A bloke graduates from Uni with an Arts Degree but has trouble finding any sort of job at all. In desperation, he fronts up to a building site and asks the foreman if he had any work going.
"That depends" said the boss. "You'd need some experience in construction. For example, what's the difference between girder and joist?"
"Easy" replies the bloke, "Goethe wrote Faust and Joyce wrote Ulysses".
Just bought a copy of Ulysses, have no idea when l will get around to reading it. Perhaps l will start on June 16, the day the action in the book takes place and also my birthday.
Just don't try to tell anyone if you enjoy it. That would be weird. I read Portrait of the Artist as a young man (well, when I was at school actually). Unreadable tosh.
Enjoy it? l don't know if l'll understand or even finish it.
A bloke graduates from Uni with an Arts Degree but has trouble finding any sort of job at all. In desperation, he fronts up to a building site and asks the foreman if he had any work going.
"That depends" said the boss. "You'd need some experience in construction. For example, what's the difference between girder and joist?"
"Easy" replies the bloke, "Goethe wrote Faust and Joyce wrote Ulysses".
Just bought a copy of Ulysses, have no idea when l will get around to reading it. Perhaps l will start on June 16, the day the action in the book takes place and also my birthday.
Just don't try to tell anyone if you enjoy it. That would be weird. I read Portrait of the Artist as a young man (well, when I was at school actually). Unreadable tosh.
I've never tried to read Ulysses. I did pick up a copy of Finnegan's Wake once and read approximately one line before I gave it up.
But I rather liked Portrait of the Artist, and also the short stories, Dubliners. I read those at school for English Lit, I think. I can't remember anything about them now.
A bloke graduates from Uni with an Arts Degree but has trouble finding any sort of job at all. In desperation, he fronts up to a building site and asks the foreman if he had any work going.
"That depends" said the boss. "You'd need some experience in construction. For example, what's the difference between girder and joist?"
"Easy" replies the bloke, "Goethe wrote Faust and Joyce wrote Ulysses".
Just bought a copy of Ulysses, have no idea when l will get around to reading it. Perhaps l will start on June 16, the day the action in the book takes place and also my birthday.
Just don't try to tell anyone if you enjoy it. That would be weird. I read Portrait of the Artist as a young man (well, when I was at school actually). Unreadable tosh.
I've never tried to read Ulysses. I did pick up a copy of Finnegan's Wake once and read approximately one line before I gave it up.
But I rather liked Portrait of the Artist, and also the short stories, Dubliners. I read those at school for English Lit, I think. I can't remember anything about them now.
I opened Finnegan's Wake on a stand outside a bookstore one day, and wondered what language it was written in. To me, Joyce is a massive beneficiary of the cultural cringe. Some editor should have just told him he wrote f**king crap.
A bloke graduates from Uni with an Arts Degree but has trouble finding any sort of job at all. In desperation, he fronts up to a building site and asks the foreman if he had any work going.
"That depends" said the boss. "You'd need some experience in construction. For example, what's the difference between girder and joist?"
"Easy" replies the bloke, "Goethe wrote Faust and Joyce wrote Ulysses".
Just bought a copy of Ulysses, have no idea when l will get around to reading it. Perhaps l will start on June 16, the day the action in the book takes place and also my birthday.
Just don't try to tell anyone if you enjoy it. That would be weird. I read Portrait of the Artist as a young man (well, when I was at school actually). Unreadable tosh.
I've never tried to read Ulysses. I did pick up a copy of Finnegan's Wake once and read approximately one line before I gave it up.
But I rather liked Portrait of the Artist, and also the short stories, Dubliners. I read those at school for English Lit, I think. I can't remember anything about them now.
I opened Finnegan's Wake on a stand outside a bookstore one day, and wondered what language it was written in. To me, Joyce is a massive beneficiary of the cultural cringe. Some editor should have just told him he wrote f**king crap.
Well l can't read Ulysses until l finish Darwin's, Origin Of The Species, which l have only just begun.
Meanwhile … a drunk was staggering down the street. Coming from the opposite direction were two nuns. As the distance between them narrowed the two nuns huddled closely together in fear. The drunk for his part continued to meander wildly from one side of the footpath to the other. The nuns were horrified as he approached them. Then at the last moment, just before it looked like he might crash into both of them, they separated and one went each side of him. Once past him they quickly locked arms once more and made off down the street. The drunk turned and looked in astonishment and said to himself, ' how did she do that?'
A bloke graduates from Uni with an Arts Degree but has trouble finding any sort of job at all. In desperation, he fronts up to a building site and asks the foreman if he had any work going.
"That depends" said the boss. "You'd need some experience in construction. For example, what's the difference between girder and joist?"
"Easy" replies the bloke, "Goethe wrote Faust and Joyce wrote Ulysses".
Just bought a copy of Ulysses, have no idea when l will get around to reading it. Perhaps l will start on June 16, the day the action in the book takes place and also my birthday.
Just don't try to tell anyone if you enjoy it. That would be weird. I read Portrait of the Artist as a young man (well, when I was at school actually). Unreadable tosh.
I've never tried to read Ulysses. I did pick up a copy of Finnegan's Wake once and read approximately one line before I gave it up.
But I rather liked Portrait of the Artist, and also the short stories, Dubliners. I read those at school for English Lit, I think. I can't remember anything about them now.
I opened Finnegan's Wake on a stand outside a bookstore one day, and wondered what language it was written in. To me, Joyce is a massive beneficiary of the cultural cringe. Some editor should have just told him he wrote f**king crap.
Well l can't read Ulysses until l finish Darwin's, Origin Of The Species, which l have only just begun.
Eleven people were hanging on a rope under a helicopter.. 10 men and 1 woman. The rope was not strong enough to carry them all so they decided that one had to let go, otherwise they were all going to fall. They weren't able to choose that person, until the woman gave a very touching speech. She said that she would voluntarily let go of the rope, because, as a woman, she was used to giving up everything for her husband and kids or for men in general, and was used to always making sacrifices with little in return. As soon as she finished her speech, all the men started clapping . . .
A horse walks into a bar, and the barman asks "why the long face?"
The horse, incapable of understanding human language, says nothing.
A horse walks into a bar.
Some patrons, aware of the possible danger, leave the establishment.
A horse walks into a bar and the bartender asks, "Why the long face?" And the horse answers, "My alcoholism is slowly killing me and is tearing my family apart."
The mother-in-law arrives home from the shops to find Paddy, her son-in-law, in a steaming rage and hurriedly packing his suitcase.
"Oh My God Paddy?†she asks anxiously. "What happened!!
“I'll tell you what happened Missus†He said “I sent a text to me wife telling her I was coming home from my trip today, and when I get home... guess what I found, my wife; yes, your daughter - naked in bed with another man!â€
This is the end of our marriage. I‘m done - I am leaving forever!"
"Ah now, calm down Paddy!" says his mother-in-law. “this is very strange, there is something very odd going on here.
My daughter would never do such a thing! There must be a simple explanation.
I'll go speak to her immediately and find out what happened."
Shortly afterwards, the mother-in-law comes back with a big smile... "Paddy, I told you there must be a simple explanation
. . . she never got your text!â€
A gay man decides to get a tattoo on his buttocks.
On arrival at the tattooist he spots a picture of the heavyweight
boxerCassius Clay.
'Oh! He's my favourite darling. Can you do him on the cheek of my ■■■?'
he asked the tattooist
So it was done. On the way out of the store he spots another picture
on the wall, this time Mike Tyson.
'Oh, good Lord!' the ■■■■■ exclaims, 'I just adore Iron Mike! Can
you do him on my other cheek?'
So it was done. On returning home, his boyfriend says, 'Well come on then, drop
your trou and give us a look.'
So he quickly drops his pants and bares his ■■■■.
His boyfriend gasps and replies, "I think our relationship is over!
I sure as hell ain't getting in the ring with those two."
An old station hand named Billy was overseeing the livestock in a remote pasture in the outback when suddenly a brand-new BMW advanced toward him out of a cloud of dust. The driver, a young man in a Brioni® suit, Gucci® shoes, RayBan® sunglasses and YSL® tie, leaned out the window and asked the old man, "If I tell you exactly how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf?" Billy looks at the young man, who obviously is a yuppie, then looks at his peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers, "Sure, why not?" The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell® notebook computer, connects it to his Cingular RAZR V3® cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite to get an exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. The yuppie then opens the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop® and exports it to an image processing facility in Hamburg, Germany ... Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot® that the image has been processed and the data stored. He then accesses an MS-SQL® database through an ODBC connected Excel® spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry® and, after a few minutes, receives a response. Finally, he prints out a full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet® printer, turns to Billy and says, "You have exactly 1,586 cows and calves." "That's right. Well, you'll be helping yourself to one of the bosses calves then since you won it fair and square." says Billy. He watches the smartly dressed yuppie select one of the animals and looks on with amusement as the man gingerly picks it up & stuffs it into the boot of his car. As the yuppie is carefully brushing the dust & hair off his suit, Billy says, "Hey, if I can tell you exactly what work you do & where you come from, will you give me back my calf?" The yuppie thinks about it for a second, wondering what this wrinkled up dirt encrusted uneducated old man could possibly know? He grins and then says, "Okay, old fella, why not? I'm a believer in fair play."
"You're a politician & you work in Canberra." says the old timer. "Wow! That's correct," says the yuppie, "but, tell me how on earth did you guess that?" "No guessing required." answered Billy "You showed up here even though nobody called you; you want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked. You used millions of dollars worth of equipment trying to show me how much smarter than me you are; and you don't know a thing about how working people make a living - or about cows, for that matter. This is a flock of sheep!! Now give me back my dog." AND THAT FOLKS IS WHAT THE PROBLEM IS ALL ABOUT.