An Australian Army Recruit sends home a letter . . .

Dear Mum & Dad,

I am well. Hope you’re are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin’ on the farm – tell them to get in quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack – nothin’!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!

At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don’t get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are dead because we’ve been on a ’route march’ – geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin’ – dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a possum’s bum and it don’t move and it’s not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target! You don’t even load your own cartridges, they comes in little boxes, and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy – it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.

Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers – he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can’t complain about the Army – tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how good it is.

Your loving daughter,
Sheila

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At a winery, the regular taster died and the director started looking for a new one to hire.

A drunkard with a ragged, dirty look came in to apply for the position. The director of the winery wondered how to send him away. He gave him a glass to drink.

The drunk tried it and said, “It’s a Muscat, three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade, but acceptable.”

“That’s correct”, said the boss. Another glass…

“This is a Cabernet, eight years old, a south-western slope, oak barrels, matured at 8 degrees. Requires three more years for finest results.”

“Correct.” A third glass… “It’s a Pinot Blanc Champagne, high grade and exclusive,” the drunk said calmly.

The director was astonished. He winked at his secretary, secretly suggesting something. She left the room, and came back in with a glass of urine.

The alcoholic tried it. “It’s a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant and if I don’t get the job I’ll name the father.”

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I was in Venice Beach in January and there was a homeless man with a sign that said “1 dollar for dirty joke.”

Seemed like a good investment to me so I gladly handed over a dollar.

Homeless man: “Alright sir whats your name?”

Me: “John”

Homeless man: “So Johnny, there is black rooster alright?

How many legs does that chicken have.”

Me: “Two?”

Homeless man: “Right, now how many wings this black rooster got?”

Me: “Two?” Homeless man: “Right, now how many eyes this black rooster got?”

Me: “Two?”

Homeless man: “Right again, now there is this white cat walking around how many hairs are on that white cat?”

Me: “I don’t know? A lot?”

Homeless man: “Well Johnny, why do you know so much about black cock and not enough about white pussy.”

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There was an old man who lived by a forest. As he grew older and older, he started losing his hair, until one day, on his deathbed, he was completely bald. That day, he called his children to a meeting.

He said, “Look at my hair. It used to be so magnificent, but it’s completely gone now. My hair can’t be saved. But look outside at the forest. It’s such a lovely forest with so many trees, but sooner or later they’ll all be cut down and this forest will look as bald as my hair.”

“What I want you to do,” the man continued, “is, every time a tree is cut down or dies, plant a new one in my memory. Tell your descendants to do the same. It shall be our family’s duty to keep this forest strong.”

So they did. Each time the forest lost a tree, the children replanted one, and so did their children, and their children after them. And for centuries, the forest remained as lush and pretty as it once was, all because of one man and his re-seeding heirline.

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