How the fight started

I rear-ended a car this morning. So there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car. . . and you know how you just get SO stressed and life-stuff seems to get funny?

Yeah, well, I couldn't believe it. . . he was a DWARF!

He stormed over to my car, looked up at me and said, 'I AM NOT HAPPY!'

So, I looked down at him and said, 'Well, which one are you then?'

. . . and that's when the fight started . . . !

Trevor was a poultry farmer in the fertilised egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called 'pullets' and eight or ten roosters, to fertilise the pullets' eggs. Trevor kept records and any rooster that didn't perform went into the soup pot and was replaced.

That took an awful lot of his time so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so Trevor could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

The farmer's favourite rooster was Kevin, and a very fine specimen he was too, but on this particular morning Trevor noticed Kevin's bell hadn't rung at all! Trevor went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover but to farmer Trevor's amazement, Kevin had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one.

Trevor was so proud of Kevin, he entered him into the Brisbane Exhibition and Kevin became an overnight sensation among the judges.

The Result? The judges not only awarded Kevin the No Bell Piece Prize but they also awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.

Clearly Kevin was obviously a politician in the making: Who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention.

Men: Be careful what you wear (or don't wear), when working under your vehicle...especially in public.

From the Sydney Morning Herald comes this story of a Central West couple who drove their car to K-Mart only to have their car break down in the parking lot.

The man told his wife to carry on with the shopping while he fixed the car there in the lot.

The wife returned later to see a small group of people gawking near the car.

On closer inspection she saw a pair of male legs protruding from under the chassis.

Although the man was in shorts, his lack of underpants turned his private parts into glaringly public ones.

Unable to stand the embarrassment she dutifully stepped forward, quickly put her hand up his shorts and tucked everything back into place.

On regaining her feet she looked across the hood and found herself staring at her husband who was standing idly by.

The mechanic, however, had to have three stitches in his head.

This next bit is in memory of Ronnie Barker. It was originally aired on BBC TV back in the seventies. Ronnie Barker could say it all without a snigger, though God knows how many takes it took.

The irony is that they received not one complaint. The speed of delivery must have been too much to take in for the serial complainers.

Try getting through it yourself without converting the Spoonerisms and not laughing out loud as you read it...

This is the story of Rindercella and her Sugly Isters.

Rindercella and her Sugly Isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot.

At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered.

The Sugly Isters were right bugly astards. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks.

They were really forrible huckers; they had fetty sweet and fetty swannies. The Sugly Isters had tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go.

Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her Gairy Fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian.

She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks

The Gairy Fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity.

At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the Prandsome Hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve.

'Myste all chucking frighty!!!' said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse over ollocks, and dropping her slass glipper.

The very next day the Prandsome Hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the Sugly Isters let him in.

Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg and let off a fig bart.

'Who's fust jarted??' asked the Prandsome Hince.

'Blame that fugly ucker over there!!' said Mary Hinge.

When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the Sugly Isters without success and their feet stucking funk.

Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the Prandsome Hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and a hig bard on.

He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly.

Rindercella and the Prandsome Hince were married.

The Pransome Hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny

A driver stuck in a traffic jam on the freeway was fuming gently and wondering what the problem was.

Suddenly a man knocked on the window, so the driver rolled it down to ask, 'What's going on?'

'Terrorists have kidnapped John Howard, Peter Costello, and Kevin Rudd. They're asking for a $300 million ransom, otherwise they're going to douse them with petrol and set them on fire. We're going from car to car, taking up a collection.'

The driver asked, 'How much is everyone giving, on average?'

'About a litre.'

Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night celebrating St Patrick's Day.

Mick, the bartender says, 'You'll not be drinking anymore tonight Paddy'.

Paddy replies, 'OK Mick, I'll be on my way then.'

Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off.

He falls flat on his face.

'Shoite' he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off.

He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face, 'Shoite, Shoite!'

He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he'll be fine.

He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame.

He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the sidewalk and falls flat on his face.

'Bi'Jesus... I'm focked,' he says.

He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies inside.

He takes a look up the stairs and says 'No fockin' way'.

So he crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says 'I can make it to the bed.'

He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face.

He says 'Fock it' and falls into bed.

The next morning, his wife, Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, 'Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?'.

Paddy says, 'I did Jess. I was fockin' pissed. But how'd you know?'

'Mick phoned, . . . You left your wheelchair at the pub'.

A little girl walked into her mother's bedroom and found her Mum naked bouncing around on top of Daddy.

'What are you doing Mummy?; asked the little girl rather nervously.

Thinking quickly Mum replied 'Oh, well you how Daddy has a bit of a fat tummy Emily, I'm just trying to push it down and make Daddy a bit slimmer'.

"Oh I wouldn't bother to do that" said the little girl knowingly, 'When you're not here, Auntie Julie comes round and blows him up again'.

A man walked into a pharmacy and asked to speak with the pharmacist.

The woman behind the counter said that there wasn't a male here, and that she was the pharmacist along with her sister, who did the back room work.

The man said that it was something that he would be much more comfortable discussing with a male pharmacist.

However, the woman assured him that she was completely professional and whatever it was that he needed to discuss, he could be confident that she would treat him with the highest level of professionalism.

So the man agreed and began by saying, 'This is tough for me to discuss, but I have a permanent erection. It causes me a lot of problems and severe embarrassment. So I was wondering what you could give me for it?'

The pharmacist said, 'Just a minute, I'll go talk to my sister.' When she returned, she said, 'We discussed it at length, and the absolute best we can do is 1/3 ownership in the store, a company car, and $3000 a month living expenses.'