In celebration...some foolish points to ponder...
A botanist was trying to research some details about a particular kind of fern, so he sent a request to all his collegues, asking them to send him any information they had about it.
Unfortunately, he didn't word his request very well, and all the botanists he'd contacted thought he was looking for details about any ferns, rather than just the one species. So within just a few hours of sending it out, his fax machine was buzzing with piles of useless documents about all kinds of ferns - there were tree ferns and wood ferns, ostrich ferns and cinnamon ferns... but very few about the particular type he wanted.
So he sent another message to everyone:
If it ain't bracken, don't fax it.
* * * * * *
Now that we're taking orders from a Bush, are we doomed to wander in the wilderness for 40 years?
* * * * * *
In the days of old, when Genghis Kahn's men were running over Asia, they set their sights on further shores. Rather than 'huns', these warriors were known as Kahn's men, or simply, Kahns. When they had conquered all the way to the water's edge, they build boats, gathered their loot, and bravely went to sea. By a sad twist of fate, they encountered an island of lepers, which resulted in most of the crew being infected. Hastily leaving that island, they set sail again, but by the time they reached Ireland, there wasn't much left of them. Disembarking on stubby limbs, they set forth, but were soon set upon by the natives for the riches they carried.
Rotted away, but still clever, they hid on the island and awaited rescue, and the locals never did get their hands on the treasure.
And that's how the story of the little people got started in Ireland - the leper Kahn's and their pots of gold.
Cunning though diseased, the Kahns were never fooled by those who tried to trick them out of their pots of gold by swapping them for an empty pot - thus the saying: "You cannot change a leper's pots".
* * * * * * * *
After a heavy day's digging at the archeological site in Norway, the researchers uncovered a priceless statue of the ancient Norse thunder god.
It was a wondrous piece of artwork - He had bulging muscles, and imposing stance, and of course his famous giant hammer.
But most important of all, the eyes in his fierce-looking face were made of two giant rubies that glittered with a brilliant red colour.
Of course, the two leading archeologists on the dig were both determined that they should be the one to have their name listed against the discovery, and pretty soon the argument was intensifying to the point where the rest of the team, despite being exhausted after the day's work, started to gather round to watch.
The two of them continued squabbling for some time, and they provided the others with a great source of amusement for the evening, and by the time they finally gave up and called a truce, everyone else was feeling quite refreshed by the entertainment.
As the crowd dispersed, one junior digger turned to his friend, and said:
"Well, that was a fight for Thor eyes."
* * * * * * *
So Noah is waiting by his ark. Waiting for all the animals that God has promised will squeeze into the boat that he's built.
And then he sees them. Great numbers of beasts all converging on where he's standing. So he lowers the gang-plank, and watches as the animals start filing on board, two-by-two.
And as they go into the ship, Noah can be heard passing comments on each animal that goes by - "Hmmm... two horses," he says, "they don't taste very nice, but they're edible," and "Ooh! Two sheep. I love roast lamb".
And so it goes on, for each pair of animals, Noah counts going on board, he says something about what they're like to eat. Eventually Noah's son can stand it no longer, and he goes to his mother to ask why.
She answers: "Well, there's Noah counting for taste."
To which the son replies: "Now I've herd everything."
* * * * * * *
It's little known that William Shakespeare, as well as writing, also enjoyed a good game of rubgy in his spare time.
So, the team is assembled for practice one Saturday afternoon. It's the middle of winter, and even for England, it's cold and it's wet. The pitch is a muddy swamp, and the players decide that they simply can't play in these conditions.
So they go to the club-house for a bit, but they very quickly get bored. And then one of the players has a bright idea: Why don't we all go over to William's house? William Shakespeare is doubtful, but they persuade him, and pretty soon, the whole squad is relaxing in his living room.
Well, they're rugby players, and true to the stereotype, they all quickly get drunk, and of course, they come up with the even better idea - of having their rugby practice in the house ("well, it's a big house, after all"). William has also been drinking, so he's easy to persuade this time, and after moving some furniture out of the way, they get down to the serious business of practicing their sport.
Meanwhile, not far away, the King has just had a great idea for a play, and dispatches a messenger to summon his favorite playwrite.
Well, the messenger arrives at the house, and he can hear this enormous commotion from inside, with shouting and crashes, and he thinks that William Shakespeare must be getting attacked. He braces himself, and crashes through the front door... and lands directly in the path of two groups of large hairy rugby players.
The messenger is pinned to the floor for a while, and he can't move. He does manage to free himself momentarily, before getting trapped again, up against a wall. Finally, he escapes, and returns to the palace as quickly as his mangled body will allow.
The king takes one look at him, and gasps. "What happened to you?" he asks.
"I think," said the messenger, "that I got caught between a ruck and a bard's place."
* * * * * * *
And last but certainly not least...
Once there was a circus that was without a doubt the best circus in the world because it boasted the best lion tamer in the world. He was spectacular, the lions would do whatever he said, the high point of course was that he would stick his head in a lion's mouth.
When the circus started losing money the owner started selling off animals and equipment to help meet expenses. He called the Lion Tamer into his office.
"I'd really like to keep you on, because you keep the circus going," the owner said. "But I've had to sell your lions because they cost too much to feed. Still, you're good, and we need you, so if you can come up with an act with what we have left, you've got a job."
"Well, I do need a job," the Lion Tamer said. "What animals do you have left?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," the owner said, "the only animal I have left is my faithful old Bassett hound. I'd never sell him!"
"I'll take him," said the Tamer.
So the Lion Tamer worked with the Bassett hound and taught him the entire lion act. The dog caught on right away, but there was a problem: no way was the Lion Tamer's head going to fit into the dog's mouth.
"My foot will fit," the Lion Tamer said, so he tried it, and sure enough the dog picked that up too.
Opening night, the Lion Tamer did the act with the Bassett hound, and the crowd loved it. They'd never seen anything like it before. At the end of the act, when the Lion Tamer put his foot into the dog's mouth, the crowd went wild.
"Encore, encore!" the crowd yelled.
Well, the Lion Tamer hadn't thought of an encore before, so he thought to himself, "If one foot is good, two is better."
So he stuck his other foot into the dog's mouth. Well, the two feet together are almost as big as the dog's head, so the dog was choking and gasping, and finally out of self-preservation, he clamped his jaws shut, biting off the Lion Tamer's legs at mid-calf.
And the moral of this story....?
Don't put all your legs in one Bassett.
<small>[ 04-01-2005, 11:25 AM: Message edited by: Great Carouser ]</small>
Sacred cows make the best hamburger.