I’m not sure if this one was ever posted on ‘the other side’.  It’s quite old and there are quite a few variations of it…


At Sydney University, there were four students taking Organic Chemistry. They did so well on all the quizzes, midterms and labs, etc., that each had an "A" so far for the semester. These four friends were so confident with the finals approaching that the weekend before, they decided to go down to Canberra and party with some friends there.

They had a great time. However, after all the hard partying, they slept all day Sunday and didn't make it back to Sydney until early Monday morning - the morning of their final exam! Rather than taking the final then, they decided to find their professor after the exam and explain to him why they missed it.

They explained that they had gone to Canberra to do some research in the ANU (Australian National University) archives for the weekend with the plan to come back in time to study, but, unfortunately, they had a flat tyre on the way back, didn't have a spare, and couldn't get help for a long time. As a result, they only just arrived now!

The professor thought it over and then agreed they could make up their final exam the following day. The guys were elated and relieved. They studied hard that night - all night - and went in the next day at the time the professor had told them.

He placed them in separate rooms and handed each of them a test booklet, (which was out of 100 points) and told them to begin.

Question 1 was worth five points. It was something simple about free radical formation. Cool, they all thought in their separate rooms, "this is going to be easy."

Each finished the problem and then turned the page…

Question 2 (for 95 points): Which tyre?

John Arne Riise has just been arrested on the M62. Apparently he was heading in the wrong direction.

I'll get my coat!

hahahah I love it, so simple hahah
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Baggio Per Sempre!

This is a bricklayer's accident report, which was printed in the newsletter of the British equivalent of the Workers' Compensation Board.

This is a true story. Had this guy died, he'd have received a Darwin Award for sure...



Dear Sir,

I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block 3 of the accident report form. I put 'Poor planning' as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient:

I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found I had some bricks left over, which, when weighed later were found to be slightly in excess of 500lbs. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley, which was attached to the side of the building on the sixth floor.

Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it.

Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow descent of the bricks. You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form that I weigh 135lbs.

Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions the broken collarbone, as listed in section 3 of the accident report form.

Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until thefingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley.

Fortunately, by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of the excruciating pain I was now beginning to experience. At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, that barrel weighed approximately 50lbs. I refer you again to my weight.

As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent, down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up.

This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and severe lacerations of my legs and lower body. Here my luck began to change slightly.

The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three Vertebrae were cracked. I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope and I lay there watching the empty barrel begin its journey back down onto me. This explains the two broken legs.

I hope this answers your inquiry.
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

An 86-year-old man went to his doctor for his quarterly check-up...
 
The doctor asked him how he was feeling, and the 86-year-old said, 'Things are great and I've never felt better. I now have a 20 year-old bride who is pregnant with my child. So what do you think about that Doc ?'

The doctor considered his question for a minute and then began to tell a story.

'I have an older friend, much like you, who is an avid hunter
and never misses a season. One day he was setting off to go hunting. In a bit of a hurry , he accidentally picked up his walking cane instead of his gun.

'As he neared a lake , he came across a very large male beaver sitting at the water's edge. He realized he'd left his gun at home and so he couldn't shoot the magnificent creature. Out of habit he raised his cane, aimed it at the animal as if it were his favorite hunting rifle and went 'bang, bang'.

'Miraculously , two shots rang out and the beaver fell over dead. Now, what do you think of that ?' asked the doctor.

The 86-year-old said, 'Logic would strongly suggest that somebody else pumped a couple of rounds into that beaver.'

The doctor replied , 'My point exactly.'
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

My wife and I were sitting at a table at my high school reunion. I kept staring at a drunken woman swigging her drink, as she sat alone at a nearby table. My wife asks, 'Do you know her?'

'Yes, 'I sighed. 'She's my old girlfriend. I understand she started drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn't been sober since.'

'My God!' says my wife....'Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?'
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

Superman was bored. So he gave Batman a call. Batman said Robin was ill and he had to look after him. A little disappointed, Superman called Spiderman to see if he fancied a few beers. Spiderman told him he had a date with Catwoman. As a last resort, Superman flew over to Wonderwoman's apartment to see if she was free.

As he landed on her balcony, he looked through the window and saw Wonderwoman naked on the bed with her legs open. Superman thought to himself: 'I'm faster than a speeding bullet. I could be in there, have sex, and be out again before she knew what was happening'.

So Superman did his Super Thing in a split second and flew off happily. Meanwhile on the bed, Wonderwoman said: 'Did you hear something?'

'No,' said the Invisible Man, 'but my arse hurts like hell!'
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

A Catholic Priest, an Indian Doctor, a rich Chinese Businessman and an Aussie were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers in front of them.The Aussie fumed, 'What's with those blokes?  We must have been waiting for fifteen minutes!'

The Indian Doctor chimed in, 'I don't know, but I've never seen such poor golf!'

The Chinese Businessman called out 'Move it, time is money'.

The Catholic Priest said, 'Here comes George the greenkeeper.  Let's have a word with him. Hello, George!’ said the Catholic Priest, 'What's wrong with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?'

George the greenkeeper replied, 'Oh, yes. That's a group of blind fire fighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free anytime.'

The group fell silent for a moment.The Catholic Priest said, 'That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight.'

The Indian Doctor said, 'Good idea.  I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist colleague and see if there's anything he can do for them.'

The Chinese Businessman replied, 'I think I'll donate $50,000 to the fire-fighters in honour of these brave souls'

The Aussie said, 'Why can't they f##king play at night?
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

I'll be doing my best to remember the Aussie/golf one!

Possibly the greatest story in the history of football

During the state banquet on the Queen's last visit to the US, George Bush finds himself sitting next to the Duke of Edinburgh. He engages the Duke in small talk between courses.

Dubya says, "Y'know, your Dukeness, I've been thinking about the constittytutional position of the United States, and I think that since we're the most important nation in the world, we should be something more than just a Republic - hell, even Zimbabwelandistan with that President Bob Mushareff is a Republic. I think that America should be a kingdom."

Prince Philip toys with a dessert fork before replying "But Mr President, to be a Kingdom, you have to have a King in charge - and, because of the US Consitution you're not a King."

Dubya thinks for a while says: "How about a Principality then?"

The Duke of Edinburgh shakes his head. "Again, to be a Principality you have to be a Prince - and you're not a Prince, Mr. Bush".

Bush thinks some more. "How about an Empire then?"

The Duke is becoming impatient now." Some would say you are already an Empire, Mr. Bush, but to be an Empire one has to have an Emperor in charge. And you don't. You do, though, meet all the necessary criteria for being a country."

I woke up this morning to a knock on the door.

There were these two women going on and on about brown bread and how good it is for you.

They were there for half an hour, I couldn't get rid of them.

Bloody Hovis witnesses.

You are cordially invited to a barbeque at Osbaston House, Shropshire this coming weekend.

There will be plenty of alcohol available, but sadly, no Fosters...
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ACF FIORENTINA : FORZA LA VIOLA

I just forwarded that round the office, and the old dear on reception just replied "That's really sweet of you, unfortunately I can't make it but I hope you have a great time"!!!

Nice!  
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ACF FIORENTINA : FORZA LA VIOLA

Australian letter of the year

This is an actual letter sent to the then DFAT Minster, The Hon Alexander Downer and the then Immigration Minister, The Hon Minister Amanda Vanstone. The Government tried in desperation to censure the author, but got nowhere because every legal person who read it nearly wet themselves laughing!

Please excuse the language contained within, but I suspect the author was somewhat upset? I'll let you decide!


Another happy customer of the Federal government.

A fabulous characteristic of Australians is that we are far more direct and outspoken than others when dealing with the sort of elected w@nker who wouldn't otherwise get the full drift of what they were trying to communicate.

Below is one such wonderful communication...

Dear Mr. Minister,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this.

How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a Television Set and Golf Clubs from them back in 1997, and yet, the  Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date?

For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?

My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years. It is on my driver's  licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed  off the planes over the last 30 years, and all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.

Also..would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my Father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely f*cking astounded if that ever changed between now and when I drop dead!!!...

SH!T!

I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you an' me, I've had enough of all this bullsh!t! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my f*cking address!! What the hell is going on with your mob?  Have you got a gang of mindless Neanderthal ar5eholes workin' there!

And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to   New Zealand  and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a sh!t whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days?  If I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!

Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city, and get another f*cking copy of my birth certificate, and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!

Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?? Nooooo.. that'd be too f*cking easy and makes far too much sense.  You would much prefer to have us running all over the place like chickens with our f*cking heads cut off, and then having to find some high society w@nker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo..the one where we're not allowed to smile?! ...you f*cking morons

Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.

P.S Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in high-society to confirm that it's me? Well, my family has been in this country since before 1850!
In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the   Eureka Stockade!!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and still have high security clearances.
I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL.. and Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.

However, your rules require that I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am; You know.. someone like my doctor; WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN F*CKING   PAKISTAN!!!......a country where they either assassinate or hang their ex-Prime Ministers, and are suspended from the Commonwealth for not having the 'right sort of government.'  

You are all F*cking idiots
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

classic, love it when people call it exactly how it is. Just went through this myself

An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite ravioli wafting up the stairs.

He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.

Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen, where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were hundreds of his favourite ravioli.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture.
His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the ravioli was already in his mouth.

With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his wife.
"Va fanculo"!' she said.
"Questi sono per il funerale".'

A woman meets a man in a bar.

They talk; they connect; they end up leaving together.

They get back to his place and as he shows her around his apartment she notices that one wall of his bedroom is completely filled with soft, sweet,  cuddly teddy bears.

There are three shelves in the bedroom, with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears carefully placed in rows, covering the entire wall!

It was obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into organizing the display.

There were small bears all along the bottom shelf, medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf.

She found it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large collection of Teddy Bears,

She is quite impressed by his sensitive side but doesn't mention this to him.

They share a bottle of wine and continue talking and, after awhile, she finds herself thinking, 'Oh my God! Maybe, this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future father of my children?'

She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the lips.

He responds warmly.

They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom where they rip off each others clothes and make hot, steamy love.

She is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity, more heat than she has ever known.

After an intense, explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the afterglow.  

The woman rolls over, gently strokes his chest and asks coyly, 'Well,how was it?'

The guy gently smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and says:




'Help yourself to any prize....







...from the middle shelf'.
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".

From a female friend:


My husband, being unhappy with my mood swings, bought me a mood ring the other day so he would be able to monitor my moods.

We've discovered that when I'm in a good mood, it turns green.

When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a big red mark on his f*cking forehead. Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond.
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Non mollare mai.

"A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject".