The unstoppable virus

I thought you would want to know about this e-mail virus. Even the most
advanced programs from Norton or McAfee cannot take care of this one.
It appears to affect those who were born prior to 1960.

Symptoms:

1. Causes you to send the same e-mail twice. Done that!

2. Causes you to send a blank e-mail! That too!

3 Causes you to send e-mail to the wrong person. Yep!

4. Causes you to send it back to the person who sent it to you. And that!

5. Causes you to forget to attach the attachment. Well darn!

6. Causes you to hit ‘SEND’ before you’ve finished. Oh no – not again!

7. Causes you to hit ‘ DELETE’ instead of ‘SEND.’ and I just hate that!

8. Causes you to hit ‘SEND’ when you should hit ‘DELETE.’ Oh NO!

IT IS CALLED THE ‘C-NILE VIRUS.’

Hmmm….Have I already sent this to you?

Or maybe you sent it to me!

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‘Tis now!

Phew, not sure how I fixed that.

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Darling Brown joke.

Gordon Brown called Alastair Darling into his office one day and said, ‘Alastair, I have the answer to Cameron. We’re going to win back Middle England’.

‘Brilliant, PM! What’s the plan?’ said Darling.

‘Well’ said Brown ‘we’ll get ourselves two of those long Barbour coats, some proper wellies, a stick and a flat cap – and a dog, unless we can get Harriet Harman to come. Then we’ll really look the part. We’ll go to a nice old country pub, in Much Something or other and show we really enjoy the countryside.

‘Right PM’ said Darling. So a few days later, all kitted out and with the requisite hound – a Labrador – at heel, they set off. Eventually they arrive in a quiet little village and find a lovely country pub and go in and up to the bar.

‘Good evening Landlord, two pints of your best ale, from the wood please’ said Brown.

‘Good evening, Prime Minister’ said the landlord, ‘two pints of best it is, coming up’

Brown & Darling stood leaning on the bar contemplating new taxes, nodding now and again to those who came in for a drink, whilst the dog lay quietly at their feet.

Suddenly the door from the adjacent bar opened and in came a grizzled old shepherd, complete with crook. He walked up to the Labrador, lifted its tail with his crook, looked underneath, shrugged his shoulders and walked back to the other bar.

A few moments later, in came a wizened farmer who followed the same procedure, to the bewilderment of Brown and Darling. People of all ages and gender followed suit over the next hour. Eventually, unable to stand it any longer, Darling called the landlord over. ‘Tell me’ said Darling, ‘Why did all those people come in and look under the dog’s tail like that? Is it an old country custom?

‘Good Lord no,’ said the landlord. ‘Someone told them there was a Labrador in this bar with two arseholes.’

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Clarkson’s Gaydar goes bingly bong!

Apparently the Sunday Times didn’t want this contribution so we have unashamedly borrowed it. If Mr Clarson wants it taken down then fair do’s otherwise consider that we are lending the oppressed some free web space.

“Get me a rope before Mandelson wipes us all out”

I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more.

He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt onto.

I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.

There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.

Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4×4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.

And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else. But where?

You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.

You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany … because you just can’t.

The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.

Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.

I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit. [Obviously written before Rumpy Pumpy got the job].

So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit in the meantime.

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Did you read these and hear Tommy Cooper?

To the best of my knowledge Tommy Cooper never used any of these gags but when I read them I could only do it in his distinctive voice, how weird is that.

Does that makes him immortal or just bloody irritating?

I met this bloke with a didgeridoo and he was playing Dancing Queen on it. I thought, ‘That’s Aboriginal.’

This lorry full of tortoises collided with a van full of terrapins. It was a turtle disaster.

I told my girlfriend I had a job in a bowling alley. She said ‘Tenpin?’ I said, ‘No, permanent.’

I went into a pet shop. I said, ‘Can I buy a goldfish?’ The guy said, ‘Do you want an aquarium?’ I said, ‘I don’t care what star sign it is.’

I bought some Armageddon cheese today, and it said on the packet. ‘Best before End’

I went to buy a watch, and the man in the shop said ‘Analogue.’ I said ‘No, just a watch.’

I went into a shop and I said, ‘Can someone sell me a kettle.’ The bloke said ‘Kenwood’ I said, ‘Where is he then?’

My mate is in love with two schoolbags. He’s bi-satchel.

I went to the doctor. I said to him ‘I’m frightened of lapels.’ He said, ‘You’ve got cholera.’

I met the bloke who invented crosswords today. I can’t remember his name, its P something T something R.

I was reading this book today, The History of Glue. I couldn’t put it down.

I phoned the local ramblers club today, but the bloke who answered just went on and on.

The recruitment consultant asked me ‘What do you think of voluntary work? I said ‘I wouldn’t do it if you paid me.’

I was in the jungle and there was this monkey with a tin opener. I said, ‘You don’t need a tin opener to peel a banana.’ He said, ‘No, this is for the custard.’

This policeman came up to me with a pencil and a piece of very thin paper. He said, ‘I want you to trace someone for me..’

I told my mum that I’d opened a theatre. She said, ‘Are you having me on?’ I said, ‘Well I’ll give you an audition, but I’m not promising you anything.’

I phoned the local builders today, I said to them ‘Can I have a skip outside my house?’ He said, ‘I’m not stopping you!’

This cowboy walks in to a German car showroom and he says ‘Audi!’

I fancied a game of darts with my mate. He said, ‘Nearest the bull goes first’ He went ‘Baah’ and I went ‘Moo’ He said ‘You’re closest’

I was driving up the motorway and my boss phoned me and he told me I’d been promoted. I was so shocked I swerved the car. He phoned me again to say I’d been promoted even higher and I swerved again. He then made me managing director and I went right off into a tree. The police came and asked me what had happened. I said ‘I careered off the road’

I visited the offices of the RSPCA today. It’s tiny: you couldn’t swing a cat in there..

I was stealing things in the supermarket today while balanced on the shoulders of a couple of vampires. I was charged with shoplifting on two counts.

I bought a train ticket to France and the ticket seller said ‘Eurostar’ I said ‘Well I’ve been on telly but I’m no Dean Martin.

I phoned the local gym and I asked if they could teach me how to do the splits. He said, ‘How flexible are you?’ I said, ‘I can’t make Tuesdays or Thursdays.’

I went to the local video shop and I said, ‘Can I borrow Batman Forever?’ He said, ‘No, you’ll have to bring it back tomorrow’

A waiter asks a man, ‘May I take your order, sir?’ ‘Yes,’ the man replies. ‘I’m just wondering, exactly how do you prepare your chickens?’ ‘Nothing special, sir. We just tell them straight out that they’re going to die.’

Miss you Tommy.

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In pieces over this

Mazzy Starr fans will be pleased to know Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions released Through The Devil Softly on September 29, 2009!

Bliss

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Captain Pugwash creator dies

Captain Pugwash

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Recession, The Cause of Domestic Strife

Husband and wife are shopping in Tesco’s when the man picks up a  crate of Stella and sticks them into the trolley

What do you think you’re doing?’ asks the wife ‘They’re on offer,  only £10 for 24 cans’, he says

Put them back.  We can’t afford it,’ says the wife and they carry on shopping…

A few aisles later the woman picks up a £20 jar of face cream and sticks it into the trolley.

What do you think you’re doing?’ asks the man, ‘It’s my face cream.  It makes me look beautiful,’ she says.

The man replies…  ‘SO DOES 24 CANS OF STELLA AND IT’S HALF THE F***ING PRICE’

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Parliament, Cromwellian Warts and All

Oliver Cromwell’s Speech on the Dissolution of the Long Parliament given to the House of Commons 20 April 1653

It is high time for me to put an end to your sitting in this place, which you have dishonoured by your contempt of all virtue, and defiled by your practice of every vice; ye are a factious crew, and enemies to all good government; ye are a pack of mercenary wretches, and would like Esau sell your country for a mess of pottage, and like Judas betray your God for a few pieces of money.

Is there a single virtue now remaining amongst you? Is there one vice you do not possess? Ye have no more religion than my horse; gold is your God; which of you have not barter’d your conscience for bribes? Is there a man amongst you that has the least care for the good of the Commonwealth?

Ye sordid prostitutes have you not defil’d this sacred place, and turn’d the Lord’s temple into a den of thieves, by your immoral principles and wicked practices? Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation; you were deputed here by the people to get grievances redress’d, are yourselves gone!

So! Take away that shining bauble there, and lock up the doors. In the name of God, go!

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Brown in the bunker

Absolutely disgusting.

Hitler was a despicable, totalitarian, anti-democratic toss-pot who shamelessly used nationalist rhetoric to boost his early popularity with his domestic electorate in order to secure power.

He used the threat of terror to reduce the right to protest and over-ride the rule of law and parliamentary democracy.

How on earth is Brown anything like tha…

Oh bugger…..

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