The Eternal Search For Armpits

OK, what’s with people?

Another, seperate, Google search brought another happy little surfer to beach at this site.

What did s/he search for? The same as the last one..


What is it with armpits that makes people want to search for them? I think I might have gone up a few positions now on Google’s armpit list, but I still find myself stuck between dozens of porn sites where armpits seem to be the ‘in’ thing.

Oh the shame. Oh the humility.

I had better go check them out, just in case..

Women Bible Authors?

Now if a woman had written the Bible..

In the beginning God created Eve, and she had three breasts. After a few weeks in the garden, God came to visit Eve. “How’s things, Eve?” He asked.
“It is all so beautiful, God,” she replied. “The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, the smells, the sights, everything is wonderful but I just have this one problem. It’s these three breasts you’ve given me. The middle one pushes the other two out, and I am constantly knocking them with my arms, catching them on branches, snagging them on bushes – they’re a real pain,” reported Eve.
“That’s a fair point,” replied God, “but it was my first shot at you, you know. I gave the animals, what, six? So I just figured you’d need half, but I see that you are right. I’ll fix that up right away!” God reaches down and removes the middle breast, tossing it into the bushes.
Three weeks passed, and God once again visited Eve in the garden.”Well, Eve, how’s my favorite creation?” He asked.
“Just fantastic,” she replied, “but for one small oversight on your part. You see, the animals are paired off. The ewe has her ram, the cow has her bull, all the animals have a mate except me. I feel so alone.”
God thought for a moment. “You know, Eve, you’re right. How could I have overlooked this! You do need a mate and I will immediately create Man from a part of you!
Now, let’s see…where did I put that useless tit?”

Funny Warning Labels

Labels that make you go – D’oh!

On a Sears hairdryer: Do not use while sleeping.

On a bag of Fritos: You could be a winner! No purchase necessary. Details inside.

On a bar of Dial soap: Directions: Use like regular soap.

On some Swanson frozen dinners: Serving suggestion: Defrost.

On the bottom of a Tesco’s Tiramisu dessert: Do not turn upside down.

On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding: Product will be hot after heating

On packaging for a Rowenta iron: Do not iron clothes on body.

On Boot’s Children Cough Medicine: Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication.

On Nytol Sleep Aid: Warning: May cause drowsiness.

On most brands of Christmas lights: For indoor or outdoor use only.

On a Japanese food processor: Not to be used for the other use.

On Sunsbury’s peanuts: Warning: contains nuts.

On an American Airlines packet of nuts: Instructions: Open packet, eat nuts.

On a child’s superman costume: Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly.

I also find myself more than a little amused when I see ads for anti-depressants that state that possible side-effects may include things like: insomnia, headaches, acne, loss of appetite, irregular heartbeat, sexual side-effects, nausia and possible dry mouth.

If that lot doesn’t make you depressed, then you clearly weren’t to start with.

Colombian Cucumber Barons

Swazi women bare bottoms to police – [BBC NEWS]

A lone policeman stood up against the might of the female Swazi street-vendors recently, after he caught them trying to sell their fruit and veg in a bus rank in Mbabane (yes, I checked the spelling, thank you).

When the women saw him, they took their assorted fruit and legumes in hand and made a run for it. All except one, whose melons were a little on the large side and who couldn’t outrun the sprightly policeman. Seems she put up a damn good fight – even going as far as shedding clothes – to try and avoid being manhandled into the waiting police van. Chaos followed when onloookers and fellow veggie-vendors hurled anything to hand at the bewildered law-enforcement guy, who also had to defend himself against a torrent of verbal abuse.

Fearing for his safety (well hell yes.. when you’ve got plums raining down on you, you would, wouldn’t you?) he pulled out his gun and fired a shot into the air.

Alerted by the noise and the chance of some free food, the police-dude’s colleagues came to his rescue, wielding batons and, no doubt in my mind, carrier bags for the displaced fruit and veg, and boldy rescued him.

Then they all stood and watched as the women turned their backs and lifted their skirts above their waists.

The police officers stared in disbelief at the array of bottoms of all different shapes and sizes, and the colourful array of underwear on display.

It was work as normal on Thursday.

Nice to see, though, a colourful oasis of fun in this otherwise dismal, almost-war torn place we call home.

And there’ll be more from the Veggie Tales archives next time when we meet up with Hugo, the self proclaimed (but not very successful) Columbian Cucumber Baron.

Where’s YOUR Armpit?

Did you know..

…that you can reach this page by visiting Google and doing a search for armpits?

I didn’t – until now – and the visitor even scrolled through 32 pages of links before finding yours truly on page 33 (currently ranked 327 on Google’s ‘armpit’ list!)

I’d like to thank that anonymous surfer who just proved that if you look hard enough, you’ll find it.

Cuckoo Clocks Suck

Well, I am still recovering from a night out with ‘the lads’ last night, and trying calm the teddy bears who are playing racket-ball in my head.

I told my ‘significant other’ that I would be home about 12, which for here isn’t very late, but to be honest the amount of alcohol I drank seemed to affect my watch somehow, and every time I looked at it, it was showing a different time or getting smaller or something.

Anyway I got home about 3am, when I finally found where the house had moved to. And God knows how, but I managed to let myself in AND close the door without making too much noise. I don’t usually turn lights on at night, unless I need to. No, not because I am too tight to pay the electricity bill, but I know my way around, and lights will just wake people. But isn’t it funny how noises seem to be louder in the dark than in the light? No matter HOW quiet you are, you always make a noise that you think will wake Elvis himself. And to top it all, the f*cking cuckoo clock that we got decides, right there and then, to start screaming its head off! I tell you, we don’t hear the bloody thing during the day. Even in the evening we wonder, at five past the hour, if he had bothered to come out at all and chirp his little heart out, in the interests of letting us know that another hour of our lives had just slipped quietly away. So why did it choose 3am to prove to me that it still had a voice box? (At least that’s Sunday’s dinner sorted, even if we will need extra veggies to make up for the little bit of meat it’ll provide).

So what the hell do you do when you think you have woken ‘her-who-must-have-her-sleep’? Well I knew damn well she’d be angry when she knew I was 3 hours later than planned (she worries about me, don’t ya know), so I did the most STUPID thing. I tried to ‘cuckoo’ 9 more times!! Look, I was hammered, OK? I don’t even remember where I put the keys, but they have to be around somewhere, and my shoes I took off outside the house, for some odd reason.

Well, either my cuckoo-ing worked, or she never woke anyway, because I managed to get into bed (somehow omitting to take off one of my socks), and don’t even remember pushing my head into the pillow and there was not a word said.

This morning she was up before me, and I woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. I hate fried breakfast. The smell of bacon is sickening, and all the grease is – well, I am concentrating hard to even type this, after a full day of the ‘D-day Landings’ re-enactment going on between my ears, so I am not going to stop to think about the grease…

But it’s amazing how you think things work out, even when they seem SOO unlikely to. She greeted me with a smile, and a good morning etc etc etc. Usual stuff. Asked me what time I got in, cos she was in bed at 11.30, yah-dee-yah-dee-yah. Then she looked past me and stared at the wall and said, simply, “We need a new cuckoo clock.”

There is nothing, realistically, that you can do about the feelings of guilt that rush over you at times like that. Even when you haven’t done something wrong. Know what I mean? Situation: Police car that’s behind you suddenly turns on its lights and you hear the scream of the siren and the first thing you think of is ‘what the hell have I done?’, and still feel guilty even when the cop goes tearing past you in persuit of someone who REALLY did something wrong. Admit it – it happens, right?

So she mentions the cuckoo clock, and I fight back the blood that is rushing headlong for my cheeks. Trying not to feel so bad, I just asked why.

She said, “Well, last night the clock cuckooed three times and then said ‘oh shit’. It cuckooed four more times, then cleared its throat. Then it cuckooed another three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the cat and farted.”

Life’s a bitch.