The Open Wound

A letter written by Oliver Cromwell in 1642 has been unearthed in a council office.

An Essex council spokesman said: “In the letter, dated March 1642, Cromwell recommends a Captain Dodsworth for promotion.  Unfortunately, the letter was put in our ‘Pending’ tray by a 17th Century Council administrator and one of his successors has only just got to it.”

Other letters the council have just got around to opening include a note from Farriner’s Bakers in Pudding Lane, London dated 4 September 1666 stating, “I think I’ve left the oven on, please check,” and a 1939 letter from a Mister Adolph Hitler saying “Sorry about the bad feeling, let’s stop now before things get out of hand.”

A black, iron machine about the size of a single bed stands in the middle of the Dragons Den.  The latest contender climbs the stairs and turns to the four Dragons.

“Hello, I’m Joe Punter and I’m here to get funding for my new business machine.”

The Dragons look disinterested.  Duncan yawns without covering his mouth.  Peter is scratching a stain from his trouser front.  Theo, curled like a snake in his chair, snores softly.  Deborah is examining her nails but she looks up briefly to say;

“Go on then Joe; show us how the bloody thing works.”

“It’s easy.  You put a big piece of rope in this end, turn this handle and money comes out the other end.”

A shower of £50 notes falls onto the floor of the den.

The Dragons go into freeze frame, like cats spotting a mouse.

“My name’s Duncan Bannatyne, and I’m going to tell you where I’m coming from,” says Duncan Bannatyne.  “Your machine is crap, your business plan is weak and I don’t like your tie.  But I’ve been around the block a few times, I’ve had my share of ups and downs and I recognise a gullible punter when I see one.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“So I’m going to offer you twenty five pounds for twenty five percent of your business and I think the other Dragons will come in on the same basis.”

The other Dragons nod eagerly.

 “I should just warn you about one thing,” says Joe.

“Go on,” says Duncan, warily.

“The process is illegal and will put a lot of families on the bread line.  Most of your employees will be made redundant.  You’ll just have to keep one person to operate the machine.”

“Thank God for that,” says Duncan “For a horrible moment I thought I was going to have to turn that handle myself!”  

             

A man who was taken to hospital after being hit by a train had been knocked down by a car just a few minutes earlier.  Lewis, from Glasgow, Scotland, was hit by the train whilst walking his bicycle across a railroad bridge.  The driver of the train was distracted by a speeding fire engine and so failed to see him.

“I was walking my bicycle because I’d just been knocked off it by the explosion caused by my house being struck by lighting,” said accident prone Lewis.

“The car that hit me earlier was being driven by my doctor who was coming to my house to tell me that some recent medical tests had discovered a tumor in my chest.  His car hit me because I ran into the road to rescue my cat from under a speeding fire engine.

Ironically, the blow from the train seems to have dislodged the tumor in my chest and I’m now fully recovered.  Apart from the broken legs, of course.  And the hip.”

Later in the day Firemen reported that the cat was dead but they had managed to rescue his wife from the ruined house.

“Bloody Hell!  That’s bad luck!” said Lewis.

        

A ‘mind reading’ airport security scanner that screens people, rather than their bags, is being tested.   The Malintent system searches the body for non-verbal cues that predict whether people intend to hurt fellow passengers.

Unfortunately, a prototype at London airport exploded when Simon Cowell walked into view of the passengers testing it.

“There’s a very fine line between love and hate,” said a spokesman, “I expect the Mind Machine couldn’t handle the output of love our guinea-pigs were sending to Simon.”

“I don’t mind what you morons are talking about and I don’t mind what you think,” laughed Simon on the way to his bank.

              

In “cybersquatting”, likely web addresses are bought cheaply in the hope of one day selling to the businesses involved. Domain names for the take over of Lehmann Brothers by Barclays are an example with barclayslehman.com already taken.

In case Tescos take over Specsavers I have purchased Testacles.co.uk.  Unfortunately, the merger of High street concerns Dicksons and Poundstretchers has been foreseen as DickStretchers.org is already reserved.

Soccer clubs Arsenal and Hull City may merge one day, but I’m tired now, and the nurses have just arrived to take me back to The Home, so you can finish that one yourself.

             

On International ‘Talk Like a Pirate Day’ this year (September 19th), not only can you talk like a pirate but you can dress, act and live like a pirate too in the first ever London Pirate Festival.

Similar events are being held all around the world, except in the Turks and Caicos Islands as the residents there actually are Pirates.  Instead, they have a ‘Talk Like Keira Knightley Day’.

Men, women and children of all ages dash around the streets in diaphanous, pink, 18th Century dresses, fluttering fans and brandishing flintlock pistols.

“Captain Barbossa, I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal,” gasps a five year old girl in breathy English, clutching at her heaving bosom.

A twenty stone, forty-year-old man called Jake breathes huskily,

“You like pain?  Try wearing a corset!” 

“I think it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate!” replies his seventy-year old father as he blushes coyly behind his fan.

By the end of the event, the entire population is dizzy from lack of oxygen caused by too many ‘romantic breathy’ Knightley quotes. 

They all go to a beach bar and get smashed on Rum, which they drink from half coconuts.  They have little skull and cross bone flags on cocktail sticks with which they impale grilled garlic prawns from the barbecue.  As the sun sinks into the sea, they dance on the warm sand and wonder how the first ever Pirate Festival in London turned out.

Meanwhile, on London’s Southbank the wind and rain lash at a group of miserable sodden people dressed in pirate outfits.

“First ever and Last bloody Pirate Festival,” mutters a sulky banker from Chelsea, as he hurls his cardboard cutlass into the Thames.

                 

Why do some people play annoying, loud music out of their cars?

The Open Wound sent a reporter to find out.

“Excuse me young man, I wanted to ask you why you play loud, bass music from your car as you drive through the town centre?”

 “Iss coz the punters they love it, dude.  Ain’t it.”

“You think people like it?”

“Yeah.  The peoples on the street.  They findz us musik cool!”

“And can you tell me how you know that?”

“Everybody tellz me so.  I knows all the folkz around this ghetto.  I iz a local boy.  What uvva questions you got?  In it.”

“I have three more questions;
Why are you speaking Jamaican when you were born in Middlesex?

Why are you wearing pyjamas and a baseball cap whilst driving your car?

And why, oh why would you think that anybody other than a brain dead moron would want to hear that awful bloody noise that you blast out of your Batmobile?”

“Oooh…you iz soooo old, man!  You are uncool!  And furthermore, you iz going to get cut by my ringz when I gets out uv this vehicle and wails on your face!”

“So, why aren’t you getting out of your vehicle?”

“I appear to have got my speaker cables tangled up with the tie cord of my pyjamas, I mean, cutting edge street wear.  I think I’m losing the circulation to my groin.  Can you help me out, man?”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.  I’ve got to go now before my ears start bleeding.”

              

Many parents would like school reports on their children’s performance texted or e-mailed, a survey says.  68% of parents said they wanted schools to use such technologies to keep them up to date more frequently.  32% said they cba and stfu.

Here is my son’s latest report :

Dere Dr Pete

Ur kd is sht @ Inglsh. Lol.

Maffs cld b imprvd.

At 10 dans. Paw.

Rofl.

C u l8r

Mstr Henderson

J

I don’t know what they’re teaching those kids at that bloody school; everybody knows it should be ‘a 10 dunce’!

                 

Earlier today boffins attempted to attain everlasting fame and Nobel Prizes by starting up the Large Hagridden Colander.  The Colander is approximately 27 kilometres across, which means you can strain a lot of peas but it’s a struggle to fit it in your kitchen cupboard.  Its primary purpose however, is to find Higgs Bison.

In fact, all they had to do was ask me, or anybody who’s been to Whipsnade Zoo.  Higgs Bison are not hard to find, walk past the Penguins and follow the foul smell until you get to the restaurant.  You can see a whole herd of them from there.

Meanwhile, back inside the Colander there’s a terrific explosion and a flash of blinding light.  The doors to the laboratory crash open and the boffins stagger out into the daylight. 

“What happened?  What did you see?” the newspapermen clamour.

“I saw only bright light but I heard the voice of The King,” whispers the first scientist.

“You heard the Word of God!?”

“No, I heard Elvis singing ‘Love Me Tender’,” replies the scientist.

His colleague wipes tears from his cheeks; “It was wonderful, I heard Bach, ‘The Third Brandenburg Concerto’,” he cries.

“The first thirty seconds of ‘Pretty Vacant’ by the Sex Pistols,” says a third.

“Mozart.”

“Van Halen.”

And so it goes on.  All who were present for the experiment have heard a different piece of music, the piece that ties them to the unheard music of the unseen substance of the Universe.

We asked Professor Stephen Hawkins what it all means.

“It don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that swing, doo-wop da doo-wop da do!” he explained. “Doo wop da doo wop da do…please help me..da doo wop…my voice box seems to be…da woo da wop ….”

      

Rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia has proved to be a booming business in recent years, according to the BBC’s business correspondent Martin Shankleman.

For example; the scratched and charred Fender Stratocaster guitar, set alight by Jimi Hendrix in March 1967 is to go under the hammer at auction. 

‘Go under the hammer’?  Jeez hasn’t that instrument suffered enough?

Surely, it’s time the poor thing was cremated properly and sent to join Jimi (wherever he ended up).  They could make themselves useful and burn everything ever played or written by Chris de Burgh while they’re at it.

In a similar move, I am auctioning the 500ml can of McEwan’s Ale that was hurled into the audience at a Boomtown Rats concert in Hemel Hempstead in 1978.  Still visible in the side of the can is the dent caused by my forehead.

Originally costing around £1 the price expected at auction could be as high as £1.75.

Sotheby’s expert Delvina Attick examined the object.

“It appears to be an old tin of beer.  Do you want me to open it for you, you poor, smelly, alcoholic, old man?” she asked, sympathetically.

Shit!  I am rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia!

             

TV Celebrity chef, Ainsley Harriott caused switchboard meltdown for the BBC yesterday during a live broadcast of “Ready, steady, cook!”

During the “Phone in with Your Own Recipes”, section of the programme fellow chef Anthony Worrall Thompson bent to retrieve some fallen cutlery. 

At the same moment Ainsley, who was standing behind him, brandished a large Egg Plant at the camera and asked the television viewers “Can anybody tell me what to do with this?”

“The flood of telephone calls and emails telling Big Ains what he could do with that Aubergine wiped out our systems,” said distraught producer Ben Dankisset.

“Unfortunately Ainsley made things worse with his catchphrase ‘What am I like?’ which prompted another influx of suggestions.”

Winner of the competition was Mrs N Lawson from London who suggested something, that although physically impossible, moved the judges to tears by its simplicity and significance.

                  

“Hello Pooh,” said Eeyore, “What brings you to this wind-swept part of the country.  I expect you were going to see Rabbit and bumped into me by accident.”

“No, Eeyore, I came to see you.”

“Yes, you would say that, wouldn’t you?  But I know how things work.”

“That is why I came to see you Eeyore, because you know things.”

“Well, seeing as you stumbled across me, how can I help you, Pooh?”

“It’s this new Secondary School Diploma, I don’t know whether to choose that or to stick to the standard GCSE choice.”

“Ha!” said Eeyore, and then he said it again.  Twice.  “Ha, Ha!”

“The first five Diplomas start being taught in September 2008 in the employment sectors of creative and media, information technology, health and social care, construction and the built environment and engineering,” Eeyore continued.  “They are supposed to offer opportunities to the clever, like me, and the not-so-clever, like you.”

“But are they any good?” asked Pooh, rubbing his behind where he had just sat on one of Eeyore’s thistles.

“They will become the Qualification of Choice according to one Government Minister, whose name I forget.”

“I think that’s Balls,” said Pooh.

“Yes, so do I Pooh.  So do I.”

Eeyore chewed thoughtfully on a rather prickly leaf.

“Anyway, the point is that Diplomas have a ‘workplace slant’ so that a Bear With Very Little Brain would find it easier to find employment whilst a More Intelligent Individual would still be able to use it to get into University.”

“And would they help me get into the House Building Industry?” asked Pooh, hopefully.

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“Is that because they really aren’t that good, Eeyore?”

“No Pooh, it’s because there’s no bloody housing industry,” said Eeyore, gloomily.

The last witch beheaded in Europe has been absolved as a victim of “judicial murder” more than 200 years after her death. The parliament of the Swiss canton of Glarus decided unanimously to clear the name of Anna Goeldi, who was executed in 1782 for an alleged case of poisoning.

“I always said I wasn’t a witch,” said 248-year-old Anna.  “Now if I can just have my head back I’ll be leaving.  The parking charges on my broomstick must be unbelievable by now.”

Bollywood producers set to release a film called Hari Puttar: A Comedy Of Terrors are working to fend off a lawsuit filed by Warner Bros that claims the movie title is too close to their boy wizard franchise.  But the Bollywood producers say that the story of Hari Puttar bears no relation to the wizard Harry Potter.

“Ours is the unique, original story of a boy who lives at magic school with his pet owl Edfig,” said script writer AJ Rolling.  “We’re hoping that we can persuade famous Indian comedy actor Bobbie Coaltrain to play the part of school caretaker Bhagrid.”

“Hollywood is obsessed with the ridiculous idea that we are out to copy them,” said veteran film director Balt Wisnai.  “I had a similar problem with my last cartoon film ‘Omah Simpsum’.

                                   

There was consternation at the 6^th World Tango Championships in Buenos Aires yesterday when organisers discovered that 801 individual dancers from 23 countries had entered the event.

 “How can we proceed with an odd number of contestants?” said chief judge Nysta Seeya, “Rule 25a clearly states that it takes two to Tango!”

Researchers across the world searched to find a way to avoid Rule 25a so that the Championships could continue.

“It takes two to Tango today, it will take two to Tango tomorrow, and (according to our records) it has always taken two,” said Pope Benedict XVI.  “Why do you think there were twelve disciples for God’s sake?”

“He’s correct,” stated the Dali Lama, “our Universe is built on four basic concepts, one of which is that a number of persons that is more than ‘one’ but less than ‘three’ must perform the dance known as ‘Tango’.

“Two there must be, before dance it you can,” said Yoda as at Ticket Refunds he queued.

                  

The Speakmans are two of about 700 registered life coaches practising in Britain today.  

They also happen to be a wild and eccentric couple who live in a vast 13th Century mansion in Rochdale.

Their clients, who include footballers and famous faces, swear by the couple’s unconventional therapy methods such as throwing buckets of mud at their Grade II listed walls or using a famous time machine to take their clients to the future.

We sent a reporter to find out more.

“Yeah,” said a famous face, “throwing buckets of mud at those Grade II listed walls helped cure my phobias.”

“What did you fear?”

“Walls mostly.  Also mud.”

“And what do you think makes the Speakmans so wild and eccentric?”
“Well, they both have blonde highlights in their hair and they dance around a lot and wave their arms.”

“Anything else?”

“They don’t wear shoes indoors.”

“Pretty wild then?”

“Yeah.”

Our reporter found another celebrity sitting in the 13^th Century garden.

“Hello, famous face, why are you crying?  Did the life coaches break down your mental barriers thereby releasing a torrent of suppressed grief?”

“No, I’m crying because I’ve just seen their bloody invoice.” 

Next week: 
The Speakmans meet famous face “Charles” who leads an unfulfilled life dominated by his mother “Queenie” and his wife “Horsey”.  Charles discovers that it’s pretty wild and eccentric to smoke cannabis rather than talk to it.

                   

The Olympic Games are here again and at The Open Wound we’ve been excited by the Freestyle Doubles Comedy Routine event.

First introduced by Adolf Hitler in the 1936 Olympics and won that year by Americans Abbot and Costello with ‘Who’s on First?’ this event has never been won by a British doubles team.

This year the Chinese pairing of brothers How Hi and So Hi are the favourites.

An expectant hush descends as they march into the arena.

Can the home team snatch the Gold?

The brothers start.

“Did you watch the marathon race?” asks How Hi.
“I don’t know, you better ask Yu?”

“Ask who?”

“No, don’t ask Hew.  Ask Yu.”

“Ask me what?”

“How did Mei get involved?”

“You asked me the question!”

“Yu asked Mei what question?”

The crowd applaud, acknowledging the difficulty of the opening section.

“Look I’m just interested in who won!”
“I can understand that, she’s an attractive girl.”

“Who’s an attractive girl?”
“No, Hew’s her brother.  Hu Won is an attractive girl.”
 And so it goes on into the night.  Stars fall, comets collide, and the Earth continues on the arc that will eventually plunge it into the molten lava of Red Giant Star 352.  

Don’t worry, gentle reader, it will all be over before you can blink.

Scientists led by Dr Ben Whalley, at the University o f Reading have used cells from the brain of a rat foetus to control a robot and help it to navigate around its enclosure.

The Open Wound sent senior journalist, Tim Flapps, to investigate.

“Hello, Dr Whalley, we’ve come to see your experiment.”
“Sorry.  You can’t.”

“Are you denying the right of the Free Press because you’re scared of being labelled ‘Frankenstein’?”
“No, you can’t see the robot because it’s escaped.  It gnawed through its cage, chewed through the skirting board and is currently living in the wall space.”

“Is this a danger to public safety?”
“Don’t worry; our emergency response measures have been instigated. “

“Which are?”
“We’ve left a piece of Edam in a trap and our maintenance man is whacking the wall with a broom to drive it out.  If I was you, I’d get up on this table with me.  And tuck your trousers into your socks.”

                    

Eighty four year old Nigerian, Mohammed Bello Abubakar has 86 wives.

“I don’t go looking for them, they come to me,” said Mister Abubakar, “God did not say what the punishment should be for a man who has more than four wives.”

The Open Wound asked God that question.

“The crime is also the punishment,” said an unfathomable God, “Abubakar might pretend he’s 84 but I can tell you he’s only 36, he just looks 84.  Now stop bothering me, my Tesco home shopping’s just turned up and I have to check for ridiculous substitutions.”

                  

The new weekly documentary adventure series - featuring high-achieving British women taking on tough, physical jobs that have only ever been done by men - continues. In tonight’s second episode, three women travel to the wilds of British Columbia to join logging operations during the freezing Canadian winter.

It’s not long before Supervisor Tim Burr is having to help out.
“What’s wrong Tracey?”
“I think there’s something wrong with this saw, Tim, I’m only managing to cut one tree a day and everybody else is doing dozens.”
“Let me have a go, little lady.”
Tim takes a firm grip on the chain saw and pulls the starting cord twice so that it roars into life.
“Bloody hell! What’s that noise?” exclaims Tracey.
“That’s the motor, luv.”
“The saw’s got a motor?!”

Meanwhile, Anna is assisting Paul Ardar in the gloomy hold of one of the boats.
“Ok, Anna, get some grease on your hands and reach through that access hole towards me until you find the main piston.”
“But I can’t see what I’m doing Paul!”
“I know luv, but just stretch towards the sound of my voice until your hand touches the piston rod.”
“Ok, I’ll try. Oh, I think I’ve found it! I’ve got a good grip on it now. I’m working the grease into it. Are you ok, Paul? You’ve gone very quiet. Paul?”

Helen is packing her bags ready to leave.
“Why are you leaving Helen,” asks the TV Director, “is it just too tough for you?”
“I don’t mind the hard work and long hours,” she replies. “It’s the swearing, farting and sexual advances that I can’t put up with any longer!”
“But surely you’d expect that from a gang of isolated, uneducated men?”
“Yeah I would, but it’s Tracey and Anna doing it!”

Next week: The offside rule and slashing into a bucket from a standing position.

It’s this week’s World Premier Fashion Show and prima donna and top fashion guru, Lotta Fussenshyte is sitting in the best seat, surrounded by her entourage, watching the models pass on the catwalk just feet from her nose.
She’s an important woman. If she states that wearing your household pets is the latest fashion, a week later Prince Harry will be sporting Corgi fur trousers.

“Oh God, this is so tedious,” she neighs, as the skinny, bug eyed girls totter along like a herd of baby giraffes that have been dressed from Woolworths by an escaped mental patient.
“If only the designers could come up with something new rather than just turning the fashion from two years ago upside down and adding a handbag!”

Meanwhile, Harry Tranks, a local vagabond, thief and down-and-out has wandered through the back door of the theatre, via the kitchen and onto the stage. He’s managed to steal a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese which is tucked under one arm and over the other is draped a feather boa which he took from the dressing rooms.

Harry is soaked full of wine, cheap cider and lighter fluid so, as normal, he has no idea of where he is or what is going on. His clothes are torn and stained and one of his shoes is missing a heel, which makes him walk with the same alarming, jerky stride as the models.

Lotta spots him staggering towards her down the catwalk.
“Now this looks more interesting,” she purrs.

Harry chooses that moment to step on the end of the boa. He goes into a sideways spin and throws his hands out to stop his fall. The glass bowl makes a shining arc through the spotlights and delivers a trail of tomato-covered spaghetti that starts in the second row seats around Sting, splatters across the lap of Victoria Beckham and ends on the top of Lotta Fussenshytes dyed blonde head.

For a moment there’s complete silence, but then Lotta says; “Beautiful, just beautiful. I thought that fashion was dead but that display has reawakened long dormant feelings in my heart. This is what we shall all be wearing next Spring!”
The crowd goes wild.

And that explains my appearance this evening, darling.
I’m not drunk and I haven’t been fighting in the Italian restaurant. It’s a fashion thing.

Matt Damon has been named the Sexiest Man Alive by US magazine People
The magazine said it chose Matt Damon as the sexiest man of 2007 thanks to “his dedication to his family” and “his irresistible sense of humour.”

If that’s what it takes, I’ve definitely got it.
I’ve got a family. A wife and some kids.
And my sense of humour is great, you only have to ask Maureen the bar maid at my local pub. I’m down there every night making them laugh.
Last night Maureen was saying she was worried she was a bit overweight and I said, “You’re so fat that when you go to the cinema you sit next to everybody!”
She thought that was great. She was still laughing when she accidentally tripped me down the front steps on my way out.

Yeah, next year I’ll write to People magazine and nominate myself for Sexiest Man Alive.
Maureen said I’d be lucky to meet one out of three of those descriptions if I didn’t watch myself.
Fat cow.

The producers of TV’s ‘Countdown’ have been criticised for the ‘nasty’ way in which they have released long serving Carol Vorderman.

“This was dealt with in such an awful way,” a friend told BBC Radio 5 Live. “How below the belt.”
Vorderman, who is paid up to £1m for 225 episodes a year, was offered less than £100,000, according to her agent.

“Now Carol, please choose your nine letters.”
“I’ll have three vowels and six consonants, please.”

“Ok, you have ‘a’,’e’,’u’, two ‘d’s, two ‘n’s, an ‘r’ and a ‘t’. Your thirty seconds starts now.”

The clock counts down and Carol scribbles furiously on her paper and frowns at the results.
The thirty seconds is up.

“Right, what do you have, Carol?”
“I have a seven letter word; ‘daunted’,” says Carol.

“Ooooh, not quite good enough I’m afraid. We have nine letters; ‘redundant’.”
“Oh.”

“Never mind, Carol, perhaps you’ll do better in the Numbers Round. Let’s see what you can make from a ‘one’ and five ‘zeros’.”

                    

Trendy designer, Rachael Matthews, has sparked outrage with a set of knitting patterns to make woolly models of the world’s most evil dictators, for example; her Nazi design named Knitler.

A spokesman for the Jewish Network said: “You would hope people would have more sense than to take a cuddly Hitler into work.”

Yes, you would hope that, but then you’d hope that people would have more sense than to pierce so many rings and ornaments in their faces that they look like they’ve been caught in a jewellery factory explosion. Despite your hopes, they still do it.

It could be that other tyrants featured in knitting patterns are Iraqi monster Saddam Woolsein, Uganda’s brutal Knitty Amin and Cambodian dictator Purl Pot.

There are rumours that a range of celebrity knitted models may be on sale soon.

These may include singers Knitney Spears, Threadie Mercury and Knitney Houston, along with actor Brad Knit and his ex Jennifer Yarniston.
Or they may not.

The Open Wound has discovered that fearless German Shepherd dogs are being trained to jump from aircraft at 25,000ft wearing their own oxygen masks and strapped to special forces assault teams.
Once down in hostile terrain in Iraq or Afghanistan, the dogs will seek out insurgents’ hideouts with tiny cameras fixed to their heads. The cameras will beam live TV pictures back to the troops, warning of ambushes or showing enemy leaders’ locations.

The dogs were trained using the controversial Darwin Method that involved dropping them in batches from ever-increasing heights. Those that quickly learnt to pull the ripcord on the parachute survived to go on to the next part of the training.

The SAS have run extensive tests by parachuting the camera dogs into the nurses’ apartments at a local hospital.
“I’ve spent hours pouring over the footage we’ve had back,” said Sergeant Probe. “The nurses made it hard for me but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

There has been one unpleasant incident when an actual German shepherd was included in the program following an administrative error. He managed the parachute training, strapped to an SAS soldier, but was later rushed to hospital having consumed a tin of Cesar Senior (chicken and beef).

Sources report that the Taliban are already organising counter measures including electrifying lampposts, strapping land mines to cats and teaching small boys to throw sticks into fast rivers<

A koala that survived being hit by a car at 100 kph and dragged with his head jammed through the vehicle grill for 12 km has been dubbed Australia’s luckiest creature - despite being diagnosed with Chlamydia during his stay in animal hospital.

“Lucky” hung on during his ordeal with one arm and his trapped head until rescuers cut away the car’s mesh grill.

“Although Lucky was in shock, he quickly recovered,” said a hospital spokeswoman.

“I’ll say I was in bloody shock!” stated the furious koala.  “Chlamydia! 

And they called me Lucky!  Being hit by a car and dragged twelve kilometres to a hospital where they discover you’ve got a bad dose of the clap isn’t what I call bloody lucky!

‘Lucky’ is a bullet bouncing off the pendant you wear over your heart, or finding you’re the only harem eunuch who still has his nuts!”

Statistics show that the world’s angriest animal is the koala, a vice hidden by the animal’s ‘pretty’ looks.  Koalas often spontaneously combust due to a build up of unreleased rage and that is why Australia has so many bush fires.

Scientists think this pent up anger stems from the fact that although named ‘koala bears’ they are actually marsupials, which means they originate from the planet Mars, named after the God of War.

When the air began to run out on Mars the koalas left and came to earth, where they defeated the dinosaurs and took up residence in Australia, the place most like their home planet.

All the pieces come together eventually, you see?

           

                                   An enraged beast about to explode

A teenager who thought movement in her blouse was caused by her vibrating mobile phone found a bat curled up asleep in her bra.

She was sitting at her desk at work when she decided to investigate the strange movements in her underwear.

“I put my hand down my bra and pulled out a cuddly little bat.”

In a similar incident in my workplace today, I noticed a strange movement inside the front of my trousers that occurred every time the new secretary from Sales walked by my desk.  My first thought was that my mobile ‘phone was responding to some type of ‘blue-tooth’ device the long legged twenty-two year old must have secreted about her person.  Then I remembered that I didn’t own a mobile phone.

I decided to investigate the strange movements in my underwear.  Imagine my surprise when I opened the front of my trousers and scooped out a cuddly little mouse.  Quickly I grabbed the heavy-duty stapler from the desk and slammed it down onto the tiny creature before it could escape.

Later, laying in my hospital bed, I cursed my stupidity.

I had forgotten that most mice have two eyes and none of them wears small, red, German army helmets.

Kent Couch, of Oregon USA, rigged 150 giant balloons to a garden chair and took off, drifting 380km (235 miles) on his flying machine.
After nine hours in the air, the g­arage owner used a BB gun to pop enough balloons to land safely in a tiny town across the state border.

In a similar incident, Grandmother Wynne D’Sisted of Calais, France found herself floating across the English Channel on a garden sun lounger.

“My grandson, ee iz responsible, I fall asleep on ze garden chair, ee attaches the balloons and then I wake up to find I am a UFO.  At my age, it is too hideous an ordeal.  I will kill the petite merde!”

Don’t worry, gentle reader, the old French woman was returned to Calais the same day using a trebuchet at Dover Castle.  She will not be enjoying fine English cuisine and hospitality at the tax payers expense.

           

An episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show broke broadcasting rules after a guest swore on the programme, Ofcom has ruled.  During one episode of the ITV1 show, a Scottish man used the strongest anglo-saxon swear word but this was not edited out.