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Two Minute Truther

Big Brother is gay.

What Gyro was trying to say
Posted by Bathroom Hippo at 8:47 AM
8 Comments

Guess Who’s On The Two Minute’s Hate Today


It’s Snowball's fault.

See you in Room 101!

Posted by Gyrobo at 5:57 PM
13 Comments

Baloney and Hogwash!






I would like to take this opportunity to thank the formidable and terrible powers behind S.C.U.B.A. for allowing me to join this illustrious society. I promise to uphold the bylaws and protocols, whatever they may be. I have lost my glasses and am unable to read the reams of fine print on my contract. Ahem.

In other news, I must say, never in my entire 6 years of life, have I heard such balderdash. Such grandiosity! So many untruths, so little time.

I do not have the time nor the fortitude to address every factual error in our esteemed but obviously addled friend's retelling of how we met.

#1. I am indeed, a doctor and quite a good one at that. However, Rich did not require Cardio-thorasic surgery, or any other surgery for that matter.

#2. Purple was not present when we met. He was visiting family in Borneo.

#3. I met Rich at a rather sophisticated establishment in Thailand, where he was enjoying a professionally choreographed show. I refuse to say what I was doing there, except that it involved a dog and pony and monkey show, which is no longer running... due to some misadventure involving a chicken and some marbles. Ahem.

#4. The banana from which I saved Rich, did not lodge in his left ventricle, or any other ventricle for that matter. Said banana was already peeled before it began its ignominious flight towards our braggart friend. For reasons still unclear to me, Rich's mouth was ajar. Actually, it was hanging open, but let's not quibble over syntax.

The naked banana, having been propelled from an orifice not intentionally designed for bananas, hurled itself into Rich's gaping maw. He immediately began to choke and sputter and wave his arms around, (thus knocking unconscious several waitresses, but I digress...).

Fortunately, I was able to swing gracefully through the crowded room, until I landed ever so gently and adroitly on Rich's shoulder. I dislodged said banana and promptly disposed of it.

Thus ends the tale.

I hope you will all forgive Rich for his outlandish and brash fashioning of the story. After all, it's all water under the bridge. Spilled milk, etc. etc. Thank you for your time.


Your friend and colleague,
Monkey

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Posted by Monkey at 1:48 PM
12 Comments

How I met our new member, Monkey...

...or Cardio-thorasic surgery on a budget.

I couldn’t remember why there was the gentle flap of the pilot chute against the silk above me but after re-reading Part 1 I was, with relative ease, able to pick out the lights of the village below me and, angled against the wind to minimise drift, landed safely on an open stretch of river sand at the village edge.

You could tell at once the Bovine Bombardment had found it’s unintentional mark. There was something very wrong in this village. There were flattened huts and burger mince everywhere. Where these two factors had combined to knock over some late burning kerosene lamp a barbeque several metres in diameter had explosively been born into existence. I could imagine the fact I’d forgotten to bring beer and some type of salad would make this the most awkward BBQ of my life.


Artist rendering of what the village looked like

The locals already seemed to be building up an angry head of steam as somewhere beyond the pall of beef scented smoke and angry foreign sounding chant had begun;

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto,
Mata ah-oo hima de
Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto,
Himitsu wo shiri tai

You're wondering who I am-machine or mannequin
With parts made in Japan, I am the modern man

I've got a secret I've been hiding under my skin
My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain I.B.M.
Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo
Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto

Although I couldn’t understand the ancient chant I soon discovered the reason behind its obvious anger. There besides the river was a giant stone Olmec-like god and where it’s head was supposed to look sanguinely down upon his adherents there was the semi-intact body of a bull.


Head cows later became ceremonial dress

A high priestess quickly broke off the lament to her God and turned angrily towards me, ‘No, No, meata forjin! Veeh gan, Veeh gan! Meata est murh durrrr! No, murh durrrr forjin!’ Although I couldn’t grasp this strange insensible dialect that would one day become renowned for it’s use by the most annoying Star Wars character in existence, I knew that I was going to be blamed for befouling their giant god.

I quickly went into a lengthy description of aircraft maintenance schedules, more in the hope of putting this savage priestess to sleep rather than to explain myself. But by the time I had been able to describe everything from the heady adventure of two brothers at Kitty Hawk up until the general space requirements of a D Check on a C-130 Hercules, I could tell that she was in no mood for my excuses.

She shouted towards the moonlight sky, ‘Baydi powaa of greyskull, smyyyte dis Deckhead!’ and as though some magical incantation had been uttered, above the bull befouled demi-god a rent appeared in space and hovering within it's depths was a strange severed head being interviewed by what could only be described as some sort of large strangely coloured African animal in a explorers uniform. As the severed head intoned the ancient curse, ‘Buymyceedee!’ I felt the eyes of the African Spirit penetrate my soul where it found my greatest weakness. I fell to my knees, ‘But that was a secret’ I whispered, ‘how could you know that?’


The Wright Bros also angered the fates
by flying over an Olmec God at Kitty Hawk.


In that moment my greatest fear was realised as a banana, the only thing to which I was allergic, fell from the rent in space and landed in the hand of the goddess. She drew back her hand. I could feel my throat itching already. She took aim. I silently wished I knew what on gods green earth could counteract a banana. She threw the cursed fruit that was technically a herb at my chest. ‘SAVE ME’, I yelled. There was a rush of furry felt-like fingers and everything went black.

Monkey and Purple concede that they cannot find any signs of civilisation
and therefore must be lost.

As I regained consciousness a small brown Monkey was looking over his shoulder at an Orangutan, ‘Hi Purple!’ he said before looking deep into my eyes, ‘I caught the Banana, indeed I did!’. I looked down at my chest to see his furry fingers clasped strongly around one end of the banana. ‘But the other end appears to be embedded in my left ventricle’ I gasped. After the Monkeys untelligible rage had subsided into general mutterings of, ‘I caught the banana, damn it, I caught it!’ I was glad to discover that Monkey and this ‘Purple’ character were in fact lost Doctors who had taken a wrong turn on their way to a Borneo Cardio-thorasic Surgeons conference. After several hours of surgery that seemed to consist of Monkey eating the banana, Monkey intermittently hurling poo every time my heart stopped, and Purple calmly taking over the surgery while stating, ‘This reminds of when Calzone went psycho with the [fill in the blank]’, I managed to survive.


This is the only banana I am not allergic too,
so I heart it very much.


I’ve been firm friends with Monkey and Purple ever since. Of course, when we tell the story, Monkey most certainly DID save my life from a savage bananaring, and to suggest poo-flinging during heart surgery is not therapeutic is just a slur against his brave act. And I could explain how we managed to smooth things over with the Boliv-egan Natives, or how we managed to find passage out of the remote area, or how I was even contracted for the job seeing as I’ve never been on a cattle farm or flown a plane… but unfortunately my word limit is up riiiiiiiiight, NOW!
Posted by G3T Films at 1:59 AM
15 Comments

How I met our new member, Monkey...


...or how a super simian saved my life.

When I was going to school back in rural New South Wales, I would have never dreamed that sometime in my future I'd be flying in an old C-130 Hercules loaded with cattle over the Amazon jungle at midnight. It all started in 1996 when the president and acting manager of a Bolivian agriculture cooperative contacted me. The cooperative wanted to improve their cattle production with "superior bovine genetic strains", consequently it was their desire to purchase some good Brahman cattle in Australia, ship them to Mexico and then fly them on to Bolivia.


My supposedly fit to fly c-130 Hercules in Mexico

The reason to purchase the cattle in the Snowy Mountains was because of the similarities of the climatic conditions and the cattle's destination, Monteagudo, a small outback village located in the southwest of Bolivia. The cooperative had a project near the village where they planned to recuperated the animals from their hard trip, then cross breed them with the tougher than hell but notoriously infertile local cattle; known as Criollas.


Nothing with this many dials should turn off unexpectedly

Unfortunately my payload of virile Aussie bulls never quite made it. And whether it was my fault or a misunderstanding with the non-English speaking ground crew in Mexico, neither did the C-130. On May 3rd 1996, 462 years after the Spanish had suppressed Bolivia and about 9 minutes after midnight, Bolivia experienced it’s first and last cattle bombardment. Of course, at about 5 minutes past midnight the bulls where in a dark hold of a newly serviced aircraft not expecting anything of the sort. At 6 minutes past the Hercules did something I wasn’t prepared for in the least, my instrumentation decided it had had enough of the flight and without asking for leave turned itself off. Now flying without instruments is something you’re trained for but flying a large aircraft, full of bulls, on a night with broken cloud cover is never something that makes you think, 'fantastic!'. Neither is frantically finding a torch and getting half-way through your re-power tests only to have all four of your props, at once, stop running. No sputtering. No smoke. No moment of, ‘Hey, I still have 3 engines’. Nope. Total electrical failure of the aircraft and all your engines silenced except for the low whine of your props coming to a complete stop.


HRROOONNNHHH

By 8 minutes after midnight, with torch in mouth, I’d put on a parachute and was now crouched below the ass of a Brahman manually winching open the back tray. By 9 minutes after midnight on the 3rd of May 1996 some 462 years after Spanish conquest, myself and a dozen or more bulls decided that running off the back of an aircraft somewhere over the Amazon rainforest at 14 thousand feet was about the only option we had left. I of course had a parachute that, much to the surprise and disappointment expressed in a large wide brown moonlit eye, the momentarily floating bulls did not. As I pulled the rip-cord and the bulls accelerated away into the darkness with a solitary and unforgettable ‘HRROOONNNHHH’ I wondered what it would have been like in the remote village I was flying over as cattle noisily rained down.

TBC…
Posted by G3T Films at 2:33 AM
5 Comments

English 101

Procrastination

[proh-kras-tuh-ney-shun]

noun

1. The fine art of wasting precious time & breath.

2. Counting the hairs on your forearm instead of working.

3. Writing ridiculous meaningless blogposts instead of working.

origin
Middle English [jincrastination]; 
French [Ĵîncrástînátîon];
Hawaiian [Mele Kalikimakrastination]
Mexican [Woo Hoo!!! Siesta!!! Fiesta!!! Cerveza!!! Procrastinata!!!]

example:
proper usage:
All Scuba members have fine-tuned their innate procratination abilities.

improper usage:
jin procrastinates.

(Why improper? Because it's just NOT true! Would I be here posting this drivel if I had work to do? Huh? Do you really think so?)
Posted by jin at 12:21 AM
15 Comments

Nappy-headed...


Five Random possible captions (1 per page load).
Or just click Gist to see all five.


Topical Humor.
Posted by Bathroom Hippo at 3:24 AM
5 Comments

Targeting Repeat Customers


Pallbearers get free garlic knots.

And no, there's no cannibalism involved.

Posted by Gyrobo at 5:09 PM
7 Comments

Winner


R2K!


Posted by Bathroom Hippo at 1:00 AM
14 Comments