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November 30, 2003

Australian Geek Song

This time of year can be particularly hard for Australians. Walking from a 40 degree heat into an slightly cooler air-conditioned shop and then hearing the old 'White Christmas' song. No chance mate. And what about this 'Jingle Bell' with sleighs. You've gotta be kidding.

So I figured I had better post a non-religious song for all the computer nerds geeks out there which has an Australian tune (but nothing to do with Christmas). This was originally sent to me by my sister in the UK (sung to "Waltzing Matilda"):

Once a password hacker sat by a terminal,
Under the shade of a binary tree
And he sang as he sat and waited 'til his code compiled,
"You'll come a-cracking computers with me"

[Chorus] "Cracking computers, hacking computers,
You'll come a-cracking computers with me''
And he sang as he sat and waited 'til his code compiled,
"You'll come a-cracking computers with me".

Down came a user, to login to that terminal,
Up sat the hacker, and watched him with glee
And he sang as he saved that password in a datafile,
"You'll come a-cracking computers with me"

[Chorus]

In came the sysop, watching on his monitor,
In came a super-user or three
"Oh whose is that password, you've got in your datafile?
You've been a-cracking computers I see!"

[Chorus]

Up jumped the hacker, turned off his terminal.
"You'll never catch me online" said he!
But his code can be heard as you login to that terminal.
"Who'll come a-cracking computers with me?''

[Chorus]

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (2)

November 29, 2003

Men vs Women

[In the hunt for Christmas jokes, I found this really old story - I still like it and maybe you will too...]

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy
themselves.

They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realise that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?

And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . . let's see . . . February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a freakin garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.

And Elaine is thinking: maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a freakin warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick......

"Roger," Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have . .Oh, I feel so....."

(She breaks down, sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that . . . It's that I . . . I need some time," Elaine says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

"Yes," he says.

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

"Thank you, Roger," she says.

"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures. it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (2)

November 28, 2003

Job Application

Yesterday we had the reference, today we have the (slightly edited) job application for a position in McKentuckyKing. According to Aussie Courier, this is an actual job application someone submitted for a fast-food establishment:

APPLICATION FOR EMPLOYMENT
NAME:  Fred
DESIRED POSITION: Reclining.  Ha ha.  But seriously, whatever's available.   If I was in a position to be picky, I wouldn't be applying here in the first place.
DESIRED SALARY: $285,000 a year plus stock options and a golden parachute.  If that's not possible, make an offer and we can haggle.
EDUCATION: Yes.
LAST POSITION HELD:  Target for middle-management hostility.
SALARY:  Less than I'm worth.
MOST NOTABLE ACHIEVEMENT:  My incredible collection of stolen pens and post-it notes.
REASON FOR LEAVING:  It sucked.
HOURS AVAILABLE TO WORK:  Any.
PREFERRED HOURS: 1:30-3:30 p.m., Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS?:  Yes, but they're better suited to a more intimate environment.
MAY WE CONTACT YOUR CURRENT EMPLOYER?:  If I had one, would I be here?
DO YOU HAVE ANY PHYSICAL CONDITIONS THAT WOULD PROHIBIT YOU FROM LIFTING UP TO 50 LBS?:  Of what?
DO YOU HAVE A CAR?:  I think the more appropriate question here would be "Do you have a car that runs?"
HAVE YOU RECEIVED ANY SPECIAL AWARDS OR RECOGNITION?:  I may already be a winner of the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes.
DO YOU SMOKE?:  Only when set on fire.
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE DOING IN FIVE YEARS?:  Living in California with a fabulously wealthy supermodel who thinks I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread.  Actually, I'd like to be doing that now.
DO YOU CERTIFY THAT THE ABOVE IS TRUE AND COMPLETE TO THE BEST OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE?:  No, but I dare you to prove otherwise.
SIGN HERE:  Scorpio with Libra rising.

The email had a lovely signature line as well:
The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that you've got it made. - Jean Gieraudoux

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 27, 2003

Flirting

Over at the ever-entertaining Jaboobie (and a Two Hard Boiled Eggs), there is a post advising women on how to flirt with men. The key to the whole thing is right near the top of the post:

Women are so much more subtle about flirting clues that men need to really pay attention. Ladies, men are not used to women flirting with them.

Men are just not as observant as women. Another woman will spot your first attempts at flirting while leaving the bloke completely in the dark. Can anyone see a problem here?

Check for a wedding ring. If he is wearing it (as opposed to hiding it or not having one), you may be better off trying the flirt exercise elsewhere because long before he realises what is going on, his other half will have spotted you. When she does, she won't mention it to you but she'll start recording the details and then afterwards he is going to cop the lot (even if he still has no idea what was happening). In the car on the way home:

Her: Why were you flirting with that girl?
Him: Which girl?

Note: This is the wrong thing to say - she will assume you were flirting with other girls as well.

Her: The blonde at the bar.
Him: I didn't see a blonde at the bar.
Her: She was showing her legs.
Him: Were they as nice as yours?

Note: Really good response here but he is still in trouble.

Her: She was fluttering her eyelashes.
Him: Is that what women do when they flirt? You never do that to me....

Note: Really bad response - he may be walking home after that one....

Her: You must have seen her.
Him: Do you mean the ugly one with too much makeup?
Her: So you did see her....

Note: He really needs to change the topic because this is one of those no-win situations (like the "do I look fat in this outfit?" question).

Seriously ladies, if you seem some chick flirting with your man, he may not be aware of what is going on. Remember that unlike you he is single-tasking and right now he is trying to work out how to drink, talk and move back to his seat which is obviously overload on a male brain. Give him the benefit of the doubt and deal with the husband-stealing-flirt instead.....

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 26, 2003

Reference

Have you ever been caught by someone wanting a reference? You really want to say no but you can't? I can remember being called by a head-hunter for a reference on a guy that I had worked with once. He didn't ask to use my name as a referee and I did not have a high opinion of the bloke:

HH: I believe you used to work with Fred?
Me: Yup.
HH: He has applied for a job and nominated you as a referee.
Me: Wow.
HH: Would you say he was hard working and a good team player.
Me: Not in a million years.
HH: Really?
Me: I have known desk chairs that work harder ....

Anyway, you often can't do this because the person is present during the interview but the following email joke [from Aussie Courier] even handles that problem neatly:

Bob Smith, my assistant programmer, can always be found
hard at work at his desk. He works independently, without
wasting company time talking to colleagues. Bob never
thinks twice about assisting fellow employees, and always
finishes given assignments on time. Often he takes extended
measures to complete his work, sometimes skipping coffee
breaks. Bob is a dedicated individual who has absolutely no
vanity in spite of his high accomplishments and profound
knowledge in his field. I firmly believe that Bob can be
classed as an asset employee, the type which cannot be
dispensed with. Consequently, I duly recommend that Bob be
promoted to executive management, and a proposal will be
executed as soon as possible.

Addendum:
That idiot was standing over my shoulder while I wrote the report
sent to you earlier today. Kindly re-read only the odd numbered lines.

By the way, when people ask first, I do let them know what I would say when called and give them a copy of any written recommendation .... including addendum :-)

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (9)

November 25, 2003

Ground speed?

A kind reader emailed me an aircraft joke (in response to the post on the Wright brothers). It was sitting in my inbox until I got a chance to deal with it and then I noticed this link to this page which appears to be a possible source of the joke. Check out that link because there are more jokes there.

In his book," Sled Driver," SR- 71/ Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes:

"I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (his backseater) and I were screaming across Southern California 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace."

"Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its groundspeed. "90 knots" Center replied.

Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same. "120 knots," Center answered.

"We weren't the only ones proud of our groundspeed that day.. as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Ah, Center, Dusty 52 requests groundspeed readout." "There was a slight pause, then the response, 525 knots on the ground, Dusty".

"Another silent pause. As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my backseater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison. "Center, Aspen 20, you got a groundspeed readout for us? " There was a longer than normal pause....

"Aspen, I show 1,742 knots"

"No further inquiries were heard on that frequency"

Hope you enjoyed that story ....

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 24, 2003

Getting Older

Do you sometimes feel that as you get older you get dumber? I certainly do. My grandpa used to joke and say there were two things that happen as grow older, the first things is your memory goes and he couldn't remember the other one. Anyway, I feel I am getting dumber faster and thanks to Jake at Utterly Boring, I have found the answer: Powerpoint Presentations.

So next time you are sitting in a presentation just imagine those IQ points dissolving :-)

BTW Jake is having major back surgery at the moment so keep him in your prayers and thoughts.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (2)

November 23, 2003

Basketball

There was an ad on the bus this morning for the Sydney Kings (basketball team). The caption was "See the Biggest Balls in Sport". Ugh. Don't know about you but I don't particularly want to see the privates of some big sweaty athlete. But.... it reminds me of a joke.

Have you ever noticed how the workers in an organisation follow football and basketball? The middle level managers all follow cricket (or baseball if you don't have cricket). The senior managers all follow golf.

The moral of the story: the higher you go, the smaller the balls.

The worrying thing is that Kiwis are all fanatical football fans. Hmmmm.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 22, 2003

Hospital Humour

[Ed: Another post based on an email from The Gray Monk.]

Actual writings on Mpumalanga hospital charts
1. She has no rigors or shaking chills, but her husband states she was very hot in bed last night.
2. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.
3. On the second day the knee was better, and on the third day it disappeared.
4. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to be depressed.
5. The patient has been depressed since she began seeing me in 1993.
6. Discharge status: Alive but without my permission.
7. Healthy appearing decrepit 69-year old male, mentally alert but forgetful.
8. The patient refused autopsy.
9. The patient has no previous history of suicides.
10. Patient has left white blood cells at another hospital.
11. Patient's medical history hasbeen remarkably insignificant with B only a 40 pound weight gain in the past three days.
12. Patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.
13. She is numb from her toes down.
14. While in ER, she was examined, x-rated and sent home.
15. The skin was moist and dry.
16. Occasional, constant infrequent headaches.
17. Patient was alert and unresponsive.
18. Rectal examination revealed a normal size thyroid.
19. She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life, until she got a divorce.
20. I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.
21. Both breasts are equal and reactive to light and accommodation.
22. Examination of genitalia reveals that he is circus sized.
23. The lab test indicated abnormal lover function.
24. Skin: somewhat pale but present.
25. The pelvic exam will be done later on the floor.
26. Large brown stool ambulating in the hall.
27. Patient has two teenage children, but no other abnormalities.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 21, 2003

How do you spell?

[Ed: This is another gem from the vault combined with a poem I memorised as a kid....]

How do you spell banana?
I was in the Spelling Bee,
I hoped to get the top,
I started to spell banana,
But I didn't know when to stop...

Bee-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye-Enn-Aye

How do you spell Potato?
If GH can stand for P as in Hiccough
If OUGH stands for O as in Dough
If PHTH stands for T as in Phthisis
If EIGH stands for A as in Neighbour
If TTE stands for T as in Gazette
If EAU stands for O as in Plateau

The right way to spell POTATO should be: GHOUGHPHTHEIGHTTEEAU

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 20, 2003

Definition of Copyright

[Ed: Another bit of humour from the crypt - June 2002]

When you write copy you have the right to copyright the copy you write, if the copy is right.  If however, your copy falls over, you must right your copy.  If you write religious services you write rite, and have the right to copyright the rite you write.

Very conservative people write right copy, and have the right to copyright the right copy they write. A right wing cleric would write right rite, and has the right to copyright the right rite he has the right to write.  His editor has the job of making the right rite copy right before the copyright can be right.

Should Jim Wright decide to write right rite, then Wright would write right rite, which Wright has the right to copyright. Duplicating that rite would copy Wright right rite, and violate copyright, which Wright would have the right to right.

Right?

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 19, 2003

What is a sassenach?

I was writing an email yesterday and used the word sassenach. My six year old popped up at my elbow and pointed at the word and said: "What is a sassenach?" Oh boy. How do you condense history into something that can be explained to a six year old. How do you explain the to and fro of Scot vs English?

Well, one thing you can do is turn to Google and then you might find this site which has a perfect explanation including the timeless quote:

Can ye tell a Sassenach? O course, ye can always tell a Sassenach - but ye canna tell em mickle!

Then there is the lovely closing paragraph:

Other folk have strange was ospeech - Whah, Ah do declayun, thas so kand o yall! or ye might hear somwhat like Wotcher, guv! Tyke a butchers at me gel there. Aynt she sumpn? So ocoorse, mony Sassenach hae trooble wi the wa guid Scots speak. I ken a lassie nicht sae lang syne wha asked me aboot my accent. She went aroond tae and frae, prating tha she couldna mak oot my woorrds! Och, bairn, ilka Sassenach maun no ken Anglic verra mickle!

[Ed: The last sentence reads something like: Oh, my son, it seems that the English Sassenach doesn't understand English very well!].

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (3)

November 18, 2003

Computer Users

[Ed: This has been sitting in the in-tray since August 2002. It was sent by Peskie who should be back on the air (after his honeymoon) soon.]

Computer users are divided into three types: novice, intermediate and expert.

Novice Users - People who are afraid that simply pressing a key might break their computer.

Intermediate Users - People who don't know how to fix their computer after they've just pressed a key
that broke it.

Expert Users - People who break other people's computers.

I guess there are also system administrators who can break lots of computers - all at the same time :-)

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 17, 2003

Christmas Cake

Of course, you are all wondering what I could have been doing on the weekend that interrupted posting. Well here is one excuse (it may not be correct but at least it is funny). Please read it out loud for added effect:

All this talk of Christmas is making me pine for the days of yore when I would help Great Grandma make Christmas cake. Here's the recipe (as best as I can remember it, it's a little fuzzy):

You'll need the following: a cup of water, a cup of sugar, four large eggs, two cups of dried fruit, a teaspoon of baking soda, a teaspoon of salt, a cup of brown sugar, lemon juice, nuts, and a bottle of whiskey. NOTE: Whiskey may be replaced with your favorite swill^H^H^H^Hbeverage. Being of Scottish ancestry, we naturally used Scotch.

Directions:

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.

Take a large bowl. Check the whiskey again. To be sure it is the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.

Make sure the whiskey is still okay. Cry another tup. Turn off the mixer. Break two leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares? Check the whiskey. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something. Whatever you can find.

Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window, check the whiskey again and go to bed.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 16, 2003

Country Living

[Ed: This joke was delivered with the morning coffee ... by Weby]

There was this kid who lived in the country and he was into tractors in a big way. He had tractor curtains, tractor sheets, tractor quilt, and tractor posters on the wall. He could recite statistics and details of every tractor currently on the market and lots of the ones that had long since been retired. His greatest thrill was going out on the tractor with Dad to work on the farm. Anyway, the old family tractor eventually winged its way to the scrapyard in the sky and when they bought a new one, the salesman was really impressed by the youngsters knowledge. In fact he was so impressed he gave the family free tickets to a tractor show, exhibition and conference in the big smoke. Boy did that cause a big of excitement. The great day dawned and the whole family bundled up and headed to the city. For a number of reasons (traffic being one of them) they got there around lunch time only to be turned away by the security guard. "Sorry", he said, "but we are full up and no one else is allowed in". The whole family pleaded with him but it was useless. They went home with the kid more depressed than he had ever been. When he got home he tore down his posters, ripped up the curtains and chucked the sheets and quilt in the trash. He removed all evidence of tractors from his life.

Some considerable time later, he was sitting in a diner with a young lady when there was a terrible fire in the kitchen. Black heavy smoke whet everywhere and all the patrons started to panic. The lad called out for everyone to calm down and then stood up. He breathed in and sucked up all the smoke, walked outside and breathed out again - blowing all the smoke away. "Wow" said the manager of the joint, "that was incredible - how did you do that."

"It was easy", said the boy, "after all - I am an ex-tractor fan".

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 15, 2003

Wierd History

This humorous (and inaccurate?) view of history comes courtesy of The Gray Monk:

Wierd History
Next time you're washing your hands and the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s.

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children -- last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water."

Houses had thatched roofs -- thick straw -- piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the dogs, cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof -- hence the saying "It's raining cats and dogs."

There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could really mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt, hence the saying "dirt poor."

The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on the floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they kept adding more thresh until when you opened the door it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entranceway, hence, a "thresh hold."

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes the stew had food in it that had been there for quite awhile. Hence the rhyme, "peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old."

Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man "could bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and "chew the fat."

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with a high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning and death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Most people did not have pewter plates, but had trenchers, a piece of wood with the middle scooped out like a bowl. Often trenchers were made from stale bread which was so old and hard that they could be used for quite some time. Trenchers were never washed and a lot of times worms and mould got into the wood and old bread. After eating off wormy, mouldy trenchers, one would get "trench mouth."

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or "upper crust."

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination would sometimes knock them out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a "wake."

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a "bone-house" and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they thought they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the "graveyard shift") to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be "saved by the bell" or was considered a "dead ringer."

And that's the truth. . . (who ever said that history was boring)?

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 14, 2003

World (Rugby) Cup Again!

I know I promised that I had finished the world cup jokes but thsi one was so funny it just had to be shared. Via email from Aussie Courier.

Johnny Wilkinson goes into the England changing room to find all his team mates looking a bit glum. "What's up?" he asks. "Well, we're having trouble getting motivated for this game. We know it's important but we've just beaten France and South Africa and let's be honest it's only Australia. They're crap and we can't be bothered".
Johnny looks at them and says "Well, the way I've been playing recently, I reckon I can beat them by myself, you lads go down the pub."
So Johnny goes out to play Australia by himself and the rest of the England team go off for a few jars. After a few pints they wonder how the game is going, so they get the landlord to put the telly on. A big cheer goes up as the screen reads "England 7 - Australia 0 (Wilkinson - 10 minutes - Converted Try)". He is beating Australia all by himself! Anyway, the telly goes off and a few more pints later the game is forgotten until someone remembers "It must be full time now, let's see how Johnny got on". They put the telly back on. "Result from the Stadium: England 7 (Wilkinson 10 minutes) - Australia 7 (Sailor 79 minutes)". They can't believe it, Johnny has single handedly got a draw against Australia!!
They rush back to the Stadium to congratulate him. They find him in the dressing room, still in his gear, sat with his head in his hands. He refuses to look at them. "I've let you down, I've let you down." says Johnny. "Don't be daft, you got a draw against Australia, all by yourself. And they only scored at the very very end!" says the rest of the team. "No, No, I have" says Johnny, "I've let you down... I got sent off after 12 minutes"

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 13, 2003

World (Rugby) Cup

This should (hopefully) be the last of the world cup jokes for a while, but in Spike (part of today's SMH) there is a little story about the English newspapers demanding the return of the fateful ball which won the cup for England and it is entitled Why Poms have no balls:

The Rugby World Cup - and its bitter end - is gone but not forgotten. The Sun in London is running a campaign demanding the return of the ball that the star kicker Jonny Wilkinson placed between the posts in the 99th minute of the Sydney final. The Gilbert ball, which delivered England's odious victory, apparently disappeared in the crowd in the post-goal fervour, never to be seen again.
"Those dastardly Aussies have nicked a vital piece of England's Rugby World Cup history," the tabloid alleges. Readers are urged to cut out a coupon entitled, "Oi, you thieving Aussies, give us our ball back!" and send it to the Australian High Commission in London.
Since the British refuse to return the Parthenon sculptures, the Sphinx's nose, and various Aboriginal skeletons to their rightful owners, Spike doesn't think they are on very high moral ground when it comes to some sweaty old piece of pigskin. We shall not succumb.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 12, 2003

Rugby World Cup IV

Of course for the English to win, Australia had to lose:

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 11, 2003

Rugby World Cup III

Well it is history now but the English won (instead of the French) and so we get this:

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 10, 2003

Rugby World Cup II

Imagine what would have happened if the French had won?

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 09, 2003

Rugby World Cup

I notice the polite dilemma over at Gray Monk as to the Rugby World Cup (won by England). I, on the otherhand, have no such dilemma. All along I have made it clear that I hoped NZ would win because I felt that they were cut out of having part of the hosting of the cup. Anyway, congrats to the Poms - good to see them win something (for a change). If it couldn't be the Kiwis or the Scots, then I can't think of anyone else who deserved to win it (except maybe the Japanese who put more effort into the game than any other team).

So, with that out of the way, I have a few jokes. The first one came via email from Ben:

Supreme court case NSW
A seven year old boy was at the centre of a courtroom drama this week when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of the boy. The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge awarded custody to his aunt. The boy confirmed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and refused to live there. When the judge suggested that he live with his grandparents the boy cried out that they beat him more than anyone.
The judge dramatically allowed the boy to choose who should have custody of him. Custody was granted to the Wallabies rugby team this morning as the boy firmly believes that they are not capable of beating anyone.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 08, 2003

Law Enforcement Test

[Ed: This jokes was sent via email by Ben. Thanks Ben!]

The CIA, the FBI and the LAPD are each asked to prove their capability at apprehending terrorists. President Bush releases a white rabbit into a forest and tells each agency to catch it.

The CIA goes first. It sends animal informants into the forest. They question all plant and material witnesses. After three months of intensive investigations the CIA concludes rabbits do not exist.

The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads it bombs the forest, killing everything, including the rabbit. It makes no apologies; the rabbit had it coming, it insists.

The LAPD go in. They come out after just two hours with a badly beaten bear. The bear is sobbing, "OK, OK, I'm a rabbit, I'm a rabbit."

John Howard hears about George Jnr's idea and decides to test Australian law enforcement agencies. He releases a white rabbit into the Stromlo Forest, near Canberra.

The National Crime Authority can't catch it but promises that if it gets a budget increase it can recover $90 million in unpaid rabbit taxes and proceeds of crime.

The Victorian police go in. They're gone only 15 minutes, returning with a koala, a kangaroo and a tree fern, all three shot to pieces. "They looked like dangerous rabbits and we acted in self-defence," they explain.

The NSW police go in. Surveillance tapes later reveal top-ranking officers and rabbits dancing around a gum tree stoned out of their minds.

The Queensland police go in. They reappear driving a brand new Mercedes, scantily clad bunnies draped all over them.

The WA police actually catch the white rabbit, but it inexplicably hangs itself when the attending officer "slipped out momentarily" for a cup of tea.

The SA and NT police join forces and beat the inside out of every rabbit in the forest, except the white one. They know it is only the black ones who cause all the trouble.

The Australian Federal Police refuse to go in. It examines the issues, particularly cost, and decides that because of low priority, high overtime and the projected expense to the AFP as a whole, the matter should be returned to the referring authority for further analysis.

ASIO goes into the wrong forest.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

TechTip: Open Mail Relays

Given my attitude towards spam and spammers (scum sucking bottom feeders), I need to be extra careful. Well, I have just finished getting mail (sort of working) under Panther (Server Edition) and I figured I had better test it to make sure I wasn't providing a little spam haven.
Looks like I passed:

Relay test result
All tests performed, no relays accepted

Phew. You can check your relay here.

Posted by Ozguru at 06:00 AM

November 07, 2003

Marine Recuit

This is the funniest read of the day, from Cynical Cyn....

LETTER FROM A FARM KID,

AT SAN DIEGO MARINE CORPS RECRUIT DEPOT

Dear Ma and Pa:

I am well. Hope you are.

Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before maybe all of the places are filled. I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m., but am getting so I like to sleep late.

Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing. Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there's warm water.

Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, and stuff, but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food. But tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed again.

It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. We go on "route" marches, which the Platoon Sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat.

The Sergeant is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. The Capt. is like the school board. Majors and Colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move. And it ain't shooting at you, like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in little metal boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home.

I'm about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. He joined up the same time as me. But I'm only5'6" and 130 pounds and he's 6'8" and weighs near 300 pounds dry.

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,
Gail

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 06, 2003

Corporate Lesson #6

A little bird was flying south for the winter. It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground in a large field. While it was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on it. As the frozen bird lay there miserably in the pile of cow dung, it began to realize how warm it was.

The dung was actually thawing him out! He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy. A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate. Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung, and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Moral of the story:

1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.

2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.

3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 05, 2003

Corporate Lesson #5

A turkey was chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey, but I haven't got the energy."

"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull. "They're packed with nutrients."

The turkey pecked at a lump of dung and found that it actually gave him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, there he was proudly perched at the top of the tree. He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot the turkey out of the tree.

Moral of the story: Bullshit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 04, 2003

Corporate Lesson #4

A crow was sitting on a tree, doing nothing all day. A small rabbit saw the crow, and asked him, "Can I also sit like you and do nothing all day long?"

The crow answered: "Sure, why not." So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the crow, and rested. All of a sudden a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story: To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 03, 2003

Corporate Lesson #3

A sales rep, an administration clerk and the manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie comes out in a puff of smoke. The Genie says, "I usually only grant three wishes, so I'll give each of you just one."

"Me first! Me first!" says the admin clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat, without a care in the world." Poof! She's gone.

In astonishment, "Me next! Me next!" says the sales rep. "I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of pina coladas and the love of my life." Poof! He's gone.

"OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager. The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."

Moral of the story: Always let your boss have the first say.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM

November 02, 2003

Corporate Lesson #2

A theological student was driving along and saw a pretty girl on the side of the road. He stopped and offered her a lift which she accepted. She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to open and reveal a lovely leg.

The student had a look and nearly had an accident. After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg. The girl looked at him and immediately said, "Remember Psalm 129?"

The student was flustered and apologized profusely. He forced himself to remove his hand. Changing gear, he let his hand slide up her leg again. The girl once again said, "Remember Psalm 129?"

Once again the student apologized "Sorry but the flesh is weak."

Arriving at her destination, the girl got out gave him a meaningful glance and went on her way. On his arrival at the college, the student rushed to retrieve a bible and looked up Psalm 129. It said, "Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory."

Moral of the story: If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM | Comments (1)

November 01, 2003

Corporate Lesson #1

A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower when the doorbell rings. After a few seconds of arguing over which one should go and answer the doorbell, the wife gives up, quickly wraps herself up in a towel and runs downstairs. When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next door neighbour. Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you $800 to drop that towel that you have on"

After thinking for a moment, the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob. After a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves.

Confused, but excited about her good fortune, the woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs. When she gets back to the bathroom, her husband asks from the shower, "Who was that?" "It was Bob the next door neighbour," she replies.

"Great!" the husband says, "Did he say anything about the $800 he owes me?"

Moral of the story: If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders, in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure.

Posted by Peskie at 12:00 PM