Fun Stuff

If ye gotta go!

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Portaloo
A century ago in Ireland a couple searching for a holiday home chose the West of Ireland and after much house-hunting, they found a country cottage to their taste.  They hadn’t inspected it fully and when they returned to England the woman asked her husband whether it came with a suitable W.C.  He of course, couldn’t remember either so he wrote to ask the landlord.
 
 
 
Unfortunately the landlord didn’t understand the new-fangled term W.C. (for water-closet – contrasted with a ‘dry-toilet’) and studied an Ordnance Survey map to check.  There he learned that a Wesleyan Chapel – named for the founder of Methodism, John Wesley – was so abbreviated.
 
 
He wrote back immediately.
 
 
Dear Sir,
 
 
I regret the delay in this matter but I have much pleasure in informing you that the W.C. is situated nine miles from the house.  It is capable of seating two hundred and fifty persons.
 
If you are in the habit of going regularly, this is unfortunate for you.  You will no doubt be interested to know that a great many people take their lunch with them and make a day of it.  Others who are more pressed go by car and often arrive just in the nick of time!  These are people who are generally in too much of a hurry to wait.
 
The last time, six years ago, that my wife and I were there, we had to stand all the time.
 
 
Yours sincerely
 
 
Seamus Murphy.

Compensation Sets In

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Have you ever thought that the country was couped?
 
I have just heard that some 2000-3000 former paramilitary prisoners, including godfathers, are suing the State because their dignity was mortally wounded at having to ‘slop out’ their cells when the Government ought to have provided them individually with W.C.s and personal washing facilities.
 
Some years ago the State had to fork out ten of millions in compensation because apparently almost every soldier who ever served in the Irish Army was suffering from deafness brought on by the absence (or ineffectiveness) of ear-muffs when they were given shooting practice.
 
Currently priests and pastors are seeking compensation against the vagaries of the drink-driving legislation.  Apparently those who have to serve more than one Church on Sundays for example, may accidentally imbibe (at the Consecration) sufficient wine to put them over the limit, and they have to drive from Church to Church.  Their suggested solution?  The State must provide from taxes, sufficient funds for them to employ a chauffeur.  Of course there are several thousand ‘religious’ in this invidious position!
 
Isn’t it amazing how quickly compensation sets in?

The Undead!

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‘How can one disturb the peace of the dead?  The charge is ridiculous as is the sentence.  I am innocent!
 
‘In any case, what did they expect?  This is Transylvania, after all, home of Dracula, no less!’ This was Marina Tecoeur’s only reply when she was found guilty by the court in Romania.  Her husband Boeuf was more forthcoming.
 
‘There is no law against it.  How can you be guilty of an offence that isn’t even on the statute books? 
 
If the State is right, it doesn’t matter for Toma was already dead when we dug him up and re-killed him. 
 
If we are right and we destroyed a vampire, then we have saved thousands of lives for ages to come.  It’s because he was our son-in-law that we know of his nefarious deeds.  Everyone in the world knows that vampires originated here and they are still here in numbers. 
 
We deserve a state pension for this deed!
 
On the night after he was entombed, we opened the casket, ripped his heart out, burned it to ashes, mixed it with water and drank it.  That is the time-honoured way in this valley to deal with vampires.  It’s not nice and he tasted awful but there was no alternative.
 
They charged us both with disturbing the peace of the dead, and we got three years imprisonment.  This travesty of justice will rouse the local people here to fury.  They know we are heroes.’
 
‘There’s far too much of this sort of thing going on,’ commented police chief Constantin Van Ripponof, ‘and we have to put a stop to it.’
 
I noticed however that he had a large wooden cross hanging from a chain around his neck.  And his breath had a heavy smell of garlic.  Whether he was just after a meal, or adopting the ‘belt-and-braces’ policy, I’ll never know.  Anyway when I felt Marina and Boeuf were taking an unhealthy interest in me I made my excuses and left.

Everybank goes Religious

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EveryBank Ltd
Hill Street
NEWRY
28 August 2004
 
Dear Valued Customer,
 
Further to our letter of 12 April earlier this year, we are delighted to inform you of an exciting new improvement to our services which will take effect immediately. 
 
Being sadly aware of the growing deficit of priests in Ireland, and the subsequent difficulty our customers are currently experiencing in having masses offered for the deceased, special intentions etc and other vital religious services such as confessions, baptisms and even marriages – and in recognition of the many under-employed Catholic clergymen in India and other missionary outposts – Everybank will now offer all these and MORE, across the telephone line!
 
Our fantastic new Call Centre recently opened in Bacca Beyon, The Keys, Dacca Peninsula, Punjab is now staffed at all times by at least one consecrated pastor who, for a small stipend, will offer prayers for special intentions. We cannot guarantee that he is of your denomination every time, but those things are less relevant than before, aren’t they?  You will continue to receive penance, though it will usually be awarded in monetary order debits from your Cashcard accounts. 
 
We anticipate no serious problems in the transfer process but would like to make the following observations, and perhaps appeal to your patience and understanding over what might be considered as early teething problems.  Please allow for a 20 second delay as your call is re-routed via satellite 26,000 miles above the Earth!   Have no fear, your pastor is near!
 

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!"
 

Emergency Procedure

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Now be honest!!

After H M Government went to the trouble and huge expense of circularising every home with their timely and very informative booklet PREPARING FOR EMERGENCIES, you simply browsed it quickly, read the final summary [Go In, Stay In, Tune In] and then threw it out! Didn’t you?

You may, like me, have mentally noted the contrast with the Fire Service’s advice of Get Out and Stay Out and remarked that one likely emergency would be of your home in flames after an attack.

Ah, but you’re just being pedantic! Fire’s fire but a terrorist attack is different!

Well, except for the Twin Towers, Bali, Philippines, Turkey, Iraq, Nairobi etc. Anyway there was much more to the booklet than that and we would like to summarize its contents, now you’ve already binned it.

HOW TO RECOGNISE A TERRORIST

As your Government Ministers, politicians and police repeatedly inform you, terrorist incidents are always instigated by outsiders infiltrating an area. So your typical terrorist is definitely NOT ONE OF US!

He/she is ‘from the other side of the house’, of different ethnic origin, swarthy, usually with an ugly scar across his face, some broken teeth and wears an evil grin at all times. Do not be surprised if he carries a heavy suitcase monogrammed with the letters WMD. Should he attempt to pretend that his name is William Martin Drennan, or some such, you may show your erudition by boasting that you recognise the initials as ‘weapons of mass destruction’.

HM Government, long seeking that very thing, would like to hear from you should this contingency arise.

TUNE IN

In the case of future emergencies, the Government will filter and control information released to the public.

This is to offset the panic that arose for example, on the morning of 11.09.01 when unfiltered data was aired to the effect that the US Air Force had been scrambled with orders to shoot down any civilian aircraft still aloft after a short period. It was also suggested then that dozens of hijacked planes were in the air and had been long enough to now have even crossed the Atlantic, should that be the intention. Later events proved otherwise: the US Air Force, for example, never left the ground (unless there’s truth in the rumour that the last plane that ‘crashed’ in open country was in fact shot down, that morning).

Rest assured that only good and reassuring news will in future be aired on radio! Remember, if it comes from your Government, it is GOOD.  Otherwise it is just propaganda.

DON’T PANIC!!

First VERY IMPORTANT lesson is not to PANIC.

All right, the imminent attack might take the form of a 100-megaton nuclear device landing in your garden. Frankly should that happen, you’ll never know a thing about it. It could be a deadly nerve gas seeping under your door or rising up through your drains. Again, you’ll have no call to worry, for you’ll be gone before you know it!

It could be a deadly toxic virus in powder form sent through the mail to you. Don’t at any cost open any mail that does not bear the H M Government logo on it. And even then, call the Army Bomb Squad before venturing to open any package leaking white powder.

Or indeed powder of any other colour.  Fiendishly clever, these terrorists!

TAKE TO YOUR SHELTER!

As soon as possible build a reinforced bomb shelter in your garden. Make certain you dig deep enough to access the local water table, for fresh water supplies might be a problem in the event of nuclear attack. Should you be fortunate enough to live on land with a natural spring, why not build a shelter large enough to accommodate your whole neighbourhood?

RECOMMENDED FOOD PRODUCTS

Stock up with enough food to last for years.

We recommend 36 sacks of Neill’s Flour, 12 crates of Nestle’s Pot Noodles, 4000 tins of Heinz Baked Beans and 20,000 6-packs of Harp Lager. [H M Government is indebted to Neill’s, Nestle, Heinz and Harp for sponsoring this booklet!]. Please don’t forget you will need a tin opener! With such a diet, don’t forget to include a double-valve flue system to vent off human gas. The second valve is to prevent the entry of radioactivity from outside, which, if such a thing is possible, is even more toxic!

DOMESTIC PETS

At first hint of attack, kill, skin and bone all domestic pets and store the meat in the domestic freezer you will naturally have included in your bomb shelter. A petrol-driven generator will be required, but we would urge people not to stock up with extra petrol/diesel supplies, otherwise our oil might run out soon – what with Iraq, Saudi Arabia and all the rest.

MEDICAL AND SANITARY SUPPLIES

Stock up with all the usual medical supplies. We recommend Haliburton brand products since the Board of that company has made a small contribution towards our costs.

This pamphlet, which is printed on recycled paper from sustainable forestry, might itself be recycled to make the equivalent of ten sheets of luxury toilet tissue.

Further recycling is not recommended.

BOMBS

If a bomb goes off outside your building, stay inside in case there is a second bomb in the area.

If you saw the explosion, stay in the area and tell the police what you saw (unless, of course, you have reason to believe there is a second device in the area). In the latter case, get out and tell the police later. They would like you to help with their enquiries – for example, how come you knew there was a second device planted??  Would you prefer to be questioned at the police station or Quantanamo Bay, Cuba?

IF ENGLISH IS NOT YOUR LANGUAGE

How did you get this far if you don’t understand English?

Anyway, the pamphlet is available, should you require it, in Urdu, Estonian, Malibu, Rhumbabese, Salami and Clotted Cream flavours. Gaelic and Ulster Scots versions will follow soon – emergencies permitting. 

TRUST YOUR GOVERNMENT:SAFEGUARD DEMOCRACY: VOTE FOR US!

The pamphlet is for emergency guidelines only. DON’T PANIC. Your government is in control.

Have we ever lied to you?

We promise, when it is time to PANIC, we will give you 45 minutes notice.

P.S. A few handy hints.

If you find yourself trapped in darkness in a bombed building, do NOT search for gas leaks with a lighted match or candle.

Stay close to walls and tap on pipes so that rescuers can hear you. If you don’t smoke a pipe, perhaps you could sing – or call out, if you don’t feel like singing!

If an escape door feels hot, there’s likely to be a fire at the other side. Don’t open it, unless it’s the only way out. In the latter case, go for it. You have no alternative.

Remember the old adage, Women and Children First. If you happen to be a man, you may choose to ignore the adage.

Get to personally know your local police, Fire Workers and Emergency Service Personnel. This may win you preferential treatment in an emergency! (But keep your hands off the big brawny fireman with the cute dimple on his left cheek. He’s mine!). Such familiarity will help you distinguish between genuine Emergency Personnel and terrorists disguised as such.

Yes, they will even stoop as low as that!

For further information, log on to our website everymanforhimself.com.

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?