.  At that stage it occurred to him that he’d be unable to nail his right hand, his left being otherwise occupied.  He rang for us, using his mobile phone.

 

(I couldn’t help reflecting that this was the ONLY time I ever remember a proper use for this ubiquitous instrument!).

 

I offered to wield the hammer and nail but he appeared to have changed his mind about the whole enterprise.  My men sawed off the cross where it was attached to his hand.  It was freed at the County Hospital. 

 

No charges were preferred against him.  There was no crime only mind-boggling imbecility and possible insanity.

 

And wasting police time and resources.

 

Hold on!  Get him back in here. NOW!’   

Not Lost after All!

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The Royal Hotel, Ventor, Isle of Wight recently received a request from a German tourist to book a room. 

 

Nothing unusual in that you say.  Only that the card sent to make the request was posted some ninety six years ago.  The half penny stamp bore the image of King Edward VII who died in 1910.  

 

Asked to comment a Post Office spokesman remarked,

 

‘This only proves that eventually – like our great forebears of Wells Fargo – the Post Office delivers triumphantly.

 

Indeed this is so long ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if Wells Fargo didn’t have a hand in it!

 

Really, the Royal Hotel ought to be surcharged because the face value of the stamp does not cover the current postage charge.  But in the circumstances, we are prepared to be magnanimous and overlook the surcharge.’

 

Perhaps the postman who delivered it ought to be grateful that he didn’t suffer the fate common to today’s bearers of bad news: i.e. ‘shoot the messenger!’

 

But then again, Piers Moran is supposedly seeking a

Disposal Chutes

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‘When the coffin was carried into the Chapel of Ease there was a howl of derision from the striking gravediggers.  They were cheering and clapping and yelling.  We were mortified!  My late aunt deserved a better send-off than this!’  Judy Andrews told reporters outside the funeral parlour in Quebec. 

‘They were waving banners and laughing and pointing.  I don’t know whether they deserve better pay and conditions of service, but now, after this display I believe they deserve hanging!’

Co-operative Funeral Services, from the photograph above, appear to have found a solution.

Anal Wedges

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‘The most common excuse is that they ‘fell unto’ these objects.  We frankly find that hard to believe, especially the bloke with a can of shaving cream wedged in his anal passage.  There was three feet of battery wire firmly attached and wound round it.  He didn’t even attempt an explanation of that!  To be honest, we thought at first it was an even more perverse form of human bomb, and no doctor would approach him!

The spokesman for the University Medical Centre at Leiden in Netherlands warmed to his subject.

‘Sometimes it’s fruit, vegetables, bottles, billiard balls, a Barbie doll, candles or screwdrivers.  This mania particularly afflicts men of between forty and sixty years of age.’

I don’t know why, but that last comment unnerved me somewhat!

‘But they can be of any age’ he continued, as if to reassure me.