It’s common practice in England to ring a telephone by sending extra voltage across one side of the two wire circuit and ground (earth in England). When the subscriber answers the phone, it switches to the two wire circuit for the conversation. This method allows two parties on the same line to be signalled without disturbing each other.

An elderly lady with several pets called to say that her telephone failed to ring when her friends called; and that on the few occasions when it did ring her dog always barked first. The telephone repairman proceeded to the scene, curious to see this psychic dog.

He climbed a nearby telephone pole, hooked in his test set, and dialed the subscriber’s house. The phone didn’t ring. He tried again. The dog barked loudly, followed by a ringing telephone.

Climbing down from the pole, the telephone repairman found:

1. The dog was tied to the telephone system’s ground post via an iron chain and collar.

2. The dog was receiving 90 volts of signalling current.

3. After several such jolts, the dog would start barking and urinating on the ground.

4. The wet ground now completed the circuit and the phone would ring.

Which shows you that some problems can be fixed by just pissing on them. But only temporarily.

The following was an actual advertisement in an Irish Newspaper…

+  1985 Blue Volkswagen Golf +  Only 15 km +  Only first gear and reverse used +  Never driven hard +  Original tires +  Original brakes +  Original fuel and oil +  Only 1 driver +  Owner wishing to sell due to employment lay-off

Last week, the Singapore Zoological Gardens announced that they were setting up a bank containing sperm samples of all the wildlife under their supervision. At the same time, zoo sperm bank worker Mohd. Binatang bin Goncang won a competition for “Worst Job in Singapore”.

Wildlife Reserves Singapore (WRS), which runs theSingapore Zoo, the Jurong BirdPark and the Night Safari, has set up a bank of sperm and animal tissue in order to help preserve species. And it is Mr. Binatang’s job to collect the sperm.

“Teruk, sial,” said Mr. Binatang as we followed him on his rounds to 4 a.m. “We start so early in the morning because a lot of the animals have ‘morning glory’ when they wake up and it’s easier to collect the sperm.”

Wearing rubber gloves and carrying a cooler box filled with ice and tupperware, Mr. Binatang, 25, told us that he’d just graduated from Singapore Polytechnic with a diploma in life sciences. He liked nature and animals, and thought that the Singapore Zoo would be the perfect place to work.

“I never thought I’d be giving an orangutan a hand job every morning,” he said somewhat ruefully. “And Ah Meng is the worst. He expects to be kissed first.” As we approached the orangutan enclosure, we saw the Zoo’s most famous resident lying casually on his back, hands behind his head, and sporting a huge erection. Mr. Binatang sighed, and applied massage oil onto his gloves.

We lingered outside the enclosure as Mr. Binatang entered and knelt before Ah Meng. About 2 minutes’ worth of squelching noises could be heard before Mr. Binatang emerged again. “So fast?” we asked. “He’s shy with you strangers looking on and can’t perform today,” said Mr. Binatang with a grin, before silently mouthing “thank you” to us.

We next moved towards the tiger enclosure. The big cats were sprawled lazily on the grass verge as Mr. Binatang approached. “Sayang, sayang,” said Mr. Binatang in a somewhat half-hearted manner as he put on a fresh set of gloves and entered the enclosure. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…” Moments later, Mr. Binatang emerged with several tupperwares full of viscous fluid. “Is that…?” we asked gingerly. “It’s not soya bean,” replied Mr. Binatang grimly. “Isn’t it dangerous?” we asked. Mr. Binatang was silentt for a while. “They know I’m not there as an enemy,” he finally said, a glazed, faraway look in his eyes. We fought the urge to say, “Give that man a tiger.”

Mr. Binatang then worked his way round the zoo, carrying out his duties with the tapirs, the rhinoceros, giraffe and the gorillas, amongst others.

“Each animal is different,” he said, removing his gloves, now speckled with traces of polar bear spunk. “The polar bears come rather quickly, because they’re not used to my warm hands on their cold organs. The chimpanzees always want to be hugged afterwards. The elephant is the most teruk because of the size of its thing… sometimes I have to use both my arms to tug on it. I feel like the bell ringer in a cathedral. Like Quasimodo or something. And god, when he comes, it’s like being sprayed by hot glue.”

Mr. Binatang finished his rounds at 3 pm in the afternoon. The cooler box was full of neatly-labeled tupperwares of animal semen, which were duly delivered to the WRS office. “I don’t know how long I’m going to stay in this job,” said Mr. Binatang, peeling off his overalls. “As you can expect it’s really affecting my sex life. I can’t help it. Each time my wife initiates sex, these ejaculating hippos keep floating through my mind.”

The WRS acknowledges Mr. Binatang’s difficulties and promises that the semen collection procedure will soon change. But not because of the unpleasantness of the job. “It’s because the animals have gotten too used to Binatang coming over every morning to pull them off,” said deputy assistant director Lai Jee Seow. “Many of them now can’t be bothered to engage in real sex.”

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot fat.

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. Even in his last years, Grandpa had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while. Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a student on 31p-a-pint night.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”

It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader of the House of Commons, in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with their power tools.

She was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.

My favourite She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature British beef.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.

TEACHER: Maria, go to the map and find North America.
MARIA: Here it is.
TEACHER: Correct. Now class, who discovered America?
CLASS: Maria.

TEACHER: John, why are you doing your math multiplication on the floor?
JOHN: You told me to do it without using tables.

TEACHER: Glenn, how do you spell “crocodile?”
GLENN: K-R-O-K-O-D-I-A-L
TEACHER: No, that’s wrong
GLENN: Maybe it is wrong, but you asked me how I spell it.

TEACHER: Donald, what is the chemical formula for water?
DONALD: H I J K L M N O.
TEACHER: What are you talking about?
DONALD: Yesterday you said it’s H to O.

TEACHER: Winnie, name one important thing we have today that we didn’t have ten years ago.
WINNIE: Me!

TEACHER: Glen, why do you always get so dirty?
GLEN: Well, I’m a lot closer to the ground than you are.

TEACHER: Millie, give me a sentence starting with “I”.
MILLIE: I is…
TEACHER: No, Millie… Always say, “I am.”
MILLIE: All right… “I am the ninth letter of the alphabet.”

TEACHER: George Washington not only chopped down his father’s cherry tree, but also admitted it. Now, Louie, do you know why his father didn’t punish him?
LOUIS: Because George still had the axe in his hand.

TEACHER: Now, Simon, tell me frankly, do you say prayers before eating?
SIMON: No sir, I don’t have to, my Mom is a good cook.

TEACHER: Clyde, your composition on “My Dog” is exactly the same as your brother’s. Did you copy his?
CLYDE: No, teacher, it’s the same dog.

TEACHER: Harold, what do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are no longer interested?
HAROLD: A teacher.