How tuff are Aussie blokes?

[layback40]

Only a Farm Kid...



When you're from the country, your perception is a little bit different.


A Queensland farmer drove to a neighbours' farmhouse in his Holden ute, and knocked at the door.
A boy, about 9, opened the door
"Is your Dad or your mum home?" said the farmer.
"No, they went to town."
"How about your brother, Howard? Is he here?"
"No, he went with Mum and Dad."
The farmer stood there for a few minutes, shifting from one foot to the other,and mumbling to himself.
"I know where all the tools are, if you want to borrow one, or I can give dad a message."
"Well," said the farmer uncomfortably, "I really wanted to talk to your Dad. It's about your brother Howard getting my daughter Susie pregnant".
The boy thought for a moment...

"You would have to talk to Dad about that. I know he charges $500 for the bull and $50 for the pig, but I don't know how much he charges for Howard."

[bruggz351]

[Banshee]

Not a Squirrel to mess with...

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighbourhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.

I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighbourhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close.

I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.

Animal lovers never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular ... as he shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest.

Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing. I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH! Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact; he landed squarely on my back and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in... well... I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn-t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle...my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on The Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment) so her front end started to drop.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrels tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper hand... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of ... so to speak.

Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paper work. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams. They weren't mine. I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. Except for two things.

First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crabwalk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street and was aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.

That was one thing. The other? Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me. That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol car ... but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turnoff of Brice Street, and as I sedately left the neighbourhood I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves.

And some Band-Aids.

[Banshee]

I recently read that 98% of Harley Davidsons are still on the road.



The other 2%, apparently, made it home.

[layback40]

The Value of a Drink


'Sometimes when I reflect back on all the wine I drink
I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think
About the workers in the vineyards and all of their hopes
And dreams.

If I didn't drink this wine, they might be out
Of work and their dreams would be shattered.
Then I say to myself, 'It is better that I drink this wine and let their
Dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver.'
~ Jack Handy

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell
Happened

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they
Wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're
Going to feel all day. '
~Frank Sinatra

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter, faster and better looking than most people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.'
~ Henny Youngman

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence? I think not.'
~ Stephen Wright

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to think you can sing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk,
We fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.
When we commit no sin, we go to heaven. So, let's all
Get drunk and go to heaven!'
~ Brian O'Rourke

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause pregnancy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Without question, the greatest invention in the
History of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the
Wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does
Not go nearly as well with pizza.'
~ Dave Barry

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To some ! it's a six-pack, to me it's a Support Group. Salvation in a can!
~ Dave Howell

WARNING: The consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with members of the opposite sex without spitting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And saving the best for last, as explained by Cliff Clavin, of Cheers.
One afternoon at Cheers, Cliff Clavin was explaining the Buffalo Theory to his buddy Norm.
Here's how it went:

'Well ya see, Norm, it's like this... A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers.'

[layback40]

Nickname
I was listening to the radio this morning when the host invited callers to reveal the nicknames they had for their wives
Best call was from the chap who called his wife Harvey Norman ...
“No interest for 18 months”

[layback40]

Blonde Mortician.

A man who just died is delivered to a local mortuary wearing an expensive, expertly tailored black suit..

The female blonde mortician asks the deceased's wife how she would like the body dressed.

She points out that the man does look good in the black suit he is already wearing.

The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit.

She gives the Blonde mortician a blank cheque and says, 'I don't care what it costs, but please have my husband in a blue suit for the viewing.'

The woman returns the next day for the wake.

To her delight, she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly.

She says to the mortician, 'Whatever this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful. How much did you spend?'

To her astonishment, the blonde mortician presents her with the blank cheque.

'There's no charge,' she says.

'No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that exquisite blue suit!' she says.

'Honestly, ma'am,' the blonde says, 'it cost nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit.. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice. .. . .. . . . ...

So I just switched the heads.'



(BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMING!!!)