SS Richard Montgomery Matter
The Infamous EMU Archive travel stories and other funny tales
Invasion of Disneyland
In 1979, my bruvver and I arrived on a business/pleasure trip at Los Angeles airport very late at night. We found that there were no cars to be hired, as it was the middle of the holiday season. In one car rental office was a young German lady pilot, who had reserved a car, but had left her driving licence in Germany and could not hire the car without it. She had telephoned Germany and it was being sent by special courier to her hotel the following day. The hotel was about 60 miles from the airport, and about 15 miles from Disneyland, where we were going the next day. My bruvver suggested to her that if we could rent the car that she couldn't, and if she paid for the petrol, we'd drive her to her motel. She agreed, and as we hadn't booked anywhere, we took rooms in the same motel. We mentioned we'd be going to Disneyland, and as she couldn't go anywhere until her licence arrived, we decided to go together (well, it was my bruvver who decided, and I was out-voted). She said, "I vill come to your motel room for you at 10 o'clock." My bruvver said that the reason he wanted her to come was that she would probably run the whole day out like a military operation. I didn't believe him, until at 9.45 am, he bet me five dollars that she would knock on our motel door within plus or minus ten seconds of 10 o'clock with a complete agenda for the whole day. I was sure I was on a winner, but I had underestimated German efficiency! My bruvver stood behind the door with his wristwatch in his right hand, and his left hand outstretched for the five dollars. I took out my wallet for him to give me the money at 15 seconds past 10 o'clock. He was counting down the seconds, and at EXACTLY 10.00, there was a knock on the door, which I thought was at least the FBI. He opened the door, I had to give him the five dollars, and the German girl could not understand why we had both collapsed on the floor in fits of laughter, as she handed my bruvver the agenda (flight plan) for the invasion of Disneyland! We had breakfast, according to schedule, which meant my bruvver didn't get to finish the morning newspaper, and she wouldn't let him take it in the toilet with him, as it would then have been outside her control. My bruvver told me later that he'd thought of escaping out of the toilet window. When we arrived at Disneyland, she took a map of the place, and my bruvver asked her if she'd need his compass. She said it wasn't necessary because by laying the map down in the central avenue, she knew which way due north was. She then calculated, according to lengths of queues etc, how long each ride would take us, and decided that 20 minutes for lunch would be enough. As some of the rides she wanted to go on were not the same as the ones we wanted to go on, she said, "You vill take ziss section to zer left, I vill take ziss section to zer right, and vee vill meet here at xx.00 hrs." The reason we didn't disappear there and then was because she livened the whole thing up! I didn't bother wasting any more money betting my bruvver she'd be there at the agreed time, but we got there two minutes early, just to be on the safe side. She expected and insisted on a full report of our likes and dislikes of the various rides, and she took notes. Eventually (not a minute too soon as far as I was concerned), the German lady made a phone call and discovered her driving licence and car were awaiting collection. My bruvver had to restrain my celebrations. We couldn't have got her to the collection point quicker if we'd had Kojak driving and a police motorcycle escort!
Holiday in Florida
When my bruvver and I were in Florida a few years ago, we stopped off in Fort Lauderdale. The weather was very hot so we decided to hire a boat (as in Miami Vice). Hiring a boat there is easier than hiring a car. All you do is sign a blank American Express charge card voucher (in case you write the boat off) and a disclaimer (in case you hit anything or kill anybody). This, under American law makes you liable for absolutely ANYTHING you do. So as soon as I got into the boat I immediately removed all my clothes, except for my swimming trunks, as every time I get into a boat with my bruvver, no matter what happens, I get soaked from head to foot. What annoys me is that he doesn't! Dunno how he manages it but it's always ME wot gets the water! After I'd put all my clothes into a big waterproof plastic bag and put them in a locker, I felt confident that I would be all right! We moved out into the main stream water traffic (same as central London during the rush hour, but on water) with my bruvver at the helm and me hanging on for dear life! When we'd cleared the traffic, he went to full power. the seat doesn't 'arf get hard when you're bouncing up and down on it! as we crossed the wash of another powerboat, our boat was thrown up in the air and down again. Not only did I get soaked (bruvver didn't), but the fire extinguisher shot off it's bracket and landed on my foot! my bruvver said, "Be careful with that, I signed for it!" I was going to throw it at him, but I was in too much pain! he said, "This boat doesn't go fast enough, let's get a bigger one". and so we did! We went to Key Largo and hired a dirty great big boat with twin 200hp Mercury outboards. To get out to sea you have to negotiate narrow channels. On our return through these channels, after another hair-raising experience with my bruvver's determination to go at the maximum speed at all times, we took a wrong turn (well, he did actually, but he blamed it on me for sunbathing instead of navigating)! The channel got narrower and narrower, and I could feel the alligators watching as dusk drew upon us. It was a bit like the scene from The African Queen, where Humphrey Bogart gets out and pushes (only NO WAY was I going into the water with all those leaches and alligators around)! As my bruvver had signed for the boat, I was not worried. He managed to turn a 24 ft boat in an 18ft channel by ramming the bank and doing a 6-point turn. When we got back, the hire company was amazed we hadn't damaged the boat. we found they were about to call out the coastguard as we had no lights or radio, and by this time it was dark. Handing the boat back we said, "It's OK, nothing to worry about, we're British!"
After being thrown out of the Home Office Rifle Club, I thought it would be a good idea to join another one. My bruvver, upon hearing this, said he knew of a small club nearby, and that he would come along and join with me. After my bruvver had spent all night with his John Bull printing outfit forging impeccable references, we became members. I was happy firing single shots at the target with a pistol, but my bruvver had other ideas! As he hadn't belonged to this type of club before, an instructor was present to assess and supervise him. After the other members had gone home, my bruvver said to the instructor, "This single shot lark is boring, let me show you my way of doing it." My bruvver then, to the amazement of the instructor, dismantled the pistol and did something to it to make it fire fully automatically (he wouldn't tell me where he'd learned this). He put in a full magazine, jumped over the barrier to the range and fired, emptying the whole magazine in ten seconds! The instructor was speechless. A refund of our membership came in the post!
Whilst on the subject of guns, when my bruvver and I were touring Florida, we noticed a newspaper advertisement for testing weapons on a gun shop firing range. My bruvver immediately diverted us there, and we spent the next two full days renting different types of guns, plus as much ammo as we could get, firing them on the range (to the amazement of the locals). We started with the smallest guns (.38 detective snub nosed special) and worked our way up to the really big stuff (.357 Magnum, as they didn't have a .44 Dirty Harry in stock). Eventually my bruvver got hold of an automatic pump action shotgun. On ranges, for those not familiar, a card is fitted into a wire device and electrically propelled up or down the range by pressing a button, to set the distance you want to shoot at. The favourite American target was a head and shoulder full sized picture of the Ayatollah Khomeini. My bruvver put one of these into the electric conveyor and sent it to the far end of the range. I pressed the button to make it come towards him at speed. My bruvver shouted, "You dirty rat!" and blasted the target to pieces, emptying the shotgun as fast as he could! The problem was, he did it so fast, that one live cartridge jammed and the gun came to bits. They had to call a firearms expert before they'd move it off the range! My bruvver then asked if he could use the Ingram's machine gun, which fires 600 rounds per minute, but for some reason, they refused him! I cannot possibly think why! Anyway, it was good fun, and my bruvver gets a strange look when I remind him of it!
A true story of a few amusing moments during our trip to Israel in 1983, at the time Reagan stationed 40 battleships off The Lebanese coast. The first we heard of this (owing to Israeli Internal censorship) was after the whole of Tel Aviv was blacked Out due, we were told, to an "accident" at the power station. After my bruvver went out and borrowed all the candles from the 5-star hotel toilets (we only stay in the best, as we were Subsidised by the Israeli Tourist Board in our capacity as travel Agents) (that's another story on it's own)! My bruvver said we should not take a chance and believe the hotel staff that the Power would be back on soon. In fact it was off all night with Only the hotel generators for the lifts and emergency lighting. We, however, had about 20 candlepower in our room! When the power returned, we went to a location where direct News came in off the International press wires and noted the Current dodgy situation, along with some German tourists, who, Upon reading about the battleships, waved their arms about, Mentioned Zer Var, and made enquiries about how to get to the Airport quickly. After speaking to some United Nations troops my Bruvver said, "Why don't we drive up to the Lebanese border where All the action is!" Two hours later, after convincing me that we Wouldn't actually CROSS the border, I agreed to his idea. We Hired a car (that took another two hours whilst I negotiated the Price; everything is negotiable in Israel, and they really work For it as they, like us, are all Jewish! As is the practice in Israel, you give lifts to any Military personnel who are hitchhiking. This poor girl soldier was Stupid enough to accept a lift from us. (I doubt if she would Have done, had she seen the lunatic look my bruvver always has Behind the wheel of a car, but he was wearing dark glasses)! We Were travelling on a mountain road when she asked my bruvver very Nervously from the back of the car why he was driving at this Speed (about 95 mph). My bruvver said to me, "You tell her!" I Explained to the girl the good news and the bad news. The bad News...he was only doing 95 mph because that was as fast as the Car would go. The good news, I told her, was that we'd soon be Going Downhill, and then he'd be able to go a bit faster! And we Did, and HE DID! The noise of her moans from the back of the car Out-did the whining sound of the engine box going full blast, the Grating of the gearbox and the profanities my bruvver was Uttering about the gearbox not wanting to change down. By this Time I'd closed my eyes as well! The next soldier hitchhiker we picked up wasn't so lucky. We'd taken a wrong turn onto a motorway. My bruvver said, "Watch This. If James Bond can do it, so can I". He promptly reversed up The motorway slip road. A vanload of foreign gentlemen came past Us just as another load of equally foreign gents decided to Overtake the first lot. What happened was I got a close up view Of the second van as it came through my door. By this time I was Sitting in my bruvver's lap with my hands covering my head. The Soldier jumped out the broken window and ran! Then all chaos reigned! All the foreign gentlemen jumped out of the van, waved Their arms in the air and shouted what appeared to be abuse. A Truck load of United Nations troops slowed down and nearly caused A multiple pile-up. The problem was that nobody spoke English, Until the police turned up and explained to them that it was a Hire car and we were fully insured. They then seemed very happy And drove off waving. We got a police escort back to the local Car hire depot, where my bruvver said to the poor man behind the Counter, "Can we have a new car, please?" My bruvver explained That he'd had a bit of trouble with the gearbox. The man had a Look at the car, turned pale and took me to one side. "Can he Actually drive?" the man asked. I of course said, "Yes". He asked My bruvver how it was that the van hit the side door, yet there Was a big dent in the rear bumper. "Ah, that was where I Demolished flower boxes in the garage when the car accidentally Went into reverse gear!" came the reply. The man took me aside Again and said, "Are you SURE he can drive?" Having assured him, He was silly enough to give us another car! So there we were in sunny downtown Israel, with a new hire Car, replacing the one my bruvver had just wrecked. After my bruvver had had a good night's sleep, only disturbed by me waking Up during the night in a cold sweat and screaming, remembering The previous day's events and then peacefully going back to sleep Again when I reminded myself that some people are worse off than Us (i.e. those poor fools we conned into looking after the cat), we Continued our trip in the direction of the Lebanese border, where All the action was. We were near Jericho when my bruvver had a Call of nature. We pulled off the road and he noticed tank tracks. So we followed off the road where they went. We came upon what my bruvver described as the equivalent of Rommel's 3rd Division! He saw girl soldiers and wanted to immediately Surrender, but I told him our mission was more important. By now it was dark and we came upon a roadblock. The Soldier manning it, according to my bruvver, waved us on. I Wasn't too sure! As my bruvver was doing about 60 mph at the Time, I doubt if he could have seen the soldier wave him on, and I wasn't taking any chances, especially as they all had machine Guns. So, as they do in the films, I jumped from the passenger Seat into the4 back and hit the deck. I was wondering how we were Going to explain the bullet holes to that poor man in the car Hire office (assuming we survived)! My bruvver realised what had Happened, went lower in his seat and accelerated!
The following Day, we were driving by the Sea of Galilee, in the direction of The Golan Heights, when we picked up a hitchhiking soldier. It was Only after he was in the car and my bruvver had driven off like a Lunatic, that I realised what the soldier was carrying. He told Us he was in the bomb disposal squad (he was the only person who Actually enjoyed my bruvver's driving)! He was armed to the teeth With absolutely everything except for a nuclear device (and we Were not quite sure about that)! As my bruvver was discussing the Pros and cons of the special gun he had across his shoulder, I Had a thought. The way my bruvver drives, combined with the fact That his full attention wasn't on the road, and we were carrying Enough explosives etc. on board to start World War III, what would Happen if we hit something? I asked him and he told me the good News and the bad news. The good news...we wouldn't have to worry About all that paperwork in the car hire office; the bad News...there wouldn't be a car left! When the soldier eventually got out of the car, he thanked My bruvver for a fantastic drive, which had made his day, and Asked him if he wanted to join the bomb disposal squad. But he Also told us we wouldn't be able to get near enough to the border And it was very dangerous. Not wanting to do anything dangerous (!) We made our way back to our hotel. In the lift was a Uniformed officer. My bruvver, looking at his uniform and seeing That he was obviously of a fairly high rank said to him, "Are you Important?" There was no reply. We saw the officer's picture in The morning paper. He turned out to be the Commander in Chief of All the troops!
Another time when we were in Paris, my bruvver decided to practice his driving around the Champs d'Elleyse & Place de Concorde (I preferred being with the bomb squad man...it was less dangerous). With the experience of Hyde Park Corner, London behind him, he said that the faster you go round these giant roundabouts, the more chance the other cars on the road will get out of your way. He didn't take into account that all these foreigners drive on the wrong side of the road and therefore they come at you from the wrong direction! I don't know how he managed it (coz I had my eyes shut), but he didn't hit anything! We went to the Montmartre market in the north of Paris, and went into a seedy cafe for a meal. My bruvver started off on the wrong note by taking his own bottle of Coca Cola in with him. (He didn't actually drink from it). When we finished eating, I noticed on the bill that we'd been stitched up (by 29% foreigner tax)! As our French is no good, my bruvver showed the manager on his calculator that the bill did not add up according to the menu. I then took out my biro and wrote the correct figures on some paper. The manager, all 6ft 4ins, 18 stone of him, picked me clean off the ground and shouted abuse in French. My bruvver looked up at me and suggested we had better pay the bill and leave (the quicker the better)! Meanwhile the man had destroyed my biro by snapping it into little pieces! My bruvver gave the man the money, whereupon we were ejected! Fortunately, what they didn't realise was that earlier, I'd used the toilet and had trouble turning the tap. When I forced it with my boot, the whole sink came off the wall. I escaped before the water got too deep!
Buying a second hand car
In case you think my bruvver is the only bad driver in the family, here is a true story about what happened when I went to buy a second hand car many years ago. We answered an advertisement in a newspaper. When we arrived at the seller's house he turned out to be an aged solicitor, with absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever. I had to restrain my bruvver something rotten, short of gagging him! The man was selling his aged wife's equally-aged car. My bruvver gave the car his standard wall of death drive. This has the effect of softening up the seller and sometimes bringing the price down, and putting their blood pressure up. But on this occasion it nearly finished the old boy off! When we returned from this wall of death test drive my bruvver said he was satisfied the car was OK and suggested I had a go (after all, it was me who was buying the car). I promptly got into it, stuck it into reverse gear and wheel spun it into a concrete pillar. The seller looked down at me and the damage over the top of his glasses. I looked back at him, handed him a wad of notes and said, "We'll take it!"
Whilst on the subject of buying cars, here (for those of you who are not familiar with my bruvver's style of driving) is a description of a later wall of death drive in a BMW car. On this occasion the seller brought the car round to us. My bruvver, after doing a visual inspection of the car, said we'd buy it subject to a test drive. When the seller (the poor fool) agreed, my bruvver produced a pair of L-plates from under his jacket and stuck them on the car. The seller's jaw dropped! Before he had a chance to say anything I jumped in the back, my bruvver was in the driver's seat and the seller just had time to fasten his seat belt as my bruvver tested the standing quarter mile acceleration. He said to me, "Keep a look out the back window for the police and listen for vibration in the back once we hit the ton-plus!" The seller was, by this time, too petrified to move as we went over Chelsea Bridge at more than 60 mph. For those of you who don't know London, going south over Chelsea Bridge is a half mile road, with Battersea Park on the right and a large roundabout at the end. This road is famed for motorcycle speed testing (illegal, of course) in the 60s and 70s. We were doing about 90 mph as we came into the roundabout. Tyres screaming, we circled it and came back up the road at an even greater speed (for the vibration test, my bruvver said). I am glad to say the car passed the test. So was the poor seller, who staggered out of the car and accepted my offer without hesitation, but for some reason, declined my bruvver's offer of a lift home!
School Trip to HollandFor those of you who like our travel stories, here are some that happened when I went with my bruvver on a School Journey to Belgium and Holland many years ago (well, not that long ago). For those who don't like our travel stories, TOUGH, because here comes another true one. Whilst on the ferry across the Hook of Holland, I was with my bruvver having a quiet snooze, after sneaking into the 1st Class section. All of a sudden we heard a lady screaming (in foreign). My bruvver rolled off the bunk bed and ran in the direction of the screams. The amount of noise gave me the impression that either the ship was going down or someone was being murdered. The captain and four members of crew who turned up with fire axes appeared to think the same! What had happened was a foreign old lady had locked herself in the pre-war rust-ridden toilet and had panicked. The door was cast iron, and so the axes had no effect. My bruvver, being a schoolboy was able, with the help of the crew, to squeeze through the gap at the top of the door and, whilst being held upside down by his feet, with the aid of his trusty boy scout flick knife, was able to unjam the door lock. He did all this with great bravery, as the half dressed lady increased her rate of screaming when he popped over the top of the loo door. The screaming reached a crescendo when the door swung open (with my bruvver still hanging upside down attached to it) and the woman was left standing in front of the crew and half the passengers, in a disrobed condition! As a reward we were thrown out of the 1st Class section! Whilst in Belgium the town of Ghent had the misfortune to be visited by my bruvver! Whilst in the ancient clock tower, my bruvver noted that the hands of the clock were controlled by long metal bars near the ceiling. Organising a human pyramid, the tallest, heaviest of our mob (sorry, group) was instructed to swing on this bar. This caused the clock hands to move backwards five minutes...the first time the clock had shown the wrong time for more than 100 years, including two World Wars! When we realised that swinging on the bar in the opposite direction did not put things right, our teacher, realising what had happened, evacuated us faster than if the place had been on fire. As we were bundled into the coach, the clock struck five. We all looked up and saw that the time was showing 4.55. At this moment, a policeman walked across the square in the direction of the coach. The driver looked at the policeman, us, the clock and his watch, started the coach and did a world record departure which would have shamed a rally driver!
Whilst on the subject of horology, my bruvver and a friend of his, during his schooldays (the happiest of his life, but not those of his school) were in the Science Museum, London, where they have a clock gallery. An old church clock, which chimed on the hour and on the quarter hour, was exhibited there. My bruvver discovered that by lifting a lever momentarily (by reaching over the top of the glass case) he was able to cause the clock to chime at random. The museum staff called in an expert who looked at the clock and, much to the amusement of my bruvver and his friend, could not work out why this was happening. A museum attendant knew my bruvver had something to do with it, so he and other attendants hid and watched the clock and my bruvver very carefully. When my bruvver and his friend triggered the clock again, the attendant blew a whistle and four of them grabbed my bruvver (and his friend, who blamed my bruvver for everything) and frog marched them to the museum office, where they were confronted by the Kommandant (head keeper), who, along with the clock expert, asked them why they did it. My bruvver replied, "I only did it for a bit of fun to liven things up. It was worth it just to see the look on the expert geezer's face!" His friend said again, "It was all his fault and it was nuffink to do wiv me, guvn'r", (the snivelling little rat)! The Kommandant pronounced sentence that they were to be banned from the museum, and they were forcibly ejected (by the side entrance, so as not to upset the tourists).
(Update approx 45 years later.... April 2010 Bruvver here) I risked going back to the museum 45 years later hoping nobody would recognise me. They seem to have moved the clocks position in the gallery and put a guard rail around it to prevent a repeat of the mystery chimes. After looking carefully around noticed cameras & attendant so thought it not a good idea to climb up & move lever, as being thrown out into dustbins at the rear of the museum would not do my arthritis any good... I also had visions of the clock expert in a wheelchair being pushed by the Retired Kommandant (both about 90 years old!) coming along and shouting that's him throw him out! I managed to get a photo of the clock (from wells cathedral) before making my exit undetected,unless the Kommandant comes in daily to check security camera footage daily just in case... I have decided against returning to Ghent for similar reasons. (see school trip above)
FireworksIn 1977 there was a firework display to celebrate the Queen's Jubilee. It took place on the River Thames opposite the Royal Festival Hall, from a barge moored in the middle of the river, late on a summer's evening. My bruvver and I (patriotic like wot we are) decided, along with the other two million people, that we wanted a front of the row, Embankment side view of the event. We turned up about twenty minutes before it started. To our horror, we noticed there were 1,999,998 people between us and the best view. My bruvver had a brilliant idea. It came to him in a latter-to-be-regretted inspiring flash of light! He pointed up at Hungerford Railway Bridge, which runs parallel with Waterloo Bridge and had an unobstructed view of the display. I said, "We'll never get up there!" My bruvver said, "Want a bet?" We then went to Waterloo Station, where my bruvver forced me to open my purse, whereupon a dead moth fell out. He then felt sorry for me and as it was a special occasion, bought two tickets to the next station along the line. He then told me, "No one will mind if we walk to the next station, as we've paid for our tickets and the train does not appear to be here." We walked off the end of the platform and a voice shouted from behind us, "OI! YOU!" My bruvver said, "Keep walking and don't look back." I said to him, "Aren't these metal things full of electricity or something?" (remembering what had happened to the cat's father when my bruvver decided that being incontinent in his bed was one thing, but being incontinent in his bed whilst he was in it was enough, and he took the cat's father down to the railway lines for a close look. I still wake up in the night screaming when I remember seeing the sparks and smell the burning fur, when the cat allegedly committed suicide). Anyway, back to the story...There we were, walking towards the railway bridge along the line, with my bruvver saying, "Remember, don't walk on the live rail, and me thinking, "There's a lot of rails here, which is the live one?" I brought to my bruvver's attention as we approached the bridge along the line, that we hadn't seen one train. At this moment we saw figures on the bridge ahead and thought other people had got the same idea as us. One had even brought his doggie along for an evening walk. They seemed well prepared, as they all, like my bruvver, had torches. My bruvver said to me, "It appears to be the local Constabulary! (or slightly stronger X-rated words to that effect)! We decided it might be a good idea to do an about turn and in the words of the criminal fraternity, do "a runner"! However, we discovered that some other nice policemen had also decided it was a good place and time to exercise their dogs from behind us. So there we were, on the bridge, surrounded by police. My bruvver said, "Leave it to me, I'll do the talking." (And I had immediate visions of us looking through bars in the Tower of London)! "What do you think you're playing at?" said one of the policemen, as I stroked his doggie. They asked us if we realised they'd stopped all the trains to the South coast, and that half the police force had been put on alert as a result of our actions. I then replied, "But we only came to look at the fireworks!" The inspector said, "Right sergeant, nick 'em!" As they were taking us away my bruvver said, "Can we stay and watch the fireworks first?" All the way to the police station, my bruvver and the inspector (who had made the mistake of cautioning him, which means that everything he says has to be taken down in writing) were arguing the merits for and against the damage my bruvver and I would have caused if a 400 ton train had hit us, whilst a poor PC was trying to write it all down in his notebook by torchlight, walking along a railway line in otherwise pitch darkness. The end of it all was, we missed the firework display. We pleaded guilty by post to trespassing on the railway and were fined £25, with £30 costs. We wouldn't do it again, as you know we are more mature now.
HOW TO REMAIN UNEMPLOYED AND CONTINUE COLLECTING YOUR UNEMPLOYMENT BENEFIT, WITHOUT TURNING DOWN A JOB.
When first shown into the room where the interview is taking place, rub the back of your hand across your nose and then attempt to shake hands with the interviewer. If your hand is accepted, take an old age pensioner type deep breath and from the pit of the stomach, spit into the ashtray. If immediately after this action you are not thrown out the back door on to the dustbins by security officers wearing overalls, gloves and facemasks, proceed as follows...Whilst speaking to the interviewer, look around the office focusing special attention on things such as the safe; then get up and wander around looking into drawers and filing cabinets, and asking about things like, do they keep much petty cash on the premises at night, and would it be possible if you get the job, to have a sub on your first week's wages straight away. I forgot to mention that the dress for this sort of interview should be of a standard that would win you first prize at the dustbin rakers' annual convention. To achieve this high standard, you would need to have spent the three hours immediately prior to the interview sitting on top of a mature compost heap in your local park. Should these tactics fail to work, due to them being desperate for an employee because they pay such low wages, mention that if your probation officer contacts them, the incident in the prison psychiatric wing where you cut the face of the screw who mentioned you were gay, was grossly exaggerated. Tell them you only used a razor, not a broken glass. Begin to shake, and take a small container from your pocket. Ask if you can have the key to the executive toilet, as you have to have a fix, otherwise you sometimes become uncontrollably violent, and you have the urge to eat tropical fish etc (like those over there). Attempt to open the container and say words to the effect of, "It's good stuff, man. Do you want to try some?" Before proceeding to the executive toilet, ask the interviewer if the company would mind you taking time off, as the clinic want you to have further tests, as the mentioned something about AIDS, but there's nothing to worry about. Then ask them if you've got the job!
Here are a couple of true stories taken out of foreign newspapers. The first concerned a French man, accused of robbery. When asked by the judge why he did it, he said that he needed the money because he wanted to see a psychiatrist. The judge sent him to see one free of charge! On the other side of the Atlantic there was a case which posed an even more interesting problem for the judge. A man was taken to court by his psychiatrist because he'd refused to pay his bill for treatment. The reason the man gave the court for non-payment was that he must have been mad at the time to agree to such a high fee. The judge had to decide, if the psychiatrist cured the man, then the man WAS mad to begin with, and therefore not legally fit to agree to the fee. If the man was NOT mad in the first place, then the psychiatrist was incorrect in his diagnosis and wasn't entitled to a fee! Unfortunately, the result of this case is not known.
Here's a true story from my bruvver. He says a friend of his who breeds budgies, cleans their cage out with a pipe from their upright vacuum cleaner. Whilst the mother was out, their little boy tried this out on a cage with a single bird in it. The bird was sucked into the cleaner and killed. Not wanting to upset his mother, he glued the bird to it's perch, hoping his mother would not notice. Fifteen minutes after his mother returned, she noticed the bird had not moved. When she found out what her son had done she was so amazed that she didn't punish him. The moral of this story is, always keep glue handy when vacuum cleaning!
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