The Monday Morning Mirth

Tag: TV

  • Dear Walter

    Dear Walter:


    I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards down the road when my engine conked out and the car shuddered to a  halt. I walked back home to get my husband’s help.

    When I got home I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was parading in front of the wardrobe mirror dressed in my underwear and high-heel shoes, and he was wearing my make up.
     
    I am 32, my husband is 34 and we have been married for twelve years. When I confronted him, he tried to make out that he had dressed in my lingerie because he couldn’t find his own underwear. But when I asked him about the make up, he  broke down and admitted that he’d been wearing my clothes for six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him.


    He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. I don’t feel I can  get through to him anymore. Can you please help?


    Sincerely,
    Norma

    Dear Norma:


    A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the jubilee clips holding the vacuum pipes onto the inlet manifold. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float chamber. I hope this helps.


    Walter

  • Peanuts

    One evening a man was at home watching TV and eating peanuts. He’d toss them in the air, then catch them in his mouth. In the middle of catching one, his wife asked him a question, and as he turned to answer her, a peanut fell in his ear. He tried and tried to dig it out but succeeded in only pushing it in deeper. He called his wife for assistance, and after hours of trying they became worried and decided to go to the hospital.

    As they were ready to go out the door, their daughter came home with her date. After being informed of the problem, their daughter’s date said he could get the peanut out. The young man told the father to sit down, then proceeded to shove two fingers up the father’s nose and told him to blow hard. When the father blew, the peanut flew out of his ear.

    The mother and daughter jumped and yelled for joy. The young man insisted that it was nothing and the daughter took the young man out to the kitchen for something to eat. Once he was gone, the mother turned to the father and said, "That’s so wonderful! Isn’t he smart? What do you think he’s going to be when he grows older?"

    The father replied "From the smell of his fingers, our son in-law".

  • Here’s How Things Worked Out For Me

    Here’s how things worked out for me.

    Married 25 years, took a look at my wife one day and said, "Honey, 25 years ago, we had a cheap apartment, a cheap car, slept on a sofa bed and watched a 10 inch black and white TV, but I got to sleep every night with a hot 25 year old blond.

    Now, we have a nice house, nice car, big bed and plasma screen TV, but I’m sleeping with a 50 year old woman. It seems to me that you are not holding up your side of things."

    My wife is a very reasonable woman.

    She told me to go out and find a hot 25 year old blond, and she would make sure that I would once again be living in a cheap apartment, driving a cheap car and sleeping on a sofa bed…

  • Rugby World Cup Pre-Match Rituals

    Following complaints made to the IRB about the All Blacks being allowed to motivate themselves by performing the ‘Haka’ before their games, other nations were asked to suggest pre-match rituals of their own.

    The IRB Rugby World Cup 2006 Organising Committee has now agreed to the following pre-match displays:

    1. The England team will chat about the weather, wave hankies in the air and attach bells to their ankles before moaning about how they invented the game and gave it to the world, and how it’s not fair that everyone still thinks New Zealand are the best team in the world.
    2. The Scotland team will chant "You lookin’ at me Jimmy?" before smashing an Iron Bru bottle over their opponents’ heads.
    3. The Ireland team will split into two, with the Southern half performing a Riverdance, while the Northerners march the Traditional route from their dressing room to the pitch, via their opponents dressing room.
    4. Argentina will unexpectedly invade a small part of opposition territory, claim it as their own "Las In-Goals-Areas" and then be forcibly removed by the match stewards.
    5. Two members of the South African team will claim to be more important than the other 13 whom they will imprison between the posts whilst they claim the rest of the pitch for themselves. One member of the SA team will have moved to NZ/Oz/US/Can/UK (you choose), while a second one will be checking his door locks and "gat". The rest of the team will have torn the wiggly tin from the roof stadium and built a hut with it. A few, just a few will be eyeing up the tourists with a view to wealth redistribution.
    6. The Americans will not attend until almost full time. In future years they will amend the records to show that they were in fact the most important team in the tournament and Hollywood! will make a film called ‘Saving No.8 Lyle’.
    7. Five of the Canadian team will sing La Marseillaise and hold the rest of the team to ransom.
    8. The Italian team will arrive in Armani gear, sexually harass the female stewards and then run away.
    9. The Spanish will sneak into the other half of the pitch, mow it and then claim that it was all in line with European "grass quotas". They will then curl up under the posts and have a kip until half time, when their appeal for compensation against the UK Government will be heard.
    10. The Japanese will attempt to strengthen their team by offering good salaries to the key opposition players and then run around the pitch at high speed in a highly efficient manner before buying the ground (with a subsidy from the UK Government).
    11. The French will declare they have new scientific evidence that the opposition are in fact all mad. They will then park lorries across the halfway line, let sheep loose ! in the opposition half (much to the delight of the WELSH) and burn the officials.
    12. The Australians will have a barbie before negotiating lucrative singing and TV contracts in the UK. They will then invite all their mates to come and live with them in Shepherds Bush."
    13. Unfortunately the Committee were unable to accept the Welsh suggestion following representations from the RSPCA.

     

  • Holiday Inn

    Recently I was checking my Superannuation account and thinking about retirement, as everyone does when they hit 45. I saw an article about nursing and retirement homes and the expenses. Then it hit me. No nursing home for me!

    Here is my plan: I’m checking into the Holiday Inn.

    With the average cost for a nursing home reaching $188 per day, there is a better way when we get old and feeble. I have already checked on reservations at the Holiday Inn. For a combined long-term stay discount and senior discount, it’s $49.23 per night. That leaves $138.77 a day for breakfast, lunch, dinner in any restaurant I want, or room service. It also will leave enough for laundry, gratuities, and special TV movies. Plus, I’ll get a swimming pool, a workout room, a lounge, and washer and dryer.
    I’ll also get free toothpaste, razors, shampoo and soap. And I’ll be treated like a customer, not a patient. Five dollars worth of tips a day will have the entire staff scrambling.

    There is a city bus stop out front, and seniors ride free. The handicap bus will also pick me up if I fake a decent limp. Ride the church bus free on Sundays. For a change of scenery, take the airport shuttle bus and eat at one of the nice restaurants there. While you’re at the airport, fly
    somewhere. Meanwhile, the cash keeps building up. It takes months to get
    into decent nursing homes. On the other hand, Holiday Inn will take your reservation today. And you are not stuck in one place forever — you can move from Inn to Inn, or even from city to city.

    Want to see Hawaii? They have a Holiday Inn there, too. TV broken? Light bulbs need changing? Need a mattress replaced? No problem. They fix everything and apologize for the inconvenience. The Inn has a night security person and daily room service. The maid checks if you are OK. If not, they will call the undertaker or an ambulance. If you fall and break a hip, Medicare will pay for the hip, and Holiday Inn will upgrade you to a suite for the rest of your life. And no worries about visits from family.
    They will always be glad to visit you, and probably check in for a mini-vacation. The grandkids can use the pool. What more can you ask for?

    When I discussed my plan with friends, they came up with even more benefits that Holiday Inn provides retirees. Most standard rooms have coffee makers, reclining chairs, and satellite TV — all you need to enjoy a cosy afternoon. After a movie and a good nap, you can check on your children (free local phone calls), then take a stroll to the lounge or restaurant where you meet new and exotic people every day. Many Holiday Inns even feature live entertainment on the weekends. Often they have special offers, too, like the Kids Eat Free program. You can invite your grandkids over after school to have a free dinner with you. Just tell them not to bring more than three friends.

    Pick a Holiday Inn where they allow pets, and your best friend can keep you company as well. If you want to travel, but are a bit skittish about unfamiliar surroundings, you’ll always feel at home because wherever you go, the rooms all look the same. And if you’re getting a little absent-minded in your old days, you never have to worry about not finding your room — your electronic key fits only one door and the helpful bellman or desk clerk is on duty 24/7.

    Being natural sceptics, we called a Holiday Inn to check out the feasibility of my plan. I’m happy to report that they were positively giddy at the idea of us checking in for a year or more. They even offered to negotiate the rate. We could have easily knocked them down to $40 a night!

    "So, when I reach the golden age I’ll face it with a grin. Just forward all your emails to the Holiday Inn!"

  • The Retrosexual Man

    Please allow me to vent. I have had it. I’ve taken all I can stand and I can’t stand no more. Every time my TV is on, all that can be seen is effeminate men prancing about, Redecorating houses and talking about foreign concepts like "style" and "feng shui." Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, transsexual, metrosexual, non-sexual; blue, green, and purple-sexual…

    Real men of the world, stand up, scratch your arse, burp, and yell "ENOUGH!" I hereby announce the start of a new offensive in the culture Wars, the Retrosexual movement. "

    The Code:

    A Retrosexual man, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.

    A Retrosexual DEALS with IT, be it a flat tyre, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you DEAL WITH IT.

    A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.

    A Retrosexual doesn’t worry about living to be 90. It’s not how long you live, but how well. If you’re 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you. If you are still having sex, you are a God.

    A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need deodorant and shaving gear – that’s it!!

    A Retrosexual does not dress like a homeboy with baggy pants that look like he’s shat himself, or with a gay chain from pocket to pocket. If wearing a hat, wear it correctly – not on the side like a faggot. Blokes and necklaces (unless you are an Australian fast bowler) are out!

    A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.

    A Retrosexual watches no TV show with "Queer" in the title.

    A Retrosexual does not let neighbours screw up rooms in his house on national TV.

    A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women. Some is inevitable, but major reinvention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a handbag carrying little puss, and in the long run, she ain’t worth it.

    A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak BBQ accident, favourite sports team being moved to a different city, favourite dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn’t pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.

    A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.

    A Retrosexual knows how to tie a Windsor knot when wearing a tie — and ONLY a Windsor knot.

    A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting. This does not include males who have had cosmetic surgery.

    A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can’t hammer a nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can — or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you are.

    A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it’s just plain fun to fire one off in the direction of those people or things that just need a little "wakin’ up".

    Crying. There are very few reasons that a Retrosexual may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials, movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a Retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet (fish do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part, or loss of major body part on your Holden ute.

    When a Retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, heck, any woman gets on, that retrosexual stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so-called men still in their seats with a disgusted "you rude pricks" look on his face.

    A Retrosexual will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness, in that they offset the acceptable manliness decline he suffers when married/engaged or in a serious healthy relationship – i.e., hunting, boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance and drinking piss with the boys.

    A Retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.

    A Retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he bloody well wanted it to land. Except on his ute–that would happen because of a "force of nature", and then the retrosexual man’s options are to Cry, or to DEAL with IT, or do both.

    A Retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person or person in military dress (except 2nd Lt’s) NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the Retrosexual man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.

    A Retrosexual man doesn’t need a contract — a handshake is good enough.

    A Retrosexual man doesn’t immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself. We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT!

  • A Letter of Complaint

    Dear Cretins,

    I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for your four-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, telephone, and alarm monitoring. During this three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidity of monolithic proportions. Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative and seek to rectify these difficulties — or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking, and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office.

    My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website. HOW? I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes — an activity at which you are no doubt both familiar and highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools — such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone calls over four weeks my modem arrived, six weeks after I had requested, and begun to pay for it. I estimate your internet server’s downtime is roughly 35% — the hours between about 6pm and midnight, Monday through Friday, and most of the weekend.

    I am still waiting for my telephone connection. I have made nine calls on my mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of disinterested individuals who are, it seems, also highly skilled bollock jugglers. I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off); that I will be transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an answering machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman, and several other variations on this theme.

    Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of those crucially important testicle moments to attend to. Frankly I don’t care. It’s far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustrations in print than to shout them at your unending hold music. Forgive me, therefore, if I continue.

    I truly thought British Telecom was shit, and they had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer relations; and that no one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That’s why I chose NTL, and because, well, there isn’t anyone else is there? How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of bastards you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents of the highest order.

    BT — wankers though they are — shine like brilliant beacons of success in the filthy mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy. Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to deliver. Any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief and will quickly be replaced by derision, and even perhaps bemused rage.

    I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cat’s litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not become desiccated during transit — they were satisfyingly moist at the time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless employees.

    Have a nice day. May it be the last in your miserable short lives, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of twats.

  • The Flight Simulator Pilot

    Darling,

    I’m posting this message in your newsgroup as I know this is the only way to get it to you since flight simulation entered our lives two years ago.

    The children are doing well. Our son is seven now and is a bright and handsome boy. He has developed quite a flair for art. He drew a family portrait for a school project. All the figures were good, but yours was excellent. The computer, the model airplane, the chair, and the back of your head are rendered with stunning detail and accuracy. You would be very proud of him.

    As you’ll recall our precious little girl turned three in September. She still remembers that you spent the whole day with her on her birthday. What quality time it was for her when you allowed her to watch you re-enact Amelia Earhart’s last flight! She was sorry that she crashed before your plane did, but she was *so* sleepy. Poor thing. When she asked how come Daddy’s TV only had a grey picture, I told her you were staring at fog. Was I right?

    I am also doing well. I went blonde about a year ago and was delighted to find out that blondes really do have more fun.

    Lars, I mean Mr. Swenson, the department head, has taken an interest in my career and has become a good friend to all of us.

    The house is in good shape. I had the living room painted last Spring. I’m not sure if you noticed it. I made sure the painters cut air holes in the dropcloths so you wouldn’t be disturbed. They were very apologetic about splattering your charts.

    I’ve discovered that the household chores are much easier since you allow me to vacuum around you instead of using the feather duster that makes you sneeze and also streaks your goggles.

    I will be at the ski lodge this weekend with Lars and the kids. But don’t worry, darling, we have separate bedrooms, and he is well aware that I am married. I will try to call you, but if the line is busy, then I’ll know that you are connected by modem with your flight instructor who is demonstrating advanced manoeuvres. (I still can’t believe he’s only thirteen! His parents must be as proud of him as I am of you.)

    The housekeeper has been instructed to keep your coffee cup filled and to give you a fresh straw every three hours. Just let her know when you’re getting hungry and she’ll give you some frozen pizza to suck on.

    Good luck circumnavigating the world via the poles! Should be a fun weekend! See you Sunday night!

    Fondly,

    Your wife

  • A Man and a Woman

    A man and woman are having a relationship for about 4 months now. One Friday night, they meet at a bar after work. They stay for a few, then go get some food at a local restaurant near their respective homes. They eat, then go back to his house and she stays over. Her story: He was in an odd mood when I got to the bar last night, I thought it might have been because I was a bit late, but he didn’t say anything much about it. The conversation was slow going so I thought we should go off somewhere more intimate so we could talk more privately. So we went to this restaurant and he is still acting a bit funny and I am trying to cheer him up and I start to wonder if it is me or something else. I ask him and he says no. But you know I am not really sure. Anyway, in the cab back to his house, I say that I love him and he just puts his arm around me. I don’t know what the hell this means because you know he doesn’t say it back or anything. We finally get back to his place and I am wondering if he is going to dump me. So I try to ask him about it but he just switches on the TV. Reluctantly, I say I am going to go to sleep. Then, after about 10 minutes, he joins me and we have sex. But, he still seemed really distracted, so afterwards I just wanted to leave. I don’t know, I just don’t know, what he thinks anymore. I mean, do you think he’s met someone else???? His story: Lousy day at work, low on funds, and tired. Got some action though.

  • Before it Starts

    A man comes home from an exhausting day at work, plops down on the couch in front of the television, and tells his wife, "Get me a beer before it starts."

    The wife sighs and gets him a beer.

    Fifteen minutes later, he says, "Get me another beer before it starts."

    She looks cross, but fetches another beer and slams it down next to him.

    He finishes that beer and a few minutes later says, "Quick, get me another beer, it’s going to start any minute."

    The wife is furious. She yells at him "Is that all you’re going to do tonight? Drink beer and sit in front of that TV? You’re nothing but a lazy, drunken, fat slob, and furthermore…"

    The man sighs and says, "It’s started… "