Agony Uncle?

Dear Walter: I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work
leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn't gone
more than a mile down the road when my engine conked out and the car
shuddered to a halt.

I walked back home to get my husband's help. When I got home I couldn't
believe my eyes. He was in the bedroom with a neighbor lady making mad
passionate love to her.

I am 32, my husband is 34 and we have been married for twelve years. When
I confronted him, he broke down and admitted that he'd been having an
affair for the past six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him.

He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling
increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since
I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. I don't feel
I can get through to him anymore.

Can you please help?
Sincerely, Mrs. Sheila Usk


Dear Sheila:

A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a
variety of faults with the engine. Start by checking that there is no
debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the jubilee clips holding
the vacuum pipes onto the inlet manifold. If none of these approaches
solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty,
causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float chamber.

I hope this helps.

Couldn't resist!!

Cop out!!

I've cheated a bit/lot this week with a couple of jokes from my in-box, enjoy;

A stranger was seated next to a little girl on the airplane when the stranger turned to her and said, 'Let's talk. I've heard that flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger.'
The little girl, who had just opened her book, closed it slowly and said to the stranger, 'What would you like to talk about?'
'Oh, I don't know,' said the stranger. 'How about nuclear power?' and he smiles .
'OK, she said. 'That could be an interesting topic. But let me ask you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same stuff - grass. Yet a deer poops little pellets, while a cow turns out a flat patty, and a horse produces clumps of dried grass. Why do you suppose that is?'
The stranger, visibly surprised by the little girl's intelligence, thinks about it and says, 'Hmmmm, I have no idea.'
To which the little girl replies, 'Do you really feel qualified to discuss nuclear power when you don't know shit?'


Dave came home from the pub late one Friday evening stinking drunk, as he often did, and crept into bed beside his wife who was already asleep.He gave her a peck on the cheek and fell asleep.When he awoke, he found a strange man standing at the end of his bed.'Who the hell are you?', demanded Dave, 'and what are you doing in my bedroom ?'
The mysterious man answered, 'This isn't your bedroom and I'm St Peter.'
Dave was stunned. 'You mean I'm dead !!! That can't be, I have so much to live for - and I haven't said goodbye to my family. . . You've got to send me back straight away.'
St Peter replied, 'Yes, you can be reincarnated but there is a catch. We can only send you back as a dog or a hen.'
Dave was devastated, but knowing there was a farm not far from his house, he asked to be sent back as a hen.A flash of light later, he was covered in feathers and clucking around, pecking the ground. ' This ain't so bad', he thought until he felt this strange feeling welling up inside him.
The farmyard rooster strolled over and said, 'So you're the new hen, How are you enjoying your first day here ?'
'It's not so bad', replies Dave, 'but I have this strange feeling inside like I'm about to explode.'
'You're ovulating', explained the rooster. 'Don't tell me you've never laid an egg before.'
'Never' , replies Dave.
'Well just relax and let it happen'.And so he did and after a few uncomfortable seconds later, an egg pops out from under his tail. An immense feeling of relief swept over him and his emotions got the better of him as he experienced motherhood for the first time.When he laid his second egg, the feeling of happiness was overwhelming and he knew that being reincarnated as a hen was the best thing that ever happened to him . . . Ever!!!The joy kept coming and as he was just about to lay his third egg, he felt an enormous smack on the back of his head and heard his wife shouting...
'Dave, wake up, you drunken bastard. You've shit the bed !!'

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FOR TOMORROW DJ!!!

Sex after seventy!

There was a report out this week that said that more people over the age of seventy were having sex more often and enjoying it more than ever before!

Apart from the last sentence containing the word 'before' too many times there is definitely something wrong with it. Does it mean more sex than when they were younger or more sex than seventy year olds a decade ago? It brings too many pictures to mind that quite frankly I could happily live without. Its bad enough there is an advert on television at the moment that shows couples kissing (mouths open and most probably tongues) starting with a young pair and moving up through ages until they are snogging next to their zimmer frame and stannah stair lift. I forget what the commercial is for as I was too traumatised and was looking for more Valium before the end.

That was just kissing but sex at seventy? Can you imagine her taking her teeth out to perform oral sex while he sprays some wd40 on his plastic hip so he can get his leg over? Nonsense! Its all a fabrication by the government because we have too many old people in this country and we can't afford to keep them any longer. A solution; tell them it's okay to have it off after they draw their pension, they do, have a coronary and pop their clogs. Job done!

Don't believe me? Ask your Nan the last time she had sex and if she tells you, which she probably won't, 1945 is the year not quarter to eight!

Summertime?

Is it just me or does everyone (apart from the snails and slugs attacking my garden) feel bloody miserable in this 'summer' weather? And if the dismal weather isn't enough we are told by every expert with an opinion, there are quite a few, that the economy is in a downturn that is possibly going to end in a recession. Unfortunately I'm not an expert so have difficulty in understanding how you forecast a recession and apparently am not the only one because you only know you are in recession when you've been there for six months! WTF?

So I looked at my finances to try and gauge the situation and wished I hadn't. Since the start of the year I'm putting £5 a week more petrol in my car, my grocery bill has gone up by £20 a week, my gas and electric have both gone up £15 a month and my mortgage which is on a two year tracker and runs out soon will probably go up by £200 a month unless we can get another 'deal' which is unlikely. My wages on the other hand should have gone up by 1.5% in April (approx £4 a week) but haven't because the union and management can't get their act together. Now to my mind if that's not a fucking recession what is?

Now the government has come up with a plan to help. No, they aren't going to cut duty on petrol or jump on the profiteering utility companies or even inject some cash into the banks so they will start lending at reasonable rates again! Their big plan is to stop us wasting food! We all buy around £8 of food a week we don't need and throw it in the bin. Now sometimes when I come home and unpack the shopping I have to throw out a bag of crisps that has burst or some of the pre-packed veg is a bit shit but nearly 10% of what I bought I throw away? Come on Gordon you are going to have to do better than that!

I have a solution that I think would help but am thwarted (great word by the way!) at the first attempt. I would like an allotment so I can grow what we need and eat it fresh so hopefully little waste. I'm really not sure why we can't eat whats in season and grown locally, do we really need to have yams all year round? Anyway back to the allotment, I rang the council and I can have an allotment for £24 per annum. Not bad I thought, little bit of effort and this time next year it will be coming up roses. Well not roses because we can't eat roses well we could but spuds would be better. "I'll have one!" I said feeling cheerful in spite of another 'summer' downpour. "No you won't!" was the reply as the sun hid behind the clouds again "there is at least a 2 year waiting list."

Great! So this is what you do Gordon, instead of pointless and unhelpful comments you get off your fat backside and out of your ivory tower and free up some inner-city land so the people who want to try and help themselves have a bit of a helping hand!

Update

Yesterday I went to hospital to have the CT scan, my appointment was 10:15 and we got there about quarter of an hour early. The appointment hadn't been cancelled and it was a good thing we got there early. We sat in the waiting room with people who looked old and ill, very ill in some cases but they all had something in common, next to them was a small plastic cup and a litre container with a screw-top lid. We sat and waited for a while until a nurse, with her sense of humour surgically removed, brought my cup and container.
"Drink this!" she said
"No problem!" says I.
"What do I do for the next hour and ten minutes?" I add with a grin.
"Drink it too fast and you'll bring it straight back up!" she says with a frown.
I'm sure I heard her say 'tosser' under her breath as she walked off but I let it pass as she had obviously been bashed with an ugly stick and was taking it out on everybody else. I picked up my container, it was cold. It was also white and thick, sort of a cross between sperm and wallpaper paste. The neck it down in one was starting to look a little doubtful. I looked at the other people waiting, the were all at various stages of finishing their white goo and every mouthful looked like a struggle. I undid the lid and sniffed it; not bad, it had an orangey smell to it and I poured it into my cup. I took a large swig and it didn't taste too bad kind of like the powdered orange squash you get from vending machines only thicker. The next few mouthfuls weren't too bad but then I started too struggle, the stuff was actually fucking awful. It probably was made with spunk and wallpaper paste and every time I looked at it all I could think of apart from throwing up into the plant pot next to me was in 'Something about Mary' where Cameron Diaz fixes her hair with an alternative hair gel!
I'd drunk about 10ml in quarter of an hour, thank god we were early! I had to set myself targets so I could finish the lot before I was due to go in because I didn't want to have to go through this again. Unfortunately the clock seemed to be broken and was going far too quickly for my liking and I was lagging behind. Nurse Happy gave me a pitiful scowl every time she walked past, this spurred me on and when I was called I only had what was left in the cup to finish. The old bag made me drink that as well, it would almost have been worth throwing it up all over her just to see the look on her face! I didn't.
The scan was okay, they injected me with dye halfway through or did she say I hope the bastard dies? Whatever, it was over in minutes and now I just have to wait until early August for the results. The white goo is supposed to work its way out of my body but at the moment it seems stuck! We went to a BBQ yesterday afternoon and I drank a couple of glasses of wine and ate a bit I've also eaten today. My stomach now looks like a cross barrel and a bass drum, sort of sounds the same when I hit it with a drum stick! I hope to god that I'm somewhere near a toilet when the goo finally makes its final descent!
On that happy note I'll leave you to finish your dinner.

Taking the tube.

Tomorrow I have to go for my CT scan, I was panicking a bit because I thought I was going to be left in a small tunnel for hours and am very claustrophobic, my doctor even prescribed me Valium. But now that I've seen the scanner it's not as bad as I first thought, well let's hope not anyway as the Valium have already gone! I guess it makes a welcome change for me to be slipped inside the tube to have photo's taken of my insides rather than having tubes slipped inside me and having my picture taken! Don't ask because I'm saying nothing apart from 'it certainly put the wind up me'!

So I'm not worried? Well actually yes I am! You see they've taken blood, urine, stool (No! I'm not talking about that either what with the tiny pot and even smaller shovel!) and blood again and no I didn't have to just drop my underpants off at reception! I've had examinations, a scan, ex ray's, a tube poked down my throat and another poked up ... sorry can't bring myself to say... and they've found nothing. So I guess tomorrow is last chance saloon, what else can they try?

So my big worry is they find nothing tomorrow and what people have been telling me all these years might be true; I AM FULL OF SHIT!

PS I haven't really taken the Valium before you phone the police (I haven't filled the script yet)that was just poetic licence. No I don't have a poets licence that was just... Oh whatever!! Have a good weekend!

Smoking Ban.

Today is the first anniversary of the smoking ban in England and according to government figures the amount of cigarette butts discarded in the street has doubled over the last year. I was wondering how they got these figures, why and what good they did and it got me thinking...

Somewhere in a bunker under the sea north of the Scilly Isles;

"Come in Mr Bond."

"Pillbeam!"

"What?"

"My name is Pillbeam, Arthur Pillbeam not Bond!"

"Can I call you Bond just for today?"

"No."

"Please! It adds a little something."

"No!"

"How about James then?"

"No!"

"Jim?"

"No!"

"Jimmy!"

"No!"

"Well then Art..."

"Arthur!"

"Arthur. You did the cigarette butt count for us last year?"

"That's right."

"There was a bit of controversy over the figures last year I seem to remember. How many was it?"

"One."

"You counted all the discarded cigarette butts in England and there was only one?"

"Yes."

"You did actually do the count?"

"Yes."

"Then you had 364 days off and came back to do another count?"

"365!"

"Sorry?"

"It was a leap year!"

"Right. So you did another count for us yesterday?"

"Yes."

"You did actually do the count?"

"Yes."

"You didn't stay at home, watch Wimbledon and guess?"

"No."

"Not sit and watch the young Scott grit his teeth, pump his arm and grunt for hours?"

"You sure that was Wimbledon?"

"Answer the question!"

"No, I did the count!"

"Okay, how many this time?"

"Two."

"Fuck! Are you sure?"

"Yes very sure."

"This is awful! 100% more than last year! Twice as many! The media will have a field day!"

"So what does it mean exactly?"

"Fuck knows but we'll get to keep our jobs for another year! Go home, have another 365 days off."

"364, it's not a leap year!"

"Right! Practice your counting and on your way out leak it to the press!"