Man Claims to Speak 'Australian' After Allegedly Being Raped by Wombat
Thursday , March 27, 2008
SYDNEY — A New Zealand man has been sentenced to community service after telling police he was raped by a wombat and the experience had made him speak "Australian".
Arthur Ross Cradock, 48, from the South Island town of Motueka, called police on February 11 and told them he was being raped at his home by the wombat and he needed help, The Nelson Mail newspaper reported.
The orchard worker later called back and said: "Apart from speaking Australian now, I'm pretty all right, you know."
Cradock pleaded guilty in the local court to using a phone for a fictitious purpose. He was sentenced to 75 hours' community work.
Police prosecutor Sergeant Chris Stringer told the court alcohol played a large role in Cradock's
At the National Art Gallery in Dublin, a husband and wife were staring at a portrait that had them completely confused. The painting depicted 3 black men totally naked, sitting on a park bench. Two of the figures had black willies, but the one's in the middle was pink.
The curator of the gallery realized that they were having trouble interpreting the painting and offered his personal assessment. He went on for over half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of African Americans in a predominately white, patriarchal society.
'In fact', he pointed out, 'some serious critics believe that the pink willy also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression experienced by gay men in contemporary society'.
After the curator left, an Irishman approached the couple and said, 'Would you like to know what the painting is really about?'
'Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of the gallery?" asked the couple.
'Because I'm the guy who painted the picture,' he replied. 'In fact, there are no African Americans depicted at all".
"They're just three Irish coal miners. The guy in the middle went home for lunch.'
The following is the winning entry in an annual contest at Texas A&M University calling for the most appropriate definition of a contemporary term: The term this time was "Political Correctness."
The winner wrote:
"Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the 'clean' end".
An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite cookies wafting up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the kitchen.
Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favourite cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted Cape Breton wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture.
His aged and withered hand trembled towards a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked by his wife with a wooden spoon; 'Fuck off' she said, 'Dere for da funeral.'
A man worked for the Post Office whose job was to process all the mail
that had illegible addresses. One day, a letter came addressed in a shaky handwriting to God with no actual address. He thought he should open it to see what it was about.The letter read:Dear God,I am an 87 year old widow,living on a very small pension.Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension cheque. I had invited two of my friends over for a Xmas dinner next week. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with, have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?Sincerely,Edna.
The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman. The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends.Christmas came and went. A few days later, another letter came from the same old lady addressed to God. All the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:
Dear God,How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me? Because of your gift of love, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful gift.By the way, there was $4 missing. I think it was those bastards at the Post Office.
A family is at the dinner table. The son asks his father, 'Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?'
The father, surprised, answers, 'Well, son, a woman goes through three phases. In her 20s, a woman's boobs are like melons, round and firm. In her 30s to 40s, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After 50, they are like onions'.
'Yes, you see them and they make you cry.'
This infuriated his wife and daughter, so the daughter said, 'Mom, how many kinds of 'willies' are there?'
The mother, surprised, smiles and answers, 'Well dear, a man goes through three phases also. In his 20s, his willy is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30s and 40s, it is like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his 50s, it is like a Christmas tree'.
'A Christmas tree?'
'Yes, --- dead from the root up and the balls are just for decoration
'Y'know,' said the Scotsman, 'I still prefer the pubs back home. In Glasgow there's a little bar called McTavish's. Now the landlord there goes out of his way for the locals so much that when you buy four drinks he will buy the fifth drink for you.'
'Well,' said the Englishman, 'At my local, the Black Bull, the barman there will buy you your third drink after you buy the first two!'
'Ahhh, that's nothing,' said Doug. 'Back home in Kemptville , there's the 'Break Away Tavern'. Now the moment you set foot in the place they'll buy you a drink, then another, all the drinks you like. Then when you've had enough drinks they'll take you upstairs and see that you get shagged. All on the house.'
The Englishman and Scotsman immediately scorn Doug's claims, but he swears every word is true. 'Well,' said the Englishman, 'Did this actually happen to you?'
''Not me meself, personally, no,' said Doug, 'But it did happen to my sister.'