Thursday, July 21, 2005
Weak In English
In the days when you couldn't count on a public
toilet facility, an English woman was planning
a trip to India. She was registered to stay in
a small guest house owned by the local
schoolmaster.
She was concerned as to whether the guest house
contained a WC. In England, a bathroom is commonly
called a WC which stands for "Water Closet". She
wrote to the schoolmaster inquiring of the
facilities about the WC.
The school master, not fluent in English, asked the
local priest if he knew the meaning of WC. Together
they pondered possible meanings of the letters and
concluded that the lady wanted to know if there was
a "Wayside Chapel" near the house . . . a bathroom
never entered their minds.
So the schoolmaster wrote the following reply:
Dear Madam,
I take great pleasure in informing you that the WC
is located 9 miles from the house. It is located in
the middle of a grove of pine trees, surrounded by
lovely grounds. It is capable of holding 229 people
and is open on Sundays and Thursdays. As there are
many people expected in the summer months, I
suggest
you arrive early. There is, however, plenty of
standing room. This is an unfortunate situation
especially if you are in the habit of going
regularly.
It may be of some interest to you that my daughter
was married in the WC as it was there that she met
her husband. It was a wonderful event.
There were 10 people in every seat. It was
wonderful
to see the expressions on their faces. We can take
photos in different angle. My wife, sadly, has been
ill and unable to go recently. It has been almost!
a year since she went last, which pains her greatly.
You will be pleased to know that many people bring
their lunch and make a day of it. Others prefer to
wait till the last minute and arrive just in time.
I would recommend your ladyship plan to go on a
Thursday as there is an organ accompaniment. The
acoustics are excellent and even the most delicate
sounds can be heard everywhere.
The newest addition is a bell which rings every
time a person enters. We are holding a bazaar to
provide plush seats for all since many feel it is long
needed.
I look forward to escorting you there myself and
eating you in a place where you can be seen by all.
With deepest regards,
The Schoolmaster
The Woman fainted reading the reply........ and she
never visited India!!!!
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Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Side effects of alcohol ... and remedies!!!
1. Symptom: Cold and humid feet.
Cause: Glass is being held at incorrect angle (You are pouring the drink on your feet).
Cure: Maneuver glass until open end is facing upward
2. Symptom: The wall facing you is full of lights.
Cause: You're lying on the floor.
Cure: Position your body at a 90-degree angle to the floor.
3. Symptom: The floor looks blurry.
Cause: You're looking through an empty glass.
Cure: Quickly refill with your favorite beverage.
4. Symptom: The floor is moving.
Cause: You're being dragged away.
Cure: At least ask where they're taking you.
5. Symptom: You hear echoes every time someone speaks.
Cause: You have your glass on your ear.
Cure: Stop making a fool of yourself!
6. Symptom: The room is shaking a lot, everyone is dressed in white and the music is very repetitive.
Cause: You're in an ambulance.
Cure: Don't move. Let the professionals do their job.
7. Symptom: Your dad and all your brothers are looking at you funny.
Cause: You're in the wrong house.
Cure: Ask if they can point you to your house.
__________________________________________________
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Saturday, July 09, 2005
Smart Smuggler
A sardarji comes up to the Pakistan border on his bike. He's got two large bags over his shoulders.
The guard Iqbal stops him and says, 'What's in the bags?'
'Sand,' answered the Sardarji.
Iqbal says, 'We'll just see about that. Get off the bike.' Iqbal's guard takes the bags and rips them apart, he empties them out and finds nothing in them but sand. He detains the sardarji all night and has the sand analyzed, only to discover that there is nothing but pure sand in the bags. Iqbal releases the sardaji, puts the sand into new bags, lefts them onto the sardarji's shoulders, and lets him cross the border.
A week later, the same thing happens. Iqbal asks, 'What have you got?'
'Sand,' says the Sardarji.
Iqbal does his thorough examination and discovers that the bags contain nothing but sand. He gives the sand back to the Sardar, and crosses the border on his bike.
This sequence of events is repeated every day for three years. Finally, the Sardarji, doesn't show up one day and the guard, Iqbal, meets him in a 'Dhaba' (Highway Restaurant) in Islamabad.
'Hey, Buddy,' says Iqbal, 'I know you are smuggling something. It's driving me crazy. It's all I think about...I can't sleep. Just between you and me, what are you smuggling?'
The Sardaji, sips his Lassi (Curd) and says, 'Bikes'
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