Tag Archives: Humour
Every now and then when I seem to be getting too serious about life I look for some ireverant humour and tonight I’ve scored bigtime. Go to the The Peoples Cube if you aren’t already a regular visitor, and have a good laugh at the wackers in this world.
MSM: we kick troops when they’re down
Lawyers to Marines: killing civilians is the exclusive right and privilege of Muslim freedom fighters
In other news: US media increasingly impatient at lack of civil war in Iraq
Scientists: Hispanic and Muslim groups in US face increasing danger of being pandered to death
and my favourite;
If you don’t find something to laugh at at The People’s Cube you most probably shouldn’t be reading my blog.
Received on the SASR Net
ADF OFFICIAL VOICE MAIL MESSAGE
“Thank you for calling the Australian Defence Force. I’m sorry, but all of our units are out at the moment, or are otherwise engaged. Please leave a message with your country, name of organisation, the region, the specific crisis, and a number at which we can call you. As soon as we have sorted out PMKeys, SSDS, East Timor, Bougainville, Afganistan, Iraq, Bali, Refugees, the Defence Efficiency Review, the Commercial Support Program, and compulsory ‘Fraud Awareness’ and ‘Workplace Equity and Diversity’ training, we will return your call.
Please speak after the tone, or if you require more options, please listen to the following numbers:”
“If your crisis is small, and close to a secure domestic airport, press 1 for the 3rd Brigade. “If your concern is distant, with a tropical climate and good hotels, and can be solved by 1 or 2 low risk bombing runs, please press ‘Hash’ for the Royal Australian Air Force. Please note this service is not available after 1600 hrs, if it is overcast, at weekends or Public Holidays.”
“If your inquiry concerns a situation which can be resolved by either overpriced and expensive submarines without combat capability, or by World War II relics that cannot keep up with Indonesian fishing trawlers, or by a really good marching band, please write, well in advance, to the Chief of Navy, Russell Offices, Canberra. “If your inquiry is not urgent, please press 2 for the Rapid Deployment Force.
“If you are in real, hot trouble please press 3, and your call will be routed to Sandline International.
“If you are interested in joining the ADF and wish to be shouted at, paid little, have premature arthritis, put your wife and family in a condemned hut miles from civilisation, and are prepared to work your arse off daily, risking your life, in all weathers and terrains, both day and night, whilst watching the Department of Finance eroding your original terms and conditions of service, then please stay on the line.
Your call will shortly be connected to a bitter passed-over Recruiting Sergeant in a little office down by the railway station.”Have a pleasant day, and thank you again for trying to contact the Australian Defence Force.
I am standing by for RAAF and RAN abuse……it’s a joke guys….an Army orientated one but still a joke…we really do like you.
From friend Joe.
Many years ago I owned a Honda 125 CB motorcycle. Hardly a ‘hog’, it would never get me membership of the local chapter of the Hells Angels but it allowed me to get to work cheaply and we were saving for our first home.
I brought it on a Saturday and drove it to work from Holsworthy to Chatswood on Monday and that must be about 25 or 30 miles of Sydney peak hour traffic. In the intervening days I had to learn how to ride the thing.
All my lifeI have suffered from an indominable self-confidence that when confonted with something new always has me thinking …It can’t be too hard – others do it. This mentality has got me into a lot of trouble over the years but I did master a lot of skills….eventually…after some bad starts.
On my first try of my “teach yourself how to ride a bike” program I treed the honda and myself in a shrub in the front yard. The bike ended up on it’s side putting victoriously, the kids quickly went from wide eyed to wet eyed as they laughed their little irreverant heads off, but what hurt most was my wife’s uncontrolled mirth.
I eventually learnt to control the bike and avoid all those hazards of Sydney traffic except one.
The big black labrador.
On Sunday mornings I would mount the bike and drive like the Wild One up to the local store to buy the papers, milk and bread. Along the way lived a cranky old labrador who always came out barking at any trespassers in his territory, which in his mind included the road, and frightening the living bejeesus out of them.
Employing the Infantry tactic of “when in doubt attack first”I thought I would settle the road access arguement once and for all and as he came out to attack I balanced myself and gave him an almighty kick in the ribs delivered at 25 mph plus whatever velocity my swinging leg added.
No shoes…broke my toe….lots of pain….kill the mongrel.
It’s very hard to adopt a feotal crouch at that speed but it’s all I wanted to do. I eventually slowed the bike down with the handbrake and could finally grab my toe and roll around in pain in a manner most unbecoming of an Infantry Sergeant, uttering threats to the dog, who by now had accepted defeat on the road access issue. From that day on he associated moving objects on the road with extreme pain and let them pass unmolested. From that day on I decided to be more mature about arguing with animals while improperly dressed.
We both learnt.
This little incident in my past was brought to mind by a comment over at Tim Blair’s in a thread that included Labradors and squirrels. One reader left a link to a bikie having an altercation with a squirrel. Go read, it’s funny.
Queensland’s gift to Australia, the toad, just keeps on giving.
A woman in the Territory comes to grief and is temporarily blinded when killing one of the beasties.
“I hold them just above the knees, I take them to my execution block with my big steel mallet, I flip them onto their back and bash them once and it’s all over, you know, it’s quick and clean,” she said.
But this time the slippery pest turned itself over and the weapon came down on the toad’s poison glands, spraying the liquid into Ms Sobeck’s eyes, leaving her virtually blind for 10 hours.
Bad move Ms Sobeck. Never, never pick them up. Get yourself a long range weapon.
When I first moved to Brisbane the toads would gather under the street lights in their dozens waiting for flying food packages attracted to the light. Many a lightpole was taken out by drivers trying to run over the gathering and misjudging the swerve factor.
My neighbour and I, being patriotic servicemen, took it upon ourselves to help the country and kill as many as we could. It worked as today there are very few around here. Maybe they have all gone to the Territory and NSW but there is hardly a toad to be seen in Brisbane suburbia these days.
After a belly full of rum and prime steak consumed at the Saturday night BBQ we would stalk the toads with an air pistol (no your Honour I didn’t say that) and neck shoot them.
Worked a treat.
I was posted to Townsville and then Swanbourne, WA and on return my neighbour had had discussions with his Honours representatives and was no longer armed with an air pistol. In fact his entire armoury had been purloined, including the .30 cal that he used to try and kill a fruit bat on the wing and unexpectedly misssed and hit the brick along side my upstairs bedroom window.
What were you thinking, John?
What’s that you say…Bundaberg rum?
Anyway we had to de-escalate and took to nine irons or spades. Spades are good…never seen a quadraped hop well with only two legs per body portion.
I used to have a cigarette upstairs on the balcony and flick the butt over near any toad I could see on the lawn. The toad would hop over and greedily consume the hot tip and then conduct a try-out for Circus OZ gyrating and double flipping while trying to rid himself of the burning sensation in his stomach . Smoking was definitely bad for the local toads and, like us humans, they never learned. There was always one ready to try the old nicotine.
I am an animal lover but draw the line at species that can damage me or my family or who think they are higher up the evolutionary tree than me.
I also thinks it’s unpatriotic not take every opportunity to kill feral animals. Pigs are just as bad as toads but don’t have the same PR agent. Feral cats in the bush do terrible damage and so do domestic varieties and rabbits…well I used to make good pocket money killing them on the farm with my Dad’s .22 with the local council’s 5/- (.50c) bounty payable on receipt of two ears and a tail.
Now if we can just convince the pigs to move South of the Tweed and west of the Barclay Tableland all will be well again in Paradise.
We are such a giving people up here in Queensland.
Recently the 8th Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment had a reunion and at the reunion dinner the Battalion Padre from Vietnam days was called upon to say grace. By memory a conservative Padre, all were a little shocked and much amused by the following.
Bless the ‘taters, bless the chooks
Bless the waiters, bless the cooks
Jesus Christ, most devine
He who turned water into wine
Please bless these simple men
Who are about to turn it back again
Fathers now in their fifties are aware that Roald Dahl wrote much more than Charlie and the Chocalate Factory, a newly released film. He also wrote a series called Revolting Ryhmes and when my kids were growing up we all got into Roald. The kids loved him and I enjoyed reading them his poems and stories. How I ever did it before that idiot Latham come on the scene and passed on the secret that reading to kids was a good idea I’ll never know.
If you don’t enjoy ‘em you’ve had a humour bypass.
From Gut Rumbles
A firefighter is working on the engine outside the station when he notices a little girl riding down the sidewalk in a little red wagon with little ladders hung off the sides and a garden hose tightly coiled in the middle. The girl is wearing a firefighter’s helmet. The wagon is being pulled by her dog and her cat. The firefighter walks out to take a closer look. “That sure is a nice fire truck,” he says admiringly. “Thanks, Mister Fireman,” the girl says. The firefighter looks a little closer and notices the girl has tied the wagon to her dog’s collar and to the cat’s testicles. “Little Partner,” the firefighter says, “I don’t want to tell you how to run your rig, but if you were to tie that rope around the cat’s collar, I think you could go faster.” The little girl replies sweetly, “You’re probably right, but then I wouldn’t have a siren.â?
Instructions for cleaning the toilet:
1. Lift the lid on the toilet and fill it with 1/8 cup of animal shampoo.
2. Take the cat in your arms and stroke it gently while slowly moving in the direction of the toilet.
3. At a suitable moment, throw the cat into the toilet bowl and close the lid quickly and either stand or sit on the lid.
4. The cat will now start the cleaning process and will produce generate plenty of foam. Do not be concerned about the loud noises coming from the toilet; your cat is enjoying himself.
5. After several minutes flush the toilet to start the âPower-washâ? pre-wash and then flush again for the main wash cycle.
6. Ask someone to open the front door and ensure that no-one is between the toilet and the front door.
7. Get off the toilet seat and from a safe distance open the toilet lid quickly. The cat will dry off naturally due to the high speed he will be moving from the toilet to the front door.
8. The toilet and the cat are now both clean.
With best wishes,
Well, I think it’s funny.
From Wicked Thoughts.