The ramblings of a serial head-shaver

  • The Importance of Proof-Reading …

     A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to helping the other monks in copying the old canons and laws of the church by hand.

    He notices, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. So, the new monk goes to the head abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies.

     The head monk, says, "We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son."

    He goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn't been opened for hundreds of years.

    Hours go by and nobody sees the old abbot . . .

    So, the young monk gets worried and goes down to look for him. He sees him banging his head against the wall and wailing.

    We missed the R!
    We missed the R!
    We missed the R!"

    His forehead is all bloody and bruised and he is cryinguncontrollably. The young monk asks the old abbot, "What's wrong, father?"

    With a choking voice, the old abbot replies, "The word was…

    "CELEBRATE!!!"

  • New Superhero.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     


     
     

     

     

     

  • We need proof of ID

     

     

     

    The President of ANCYL Julius Malema walks into an FNB bank  and asks to cash a cheque for R2000..
               
      Teller: “No problem Sir. Could you please show me your  ID.”?

     Malema: “Well, I didn’t bring my ID with me  as I didn’t think there was any need.  
                     After all, I am the President of the ANC Youth League”

      Teller: “Yes, I know who you are, but with all the regulations,   I must insist on seeing ID.”

     Malema: “Just ask  anyone here who I am and they will tell you. They all know who I  am.”

     Teller: “I am sorry, but these are the bank  rules and I must follow them.”

     Malema: “Is there  some other way around this?”

     Teller: “Look, here’s  what we can do: a while ago now, Casta Semenia walked into the bank  
                   without ID. To prove she was Casta she ran around the block in under 8 seconds

                    Another time, Francois Pienaar came in without ID. He yanked out his rugby ball and
                   kicked it just under 300m right into Nedbank’s yard. After that spectacular
                   kick we cashed his cheque.

                     So, what can you do to prove to me that you are really who you say you are?”

                  Malema stands, deep in thought for what seems like minutes then  finally says:

                 “My mind’s a complete blank. Honestly, I can’t think of a  single  thing”

     Teller: “Would fifties be OK, sir?”

       

     

     

  • The Hunting Accident

    A guy goes hunting. A gust of wind blows, the gun falls over and discharges, shooting him in the genitals.


    Several hours later, lying in a hospital bed, he was approached by his doctor. “Well sir, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you are going to be OK. The damage was local to your groin, there was very little internal damage and we were able to remove all of the buckshot.”

    What’s the bad news?” asked the hunter.  “The bad news is that there was some pretty extensive buckshot damage done to your penis,  which left quite a few holes in it and I’m going to have to refer you to my sister.”

    “Well I guess that isn’t too bad,” the hunter replied. “Is your sister a plastic surgeon?”

    Not exactly,” answered the doctor. “She’s a flute player in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. She’s going to teach you where to put your fingers so you don’t piss in your eye.”

     

     

  • Kaapse Humor

     

    Gatiep sit in sy garage waar hy die laaste goed moet ontruim en bepeins sy lot.
    Hy’t sy huis verloor, sy werk verloor en sy vrou het die kinders gevat en hom geskei.
    Hy sien ‘n kas met wynbottels en loop soontoe.
    Hy vat ‘n lee bottel, smyt dit teen die muur en skel: ‘Djy issie reason lat ekkie ‘n vrou hettie!’
    Hy vat ‘n tweede bottel: ‘Djy issie reason lat ekkie kinners hettie!’
    Derde bottel: ‘Djy issie reason lat ekkie ‘n job hettie!’
    Vierde bottel: ‘Djy issie reason lat ekkie ‘n huis hettie!’
    Hy vat die vyfde bottel en sien dis nog nie oopgemaak nie – vol wyn.
    Hy sit die bottel saggies neer en sê: ‘Sta djy eers ienkant toe, my broe. Ek sien djy wassie involved nie!’