Following the Second World War, the city of London, United Kingdom, hosted the 1948 Olympic Games despite significant damage undertaken as part of the conflict. Here are extracts of conversations between the Olympic Committee President (OC President) and various stakeholders involved in the event.
- PROJECT MANAGER: Some athletes got lost in the fog on the track field!
OC PRESIDENT: Well I think we should start by postponing the archery events for now…
PROJECT MANAGER: A shame the dentistry school also got destroyed…
OC PRESIDENT: [Riotous laughter] What dentistry school HAHAHA!
My father, an honour graduate in Succinct Writing from Brevity University, exclusively texts with people through telegram-sized messages. Here’s an extract of my correspondence with him.
- ME: Just mowed the lawn, can I get 20$ to go to the cinema?
DAD: Will do better: just doubled your pocket money.
ME: But I am not getting any pocket money…
- ME: Can I get a new phone? Mine is super old…
DAD: Ask your Mom.
ME: She just texted me “No”, damn…
[10 minutes later] ME: Wait! Mom lost her mobile last week: do you have her phone?
DAD: This number is no longer valid; please enter a valid 10 digit number.
Once upon a time, there was a cat, a charming, innocent little cat, whose life would have been deemed uneventful, save for the fact that he was on none other than three sinking ships. Let’s look deeper into the blameless feline they called Sam, or more famously, the Unsinkable Cat.
Born on the eve of the end of the Weimar Republic, Sam is a pure product of the Reich. Thought to have been fathered by Colonel Meow himself – the decorated German WWI officer who died in the battle of the Somme – Sam loses both parents early, and henceforth gets raised with his best friend, Frank Furter, on the mean streets of Frankfurt by Frank’s father Faulkner, a frankfurter sausage cook who molested Frank throughout his childhood, frankly a real Frank fucker.
Leaving the nest early, Sam joined the army for at least four years prior to disappearing from the surface of the earth in 1937. Some speculate that he underwent some intensive spy training until 1941, the year he got discharged for gross misconduct. The story goes that Sam, during a class on the art of disguise, impersonated his teacher, gave himself the best mark, and changed his teacher’s name in all official records to Cat Stration. His superiors, whose Teutonic nature left them oblivious to the concept of humour, allegedly did not appreciate the prank and dismissed Sam immediately, to the displeasure of ships worldwide. Continue reading
One Fight Club, eight rules.
Truth is, the first two are the ones that matter, the ones that capture best who we are, what we do:
1st RULE: You do not talk about FIGHT CLUB.
2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about FIGHT CLUB.
These rules were not simple to come by, though, they had to be thought of, put to the test. Here is an extract of fight club rules that didn’t make the cut:
- Hurt your opponent’s body, not feelings, we’re not animals.
- You do not tweet about Fight Club.
- Anyone parking like an asshole must fight a member of the biker gang.
- No shirts, no shoes, and none of those super tight shorts either, this is not a Village People cover band rehearsal.
- Although currently a sausage fest, the Fight Club is open to women.
- Any fights between ladies (also known as cat fights) must comply with the following rules: no nails, no hair extension pulling, and no trash talking about Jennifer “taking on some weight over the holidays”, she cried for weeks.
- If can’t stand the sight of blood, what the hell are you doing here?
- No crocs, wigs, or mullets, not for fighting reasons, just have some respect for yourself.
- Don’t repeat yourself. Also, do not talk about Fight Club.
- If this is your first night as an undercover cop, you have to fight! And then maybe another time, and then maybe two or three times after that. And then the crowbar challenge.
- If you think you can be victorious thanks to your favourite karate YouTube channel, please make your way to the fighting area.
- This club is for strong men, but nothing shows more strength than showing your artistic side, hence Tuesday night karaoke.
- No need for us to fight in dirty basements, any suggestions welcome.
- Although technically acceptable, fighting yourself is pretty weird.
- Anyone betting on a fight will be expelled from the club. Out the backdoor. In a trash container. One with wheels on it. Down the street. The one that leads to that abandoned mine. That mine with bears in it. Yes that one. Don’t bet on fights.♦
ME: Buddy, you need to help a brother out, I am currently surrounded by rabbits.
FRIEND: hmm, ok, WHY are you surrounded by rabbits?
ME: It’s a long story, but to cut it short, I am now the king of a medium-sized rabbit empire…
It all started out when a friend found these two rabbits (Were they stolen? Maybe), realised he couldn’t really handle them (how oddly self-conscious of him. Did it finally dawn on him that any man that cannot pay rent on time cannot handle more than a stuffed animal?) and thus decided to give them to me. “Ok”, I said, I like fluffy animals and I could use the company. Not for a second did I think that someone giving away something they couldn’t handle could cause me trouble. I am just way too naive… When you think about it, why take-on a pet I knew nothing about? I basically know two things about rabbits: first they hop around everywhere, and second their waste looks like nesquik breakfast cereals. And yet, as an animal-lover, I happily took on those two cute little white rabbits. Continue reading
Chances of survival: >60% (good-ish)
Two reminders have been set-up to water my plant, it should be fine.
First reminder (Tuesday), automatically dismissed with a promise to water it next time.
Second reminder (Saturday): watering sounds like a good plan, but after breakfast huh? Done with breakfast, should we water George, our beautiful green friend? I feel like laying down a little, though. How is it looking like? Those yellow leaves? That’s just the sunlight, it looks fine, I’ll water it tomorrow.
Sunday morning: this hangover might very well kill me, George can wait until Tuesday. Continue reading
Behold the story of an unjust arrest. An arrest so unfair the force should officially apologise to an entire country, for the crime was only to be French.
But this is not just any story, this is my story, and it began quite innocuously as I entered a bank to deposit some money. I walked in quietly, wondering how long it would take me to be done with that deed: I had other things to worry about, my pesky brother for once. Soon after I arrived, I realised the security guards were all not-so-discreetly looking at me. Indeed, my misfortune was that this very bank had just been the victim of a robbery, hence, before long, the police were there. Deciding that my beret was some garment worthy of a James Bond villain, they arrest me at once. Handcuffed without a word of explanation, I am thrown into the party van, meeting two lovely Latino gentlemen contending they were there by mistake, and that they knew nothing of those sixteen TVs stacked in their shed. At the police station, I am taken away from my new friends, shoved into an interrogation room, and left there to wait patiently.
HR MANAGER: Mr. Mouse, I am glad you could join me, please sit down. As you know, our company has been going through some rough times, and we are forced to downsize to keep it afloat. Unfortunately, following a managerial decision, it was decided that we can no longer afford to keep you on our payroll. Your file tells me that your tasks were mostly to trial some of the drugs we are developing. Well, considering the sensitive nature of the present trial, we will keep you until the end of the month, and then you will be relieved of your duties.
MICKEY MOUSE: Relieved of my duties? What do you mean ‘relieved of my duties’? Are you firing me? But that’s outrageous! I have given everything to this company, everything! Do you think I looked like this when I started with you? These tests have changed me: I used to be handsome, a true ladies man!
HR MANAGER: You knew about the side effects, you signed the papers.
MICKEY MOUSE: I did sign the papers, but nothing stated that my head would grow 10 sizes! I look like the mouse-equivalent of a Chernobyl survivor! Continue reading
Isn’t success quite the elusive thing?
Sometimes success is straightforward, bringing you money or fame, but sometimes success is not what you thought it would be. Success, to me, is a bit like hunting squirrels.
It all starts on a summer’s day. You are outside, in a park, maybe with friends, having a nice and relaxing barbeque. You look up to the skies and notice the electric wire on which squirrels run like some kind of furry retarded trapezists. You sit there and you just think ‘it would be pretty cool to hit one with my trusty slingshot’. So, not wanting to explain why you carry a slingshot on you at all times, you wait. You return a few days later with the weapon of the crime. You identify one of the slower, fatter one, aim, shoot, BOOM. It gets hit, falls on the ground, ready to go to squirrel-paradise, where the grass is green and the nuts are heavy. Continue reading