“It is really sad to see their little faces with no hope” said Sarah, aged 6…
Turmoil rocked Heaven this morning as allegations arose that God had had an affair with a former worshipper. The scandal was begun when a 21 year old woman, known only as Mary, claimed that she had given birth to God’s “only son” last week in a barn in the hamlet of Bethlehem. Sources close to Mary claim that she “had loved God for a long time” that she was constantly talking about her relationship with God, and that she was “thrilled to have had his child”. In a press conference this morning, God issued a vehement denial, saying that “No sexual relationship existed” and that “the facts of this story will come out in time, verily”.
Independent counsel Kenneth Beelzebub immediately filed a brief with the Justice department to expand his investigation to cover questions of whether any commandments may have been broken, and whether God had illegally funnelled laundered money to his illegitimate child through three foreign operatives known only as the “Wise Men”. Beelzebub has issued subpoenas to several angels who are rumoured to have acted as go-betweens in the affair. Critics have pointed out that these allegations have little to do with the charges that Beelzebub was originally appointed to investigate, that God had created large-scale flooding in order to cover up evidence of a failed land deal.
In recent months, Beelzebub’s investigation has already been expanded to cover questions surrounding the large number of locusts that plagued God’s political opponents in the last election. As well as to claims that the destruction of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah was to divert attention away from a scandal involving whether the giveaway of a parcel of public land in Promised County to a Jewish special interest group was quid pro quo for political contributions.
If these allegations prove to be true, then this could be a huge blow to God’s career, much of which has been spent crusading for stricter moral standards and harsher punishments for wrongdoers. Indeed, God recently outlined a “tough-on-crime” plan consisting of a series of 10 “Commandments” which has been introduced in Congress in a bill by Rep. Moses. Critics of the bill have pointed out that it lacks any provisions for the rehabilitation of criminals, and lawyers for the ACLU are planning to fight the “Name in Vain” Commandment as being an unconstitutional restriction on free speech.
Far away in the tropical waters of the Coral Sea, two prawns were swimming around. One called Justin and the other called Christian. The prawns were constantly being harassed and threatened by sharks that inhabited the area.
Finally one day Justin said to Christian, “I’m fed up with being a prawn. I wish I was a shark, and then I wouldn’t have any worries about being eaten”.
Suddenly a large mysterious cod appeared and said “Your wish is granted”. Lo and behold, Justin turned into a shark. Horrified, Christian immediately swam away, afraid of being eaten by his old mate.
Time passed (as it does) and Justin found life as a shark boring and lonely. All his old mates simply swam away whenever he came close to them. Justin began to realise that his new menacing appearance was the cause of his sad plight.
While swimming alone one day he saw the mysterious cod again and he thought perhaps the mysterious fish could change him back into a prawn.
He approached the cod and begged to be changed back, and, lo and behold, he found himself turned back into a prawn. With tears of joy in his tiny little eyes Justin swam back to his friends and bought them all a cocktail.
Looking around the gathering at the reef he realised he couldn’t see his old pal.
“Where’s Christian?” he asked. “He’s at home, still distraught that his best friend changed sides to the enemy and became a shark” came the reply.
Eager to put things right again and end the mutual pain and torture, he set off to Christian’s abode. As he opened the coral gate, memories came flooding back. He banged on the door and shouted “It’s me, Justin, your old friend, come out and see me again”.
Christian replied “No way man, you’ll eat me. You’re now a shark, the enemy, and I’ll not be tricked into being your dinner!” Justin cried back “No, I’m not! That was the old me! I’ve changed!”
“I’ve found Cod. I’m a Prawn again Christian!”
John Smith was the only Protestant to move into a large Catholic neighbourhood.
On the first Friday of Lent, John was outside grilling a big juicy steak on his grill. Meanwhile, all of his neighbours were eating cold tuna fish for supper.
This went on each Friday of Lent. On the last Friday of Lent, the neighbourhood men got together and decided that something had to be done about John, he was tempting them to eat meat each Friday of Lent, and they couldn’t take it anymore.
They decided to try and convert John to be a Catholic. They went over and talked to him and were so happy that he decided to join all of his neighbours and become a Catholic. They took him to church, and the Priest sprinkled some water over him and said “You were born a Baptist, you were raised a Baptist, and now you are a Catholic”.
The men were so relieved, now their biggest Lenten temptation was resolved.
The next year’s Lenten season rolled around. The first Friday of Lent came, and just at supper time, when the neighbourhood was sitting down to their tuna fish dinner, came the wafting smell of steak cooking on a grill.
The neighbourhood men could not believe their noses! WHAT WAS GOING ON? They called each other up and decided to meet over in John’s yard to see if he had forgotten it was the first Friday of Lent?
The group arrived just in time to see John standing over his grill with a small pitcher of water. He was sprinkling some water over his steak on the grill, saying “You were born a cow, you were raised a cow, and now you are a fish”.
The weather has been very Muslim recently.
Partly Sunni, but mostly Shi’ite.
A mum is driving her little girl to a friend’s house for a play date. “Mummy” the little girl asks “How old are you?” “Honey, you are not supposed to ask a lady her age” the mother warns. “It is not polite”. “Okay” the little girl says.
“How much do you weigh?” “Now really” the mother says “these are personal questions and really none of your business”.
Undaunted, the little girl asks “Why did you and daddy get a divorce?” “That is enough questions, honestly!”
The exasperated mother walks away as the two friends begin play. “My mum wouldn’t tell me anything” the little girl says to her friend. “Well” said the friend “all you need to do is look at her driver’s license. It is like a report card, it has everything on it”.
Later that night the little girls says to her mother “Mummy… I know how old you are. You are 32″. Mum is surprised and asks “How did you find that out?” “I also know that you weigh 65 kilos”. The mother is shocked now. “How in heaven’s name did you find that out?” “And “the little girl says triumphantly “I know why you and daddy got a divorce!” “Oh really?” “And why’s that?” mum asks. “Because you got an F in sex!!”
Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, walked into a branch of the Commonwealth Bank to cash a cheque. Approaching the cashier she said “Good morning, could you please cash this cheque for me?” The clerk replies “It would be my pleasure, mam. Could I see your ID please?”
Julia said “Well I didn’t bring my ID with me as I didn’t think there was any need to. I am Julia Gillard you know – the Prime Minister!”
Clerk: “I’m sorry, but with all the regulations, monitoring of the banks because of imposters, fraud, forgers and the like, I must insist on proof of identity”. Julia: “Just ask anyone here at the bank who I am and they will tell you. Everybody knows me!”
Clerk: “I am very sorry Madam Prime Minister. These are the bank rules and I must follow them”. Julia: “And I need this cheque cashed!!”
Clerk: “Perhaps there’s another way. One day Greg Norman came into the bank without ID. To prove he was Greg Norman he pulled out his putter and made a beautiful putt across the bank into a cup. With that shot we knew him to be Greg Norman and cashed his cheque”.
“Another time, Shane Warne came in without ID. He pulled out a cricket ball and bowled a fabulous spinner kick where the ball landed in my coffee mug. With that spectacular bowl we cashed his cheque. So mam, what can you do to prove that it is you, and only you, the Prime Minister?”
Julia stood there thinking. Finally she says “Honestly, I can’t think of a single thing I’m good at”.
Clerk: “Will that be $50 notes or $100 notes, Prime Minister?”
A new Middle East crisis erupted last night as Dubai Television was refused permission to broadcast ‘The Flintstones’. A spokesman for the channel said “A claim was made that people in Dubai would not understand the humour” but we know for a fact that people in Abu Dhabi Do.
Two workers meet one day in the cafeteria at work. One says to the other “Have you heard the news? The Managing Director of the company died over the weekend”. The other replies “Yes, I know. But I want to know who died with him”. “What do you mean ‘who died with him’?” asks the first. “Well, in the paper it said that ‘with him died one of the company’s best workers’ and I want to know who it was”.
To really succeed in a business or organisation, it is sometimes helpful to know what your job is, and whether it involves any duties. Ask among your co-workers. “Hi” you should say. “I’m a new employee. What is the name of my job?” If they answer “long-range planner” or “lieutenant governor” you are pretty much free to lounge around and do crossword puzzles until retirement.
Most jobs, however, will require some work.
There are two major kinds of work in modern organisations:
1. Taking phone messages for people who are in meetings; and
2. Going to meetings.
Your ultimate career strategy will be to get a job involving primarily No. 2, going to meetings, as soon as possible, because that’s where the real prestige is. It is all well and good to be able to take phone messages, but you are never going to get a position of power, a position where you can cost thousands of people their jobs with a single bonehead decision, unless you learn how to attend meetings.
The first meeting ever was held back in the Mezzanine Era. In those days, Man’s job was to slay his prey and bring it home for Woman who had to figure out how to cook it. The problem was, Man was slow and basically naked, whereas the prey had warm fur and could run like an antelope. (In fact it was an antelope, only nobody knew this).
At last someone said “Maybe if we just sat down and did some brainstorming, we could come up with a better way to hunt our prey!” It went extremely well, plus it was much warmer sitting in a circle, so they agreed to meet again the next day, and the next.
But the women pointed out that, prey-wise, the men had not produced anything, and the human race was pretty much starving. The men agreed that was serious and said they would put it right near the top of their ‘agenda’. At this point, the women, who were primitive but not stupid, started eating plants, and thus modern agriculture was born. It never would have happened without meetings.
The modern business meeting, however, might better be compared with a funeral, in the sense that you have a gathering of people who are wearing uncomfortable clothing and would rather be somewhere else. The major difference is that most funerals have a definite purpose. Also, nothing is really ever buried in a meeting.
An idea may look dead, but it will always reappear at another meeting later on. If you have ever seen the movie Night of the Living Dead you have a rough idea of how modern meetings operate, with projects and proposals that everyone thought were killed rising up constantly from their graves to stagger back into meetings and eat the brains of the living.
There are two major kinds of meetings:
1. Meetings that are held for basically the same reason that Arbor Day is observed – namely, tradition. For example, a lot of managerial people like to meet on Monday, because it’s Monday. You’ll get used to it. You’d better, because this kind account for 83% of all meetings (based on a study in which I wrote down numbers until one of them looked about right). This type of meeting operates the way “Show and Tell” does in nursery school, with everyone getting to say something, the difference being that in nursery school, the kids actually have something to say.
When it’s your turn, you should say that you’re still working on whatever it is you’re supposed to be working on. This may seem pretty dumb, since obviously you’d be working on whatever you’re supposed to be working on, and even if you weren’t, you’d claim you were, but that’s the traditional thing for everyone to say. It would be a lot faster if the person running the meeting would just say “Everyone who is still working on what he or she is supposed to be working on, raise your hand”. You’d be out of there in five minutes, even allowing for jokes. But this is not how we do it in America. My guess is, it’s how they do it in Japan.
2. Meetings where there is some alleged purpose. These are trickier, because what you do depends on what the purpose is. Sometimes the purpose is harmless, like someone wants to show slides of pie charts and give everyone a big, fat report. All you have to do in this kind of meeting is sit there and make up elaborate fantasies, then take the report back to your office and throw it away, unless, of course, you’re a vice president, in which case you write the name of a subordinate in the upper right hand corner, followed by a question mark, like this “Norm?” Then you send it to Norm and forget all about it. (Although it will plague Norm for the rest of his career.)
But sometimes you go to meetings where the purpose is to get your “input” on something. This is very serious because what it means is, they want to make sure that in case whatever it is turns out to be stupid or fatal, you’ll get some of the blame, so you have to escape from the meeting before they get around to asking you anything. One way is to set fire to your tie.
Another is to have an accomplice interrupt the meeting and announce that you have a phone call from someone very important, such as the president of the company or the Pope. It should be one or the other, however, not both. It would a sound fishy if the accomplice said “You have a call from the president of the company, or the Pope”. You should know how to take notes at a meeting. Use a yellow legal pad. At the top, write the date and underline it twice. Now wait until an important person, such as your boss, starts talking; when he does, look at him with an expression of enraptured interest, as though he is revealing the secrets of life itself. Then draw interlocking rectangles. If it is an especially lengthy meeting, you can draw more elaborate doodles and maybe even a caricature of the boss.
If somebody falls asleep in a meeting, have everyone else leave the room. Then collect a group of total strangers, right of the street, and have them sit around the sleeping person until he wakes up. Then have one of them say to him “Bob, your plan is very, very risky. However, you’ve given us no choice but to try it. I only hope, for your sake, that you know what you’re getting yourself into”. Then they should file quietly out of the room.
Two Thai girls asked me if I’d like to go bed with them. They said it would be just like winning the lotto. I agreed and they were right. We all stripped off and to my horror we had six matching balls.
Barack and Michelle are at the White Sox game. Sitting in the first row with the Secret Service people directly behind them, one of the Secret Service guys leans forward and says something to the president. Barack stares at the guy, looks at Michelle, looks back at the agent, and shakes his head violently.
The agent then says “Mr President, it was a unanimous request, from the owner of the team down to the bat boy. And… the fans would love it!” So, Barack shrugs his shoulders and says “If that’s what the people want”.
He gets up, grabs Michelle by her collar and the seat of her pants, and drops her right over the wall into the field. She gets up kicking, swearing, and screaming – and the crowd goes wild, cheering, applauding, and high-fiving.
Barack is bowing and smiling, and leans over to the agent and says “You were right, I would have never believed that!” Then noticing the agent has gone totally pale, Barack asks what is wrong. The agent replies “Sir, I said, they want you to throw out the first PITCH…”
A group of 15-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Dairy Queen next to the Ocean View restaurant because they had only $6 between them and Jimmy Johnson, the cute boy in Social Studies, lived on that street.
Ten years later, the group of 25-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the beer was cheap, the restaurant offered free snacks, the band was good, there was no cover charge and there were lots of cute guys.
Ten years later, the group of 35-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the cosmos were good, it was right near the gym and, if they went late enough, there wouldn’t be too many whiny little kids.
Ten years later, the group of 45-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the martinis were big and the waiters had tight pants and nice buns.
Ten years later, the group of 55-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the prices were reasonable, the wine list was good, the restaurant had windows that opened (in case of a hot flashes) and fish is good for cholesterol.
Ten years later, the group of 65-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the lighting was good and the restaurant had an early bird special.
Ten years later, the group of 75-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the food was not too spicy and the restaurant was handicapped-accessible.
Ten years later, the group of 85-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because they were pretty sure they had never been there before.
The European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility. As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5-year phase-in plan that would become known as ‘Euro-English’.
In the first year ‘s’ will replace the soft ‘c’. Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard ‘c’ will be dropped in favour of ‘k’. This should klear up konfusion, and keyboards kan have one less letter.
There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome ‘ph’ will be replaced with ‘f’. This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.
In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.
Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling.
Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent ‘e’ in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.
By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing ‘th’ with ‘z’ and ‘w’ with ‘v’.
During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary ‘o’ kan be dropd from vordskontaining ‘ou’ and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensi bl riten styl.
Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi TU understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vil finali kum tru.
Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst plas.
A Jewish woman entered a hotel. There was a sign that read “Pets welcome, Jews not welcome.”
Undaunted by this, the Jewish lady Mrs. Rosenburg, asked the hotel owner for a room please.
The innkeeper said, “Sorry we have no vancancies.” Mrs. Rosenburg replied, “The sign says VACANCIES right there!”
The innkeeper said, “Mrs. Rosenburg, you know we don’t allow Jews here.”
Mrs. Rosenburg repiled, “I’m not jewish, I’m a bona-fide christian”.
The innkeeper said, “With a name like Rosenburg. Really? Well, for one, who is your savior?”
Mrs. Rosenburg replied calmly, “Why, Lord Jesus Christ of course”
The innkeeper, frowning said, “Oh really. Then tell me how JESUS was born?”
Mrs. Rosenburg replied with all decorum, “He was born of the virgin Mary”
The innkeeper said showing greater impatience, “And where was he born?”
Mrs Rosenburg, showing a small facial tick replied “In a small town of Bethehem in a manger.”
The innkeeper said, “That’s right…….and why was he born in a manger?”
Mrs Rosenburg slammed her fists on the counter and shouted, “BECAUSE SOME JUMPED UP GOYISHCHE SHMUCK OF AN INNKEEPER REFUSED TO GIVE A JEWISH LADY A ROOM”
What? To early?
A snail goes to a local Nissan dealership and looks at the inventory. A salesman walks up to him and asks “May I help you?”
The snail looks at him and says, “I’m here to buy a car. I’d like to test drive…. that one,” as he points to a brand new Z.
The salesman looks a little surprised. “Oooh-kay.” He walks inside, comes back outside and returns to the snail. He hands him the keys. “Here you go.”
“Thanks!” The snail gets into the car and turns the key. The engine purrs. The snail presses the accelerator and the roars. He drops it into gear and races out of the parking lot.Ten minutes later, the car whips back into the lot. The snail gets out with a huge grin. “That was great! I’ll take it! But there’s just one thing…”
The salesman shifts a little. “Yes, sir…?”
The snail turns to look at the car and turns back to the salesman: “I want you to take off the “Z”.”
“But, sir… that’s… that’s….”
“That’s my condition. I’ll pay for it right now and drive the car off the lot, but the “Z” has to go. I want you to put an “S” on it, instead.”
The salesman looks a little uneasy. “Let me… see what I can do.” He heads inside of the dealership. He returns a few minutes later. “Okay, it looks like we can take care of that for you. It will take about twenty minutes.”
The snail smiles widely and says,”That’s no problem.” The two go inside as a mechanic exits the building and drives the car into the auto shop. They fill out the paperwork and shortly afterwards, the snail and his new car are tearing out of the parking lot.
Another salesman comes over to the first one and asks,”So… what was that all about? The deal with taking the car into the shop and whatnot?”
“Oh, he wanted the “Z” removed from the car… and an “S” put on in its place.”
“Huh?! That’s weird.”
“Yeah, but look at that little S-car go!”
A man was rushed to hospital when a bizarre sex game went wrong leaving him with six toy horses stuck up his arse. Doctors described his condition as stable.
"I’ve just been on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday. I’ll tell you what, never again."
Muslim suicide bombers in Britain are set to begin a three-day strike on Monday in a dispute over the number of virgins they are entitled to in the afterlife. Emergency talks with Al Qaeda management have so far failed to produce an agreement.
The unrest began last Tuesday when Al Qaeda announced that the number of virgins a suicide bomber would receive after his death will be cut by 25% beginning January from 72 to only 60. The rationale for the cut was the increase in recent years of the number of suicide bombings and a subsequent shortage of virgins in the afterlife.
The suicide bombers’ union, the British Organisation of Occupational Martyrs (or B.O.O.M.) responded with a statement that this was unacceptable to its members and immediately balloted for strike action. General Secretary Abdullah Amir told the press, “Our members are literally working themselves to death in the cause of jihad. We don’t ask for much in return but to be treated like this by management is a kick in the teeth.”
Mr Amir accepted the limited availability of virgins but pointed out that the cutbacks were expected to be borne entirely by the workforce and not by management. “Last Christmas Abu Hamza alone was awarded an annual bonus of 250,000 virgins,” complains Amir. “And you can be sure they’ll all be pretty ones too. How can Al Qaeda afford that for members of the management but not 72 for the people who do the real work?”
Speaking from the shed in the West Midlands where he currently resides, Al Qaeda chief executive Osama bin Laden explained, “We sympathise with our workers’ concerns but Al Qaeda is simply not in a position to meet their demands. They are simply not accepting the realities of modern-day jihad, in a competitive marketplace. Thanks to Western depravity, there is now a chronic shortage of virgins in the afterlife. It’s a straight choice between reducing expenditure and laying people off. I don’t like cutting wages but I’d hate to have to tell 3,000 of my staff that they won’t be able to blow themselves up.” He defended management bonuses by claiming these were necessary to attract good fanatical clerics. “How am I supposed to attract the best people if I can’t compete with the private sector?” asked Mr. Bin-Laden.
Talks broke down this morning after management’s last-ditch proposal of a virgin-sharing scheme was rejected outright after a failure to agree on orifice allocation quotas. One virgin, who refused to be named, was quoted as saying “I’ll be buggered if I’m agreeing to anything like that. It’s too much of a mouthful to swallow”.
Unless some sort of agreement is reached over the weekend, suicide bombers will down explosives at midday on Monday. Most branches are supporting the strike. Only the North London branch, which has a different union, is likely to continue working. However, some members of that branch will only be using waist-down explosives in order to express solidarity with their striking brethren.
You must be surprised that I’m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well, I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter. I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school.
I’m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighbourhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends, and with my neighbours. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.
What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a stupid whistle and a pair of socks?
What the fuck were you thinking, you fat son of a bitch, that you’ve taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn’t fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can’t even walk into his house.
Please don’t let me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my chimney next year. I’ll fuck you up. I’ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you’ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn’t get me that fucking bike. FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you’ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A- BITCH.
Sincerely, Little Johnny