This is a story of a 16 year-old boy from Tamworth who won the World’s Shortest Essay competition.
He was awarded a scholarship at the University of Sydney for his imagination and humour…
Here it is…
Shortest Essay:
An English university creative writing class was asked to write a concise essay containing the following elements:
Religion
Royalty
Physical Disability
Racism
Homosexuality
The prize-winner wrote:
‘My God,’ cried the Queen, ‘That one-legged coon is a poofter’.
A young blonde woman in Sydney was so depressed that she decided to end her life by throwing herself from the Harbour Bridge .
She went down to the bridge and was about to leap into the frigid water when a handsome young sailor saw her tottering on the edge of the Bridge crying.
He took pity on her and said "Look, you have so much to live for. I’m off to Europe in the morning, and if you like, I can stow you away on my ship. I’ll take good care of you and bring you food every day." Moving closer, he slipped his arm around her shoulder and added, "I’ll keep you happy, and you’ll keep me happy."
The girl nodded yes. "After all, what do I have to lose?"
Perhaps a fresh start in Europe would give her life new meaning.
That night, the sailor brought her aboard and hid her in a lifeboat.
From then on, every night he brought her three sandwiches and a piece of fruit, and they made passionate love until dawn. Three weeks later, during a routine inspection, she was discovered by the captain ."What are you doing here?" the captain asked.
"I have an arrangement with one of the sailors, who’s stowed me away", she explained, "I get food and free passage to Europe , and he’s screwing me."
”He certainly is," the captain said. "This is the Manly Ferry."
Bruce and Trevor are 2 Kiwi beggars.
They beg in different areas of Bondi, Sydney.
Bruce begs just as long as Trevor but only collects $2 to $3 every day.
Trevor brings home a suitcase full of $10 notes, drives a Mercedes,
Lives in a mortgage-free house and has a lot of money to spend.
Bruce says to Trevor ‘I work just as long and hard as you do but how do you bring home a suitcase full of $10 notes every day?’
Trevor says, ‘Look at your sign, what does it say’?
Bruce’s sign reads, ‘I have no work, a wife and 6 kids to support’.
Trevor says ‘No wonder you only get $2 – $3.
Bruce says… ‘So what does your sign say’?
Trevor shows Bruce his sign ….
It reads, ‘I only need another $10 to move back to New Zealand.’
A man boarded an airplane in Sydney, Australia with a box of fresh crabs. A female crew member took it from him and promised to secrete it in the crew’s own refrigerator, which she did for the duration of the long trip.
Shortly before landing, she couldn’t remember who gave her the package, so she announced to the entire cabin, "Would the gentleman who gave me the crabs in Sydney please raise your hand?"
Not one hand went up so she took them home and ate them herself.
WE, the people of a free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional wanker. We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand) and although we live in the best country in the world, we reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like. We are One Nation but we’re divided into many States.
First, there’s Victoria, named after a queen who didn’t believe in lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtlenecks, cafe latte, grand-final day and big horse races. Its capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that "it’s liveable". At least that’s what they think. The rest of us think it is too bloody cold and wet.
Next, there’s NSW, the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing queens. Its capital Sydney has more queens than any other city in the world and is proud of it. Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks to keep the left and right sides of their brains separate.
Down south we have Tasmania, a State based on the notion that the family that bonks together stays together. In Tassie, everyone gets an extra chromosome at conception. Maps of the State bring smiles to the sternest faces. It holds the world record for a single mass shooting, which the Yanks can’t seem to beat no matter how often they try.
South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of foreigners and bizarre axe murders. SA is the state of innovation. Where else can you so effectively re-use country bank vaults and barrels as in Snowtown, just out of Adelaide (also named after a queen). They had the Grand Prix, but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the wheel.
Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevant. It’s main claim to fame is that it doesn’t have daylight saving because if it did, all the men would get erections on the bus on the way to work. WA was the last state to stop importing convicts and many of them still work there in the government and business.
The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep stations the size of Europe, Kangaroos, Jackaroos, Emus, Uluru and dusty kids with big smiles. It also has the highest beer consumption of anywhere on the planet and its creek beds have the highest aluminium content of anywhere too. Although the Territory is the centre piece of our national culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on our way to Bali.
And there’s Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document defining a nation of half-arsed sceptics, it is worth noting that God probably made Queensland as it’s beautiful one day and perfect the next. Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.
Oh yes and there’s Canberra. The least said the better.
We, the citizens of Oz, are united by Highways, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than murderers. We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap in joy when a rag tag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us Sydney is better than Beijing. We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament. Not that we’re whingeing, we leave that to our Pommy immigrants. We want to make "no worries mate" our national phrase, "she’ll be right mate" our national attitude and "Waltzing Matilda" our national anthem (So what if it’s about a sheep-stealing crim who commits suicide).
We love sport so much our news readers can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us who’s winning. And we’re the best in the world at all the sports that count, like cricket, netball, rugby, AFL, roo-shooting, two-up and horse racing. We also have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies, the blackest aborigines and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe.
We shoot, we root, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime. Even though we might seem a racist, closed-minded, sports-obsessed little people, at least we feel better for it.
You are, I am, we are, Australian.
An old woman is riding in an elevator in a very lavish Sydney City Building, when a young and beautiful woman gets into the elevator, smelling of expensive perfume. The old woman sniffs the air. the young woman turns to the old woman and says arrogantly, "Romance by Ralph Lauren, $150 an ounce!"
Then another young and beautiful woman gets on the elevator. The old woman sniffs the air, and again is arrogantly turned on, "Chanel No. 5, $200 an ounce!"
About three floors later, the old woman has reached her destination and is about to get off the elevator. Before she leaves, she looks both beautiful women in the eye, then bends over and farts and says … "Broccoli. 49 cents a kilo."