Doon frae Troon
Ryder Cup Winner
Hailstones I think.
Sorry.
Laughter - the best medicine
- Thread starter YandaB
- Start date
Sorry.
Imurg
The Grinder Of Pars (Semi Crocked)
D
Deleted member 23270
Guest
Someone that isn't an MP being appointed to the post of Foreign Secretary 
Imurg
The Grinder Of Pars (Semi Crocked)
Norrin Radd
Tour Winner
CAN THE ADMINS ON THIS SITE PLEASE TAKE NOTE
THERE'S A NEW MALE MEMBER ON THE Forum WHO IS SENDING N K D PHOTOS OF HIS PRIVATE PARTS IN CLOSE UP VIA PRIVATE MESSAGE.
HE STATES THAT FOR SEXUAL PLEASURES GIVEN HE WILL SEND A BRAND NEW IPHONE 10
UNFORTUNATELY THE PHONE IS AN IPHONE 8 ,IT IS VERY SLOW AND THE CAPS LOCK IS PERMANENTLY ON
THERE'S A NEW MALE MEMBER ON THE Forum WHO IS SENDING N K D PHOTOS OF HIS PRIVATE PARTS IN CLOSE UP VIA PRIVATE MESSAGE.
HE STATES THAT FOR SEXUAL PLEASURES GIVEN HE WILL SEND A BRAND NEW IPHONE 10
UNFORTUNATELY THE PHONE IS AN IPHONE 8 ,IT IS VERY SLOW AND THE CAPS LOCK IS PERMANENTLY ON
Slime
Tour Winner
Slime
Tour Winner
Imurg
The Grinder Of Pars (Semi Crocked)
Slime
Tour Winner
One crisp winter morning in Sweden, a cute little girl named Greta woke up to a perfect world, one where there were no petroleum products ruining the earth. She tossed aside her cotton sheet and wool blanket and stepped out onto a dirt floor covered with willow bark that had been pulverized with rocks. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Pulverized willow bark,” replied her fairy godmother.
“What happened to the carpet?” she asked.
“The carpet was nylon, which is made from butadiene and hydrogen cyanide, both made from petroleum,” came the response.
Greta smiled, acknowledging that adjustments are necessary to save the planet, and moved to the sink to brush her teeth where instead of a toothbrush, she found a willow, mangled on one end to expose wood fibre bristles.
“Your old toothbrush?” noted her godmother, “Also nylon.”
“Where’s the water?” asked Greta.
“Down the road in the canal,” replied her godmother, ‘Just make sure you avoid water with cholera in it”
“Why’s there no running water?” Greta asked, becoming a little peevish.
“Well,” said her godmother, who happened to teach engineering at MIT, “Where do we begin?” There followed a long monologue about how sink valves need elastomer seats and how copper pipes contain copper, which has to be mined and how it’s impossible to make all-electric earth-moving equipment with no gear lubrication or tires and how ore has to be smelted to a make metal, and that’s tough to do with only electricity as a source of heat, and even if you use only electricity, the wires need insulation, which is petroleum-based, and though most of Sweden’s energy is produced in an environmentally friendly way because of hydro and nuclear, if you do a mass and energy balance around the whole system, you still need lots of petroleum products like lubricants and nylon and rubber for tires and asphalt for filling potholes and wax and iPhone plastic and elastic to hold your underwear up while operating a copper smelting furnace and . . .
“What’s for breakfast?” interjected Greta, whose head was hurting.
"Fresh, range-fed chicken eggs,” replied her godmother. “Raw.”
“How so, raw?” inquired Greta.
“Well, . . .” And once again, Greta was told about the need for petroleum products like transformer oil and scores of petroleum products essential for producing metals for frying pans and in the end was educated about how you can’t have a petroleum-free world and then cook eggs. Unless you rip your front fence up and start a fire and carefully cook your egg in an orange peel like you do in Boy Scouts. Not that you can find oranges in Sweden anymore.
“But I want poached eggs like my Aunt Tilda makes,” lamented Greta.
“Tilda died this morning,” the godmother explained. “Bacterial pneumonia.”
“What?!” interjected Greta. “No one dies of bacterial pneumonia! We have penicillin.”
“Not anymore,” explained godmother “The production of penicillin requires chemical extraction using isobutyl acetate, which, if you know your organic chemistry, is petroleum-based. Lots of people are dying, which is problematic because there’s not any easy way of disposing of the bodies since backhoes need hydraulic oil and crematoriums can’t really burn many bodies using as fuel Swedish fences and furniture, which are rapidly disappearing - being used on the black market for roasting eggs and staying warm.”
This represents only a fraction of Greta’s day, a day without microphones to exclaim into and a day without much food, and a day without carbon-fibre boats to sail in, but a day that will save the planet.
Tune in tomorrow when Greta needs a root canal and learns how Novocain is synthesized.
“Pulverized willow bark,” replied her fairy godmother.
“What happened to the carpet?” she asked.
“The carpet was nylon, which is made from butadiene and hydrogen cyanide, both made from petroleum,” came the response.
Greta smiled, acknowledging that adjustments are necessary to save the planet, and moved to the sink to brush her teeth where instead of a toothbrush, she found a willow, mangled on one end to expose wood fibre bristles.
“Your old toothbrush?” noted her godmother, “Also nylon.”
“Where’s the water?” asked Greta.
“Down the road in the canal,” replied her godmother, ‘Just make sure you avoid water with cholera in it”
“Why’s there no running water?” Greta asked, becoming a little peevish.
“Well,” said her godmother, who happened to teach engineering at MIT, “Where do we begin?” There followed a long monologue about how sink valves need elastomer seats and how copper pipes contain copper, which has to be mined and how it’s impossible to make all-electric earth-moving equipment with no gear lubrication or tires and how ore has to be smelted to a make metal, and that’s tough to do with only electricity as a source of heat, and even if you use only electricity, the wires need insulation, which is petroleum-based, and though most of Sweden’s energy is produced in an environmentally friendly way because of hydro and nuclear, if you do a mass and energy balance around the whole system, you still need lots of petroleum products like lubricants and nylon and rubber for tires and asphalt for filling potholes and wax and iPhone plastic and elastic to hold your underwear up while operating a copper smelting furnace and . . .
“What’s for breakfast?” interjected Greta, whose head was hurting.
"Fresh, range-fed chicken eggs,” replied her godmother. “Raw.”
“How so, raw?” inquired Greta.
“Well, . . .” And once again, Greta was told about the need for petroleum products like transformer oil and scores of petroleum products essential for producing metals for frying pans and in the end was educated about how you can’t have a petroleum-free world and then cook eggs. Unless you rip your front fence up and start a fire and carefully cook your egg in an orange peel like you do in Boy Scouts. Not that you can find oranges in Sweden anymore.
“But I want poached eggs like my Aunt Tilda makes,” lamented Greta.
“Tilda died this morning,” the godmother explained. “Bacterial pneumonia.”
“What?!” interjected Greta. “No one dies of bacterial pneumonia! We have penicillin.”
“Not anymore,” explained godmother “The production of penicillin requires chemical extraction using isobutyl acetate, which, if you know your organic chemistry, is petroleum-based. Lots of people are dying, which is problematic because there’s not any easy way of disposing of the bodies since backhoes need hydraulic oil and crematoriums can’t really burn many bodies using as fuel Swedish fences and furniture, which are rapidly disappearing - being used on the black market for roasting eggs and staying warm.”
This represents only a fraction of Greta’s day, a day without microphones to exclaim into and a day without much food, and a day without carbon-fibre boats to sail in, but a day that will save the planet.
Tune in tomorrow when Greta needs a root canal and learns how Novocain is synthesized.
RichA
Well-known member
Are we laughing at the young woman who wants to save the planet or the old man that wasted a couple of hours of his life writing this to try and to make her look like the obsessed nutter?
spongebob59
Journeyman Pro
These star wars pictures are brilliant, where do they come from, is there a book of these
Voyager EMH
Slipper Wearing Plucker of Pheasants
STAR WARS !!!!! ?????These star wars pictures are brilliant, where do they come from, is there a book of these
clubchamp98
Journeyman Pro
Not a Trekki then.These star wars pictures are brilliant, where do they come from, is there a book of these
spongebob59
Journeyman Pro
Hands up to this one, fingers not in synch with brain. 
Slime
Tour Winner
Oh dear.
Voyager EMH
Slipper Wearing Plucker of Pheasants
This may be a case of ataxia.Hands up to this one, fingers not in synch with brain.
Please see your health care provider for a full diagnosis.
NearHull
Well-known member
If I were a member of the gramma cops, I would point out the incorrect positioning of the apostrophe for “Mr Been in’t Wars”. It should be written ”Mr Been in t’wars”. But I’m not, so I won’t.
yours sincerely
guest Yorkshireman
Voyager EMH
Slipper Wearing Plucker of Pheasants
And I saw "dint" had no apostrophe when it perhaps needs two as in "did not" becomes "di'n't".
(Wakefield 1967 - 71)
I was going to let this go, but you inspired me to incur the inevitable wrath of the anti-grammar-police-police.
Slime
Tour Winner
There was a man who worked for the Post Office whose job was to process all the mail with illegible addresses…
One day, a letter came addressed in shaky handwriting to God with no actual address. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. The letter read:“Dear God,
I am an 83-year-old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had £100 in it, which was all the money I had until my next pension payment. Next Sunday is Christmas, and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with, have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?
Sincerely, Edna”
The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected £96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman.
The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends. Christmas came and went. A few days later, another letter came from the same old lady to God.
All the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:
“Dear God,
How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me? Because of your gift of love, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends about your wonderful gift. By the way, there was £4 missing. I think it might have been those b******s at the post office.
