Text 780, 348 rader
Skriven 2004-12-15 09:23:54 av Greg Sears (1:153/307)
     Kommentar till en text av George Pope
Ärende: Re: What We All Want. . .
=================================
Funny on 12-Dec-2004 05:55

GS>   G-day George Pope, another ~free~ tool I've just found and am using now
  >                      for virus protection on-board the machine as well in
  >                      and out bound e-mails is called...AVG free edition:
  >                      available @  http://www.grisoft.com

         -=[George Pope wrote a reply IN a message to GREG SEARS]=-

 GP> Yup -- I use AVG, too, and have for some time -- I occasionally
   > double-check with a borrowed Norton AV, cuz AVG seems to miss lots of
   > stuff! :(

  G-day George Pope, AVG scans DOS where Norton misses that area! '-)

> OBJoke: for our Moderator and all-round friend/servant

       S A N T A   C L A U S :   T H E   T R U E   S T O R Y

In light of the Father Christmas rumors, him being the old fat brandy
reddened present bringer.  I recently visited an ancient vault of top
secret documents at the bottom of a broken staircase, in between the
nest of Black Mamba's, to the right of the man eating slug from hell
just under the window, marked "Top Secret" (No, they really are!  If you
don't believe me you can ask my mate Fred, he's the caretaker and my dad
at weekends when he's not at the Greyhound races or when.  I think you
get the drift.

Eagerly I opened the drawer marked "S-Z", don't ask me why but I did.
Scanning the contents I noticed a bright red file with silver and gold
glitter and three leaves of holly which were stapled onto a card with a
jolly snowman crazy-glued to the front of the file.  Opening the file I
was entranced to find that it was the character profile of "S. Claus".
This is was the story I found.

 C L A U S .   S   -   L A P L A N D

It was said that in the war torn land of "Helluvafight" was a small
colony of refugee's called The Ucker Tribe, population 10.  Five women,
one very happy man and four goats.

The colony had evaded the war by a quirk of fate.  They were all Michael
Jackson fans, so whenever they were threatened, the tribe leader and
only male, sang ballads whilst moonwalking and holding his genital's and
howling in short burst's.  So as anyone would do, they clasped their
hand's to their ears, gazed at the magic backwards walking man and ran
like the clappers.

So the tribe lived on.  The only male, "Belviz 'Tornring' Bonebender"
went about his daily duties, ploughing the arid land, milking the goats,
teaching dancing class and shagging all five of the women by sundown.

Unprotected sex equals population increase or it should do, but Belviz
was a clever man.  He had taken a small selection of leaves, twigs, snot
and animal fur and moulded it with goat fat to produce a penis shaped
object with a hole in one end for his John Thomas, which fit snugly up
to the root.

After the five women were reduced to shrieks and wailing wrecks due to
the penile invention of his tearing needed organs, he decided to leave
the plundering of female orifices and turn to the grazing goats for his
sexual satisfaction.

One evening he set about the rear end of the plumpest of the goats.
Inserting himself he began to shunt backwards and forwards.  Now the
Uckers weren't the brightest of tribes, to be honest they were as
thick as shit in Winter.  So with limited brain power they were unable
to determine the gender of the goats and luckily Belviz was shagging the
female.

But behind him stood another goat, it's horns standing a good six inches
above it's thick skull, panting, snorting and stamping it's feet
angrily on the ground.  For a while it continued to watch his pale
backside wobble back and forth, this was the night Belviz earned his
middle name "Tornring".

The billy goat charged viciously towards Belviz's back end, targeting
his brown eye.  With one mighty stab Belviz's eye's - all three of them
- watered as he yelled with his head pointed skywards.

With his ringpiece in tatter's he went forth to a soothsayer on the far
reach of a crag, concerned that his torn ringpiece may be a bad omen.
As it happens Sootha Soothsooth the Soothsayer of Soothacrag, warned of
an offspring that will bring many a happiness to children worldwide.
Belvis feared that his offspring may grow to become a paedophile (child
molester) and punished himself by leaving the Ucker tribeswomen and
venturing north to the icelands. There were two reasons for that:
Firstly, there were no women or goats in the icelands.  Secondly, the cold
snow relieved his ever throbbing ringpiece.

Belviz named the icelands Lapland for reasons of his own lunacy and
began to fashion houses from the one and only spruce tree that grew in
the snowy wastes.  Of course there were pauses in between the building
as the tree needed to grow again.

Years passed.  Then more, years passed.  Until, another year passed,
then another.

Fifteen years later, more years passed.

One day there was a light knock at his carved spruce door.  Upon opening
he saw a fat man stood blocking the sunlight.

"Belviz 'Tornring' Bonebender"?, he asked softly.

"Yes."

"I am your son of years ago."

Belviz promptly fainted.  An hour passed, then another.  When he finally
woke up, he looked straight into the fat mans red face with its goaty
white beard draped over his barrel like belly.

"Goaty beard!"

"Yes father, I am Kid 'Belvizson' Goatstuffer, your only son.
GoatMother is doing well, she is now a parliamentary candidate for
Helluvafight, also she is funding the Bolivian freedom fighters.

Again he passed out.

Later Belviz noticed his son's deep red face and politely enquired about
it.  To which he replied: "I have inherited a certain part of your
anatomy, which causes me so much pain it reddens my face", then he
proceed to sit in a pile of snow.

"Enough said", Belviz mumbled.

Belviz always had a problem with saying his sons name, so called him
Sanataclaus or Santa, because he reminded him of a woman from the Ucker
tribe who had the same name.

Kid loved the name but made a slight adjustment from Sanataclaus to
Santa Claus.  Belviz was heartbroken to hear about the change of the
name and promptly committed suicide with a spruce shoe horn.  Saddend by
the death, Santa picked up the broken body, tears fell onto Belviz's
forehead as Santa buried his father under the snow.  He made a promise,
that from that tragic day forward he would make everyone happy.  For his
father.

And so from that day Santa Claus was to be known for the good he'd done.

Visiting children around the world, perching them on his knee, patting
them, asking them what they wanted for Christmas, but while he does
this, his face becomes redder and redder.

So next time you visit Santa's grotto spare a thought for his torn
ringpiece!


> OBJoke: for Mr. <+]::-{(} ("Cyberpope")

          C H R I S T M A S   T R E E   C R U E L T Y

Sadly this article must be written to bring every one's attention to
stress the little known problem of Christmas tree abuse.

You know the story, mummy, daddy and baby Sally are all getting exited
over the prospect of Christmas, oblivious to the despair, pain, and
suffering of our furry Conifer friends, yes that's right, (Conafus
Spikyes) better known to all of you as "The Christmas Tree".

You may well flush red with guilt, you may feel a nervous trickle
running down your leg, you know you are a killer.  Let us take an
example:

            Case Study 1a
   Location: A small London suburb

All names are entirely fictional to protect the offenders.

Twas a fine crisp evening, the frosted leaves crunched under Dr.A
Brown's feet.  The children danced along behind, unaware of the mindless
terror their own loving father and mother were about to bring unto an
intent victim of Christmas.

This fine season of joy and festivity was almost over before it had
begun for Arthur P. Christmas Tree Junior.  Arthur was not alone, he
looked around at all his helpless friends propped up carelessly against
a cold rusty fence.  He knew, he knew the impending doom that awaited
them all, even chubby the ugly tree, but all teasing had ceased. Chubby
may well have been a fat sod (and never scored with a female tree) but
in times such as these differences must be put aside.

10:15 - The time had come, the Browns rounded the last corner.  Little
Brown raised his head to look at a solitary sign that floated
majestically in the sky.  The late evening sun gave the affect of blood
dripping from the tacky sign painted on an old car bonnet.

Arthur P. Christmas Tree shivered violently in the cold but at the same
time felt the warm inner glow of triumph.  He had survived another day.
Tibbs the evil tree master pulled his leather jacket around him to
protect himself from the bitter cold.  Turning to lock the large gate of
"Tibb's car yard" the tree master heard happy laughter, in announce at
such an unpleasant sound he raised his shaggy unshaven face.

"Wadya want" He yelled to Dr Brown.

"I, err, weeee, came to buy a tree"

"Come on Andrew," Mrs brown tugged at her husband's sleeve, "Well come
back tomorrow".

Dr Brown's eyes focused on the row of young green innocent Christmas
Trees.  Something deep down in his gut lurched, his cheek muscles
twitched and a glazed look came over his eyes.

"No dear, we, we must get a Christmas Tree" Dr Brown sternly said,
trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.  Ever since he was a
baby Dr Andrew Brown had loved and adored the annual tree.  It bought,
he felt, an feeling of pine tree, into Christmas.

"Yeeeeeeeaaaa Daddy's right Mum, We must get a Christmas tree", Pleaded
the children.  Mrs Brown looked up at Tibbs and trying to keep a pleasant
look on her face smiled sweetly.  It would be fair to say Tibbs heart
melted like a pound of butter in a 5,000 watt Japanese microwave set on
maximum setting but I fear that would take far to long, however Tibbs
obligingly opened the gate and agreed to let the family look at his
selection.  What an evil man, had he no soul, no compassion, no feeling
for innocent living organisms?

- It is at this point of the report where I strongly suggest that any one
with a weak heart or nervous disposition stop reading.

Arthur P. Christmas Tree was just drifting into a long deep sleep when he
heard the all familiar always terrifying words:

"Daddy this one... over here"

He opened one eye and looked around.  He was all alone!

"ME? not me I'm...", He was cut off in mid-sentance.

"Short" Commented the Doctor after some time "That's why I like it, it's
short."

Terror gripped Arthur, he froze, his mined whirled around.  The very
ground he rested on seemed to spin around and around.  He's vision blurred
and everything went black, like turning of a T.V he thought later.

"AAGGGGGggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!", gasped Arthur.
He looked up into the grinning crazed face of his buyer, two little
children with gleeful eyes were prodding him. A giant pair of rough hands
picked him up high into the air.

"Help!, I'm going to be sick" yelled Arthur.  Nobody heard his last cry.

This part of the report is unsuitable for us to graphically describe so we
have compiled a list of the incidents that followed the purchase of Arthur
P. Christmas Tree:

10:45pm-Placed in a cold wet damp sandy bucket (For over 3 weeks!).

10:50pm - Dragged inside and pushed around by a crazed doctor with abuse
hurled at him for 3 hours (generally hinting that he wasn't standing up
straight).

9:00am - An uncomfortable arrangement of hot tacky lights placed around
Arthur.

9:15am - Several of Arthur's branches were maliciously torn from their
sockets due to  Mrs Brown's requests (Suspected enjoyment of watching her
husband do inhuman things on her request).

9:30am - Covered with cheap imitation plastic tinsel.  By this time Arthur
was desperate for a drink.  If only he knew that he had had his last long
ago!

9:40am - Children request that heavy shiny round objects are placed on the
end of Arthur's branches.  Possible sadistic involvement here!

10:00 - The finale.  Arthur his humiliated by having a ridiculously stupid
looking fairly placed on his head.

ARTHUR P. CHRISTMAS TREE WAS LEFT IN THIS SORRY STATE FOR 3 WEEKS.

He was only rescued when one of our colleagues found him abandoned on a
scrap heap.  He lived only 5 more hours.

PLEASE REMEMBER A CHRISTMAS TREE IS FOR LIFE NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS.

Are you guilty?  If so pickup the phone and dial Freephone "I'm feeling
very guilty about murdering Christmas trees" - (0800) 252 639

This concludes our sad tragedy of Christmas tree Cruelty.  If you would
like to donate any money to our trust then please write to:

     Christmas Tree Cruelty (CTC)
                 St.M
           48 Victoria Road
                Fleet
                Hants
               GU13 8DW

As a follow up to our disturbing report we contacted the following people.
Here is also their views on CTC.

THE POLICE - "Look son we are very busy, if you want to waste some one's
time then waste your own, we've got work to do"

OUR COMMENT - You insensitive bastards!

UNITED NATIONS COUNCIL FOR HUMANITARIAN HELP - "...Hello this is a
recorded message, I am afraid we don't exist to answer the Phone at the
moment, we are supposedly busy helping some much needy country.  But if
for any reason you would like to leave your name and  number we won't get
back to you.".

MY GRAN - "Errr yes dear..."

CRYSTAL - "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds etc. waffle waffle"

NEEEEEWAPPY DOOO (Local fish and chip shop owner) - "Salt n' Vinegar?"

BBC - "Errrrrrr... Christmas Tree abuse you say?"

JASON DONOVAN - "Well alright as long as it's a male... but I'm not gay!"

MICHAEL JACKSON - "Shit man, you say Christmas trees?  Do they prolong
life"!

JOHN MAJOR - "EEeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"

ARTHUR'S PARENTS - "Booo Hoooo (sob, whimper), F*** off, We want Arthur
back, it's all your fault."

I think that just about concludes our report and shows how insensitive the
great majority of people are in this world.

IN MEMORY OF ARTHUR P. CHRISTMAS TREE

Ohhhh Arttthurr (repeated as many times as possible in one breath).
Weeeee luved you (Said as sincerely as possible with a pained expression
on one's face).

I know this article is silly, but so am I!



   *                       *
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 #####  Happy New Year   #####
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