Look Who Is Wearing Monica Lewinsky’s Dress!

Hello,

With Bill Clinton on the stump, we have unearthed several remarkable photos showing how Monica’s Lewinsky’s dress complete with spill, became haute couture amongst the great and the good a few years ago.

You couldn’t make it up! (But we did) You can see some here! and here!

Is that Mother Theresa wearing Monica’s Dress?

Good God!

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The Previous Lives Of Agnes DuPont

 

We welcome Agnes DuPont to tell us more about her previous lives!!!!!! Her first instalment can be read here

To connect with previous lives, Agnes eats cheese.

PLEASE DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME AS CHEESE IN THE WRONG HANDS CAN BE LETHAL.

Hello People,

A few years ago I spent a most enjoyable fortnight as Albert Einstein. It was great being brainy for a while.

During my time as Albert Einstein I discovered that light has slowed down a bit. This is good news for all those who rely on torches to see in the dark as the batteries will last longer.

The formula E=MC2? It doesn’t mean anything. Albert just thought the letters sounded nice when arranged like that. Apparently it could have been P=KF2 – too clunky in his opinion.

I also invented the dashes to add to the dots in Morse Code which up to that point hadn’t worked very well. As you can see, —…— tells a whole different story!

Yep, It Was Fun Being Albert Einstein.

You may think I am a fantasist who eats cheese late at night……….I would beg to differ. I was there.

Regards,

Agnes

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Ginger Beauty – With Oily George

Tending My Frock

Dear Oily,

I am a Catlick priest here in Conemememarrarara. However I am having a severe crisis of conscience. Namely, can a real man ever look good in one of those big dressy frock thingys we have to wear? 

Fr Eugene, Knock 

 

Oily Replies;

Hi Eugene,

You know wearing a dress can be very liberating. However it is very important that in doing so you remember 3 things.

Firstly, apply the correct eyeliner (demon black).

Secondly, ensure your buttocks are shaved at all times.

Thirdly always go Commando.

This will give you the confidence to give good sermon of a Sunday.

It helps your freedom of expression. I hope this has helped. Now go get ’em rolling in the pews.

Yours reverendly.

Brother Oily (I’m C of E by the way)

 

 

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Train Travel Tales #25 – Evolution

The train hurtled west toward Exeter.

The buffet manager had just announced the unavailability of hot drinks or hot snacks due to his “nerves being at him”. This proved disappointing news for a number of passengers desperate for a cuppa.

Except one.

For train journeys, Sidney Sheldon always carried a thermos flask with him. Partly from experience of defunct buffets but also due to his parsimonious nature.

The woman opposite him, thirsty, tired and irritable watched as retired Civil Servant Sidney, poured a cup of coffee for himself. He sipped, savouring the chicory taste and looked out of the carriage window. The train sped past a field. In the field were sitting a herd of cows.

Rain on the way, Sidney thought to himself.

The cows watched the diesel leviathan thunder past and hove out of sight.

“It’s gone. Fooled them again!” lowed Melinda, the matriarch of the herd and champion milk producer. The cows stood up and wandered to the north west corner of the field.

“Are you alright Buttercup?” Melinda asked.

“It’s me guts,” Buttercup replied, “Last night’s curry has gone right through me.” A mountain of slurry emitted from her back passage, “Careful where you walk everyone.”

“So, who thinks Bolt will win the one hundred metres?” Melinda asked. A number of the herd mooed appreciatively.

“Blake?” Fewer moos.

“Gay?” One or two foolhardy souls gave their support.

“Powell?” Silence, save for the buzzing of a few flies. “He’s a bottle merchant,” Buttercup muttered dismissively.

“Can I ask a question Melinda?” It was Cindy the three week old calf, who a few minutes earlier had managed to jam her head between the bars of the field’s gate.

“Certainly Cindy.”

“Why do we have tails?”

“Tails?”

“Yeah.”

The herd looked amongst each other.  No-one had ever thought to ask this question before. They then turned to Melinda. If anyone knew, she would.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well I’ve seen foxes, horses, dogs and even that old tomcat around the farmyard. They all run fast, use their for balance. We don’t run fast or even run for that matter. So why do we have tails? And why are the pigs tails all curly? And why are sheeps tails so small?”

“Have you heard of Darwin’s theory of Evolution?” Melinda said with authority.

“No” replied Cindy, “Mum’s a Creationist.”

“Right. Ok. We will talk later. First things first though. The 15.28 to Paddington is due. Everyone to their positions!”

The herd retraced their steps to their allotted spaces and lay down for a spot of Bovine japery. Clementine and Maude even laid on their backs with their legs in the air!

Onboard the 15.28 Audrey Tordrey sat in first class bemoaning the fact that there was no trolley service due to “recent relationship difficulties”. She was weighing up whether to walk to the buffet and claim her free beverage and snack of choice.

She stared out of the window as the train sped past a field. In the field were a herd of cows. All were sitting save for two who were lying on their backs with their legs in the air.

Lucky I brought my brolly, Audrey thought.

The cows watched the diesel leviathan thunder past and hove out of sight.

As Melinda pondered Cindy’s question, there was a kerfuffle from the direction of the gate. She heard Cindy cry out, “Mum! Mum! I’ve got my head stuck again!”

Melinda swished her tail and pondered the mysteries of life.

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Sarkozy’s Final Gamble! Ban Gingers!

Ailing French President, “Tricky” Nicky Sarkozy has played a dastardly final card in his increasingly desperate bid to cling to power in France.

BANNING GINGERS!

As he trails bitter rival Francois Hollande in les polls, the titchy titular head of the 5th Republic has expanded his recent decision to force Gingers into Burkhas by completely banning them from French life.

A World Without Gingers….

In a rally outside a Boules Court in Brittany, Sarkozy, standing on a box said, “Frere Jacques, Sur la Pont D’Avignon, le Tour d’Eiffel, creme fraiche, hoh he hon. C’est les merdes Gingers whoez isez toez blamez pour mon predicamon!”

To gasps from his ball chucking audience he then blurted, “Sacere bleu! Non ces soir Josephine, Maginot Line! Avez vous une cuppa? Onions.”

Why Give This Man A Platform?

 

Last year, Gfb’s France correspondent Gael Force-Winds revealed the imposition of Burkhas on Gingers by Sarko.

Sarkozy’s comments put him at odds with President Barack Obama who, in a speech in Grimsby this month, said that the U.S. prized freedom of hair colour: ‘We. Are not.  Going to tell people what colour. Their hair. Should be.’

He Is A Red!

A Typical Frenchman 

 

 

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