Last modified on 2010-03-07 05:37:04 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
By David Stewart
I’ll tell you something interesting which will explain the medical procedure I’m about to perform: In the First World War 14 million people died. I know, terrible isn’t it? But here’s a thing most people don’t realise. After the war there was a flu epidemic which stretched across the globe. Do you know how many lives that took? Twenty million, six million more than the war. True statistic and it surprises everyone I tell. When I heard that it got me to thinking- the human race is at war… at war with germs. Sometimes we fight each other and a few million die but all the while humanity is waging a massive conflict against infection- and the casualties are enormous on both sides. We decimate germs in massive numbers, we even commit genocide sometimes. But while we celebrate this hollow victory, diseases claim their own victims from our ranks. Millions every year die in our constant ongoing conflict with germs. But it’s all going to stop here and now. You see Mr Cartwright I’m going to inject you with this! Yes, you’re right it is a big needle but it’s got a big job to do. No it won’t kill any germs, what would be the point in that? Even if I claim total victory in the battleground that is your swine-flu ridden body it’s only a minor skirmish in the war. This syringe doesn’t contain a weapon… it’s a peace treaty! The first ever attempt to end the war by negotiation! I’ve written a comprehensive peace accord document and then made it microscopic! Well almost microscopic. It’s actually visible to the naked eye so it will hurt like a bastard going in but I’m hoping if a germ stands a good distance back he can read it like a billboard. And he will agree to my reasonable terms, peace will be declared and I will be hailed as a genius! I’ll be the first cleaner in the world to be awarded the Nobel prizes for peace and medicine in the same year! What? Yes, cleaner. No I’m not a doctor they kicked me out of medical school because I kept taking kidney’s home. Today I’m a cleaner with a vision and a stolen, second-hand syringe but tomorrow I’ll be the greatest scientist my psychiatric ward has ever produced!
Last modified on 2010-01-06 00:38:12 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
By Paul Kooperman
BE GUIDED BY ONE GOLDEN RULE -
AN ETHOS WE SHOULD ALL EMBRACE -
THE WORLD IS LIKE A BALL OF WOOL.
INDULGE THIS THOUGHT AND THINGS FALL INTO PLACE.
THE FIRST THING THAT YOU DO WITH WOOL,
IS WASH OUT ALL THE GREASE.
PICK OUT THE BURRS AND PARASITES,
FROM DEEP WITHIN THE FLEECE.
UNTIE THE KNOTS AND TANGLES WHICH CAUSE IT TO FEEL ROUGH.
THEN INTEGRATE THEM SEAMLESSLY WITH BITS OF FUR AND FLUFF.
MAKE ONE ENORMOUS BALL OF WOOL -
THAT’S HOW THE WORLD SHOULD BE.
FEEL IT, TOUCH IT, HOLD IT – PASS IT ON AND YOU WILL SEE -
FEEL IT, TOUCH IT, HOLD IT – PASS IT ON, YOU MIGHT AGREE -
EVERY LIVING PERSON ON THIS PLANET IS CONNECTED.
AND THIS PHILOSOPHY, THAT WE ARE ONE, MUST BE PROTECTED!
PASS THE WOOL ALONG…
EVERY PERSON, PASS IT ON.
Last modified on 2010-01-22 10:49:23 GMT. 0 comments. Top.
By Anna Renzenbrink
Maria having overdone her lunchtime walk, heads back to her desk, waddling somewhat to prevent her badly chafed inner thighs from further rubbing together.
Owen watching Maria from behind as he leaves the tearoom, sees the gentle undulation of Maria’s hips set sway to her frilly skirt.
He mouths “Va Va Voom” and reaches out his hand to make a grabbing gesture below her bottom. He thinks he is smooth.
Later, Maria sits at her desk and unconsciously begins to slowly open and shut her legs to fan cool air against her stinging thighs, while she speaks on the phone.
Owen sitting across the office, notices the movement, and stares getting a glimpse of Maria’s black underpants with every opening of her legs and imagines she isn’t wearing any.
Maria hangs up the phone and looks up to see Owen watching her.
She smiles a meaningless co-worker smile, and stills her legs. Not quite closed.
Owen interprets the smile as come hither. He gets up and walks across to Maria’s desk, perches awkwardly on the corner of her desk and says:
“Meet me in the photocopy room in five minutes, I’ve got something for you.”
Maria distracted by the email she is typing, thinks Owen, usually so helpful with stationery and cups of tea, might actually have something useful for her. Like Vaseline or Aloe Vera. She nods.
Five minutes later she gingerly gets up and walks carefully to the photocopy room. Owen does not have something useful to show her. He has his pants down and a smile on his face he thinks is come hither.
Maria grimaces as she backs out of the room as quickly as possible saying nothing. She will grab her handbag and leave work early, humiliated.
After pulling up his boxer shorts and pants, Owen pauses, frowning, confused.
The churning cogs almost visible as he replays the recent events in his mind. Owen suddenly smiles again, zips up his fly and mouths “Yeah Baby.”
He returns to his desk, unchanged.