Beste bezoeker,

U zult het een weekje zonder uw favoriete startpagina moeten stellen, deze jongen gaat er een paar dagen tussenuit! Mocht u deze dagen op de hoogte willen blijven van de avonturen van Christopher dan kan ik u het weblogje van zwager Elias aanbevelen. Mocht u deze dagen (door bv. de warmte) de slaap niet kunnen vatten, dan kan ik u van harte het weblogje van mijn vader aanbevelen.

Tot snel!

Groet,

Gijs

Batman and Robin have set up their tent and are camping in the desert,
they are fast asleep. Some hours later, Batman wakes his faithful
friend.

“Robin, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”

Robin replies,” I see millions of stars.”

“What does that tell you?” asks Batman.

Robin ponders for a  minute. “Astronomically speaking, it tells me that

there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets.

Astrologically, it tells me that Saturn is in Leo.

Chronologically, it appears to be approximately a quarter past three.

Theologically, it’s evident the Lord is all-powerful and we are small
and insignificant.

Meteorologically, it seems we will have a beautiful day tomorrow.

What does it tell you,  Batman?”

Batman is silent for a  moment, and then speaks:

“Robin, you f**king idiot, someone has stolen our tent.”

Hillary Clinton and her driver were cruising along a country road one
evening when an ancient cow loomed in front of the car. The driver tried
to avoid it but couldn’t – the aged bovine was struck and killed.

Hillary told her driver to go up to the farmhouse and explain to the
owners what had happened. She stayed in the car making phone calls to
lobbyists.

About an hour later the driver staggered back to the car with his
clothes in disarray. He was holding a half-empty bottle of expensive
wine in one hand, a rare, huge Cuban cigar in the other, and was smiling
happily, smeared with lipstick.

“What happened to you,” asked Hillary?  “Well,” the driver replied, “the
farmer gave me the cigar, his wife gave me the wine, and their beautiful
twin daughters made passionate love to me!”

“My God, what did you tell them?” asked Hillary.

The driver replied, “I just stepped inside the door and said, I’m
Hillary Clinton’s driver and I’ve just killed the old cow. The rest
happened so fast I couldn’t stop it.

The other night I was invited out for a night with “the girls”. I told
my husband that I would be home by midnight, “I promise!” Well, the
hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy.  Around 3 a.m.,
a bit worse for wear, I headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the
cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times.

Quickly, realizing my husband would probably wake up, I cuckooed another
9 times. I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a
quick-witted solution, in order to escape a possible conflict with him.
(Even when  totally smashed…3 cuckoos plus 9 cuckoos totals 12 cuckoos
= MIDNIGHT!)

The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him
  “Midnight”. He didn’t seem concerned at all.

Whew! Got away with that one! Then he said, “We need a new cuckoo clock.”

When I asked him why. He said, “Well, last night our clock cuckooed
three times, then said, “Oh Crap.”, cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its
throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then
tripped over the coffee table and farted.

A boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had not phoned in
sick one day.
Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialled the
employee’s home phone number and was greeted with a child’s whisper.
“Hello?”
“Is your daddy home?” he asked.
“Yes,” whispered the small voice.
“May I talk with him?”
The child whispered, “No.”
Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, “Is you’re
Mummy there?”
“Yes.”
“May I talk with her?”
Again the small voice whispered, “No.”
Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss
asked, “Is anybody else there?”
“Yes,” whispered the child, “a policeman.”
Wondering what a polis would be doing at his employee’s home, the boss
asked, “May I speak with the policeman?”
“No, he’s busy”, whispered the child.
“Busy doing what?”
“Talking to Mummy and Daddy and the Fireman,” replied the whispered
answer.
Growing more worried as he heard what sounded like a helicopter through
the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, “What is that noise?”
“A hello-copper” answered the whispering voice.
“What is going on there?” demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.
Again, whispering, the child answered, “The search team just landed the
hello-copper.”
Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, “What are
they searching for?”
Still whispering, the youngster replied with a muffled giggle, “ME.”

An old hillbilly farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully.
From morning till night, she was always complaining about something.
The only time he got any relief was when he was out plowing with
his old mule.

One day, when he was out plowing, his wife brought him lunch in
the field. He drove the old mule into the shade, sat down on a stump,
and began to eat his lunch. Immediately, his wife began harrassing him
again. Complain,…nag, …nag; it just went on and on….
All of a sudden, the old mule lashed out with both hind feet;
caught her smack in the back of the head. Killed her dead on the spot.

At the funeral several days later, the minister noticed something
rather odd. When a woman mourner would approach the old farmer, he
would listen for a minute, then nod his head in agreement; but when a
man mourner approached him, he would listen for a minute, then shake his
head in disagreement.

This was so consistent, the minister decided to ask the old farmer
about it. So after the funeral, the minister spoke to the old farmer,
and asked him why he nodded his head and agreed with the women, but
always shook his head and disagreed with all the men.
The old farmer said: “Well, the women would come up and say
something about how nice my wife looked, or how pretty her dress was, so
I’d nod my head in agreement.”
“And what about the men?” the minister asked.
“They wanted to know if the mule was for sale.”

Inexperienced curry taster named FRANK, who was
visiting India from the U.S.:

“Recently I was honored to be selected as a judge at a curry cook-off.
The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to
be standing there at the judge’s table asking directions to the beer
wagon when the call came. I was assured by the other two judges (couple
of local Indians) that the curry wouldn’t be all that spicy, and
besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I
accepted. Here are the scorecards from the event:
___________________________________________
Curry # 1: Manoj’s Maniac Mobster Monster Curry
JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
FRANK: Holy shit, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried
paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I
hope that’s the worst one. These people are crazy.
__________________________________
Curry # 2: Applesamy’s Afterburner Curry
JUDGE ONE: Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.
JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor needs more peppers to be taken
seriously.
FRANK: Keep this out of reach of children! I’m not sure what I am
supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted
to give me the Heimlich manoeuvre. They had to rush in more beer when
they saw the look on my face.
___________
Curry # 3: Farouk’s Famous Burn down the Barn curry
JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse curry! Great kick. Needs more beans.
JUDGE TWO: A beanless curry, a bit salty, good use of red peppers.
FRANK: Call Colesburg, I’ve located a uranium spill. My nose feels
like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now;
get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now
my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I’m getting shit-faced
from all the beer.
__________________________
Curry # 4: Barbu’s Black Magic
JUDGE ONE: Black bean curry with almost no spice. Disappointing.
JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish
or other >mild foods, not much of a curry.
FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to
taste it, is it possible to burn-out taste buds? Savathree, the bar
maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. bitch is
starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear waste I’m eating. Is
curry an aphrodisiac?
__________________________________________
Curry # 5: Laveshnee’s Legal Lip Remover
JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong curry. Cayenne peppers freshly ground,
adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
JUDGE TWO: Curry using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must
admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
FRANK: My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I
can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me
needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that
her curry had given me brain damage. Savathree saved my tongue from
bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. I wonder if I’m
burning my lips off? It really pisses me off that the other judges asked
me to stop screaming. Screw them!
_________________________________________
Curry # 6: Vera’s Very Vegetarian Variety
JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety curry. Good balance of
spice and peppers.
JUDGE TWO: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and
garlic. Superb.
FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous,
sulfuric flames. I shit myself when I farted and I’m worried it will eat
through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that
sl*t Savathree,she must be kinkier than I thought. Can’t feel my lips
anymore. I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone!
_______________________________________________
Curry # 7: Sugash’s Screaming Sensation Curry
JUDGE ONE: A mediocre curry with too much reliance on canned peppers.
JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of
curry peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about
Judge Number 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is
cursing uncontrollably.
FRANK: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I
wouldn’t feel a F@cking thing. I’ve lost the sight in one eye, and
the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered
with curry which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of
lava-like shit to match my damn shirt. At least during the autopsy
they’ll know what killed me. I’ve decided to stop breathing, it’s too
painful. F@ck it, I’m not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I’ll
just suck it in through the 4 inch hole in my stomach.
___________________________________________
Curry # 8: Hansraj’s Mount Saint Curry
JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend curry, safe for
all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced curry, neither mild
nor hot.
Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out,
fell over and pulled the curry pot down on top of himself. Not sure if
he’s going to make it. Poor Frank, wonder how he’d have reacted to a
really hot curry?
FRANK: ————– (editor’s note: Judge #3 was unable to report)