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John Bingham:
Stevie Wonder and Tiger Woods are in a restaurant having dinner. Woods turns to Wonder and says, "How's the singing career going"?
Stevie Wonder replies, "Not too bad. How's the golf"?
Woods replies, "Not too bad, I've had some problems with my swing, but I think I've got that going right now."
Stevie says, "I always find that when my golf swing goes wrong, I need to stop playing for a while and not think about it. Then, the next time I play, it seems to be all right."
Tiger says, "You play golf"?
Wonder says, "Oh, yes, I've been playing for years."
Tiger says, “How can you play golf if you can't see"?
Wonder replies, "I get my caddy to stand in the middle of the fairway and call to me. I listen for the sound of his voice and play the ball toward him. Then, when I get to where the ball lands, the caddy moves to the green or farther down the fairway and again, I play the ball toward his voice"
"But how do you putt?” asks Woods.
”Well," says Stevie, "I get my caddy to lean down in front of the hole and call to me with his head on the ground, and I just play the ball toward his voice."
Woods asks, "What's your handicap"?
Stevie says, "Well, I'm a scratch golfer."
Woods, incredulous, says to Stevie, "We've got to play a round sometime."
Wonder replies, "Well, people don't take me seriously, so I only play for money, and never play for less than $10,000 a hole."
Woods thinks it over and says, "Okay, I'm for that. When would you like to play"?
Stevie says, "Pick a night."
John Bingham:
An Englishman is being shown round a Scottish hospital
At the end of the visit, he is shown into a ward with a number of patients who show no obvious signs of injury. He goes to examine the first man he sees, and the man proclaims:
Fair fa' yer honest,sonsie face,
Great chieften e' the puddin' race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
painch tripe or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
as lang's my arm.
The Englishman, somewhat taken aback, moves on to the next patient, the patient immediatly launches into:
Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.
This continues with the next patient:
Wee sleekit cow'rin tim'rous beastie
O what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
wi' bickering brattle.
I wad be laith to run and chase thee,
wi' murdering prattle!"
"Well," the Englishman mutters to his Scottish colleague, " I see you saved the psychiatric ward for the last"
"Nay, nay," the Scottish doctor corrected him, "this is the Serious Burns Unit."
John Bingham:
A man walks into a bar, he's got bandages all over his face & chest an IV line hanging out of his arm, he's pale, his breathing is ragged, he looks like he's not long for this world.
he staggers up to the bar, and wheezes,
"double brandy please barman, quicky"
the barman gives him a double brandy which he downs in one,
"another double brandy" says the sick man,
another is poured which he downs in one,
"one more" says he, and one more is poured. just before drinking this one, he says to the barman,
"i really shouldn't be drinking these with what i've got"
intrigued, (and slightly scared) the barman asks,
"why, what have you got?"
the sick man replies,
"40 pence"
John Bingham:
Text of a letter from a kid from Eromanga to Mum and Dad.
(For Those of you not in the know, Eromanga is a small town, west of Quilpie in the far south west of Queensland)
Dear Mum & Dad,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get in bloody quick
smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all yagotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shave though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and by
that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a 'route march' - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin' - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it don't move and it's not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - it's a piece of p*ss!! You don't even load your own cartridges they comes in little boxes and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.
Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet,but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Sheila
John Bingham:
Two women friends were caught short while making their way home after a night in the pub.
They were near a graveyard, so one suggested they do their business behind a headstone.
One had nothing to wipe with, so she thought she'd take off her panties and use them, then throw them away. Her friend was wearing rather expensive underwear, and didn't want to ruin hers - but salvaged a large ribbon from a wreath on one of the graves, and proceeded to use it. They then made off for home.
The next day one woman's husband phoned the other's husband and said: "We'd better keep an eye on our wives, you know. Mine came home last night without her panties."
"That's nothing," said the other. "Mine came back with a card stuck to her bum that read: 'From all the lads at the fire station. We'll never forget you."
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