The WD40 ad is 100% a scam…a funny one nonetheless.
Brilliant!
steve
What do you call a magician who has lost his magic?
…ian
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HOW THE EURO FINANCES WORK ??
It is a slow day in a little Greek Village. The rain is beating down and the
streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody
lives on credit.
On this particular day a rich German tourist is driving through the village,
stops at the local hotel and lays a €100 note on the desk, telling the hotel
owner he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the
night. The owner gives him some keys and, as soon as the visitor has walked
upstairs, the hotelier grabs the €100 note and runs next door to pay his debt
to the butcher.
The butcher takes the €100 note and runs down the street to repay his debt to
the pig farmer.
The pig farmer takes the €100 note and heads off to pay his bill at the
supplier of feed and fuel.
The guy at the Farmers’ Co-op takes the €100 note and runs to pay his drinks
bill at the taverna.
The publican slips the money along to the local prostitute drinking at the
bar, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer him “services” on
credit.
The hooker then rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill to the hotel
owner with the €100 note.
The hotel proprietor then places the €100 note back on the counter so the rich
traveller will not suspect anything.
At that moment the traveller comes down the stairs, picks up the €100 note,
states that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves
town.
No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole village
is now out of debt and looking to the future with a lot more optimism.
And THAT - Ladies and Gentlemen is how the Bail-Out Package Works ! ?
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Walking down the street, a Member of Parliament is hit by a lorry and dies. His soul arrives in Heaven and is met by St. Peter. He says, "
‘Welcome to heaven. Before you settle in, it seems there’s a problem. We seldom see anyone in such a high office around here, so we’re not sure what to do with you.’
‘Just let me in,’ says the politician.
‘Well, I’d like to but I have instructions from above. You’ll have to spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven, then you can choose where to spend eternity.’
‘Really, I’ve made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven,’ says the MP.
‘I’m sorry, but we have our rules.’ replies St Peter
With that, St. Peter escorts him to the lift and he went down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and dressed in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and champagne.
Also present is the Devil, a very nice, friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They’re having such a good time that before he realises, it’s time to go. Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and wave as the lift rises…
The door opens in Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him. ‘Now it’s time to show you around Heaven.’
So, 24 hours pass with the MP joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing harps and singing. They have a good time and, before he realises it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns. ‘Well, you’ve spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity.’
The MP reflects for a minute, then answers: ‘Well, I would never have thought it before, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell.’ So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down down to Hell.
When the doors open he’s in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and refuse.
He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the rubbish and putting it in black bags as more garbage falls from above.
The Devil comes over and puts his arm around his shoulder.
‘I don’t understand,’ stammers the MP, "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, danced and had a great time. Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened? ’
The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, ’ Yesterday we were campaigning…
Today you voted
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Last week I opened a door for a feminist…
… the court case is February 27th
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It’s very good, although I have seen few versions of this in the past.
A quick look at Snopes and according to them this essay is actually the work of Lori Borgman (http://www.loriborgman.com/1998/03/15/the-death-of-common-sense/) and was first published in the Indianapolis Star on 15 March 1998.
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I thought it was Plato wrote it originally…
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When four of Santa’s elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the Pre-Christmas pressure.
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.
Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.
Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.
When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drunk all the cider and hidden the liquor… In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor.He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.
Just then the doorbell rang, and an irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, ‘Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn’t this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?’
And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.
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For all my Irish friends (thanks Michael on FB), and hoarders like me … what to do with all those old Bundies?
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Is he driving home for Christmas?, or on the road to hell? 
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