Shoddy Work

A story called ‘Three Little Cowboy Builders’ based on the ‘Three Little Pigs’ has been turned down from a government agency’s annual awards because the subject matter could offend.

The digital book, re-telling the classic fairy tale, was rejected by judges who warned that “the use of pigs raises cultural issues” and may offend ethnic minorities.  They also attacked the book for offending builders.

The judges criticised the stereotyping in the story of the unfortunate pigs: “Is it true that all builders are cowboys, builders get their work blown down, and builders are like pigs?”

The writers of these pages couldn’t possibly comment but our reporter spoke to Mr Sakcloth from Winchester who stated:
“Yes, it is undeniably true!  I’ve got through three lots of builders to try and get my extension finished.  They’ve all been like cowboys, one of them even rode a horse.  They’ve offended my wife and any passing females with lewd and sexist comments.  They leave a mess everywhere and enjoy rolling in cool mud during the warmer weather. Last weekend a passing wolf blew off the roof.  It’s unbelievable!”

Yes, it is. 
Our reporter spoke to an ethnic minority.
“Mr Patel, as a foriegner, are you offended by the story of the three little pigs?”
“I’m not a foriegner, you idiot, my grandfather was born in Leicester, I’m English!  And yes, I am offended by the three little pigs – it has a predictable plot line, weak characters and an unsurprising denouement.  Surely the wolf has every right to be annoyed by such shoddy workmanship?”

“But does the use of pigs in the story upset your religous values?”

“Look pal, don’t judge a book just by its cover, I’m not a foriegner and I’m not religious!  I’m an English Biology Professor from Imperial College London and I don’t believe in any religion, I believe in Natural Selection.”

“That’s the new Organic Range from Waitrose, isn’t it?  Does it do pork?”
“You are an idiot.  I must go now and burn some churches, Goodbye!”

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Mooody Cows

A Swedish university has received £300,000 in research funds to discover how much greenhouse gas is released when cows belch.

About 20 cows will participate in the project run by the Swedish University for Agricultural Sciences.   Project leader Jan Bertilsson said 95 per cent of the methane released by cows comes out through the mouth.

“It’s the other 5% I’m worried about,” said Heidi Ikea, the junior scientist who will actually run the experiment.  “It’s all very well for those Professors to make these plans, but it’s people like me who have to carry the load, and for no extra pay.  I’ll probably just get a warm pat on the back!”

“Frankly the whole scheme is an insult,” said Cow 253, “we don’t mind giving up a bucket of milk twice a day in return for food and lodgings, but I didn’t sign a contract to be a guinea pig.”

“You didn’t sign a contract at all, you’re a cow!” interjected Cow 189.

“Look 189, you’ve been nothing but moody lately, is it your time of the month?”

“I’m milk stock, it never seems to be my time of the month,” replied 189 sadly.

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War of Independence

The town’s traffic warden, ex-marine Drill Sergeant Hartman, has been on patrol again.  When I saw him yesterday, he was in discussion with Mrs. Ballvalve-Smythe, and he had a hand on her Mobility Scooter.

“‘S’cuse me ma’m but you don’t want to be leaving your buggy there now, do you?”

“If I didn’t want to leave my scooter there, I wouldn’t have left it there!”
She looked down her nose at Hartman by tilting her head back.
“Do I look like a fool to you, constable?”

Hartman realised he’d caught a fighter, but he wasn’t going to let her go, he’d faced Charlie on Hill 69, for God’s sake!
“I’m no ‘Constable’, ma’m!”

“Well, I agree you’re no oil painting.  Out of my way, young man, I need to buy cigars.”
“M’am you cannot pass until you park up your va – hear – cal in a correct and appropriate manner.”

“Constable, if you don’t get out of my way, you will regret it!”  She eyed him over the scooter in the same way that her grandfather had glared at the Zulus over the fences at Rorke’s Drift.Hartman instinctively moved his hand down to the place where his pistol once hung.
Unfortunately, Mrs Ballvalve-Smythe thought that he was stroking his groin and lashed out with her handbag.
“Stop, that this instant!  Help!  Help!  Pervert!”

Hartman caught by surprise, didn’t bother trying to duck, after all – how hard a blow could be delivered by a little old lady’s handbag?
Well, pretty hard actually, if she carries two half kilo glass jars of pickled onions in it.
The force sent Hartman reeling backwards, across the service road and into the town’s ornamental fountain. 

Two teen aged boys sitting on the fountain surround, puffed pot smoke from within their hoodies and watched the scene with idle interest as Hartmann surfaced and swam towards them.  His manic eyes peered from beneath some waterweed that dangled from the flat of his head, as if he was recreating ‘Apocalypse Now’.

“You can take the man out of the Marines, but you can’t take the Marine out of the man,” sniggered Jason to Matt.
“It’s the meeting of two great civilisations, dude.  ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ versus ‘Jarhead’.”

Float

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Breast study

A new piece of research could spare women from pain from their bras while exercising.

Deranged scientists have been studying women and their associated breasts. Two women volunteers, one wearing a 36D bra and the other a 38DD, were instructed to walk on a treadmill at 4.3mph and then speed up to a jog of 6.2mph in front of a crowded viewing room.

“What do you scientists hope to gain from this?” asked our reporter.
“We’re not scientists mate, we’ve paid good money for these seats!” said a milkman from Swanage. “The scientist is that nerdy bloke over there.” 

 “A consequence of current bra design is that the brassiere straps bear much of the load generated by breast momentum during physical activity,” said the nerd.

“As breast mass increases, breast bounce momentum also increases, placing large loads on the straps and, in turn, excessive pressure on the wearer’s shoulders.”

“Can you actually construct a sentence without the word ‘breast’ in it?” asked our bemused journalist.
“There’s nothing wrong with a healthy interest in women’s breasts.”

“See, you just did it again.”
“Breast.”

“You can’t, can you?”
“Breast, breast. Breast.”

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Horse trading

The Food Standards Authority has found that beef burgers sold by Tesco, Lidl, Aldi and others contain up to 29% horsemeat.

“That’s a huge surprise for us,” stated a Lidl spokesman, “we thought our burgers were 90% sawdust and newspaper.”

“We want to appear to care,” said a Tesco’s demi-god, “but we will sue anybody who suggests our ‘every little helps’ slogan is referring to the beef in our burgers.”

Later in the day further concerns were raised when burgers containing 100% horsemeat were found. The all clear was given once it became clear that the burgers were sold by a French supermarket chain under the brand name “Une bouchee de Cheval” with the marketing slogan “Get A Bit Between the Teeth”.

“Ze Engleesh, they make me laff,” sneered a passing French stereotype, “Zey eat ze pigs and za eels, but they get sniffy with ze cheval.”
Shortly afterwards he drowned in a vat of cold chicken fat whilst trying to avoid a runaway abattoir lorry. It’s along and ironic story that we will save for another news bereft day.

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Eating on the job

The ‘hero’ pilot of the Boeing 777 that crashed at Heathrow airport celebrated the safe landing with a curry, it emerged today.

Well that would explain why he crashed then, he probably caught his sleeve on one of those levers when he was reaching for the naan bread.

See, me, I’m not allowed to eat at work in case I spill something into my keyboard, annoy my colleagues and clients or, worse still, actually enjoy myself.
An occasional curry whilst I’m stacking the shelves or a chicken leg when I’m unblocking the toilets would be most welcome and add variety to an otherwise tedious day.

I bet that bloke who runs the country doesn’t get by on a cup of tea and a digestive.  You know the one, stocky, wears a suit, always on the tele, I think he’s Welsh or Scottish.  Gordon something.  Always shouting.
Ramsay – that’s it!
I bet they don’t stop Gordon bloody Ramsay eating on the job.

What would stop me wanting to eat at work would be if I had a job at McBurger or KFC (Killing Feathered Creatures).

Dinner

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