*PECANS IN THE CEMETERY*
 
 On the outskirts of a small town, there was a big, old pecan tree just
 inside the cemetery fence. One day, two boys filled up a bucketful of
 nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts.
 
 'One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me,'
 said one boy. Several dropped and rolled down toward the fence.
 
 Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he
 thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery. He slowed down to
 investigate. Sure enough, he heard, 'One for you, one for me. One for
 you, one for me.'
 
 He just knew what it was. He jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just
 around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.
 
 'Come here quick,' said the boy, 'you won't believe what I heard! Satan
 and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls.'
 
 The man said, 'Beat it kid, can't you see it's hard for me to walk.'
 When the boy insisted though, the man hobbled slowly to the cemetery.
 
 Standing by the fence they heard, 'One for you, one for me. One for you,
 one for me.'
 
The old man whispered, 'Boy, you've been telling' me the truth. Let's
 see if we can see the Lord.'
 
 Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet were still unable
 to see anything. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars
 of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of the Lord.
 
 At last they heard, 'One for you, one for me. That's all. Now let's go
 get those nuts by the fence and we'll be done.'
 
 They say the old man made it back to town a full 5 minutes ahead of the
 kid on the bike.*

AFL vs NRL...This will open your eyes...


 


 
 
36have been accused of spouse abuse
7 have been arrested for fraud
19 have been accused of writing bad cheques
117 have directly or indirectly bankrupted at  least 2 businesses
3 have done time for assault
71,  repeat71  cannot get a credit card due to bad credit
14 have been arrested on drug-related charges
8 have been arrested for shoplifting
21 currentlyare defendants in lawsuits and
84 have been arrested for drunk drivingin the last year


Can   you guess which organization this is? AFL? NRL?


Give   up yet? . . .. .   Scroll down





Neither,

it's the 535 members of theAUSTRALIAN PARLIAMENT





in  CANBERRA


The samegroup of Idiots that crank out hundreds of new laws each year, designed to keep the rest of us in line.

You've   got to pass this one on!

Just how deep?

Time to trade in the mitsi for an isuzu lol i love it when the cabs one foot off being totaly submerged and hes still got the wipers going..."Damb boys that rains so heavy today" lol

hi guys,
A young jackaroo from outback Queensland goes off to university, but
halfway through the semester he foolishly has squandered all of his money.
He calls home. 'Dad,' he says, 'you won't believe what modern education is
developing..
They actually have a program here in Brisbane that will teach our dog Ol'
Blue how to talk.'
'That's amazing!' his Dad says. 'How do I get Ol' Blue in that program?'
'Just send him down here with $2,000,' the young jackaroo says, 'I'll get
him in the course.'
So..... his father sends the dog and $2,000.

About two-thirds through the semester, the money again runs out. The boy
calls home.
'So how's Ol' Blue doing, son?' his father wants to know..
'Awesome! Dad, he's talking up a storm... but you just won't believe this.
They've had such good results with talking; they've begun to teach the
animals how to read.'
'Read?' exclaims his father. 'No kidding! How do we get Ol' Blue in that
program?'
'Just send $4,500. I'll get him in the class.'

The money promptly arrives. But our hero has a problem. At the end of the
year, his father will find out the dog can neither talk nor read so he shoots the dog.
 When he arrives home at the end of the year, his
father is all excited.
'Where's Ol' Blue? I just can't wait to talk with him, and see him read
something!''Dad,' the boy says, 'I have some grim news.

Yesterday morning, just before we left to drive home, Ol' Blue was in the
living room,
kicked back in the recliner, reading the Wall Street Journal. Then he
suddenly turned to me and asked,
'So, is your daddy still bonking that little redhead barmaid at the pub?''
The father groans and whispers, 'I hope you shot that bastard before he
talks to your Mother!''I sure did, Dad!''That's my boy!'

The kid went on to be a successful lawyer and was employed by the Board, lol.

LETTER FROM AN AUSTRALIAN CATTLE STATION PILOT

Dear Bill,
I'm writing to you because I need your help to get me flamin' pilot's licence back. You keep telling me you got  all the right contacts. Well now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate, I'm bloody desperate.
 
But first, I'd better tell you what happened during my last flight review with the CASA Examiner. On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA feller), seemed a reasonable sort of a bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my property and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday.
 
First up, he said he was a bit surprised to see my plane on a small strip outside my homestead, because the authorized landing area is about a mile away. I explained that because this strip was so close to the homestead, it was more convenient than the "ALA," and despite the power lines crossing about midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to land and take-off, because at the halfway point down the strip you're usually still on the ground.
 
For some reason Ron, seemed nervous. So, although I had done the pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all over again. Because the examiner was watching me carefully, I walked around the plane three times instead of my usual two. My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned to Ron's cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously better mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight with some farm work, as I had to deliver three poddy calves from the home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the calves and threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed aboard but Ron, started getting onto me about weight and balance calculations and all that crap. Of course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because calves like to move around a bit particularly when they see themselves 500-feet off the ground! So, it's pointless trying to secure them as you know. However, I did tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout the flight.
 
Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimised the warm-up time by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 RPM. I then discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing a flamin' headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a month ago and was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved now, but it doesn't matter because it's jammed on "All tanks," so I reckon that's OK. However, as Ron was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the noise on vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask which I keep in a beaut little possie between the windshield and the magnetic compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron, because he slumped back in the seat and kept looking up at the cockpit roof.
 
I released the brakes to taxi out, but unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the right. "Hell" I thought, "not the starboard wheel chock again". The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked around just in time to see a rock thrown by the prop-wash disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new Commodore. "Now I'm really in trouble", I thought...
 
While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that we taxi to the ALA, and instead took off under the power lines. Ron didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing right at the lift off point, and then he bloody screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!". "Now take it easy Ron", I told him firmly. "That often happens on take-off and there is a good reason for it". I explained patiently that I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I accidentally put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the low octane of the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons of high octane MOGAS and shook the wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine has been coughing a bit but in general it works just fine, if you know how to coax it properly. Anyway, at this stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my test flight.
 
Anyhow, on levelling out, I noticed some wild camels heading into my improved pasture. I hate bloody camels, and always carry a loaded 303, clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see any of the bastards. We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided to have a go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on Ron was electric. As I fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he had been jabbed with an electric cattle prod on full power. In fact, Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration for a second and the next shot went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a bit upset about the shooting (probably one of those pinko animal lovers I guess) so I decided not to tell him about our little problem with the tyre.
 
Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my fighter pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a sideslip from 5000 feet at 130 knots indicated (the last time I looked anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red area on me ASI. What a buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I looked back in the cabin to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy. I was going to comment to Ron on this unusual sight, but he looked a bit green and had rolled himself into the foetal position and was screamin' his  head off. Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should've been there, it was so bloody funny! At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we kept sinking. When we reached about 100 feet, I applied full power but nothing happened. No noise no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me head saying "carb heat, carb heat". So I pulled carb heat on and that helped quite a lot, with the engine finally regaining full power. Whew, that was real close, let me tell you! Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have it, at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the cattle and suddenly went I.F. bloody R, mate. You would have been really proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a while now).
 
Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth opened very wide, but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a minute". Sure enough, about a minute later we emerged, still straight and level and still at 50 feet. Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten to set the QNH when we were taxiing". This minor tribulation forced me to fly to a nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get upright again. By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right there". Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was blaring so loud in me ear that I cut its circuit breaker to shut it up. But by then I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75 foot final and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I was proved wrong again! Halfway through our third loop, Ron at last recovered his sense of humour. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves, who bolted out of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow.
 
I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits of laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead. It was then that Ron, really lost the plot and started running away from the aircraft. Can you believe it? I saw him running off into the distance, arms flailing in the air and still shrieking with laughter. I later heard that he had been confined to a psychiatric institution - poor bugger! Anyhow mate, that's enough about Ron.
 
The problem is I got this letter from CASA  a couple of days ago withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to fly; until I have undergone a complete pilot training course again and undertaken another flight proficiency test. Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and not setting the QNH using strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did that was a so bloody bad that they have to withdraw me flaming' license. Can you?
 
 
Ralph H. Bell
Mud Creek Station

No Jandles No Problem 

Splinters in Her Crotch!

A woman who was a tree hugging greenie purchased a piece of forest near Nelson .

There was a large tree in one of the highest parts of her forest. She wanted a good view of the natural splendour of her land, so she started to climb the big tree. As she neared the top she encountered a spotted owl that attacked her. In her haste to escape, the woman slid down the tree to the ground and got many splinters in her crotch.

In considerable pain, she hurried to the local casualty department to see a doctor. She told him she was an environmentalist, and how she came to get all the splinters. The doctor listened to her story with great patience and then told her to go wait in the examining room and he would see if he could help her.

She sat and waited three hours before the doctor reappeared. The angry woman demanded, "What took you so long?" He looked at her and said:
"Well, I had to get permits from the Environmental Protection Agency, the Forest Service, and the Department of Land, Water and Biodiversity Conservation before I could remove some old-growth timber from a recreational area adjacent to a waste treatment facility. I'm sorry, but due to Russel Norman and his Green Party policies, they turned me down!"