Lasers.

I have not one but TWO small items of news to regale you with today:

The first is:

Allies’ Jet Laser Can Melt Tank!

Allies in the War on Terror now have a new and astonishing weapon at their disposal - a laser cannon that can melt a tank at FIVE MILES distance!! Well - Whoop-D-Doop!

This weapon, The Advanced Tactical Laser, mounted on an aircraft, heats targets to thousands of degrees centigrade in milliseconds (lets all hope that those "friendly fire" incidents are all in the past).

The first model will fly within months of the imminent completion of two years of top-secret testing. It is the first laser of this intensity to be attached to a plane.

Gunners using the laser cannon, lock onto the target(s) with a camera and then adjust the strength, fire-rate and width of the beam accordingly. Boeing, which won the US Department of Defence contract, installed the £100,000,000 ($200,000,000) prototype into a C-130 plane at the Kirtland Air Force Base in New Mexico last December. The maiden flight will take place soon.

It can fire a four inch (10cm) ray over nine miles at the speed of light to slice metal or puncture tyres. Or it can be set to a broader beam of 20 inch (50cm) in order to encompass several targets in rapid succession ( please, please, make doubly sure that "friendly fire" incidents are all in the past!).

The Pentagon plans to use the new weapon on targets where it is important to avoid collateral damage.An independent security source says: "This new "point weapon" is great news. When ordinary bombs are dropped on targets from aircraft it is difficult to avoid collateral damage and you cannot guarantee a direct hit. But with these lasers it is a true straight line so once you have it in sight and you are on target, away you go. Lasers have been used for years but this will save a lot of time."

On reflection it may also save a lot of innocent lives, I say.

Speaking of reflection. Have they thought about that low tech form of defence, the mirror?

The second is:

Brewing A Droop!

A woman who drugged her 64 year old husband with a home-made impotency potion to stop him having an affair with his 29 year old mistress, was jailed for two months.

His wife, 59 year old Jadwiga Czerniakowski of Lodz, Poland, used a secret formula that had been handed down through generations ’cos she said that his brain had dropped into his pants!

Her husband, Stanislaw, said last night: " I have no hard feelings."

G-spots before the eyes.

How do I find a G-Spot.


How do you women, in general, expect we mere male mortals to find the G-spot when you keep moving it? This subject has always mystified us and no small blame can be attributed to the newspaper problems pages, either.

This elusive spot has, over the years, been placed at a reference point just one inch up in the front wall of the vagina to one and a half inches up, through to two inches up and now they've come along and moved it over three inches to a full FIVE BLOODY INCHES! It appears that I've been scraping away at the wrong spot for years. And I thought her tears were of love and ecstasy.

They further muddy the waters, so to speak, by going on about women who love climaxing through oral sex performed on them. (I too can reach climax while performing the same stunt, but that's another matter). Cum on! Very very few men come equipped with a five inch tongue not even if it's erect.

But we can forget all this now 'cos in my newspaper today the headline is: There are girls out there with NO G-spot!!

Studies at the University of L'Aquila in Italy (where else) have discovered that there are women out there with NO G-spot!! Study leader Dr Emmanuele Janini says that women without a G-spot would struggle to reach orgasm through intercourse (get away!) but could still get satisfaction via other forms of stimulation (pass the chocolates).

Yes lads, NO G-spot, so you can stop looking. Concentrate instead on finding other ways to please your women (for a start you could try doing the ironing).

In a similar vein it is much the same with men who write in to these problem pages worried about being abnormal in the trouser department. They write in stating: ".... I'm four.... five and two thirds..... six..... eight and one eighth..... eleven and three-quarters long in the trouser department, am I normal?"

Of course you ain't normal! What are you doing with a bloody tape measure at a time like this anyway? It's not DIY! (Oh yes it is).

The sex "expert" invariably assures them that they are indeed normal! But how can taking a tape measure into the bathroom and whisking their todgers into a state of abject arousal and then sliding a tape-measure along it and making notes be NORMAL? If you're not trained in the use of such measuring devices, you might even be getting your imperials mixed up with those foreign decibel measurements in the process? And any-road-up it's the FIRST two inches that does the business, not the last two.




Mind how you come,

Juan Kerr.

Sex and the law.

Rape or Not Rape?

There are proposals underway to help clarify the rape laws and make our streets safer for our womenfolk.

Under the proposed new law, a guy (or gal, I suppose) has to prove that mutual agreement to the sxual act has been reached before penetrative sex takes place.

What I would like to know is - does this mean that the people involved have to get the proposal down on paper, signed by both participants and witnessed by an independent observer BEFORE they have a chance of getting a laid?

It's going to be very hard getting all this down on paper but I can't see anything less standing up in a court of law.

Can you?

Ripoff pubs.

Scandalous!

What is it about publicans

that makes them willing to scam their customers at every opportunity?

I called in a town centre pub (which shall remain nameless) for a lunchtime drink.

Because I had the car with me I chose to have a pint of bitter shandy.

It was duly served up in a pint glass and I was charged £2.60

I queried this as it seemed a little steep for a 50-50 beer and lemonade mix. The barmaid told me that they had to charge for a shandy at the full price of a pint of beer by order of the management.

I shrugged, took my pint and sat drinking and thinking.

Amost to the bottom of the 1 pint glass I left it on the table, approached the bar and ordered a half of beer.

Then I ordered a glass of lemonade (1/2 pint). The total for the two drinks came to £1.98 a total saving of 62p!

Back at my table I decanted them both into my pint glass. Job done.

I ask you, where is the sense in this attitude to we customers. There must surely have been MORE labour involved in serving me the second time around in two separate glasses so why was it money saving for me?

Cheers!

Toileting troubles.

Off to the Ladies loo.

When you have to visit a public loo there is invariably a line of women, you smile politely and take your place, it finally gets to your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every one is occupied.....but eventually a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle.



You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your knickers!!! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" is handy, but empty. You would hang your handbag on a door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, yank down your knickers, and assume "The Position."



In this position your ageing, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Position? to take your mind off your trembling thighs for a moment when you reach for horror or horrors an empty toilet paper dispenser!



Your thighs start to shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your handbag which is now burning your neck & shoulders with the weight. So you contort your arm into a very unnatural position and start to fumble around in the deep dark depths of your handbag for that small crumpled 'used' tissue no bigger than your thumbnail.



Someone pushes your door and because the latch doesn't work it hits your head which is bent over from holding the hanging handbag, and you start to topple backward. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door and drop the precious, tiny, crumpled tissue you had only just retrieved with your index finger in to an unknown puddle on the floor.......if that isn't enough you lose your balance altogether and gravity pulls you down ...... down ..... directly onto the TOILET SEAT!



It is wet, of course, you bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ & life form that lives on the uncovered seat.



By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose into the bowl which sprays a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs along with the various life forms and down into your dishevelled knickers which have now dropped down to your ankles. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.



At this point, you give up.You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe yourself with a piece of gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.You can't figure out how to operate the taps, so you run your hands underneath it grateful for the two drops there, then around the basin itself.



You go to the towel dispenser past the line of women still waiting, where of course there are no paper towels so you move over to the hand blower, which, yes you've guessed it, also doesn't work. You are no longer able to smile politely to the women, but there is an unspoken understanding between you all.



A kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you have a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe (where was that when you NEEDED it??). You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."



As you exit, you spot your partner, who has long since entered, used, and left the Male Toilets.



Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your handbag hanging around your neck?"



This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public loos. It also finally explains to the men what really does take us so long and also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the loo in pairs. It's so the other one can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!



Anon.

I found a body.

I found a body. A true story.

It was a fine springlike winter’s day as I walked my dog through our local beauty spot.

From my vantage point - a little way above and alongside a stream with woods beyond - I could see, amongst the leaf bereft trees and partially covered in bracken, what appeared to be the body of a young child dressed in green anorak, green trousers and yellow boots.

It did cross my mind that it might be an old Guy Fawkes dummy left to dupe the unwary but I thought that I'd better investigate just in case it wasn't.

As the water was a little too deep at that point I had to walk a little further upstream before I could cross safely and then make my way back through the undergrowth to the body. As I closed in on it and had it in view, I still wasn't sure whether or not it was a body, but it certainly still gave me that impression.

Even up close and looking down on it I wasn’t sure. But just in case it could turn out to be a crime scene, I gingerly lifted it with my walking stick hooked inside the hood. It was as heavy as a young child but closer inspection of its flat blank face proved it to be a sort of doll like dummy.

Feeling both relieved and sort of disappointed at the same time and not wishing to leave it there to dupe other passers-by, I decided to move it and so started to drag it to a bridge a little further upstream.

I’d managed to make about fifty yards or so when at that point I noticed two men in uniform walking towards me on the other bank of the stream. My God, I thought, POLICE! This could be more serious than I reckoned on.

I heard the chatter of walkie-talkies which added to my concern. And then I saw them properly and realized that they were firemen. The leader, a Captain Mainwaring type, called out to me; “...where are you going with that?” and; “...put that f*****g body back!”

Apparently they were undergoing an exercise. The two firemen crossed the stream and abruptly took charge of the situation, dragging the “corpse” back to where I’d found it.

My dog and I carried on with our walk and a little further upstream - just out of sight around a bend - stood a big red fire engine complete with crew of about a dozen giggling firemen.

I made sheepish tracks home and, as this had been the second false alarm I’d suffered when discovering “dead bodies”, I silently vowed never to check on a “body” ever again.

That first time? Well I was walking along this beach when I spotted what I took to be a body floating just out to sea.........................(but that’s another story).

Amy's Story aged about 12.

Timmy's Accident by Amy Newton.

Timmy was a cheeky boy he always got into a lot of trouble. One afternoon, Timmy was walking down his street when he spotted a pound coin on the side of the road. As he bent down to pick it up, suddenly out of nowhere, a speeding car came racing around the corner.

Timmy jumped back in a shock, his heart was beating as fast as it could possibly go.

A little old woman came to see if he was OK and was surprised to see him staring into space.

She started to shout his name when suddenly he said "Yes I'm fine, thank you."

The little old woman took Timmy back home and explained the story of the car to his parents.

They were relieved that Timmy was OK and thanked the old woman for bringing him back.

The next day Timmy had school. He went straight to his best mate and told him about the car.

His mate said; "That was my Dad, he was in a rush for work and didn't see you. "Sorry."

Timmy was gobsmacked he couldn't believe his ears. His best mate's dad had nearly killed him!

On the way home Timmy saw his mates dad and he was walking to the shop Timmy decided to go over and talk to him.

"Hello how, are you?" asked Timmy.

"I'm fine thank you. I'm sorry about yesterday I was in such a rush I hope I didn't hurt you."

"No you didn't, you just shocked me that's all. Why were you in such a rush?"

"Oh, OK then, bye."

"Bye!" Said Timmy, and carried on walking home and his mates dad carried on walking to the shop.

Amy's Story (slightly edited) aged about 12.

Fitter not Fatter!

School Run and Child Obesity problems solved.

Whilst reading my local paper I came across a couple of problems that might be solved by putting the two together.

The first was about vehicles blocking access in and around schools during the dreaded "School Run" and the second concerned our children's increasing and dangerous obesity problem caused, in the main, by our kids not getting enough exercise.

Put the two together and you may see that they both go hand in glove. If more kids were given the opportunity (told) to walk to school we would not only have fitter children but would also free up the roads around our schools.

Children should be ENCOURAGED to walk or cycle at every opportunity. A half hour walk in the morning and a similar one in the afternoon would be most beneficial to these kids. It would give them time to reflect and prepare their brains, ready for either school lessons or playing their computer games when they reach home.

Legalised Paedophilia?

Legalised Paedophilia?

Surely it can only be a matter of time before paedophilic acts among consenting children and sexually depraved adults in private is legitimised by governmental consent. After all it is only a few short decades ago when same sex between consenting adult men was regarded as a mortal sin but now in these enlightened times any consenting sixteen year old boy can be buggered to his heart's content and most probably is.

Paedophilic thoughts and acts are just as natural and unavoidable to some in society as homosexual thoughts and acts. Both come naturally to some but are condemned by so called "normal" people and the Holy Scriptures as abominable acts.

But how can they be when these same acts are regarded as "normal" by so many of these so-called perverts.

And why stop there at paedophile legalisation? Why not legalise bestiality? A dog isn't just for Christmas! You never see a sheep with a headache or a pony with a face on!!

Let's see the light shed on healthy child - man - youth - goat - woman - girl - dog relationships. Just as long as the act is carried on behind closed doors (with gags and straps utilised where necessary), I cannot see any problem.

(This post is tongue in cheek (or anywhere else for that matter.) Anthony W is a raving heterosexual with a happy half-century marriage to the love of his life. They have four grown-up and happily married daughters, twelve granchildren and one great-grandchild.)

Ours is an ice house ours is.

Ours is an ice house ours is.

This morning (Tuesday 11th September) we awoke to quite a cool house. In fact my wife said it was freezing. It was 19 degrees C.

FREEZING!? I well remember as a young lad growing up in a tiny council house with no heating. Apart, that is, from one small fire range in the one small sitting room downstairs that we could barely afford to have lit 'cos coal was so expensive unless there was a collier in the house.

There was no double glazing. No cavity fill. No loft insulation and no fitted carpets. Cold linoleum was the order of the day, with the odd peg-rug scattered sparsely. We kids helped peg those rugs with our own fair chilblain-ed hands.

On many cold winter days we had frost covering the insides of all the windows and even a glass of water would freeze on the bedside table. Our beds were always weighed down with old army greatcoats with lots and lots of pockets. My three sisters and I never tired of going through those pockets in an effort to discover some long forgotten small change or some other valuable. All we ever seemed to find were balls of khaki fluff.

Apart from snuggling under this mountain of coats with some of my siblings (sharing a bed with my sisters didn't affect me in later life, sweetie) we had a cat called Pally that always joined us in bed. We had to share the affections of that cat just like more affluent people shared a hot water bottle.

On luckier days when the small range had been lit, the steel shelves would be removed and wrapped in pages of The Daily Herald and then carted upstairs where they would be laid in our freezing beds. They were a truly marvelous addition to our comfort, just as long as we took care to avoid the possibility of third degree burns.

Kids today don't know they're born. And if any of you lot out there dare to say: "You were lucky....", and echo that Monty Python sketch I'll scream.