Good morning readers. Friday again so time for a bit of humour.
In recognition of yesterday having been Oz Day, albeit controversially with violence from the "Invasion Day" opponents at the march in Sydney , today's items are on an Australian theme.
A Kiwi and an Aussie went fishing one afternoon and decided to have a couple of cold beers. After a while the Aussie says to the Kiwi, "If I was to sneak over to your house and made wild passionate love to your wife while you were at work, and she got pregnant and had a baby, would that make us related?" The Kiwi after a great deal of thought, says, "Well, I don't know about related, but it sure would make us even."
Aussie anger management:
When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.
I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right fuckin' number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.
After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.
When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an arsehole!" and hung up.
I wrote his number down with the word 'arsehole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an arsehole!" It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'arsehole' calling would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from Telstra. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"
He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.
I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an ARSEHOLE!"
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.
Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.
A couple of days later, right after calling the first arsehole (I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW arsehole, too.
I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"
"Yes, it is", he said. "Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.
"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Boulevarde in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house and the car's parked right out in front."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Don Hansen," he said.
"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"
"I'm home every evening after five."
"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"
"Don, you're an arsehole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.
Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called Arsehole #1.
"You're an arsehole!" (But I didn't hang up.)
"Are you still there?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Stop calling me," he screamed.
"Make me," I said.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Don Hansen."
"Yeah? Where do you live?"
"Arsehole, I live at 34 Mowbray Boulevarde, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front."
He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, arsehole," and hung up.
Then I called Arsehole #2. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello, arsehole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your arse," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, arsehole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."
Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Mowbray Boulevarde, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Boulevarde, Vaucluse.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.
An Australian man and his wife were sitting in the living room and he said to her, "Just so you know, I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug."
His wife got up, unplugged the TV and threw out all of his beer.
An Englishman, a Scotsman, an Irishman, a Welshman, a Latvian, a Turk, a German, an Indian, several Americans (including a southerner, a New Englander, and a Californian), an Argentinian, a Dane, an Australian, a Slovakian, an Egyptian, a Japanese, a Moroccan, a Frenchman, a New Zealander, a Spaniard, a Russian, a Guatemalan, a Colombian, a Pakistani, a Malaysian, a Croatian, a Uzbek, a Cypriot, a Pole, a Lithuanian, a Chinese, a Sri Lankan, a Lebanese, a Cayman Islander, a Ugandan, a Vietnamese, a Korean, a Uraguayan, a Czech, an Icelander, a Mexican, a Finn, a Honduran, a Panamanian, an Andorran, an Israeli, a Venezuelan, a Fijian, a Peruvian, an Estonian, a Brazilian, a Portuguese, a Liechtensteiner, a Mongolian, a Hungarian, a Canadian, a Moldovan, a Haitian, a Norfolk Islander, a Macedonian, a Bolivian, a Cook Islander, a Tajikistani, a Samoan, an Armenian, a Aruban, an Albanian, a Greenlander, a Micronesian, a Virgin Islander, a Georgian, a Bahamanian, a Belarusian, a Cuban, a Tongan, a Cambodian, a Qatari, an Azerbaijani, a Romanian, a Chilean, a Kyrgyzstani, a Jamaican, a Filipino, a Ukrainian, a Dutchman, a Taiwanese, an Ecuadorian, a Costa Rican, a Swede, a Bulgarian, a Serb, a Swiss, a Greek, a Belgian, a Singaporean, an Italian, a Norwegian and and an African walk into a restaurant.
“I’m sorry,” said the maître d’, “but you can’t come in here without a Thai.”
Ricky decides to go back home to Melbourne so he calls Qantas Airlines to book his flight.
The operator asks him, 'How many people are flying with you?'
Ricky replies, 'Strewth mate, how would I know. It's your plane.'